The silence after that night lingered, heavy and strange, like the world was holding its breath. My mother didn't speak of it again, but her eyes lingered on me longer than before, searching, as if she could see the hum thrumming in my chest. I didn't know what I'd done—if I'd done anything—but the air felt different now, charged with something unspoken. The raiders, whoever they were, didn't come back. The gruff voices of men outside spoke of tracks vanishing into the snow, like the intruders had been swallowed by the night. I didn't need to be a genius to guess the hum had something to do with it. Or maybe my friend, that quiet presence I kept sensing, always just out of reach.
Days bled into weeks, or maybe months—time was hard to track when your world was a cradle and the flicker of firelight. My body was still a frustrating bundle of tiny limbs, but I was getting better at using it. I could turn my head now, focus my eyes on the rough wooden beams above or the fur-lined cloak my mother wore. Her face was kind but worn, etched with the weight of a harsh land. She'd hum those songs, old ones about heroes and frost, and the hum in my chest would answer, soft and steady. It was like we were having a conversation no one else could hear.
The visions kept coming, too. Not often, but sharp and vivid when they hit. A silver egg, pulsing like a heartbeat. A creature with wings of light, darting through a forest that shimmered like glass. A voice, ancient and calm, whispering about time and balance. Celebi, I was sure of it now. The hum seemed to like those visions, flaring brighter when they came, like it was trying to tell me something. I'd lie there, staring at the ceiling, willing the hum to give me more. Show me the dimension. Show me the eggs. Give me something I can use. But it was stubborn, only giving me glimpses, like a parent doling out candy one piece at a time.
My father showed up more often now, his presence like a storm rolling through. He'd loom over my cradle, all broad shoulders and calloused hands, his beard flecked with frost. "He's strong," he'd say, his voice gruff but proud. "He'll need to be." I wanted to laugh—or cry. Strong? I could barely hold my own head up. But he wasn't talking about my body, I realized. He'd seen something that night, too. Maybe not the hum, but something. The way he looked at me, it was like he knew I wasn't just his son, but something else entirely.
One evening, as the wind howled outside and the fire crackled low, something new happened. I was drifting, half-asleep, when the hum surged so hard it felt like my chest would split. No warning, just a rush of heat and light behind my eyes. I saw it again—that endless plain, my infinite resource dimension, stretching out forever. Gold gleamed in piles taller than mountains. Rivers sparkled with liquid that wasn't water, glowing with power. Trees bent under the weight of fruit that pulsed with energy. And there, in the center, three eggs. One silver, one pink, one green. Arceus, Mew, Celebi. They weren't just eggs—they were alive, humming in sync with me.
I reached for them, not with my hands but with my mind, and the hum roared in response. The vision shifted, and I saw myself—not the baby me, but me, older, standing in that plain. A figure stood beside me, small and shimmering, with eyes like stars. My friend. It didn't speak, but it pointed, and the ground beneath us trembled. A crack split the plain, and something rose from it—a slab of stone, carved with symbols I couldn't read but somehow understood. Power. Balance. Time. The hum pulsed, and I felt it, like a key turning in a lock. I was close to something, so close.
Then, a scream—not my mother's, but my own. My tiny body convulsed, and the vision shattered. I was back in the cradle, gasping, my mother's hands on me, her voice frantic. "Breathe, little one, breathe!" The hum settled, but it didn't fade. It was stronger now, like it had taken root. My mother's eyes were wide, not just with fear but with certainty. "You're marked," she whispered, her fingers brushing my chest, right where the hum lived. "The gods have touched you."
I wanted to tell her it wasn't the gods—not the ones she knew, anyway. It was something bigger, something I'd brought with me from that cosmic office. But all I could do was stare back, my baby eyes locked on hers, willing her to understand. The hum pulsed softly, like it was reassuring us both. Whatever had happened, it wasn't a fluke. My powers were waking up, and with them, my friend. This world—Planetos, the Age of Heroes—was about to meet something it wasn't ready for. And honestly? I wasn't sure I was ready either. But ready or not, the game was on.