For three years, I deceived myself. I thought my son was just... normal.
He was always outgoing, curious, affectionate. I never worried because, after all, he was my son. And like every parent, I believed he was just a little more advanced, maybe more mature than most kids his age — and with that, everything made sense. He was mine. He had to be special in some way, right?
When I saw him memorize a hundred-line text with an ease that left me speechless, I just thought: "He's my son, it couldn't be any other way."
When he followed his strict training program, never deviating for a single moment, even with sore muscles and fingers cut from the bowstring, I didn't see anything extraordinary. This was just a reflection of his determination, which, of course, he inherited from me.
When he learned to ride a horse in just one day, I was amazed, but nothing more than expected. After all, he was my son.
But then, today, reality hit me like a punch. Finally, I couldn't fool myself any longer.
My son, at the age of ten, had become a Preparatory Warrior. This happened a week after his physical transformation was completed — and only then did I realize the gravity of the situation. I couldn't close my eyes to what was happening before me.
He was different. The transformation was remarkable, something that could only be described as a masterpiece of nature. His bones were denser, his tendons stronger, his muscles more flexible yet as firm as steel. His stature grew, and his body strengthened in a way anyone could see. I saw this with my own eyes and couldn't deny it: he was perfect. Every inch of his structure seemed designed to be unbeatable. That's when I understood why nobles go through this physical change. It wasn't just for looks — it was a process that ensured the human body would perform at its best.
With this change, he was stronger than the average child his age. He would absorb and store the light of life more easily than anyone else. If he chose to become a combat master, he'd have a massive energy advantage over the others. He'd be able to mobilize more energy, in a way few could match.
But still... he was too young for this. How could I have missed it until now?
He grasped the principle of the light of life with an almost unprecedented speed in history. This wasn't normal. It wasn't natural. A Preparatory Warrior never appeared so quickly. Most people take years, even decades, to reach this level, but my son... he seemed to understand everything with a clarity that defied any logical explanation.
My thoughts were confused, but what struck me the most at that moment was his gaze. I looked directly into his eyes and noticed something that made my blood run cold. His pupil seemed to reflect an unusual intensity, something I had never seen before.
And then I noticed it.
A blood vessel pulsed on his forehead. A red line clearly traced from the top of his nose to the center of his forehead. It was visible. It was obvious.
And then, I knew. What he had acquired wasn't simple.
He had acquired Precision.
This was the skill of the most talented archers, and at this point, he seemed to have mastered it almost instantly. Precision, when fully developed, was not just a targeting skill — it created a nearly supernatural connection between the archer and their target. It was a sixth sense, a skill that, in the right hands, became lethal.
I looked at him, a mix of pride and terror. He wasn't normal. He never was. I knew this the moment he was born. But now, that certainty had been solidified with something much deeper, something far more dangerous.
I remember that day like it was yesterday. When he was born, my heart was filled with love, but also with a strange feeling, a premonition. Now, looking at him, I knew that premonition had never disappeared. It was just waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.
And, as I remembered all of this, a wave of chills ran down my spine. Because at that moment, I realized what was really at stake.
The boy had killed his mother during childbirth. This haunted me for years. For a long time, I hated that son, couldn't face the reality that he was somehow responsible for his mother's death. The suffering he caused me was immeasurable, and the pain dragged in my soul like an open wound. It took me so long to understand that he wasn't to blame. He didn't choose that. He was just born, like any other child. But, in a way, the burden of his mother's death was etched into him, and this weight made me hate him even more.
I never forgot the way he had broken through into the world. How his dark eyes stared at me the moment he was born. That expression, so empty and piercing, haunted me to this day, even after so much time. Those eyes... they were like a window to something unknown, something I couldn't understand.
Since then, I kept him locked up in the castle, isolated, as if he were some kinds of monster. I watched him carefully, always alert to his movements, as if he were something that shouldn't exist. He grew fast, faster than I would have liked to admit. But deep down, I knew he was just a child. An innocent, inexperienced child who didn't understand the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was kind, and though it was hard for me to accept, I was starting to realize I loved him deeply. I worried for his well-being, even though that feeling caused me constant pain, as if I were being pulled into an abyss of confusion and regret.
Sometimes, while watching his training, I wondered what was wrong. "It must be his mother's blood, she had some unnatural descent?" I found myself thinking about how he seemed so different, like there was something mysterious in his origins. But these questions only increased my anguish, as if I were trying to find an explanation for something that shouldn't have one.
A thousand arrows. Every day, he shot a thousand arrows, tirelessly, until his energy was spent. I stood there, watching, seeing how the boy poured himself completely into his training. He never stopped. Every time I saw him, my heart tightened. He didn't know his own limits. He didn't know what rest meant.
That morning, the training dummies were destroyed again. My blacksmith had never worked so hard. And I had to order a longbow this time. The kind of bow used by soldiers. But that was just the beginning. Static target shooting was just a warm-up, a preparation for what lay ahead. The real training would begin soon after, and he wouldn't stop until the end of the day.
Benta approached, with a worried face. I could see her pain too, but she still had hope where I couldn't find any.
"We can't leave him here forever." She said, her expression carrying deep sadness.
"Do you think he'll be okay?" I squeezed her hand, feeling the tension grow between us. "I'm afraid for the other children. He's... different."
Benta sighed, taking a deep breath before responding.
"Let him experience it. Talk to him whenever you see he's troubled. He sees me as a mother, but you... you're his father. Zaatar is different from the other children; he's a special boy. He feels everything more intensely than the others."
I knew. I knew what she was saying, but her words couldn't ease the weight on my chest.
"I know. Let's watch him for another year. He's young anyway..."
"Alright." She said, but even with her consent, doubts still lingered in my mind.
Three months later, he had changed even more.
The legend says that when a monk reaches nirvana during meditation, he never touches the flesh. He finds satisfaction in the purity of his own nature. The feeling of contentment that comes from within, without needing anything else. This was similar to Zaatar.
As a child, he had already experienced the sweet sensation of getting stronger, of improving. That sensation became an obsession. He threw himself completely into it, diving headfirst into his training routine. What used to be just a simple morning routine now became something that consumed everything around him.
He no longer trained only inside the castle. Now, he went out with an escort to the forest, to hunt. His targets were no longer just static objects, they were wild animals, created by nature itself: birds, squirrels, snakes, spiders... He threw himself into the hunt with an intensity I had never seen before.
I watched, concerned but also in awe. He was growing in a way I never thought possible. And, at the same time, I wondered how much of this transformation was natural.