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Time, measured in the soft rhythm of Elowen's lullabies and the scent of Cassian's return from the woods, flowed steadily. Milestones came, marked not by calendars, but by small triumphs against the limitations of infancy. At eight months, the frustrating struggle with gravity finally yielded. My legs, unsteady but determined, propelled me across the worn rug of the nursery. Elowen's gasp of delight and Cassian's booming laughter filled the small room, their pride a tangible warmth as they cheered my wobbly steps. "Look at him go!" Cassian had roared, scooping me up for a celebratory toss that sent gurgles of surprised laughter bubbling from my throat. True speech, coherent words beyond infantile babble, took longer. It wasn't until a year and a half had passed that my new vocal cords cooperated reliably. Yet, the secret of my past life remained locked tightly within, a silent passenger observing this new world. Speaking felt strangely clumsy, the unfamiliar language forming awkwardly on my tongue, though understanding flowed effortlessly.
Five full cycles of blooming wildflowers and crackling hearth fires passed. It was during this time, through patient observation and the focused mind of an old soul in a young body, that the shimmering energy permeating *everything* – the dappled sunlight through leaves, the vibrant pulse of Elowen's garden, even the warmth radiating from Cassian after a hunt – finally revealed its true nature. This wasn't just ambient energy; it was **Mana**. The fundamental essence, the raw potential woven into the fabric of existence. This ambient mana, I realized, was the key. It acted as the catalyst, unlocking the unique abilities inherent within every inhabitant of this world. Power bloomed from within them, shaped by this external force into something tangible and wondrous. Cassian commanded flickering tongues of flame with a thought, a hunter's tool and hearth-keeper's blessing. Elowen coaxed vines to curl and blossoms to unfurl with a mere whisper of her intent. My own potential ability remained a tightly closed bud, a mystery I pondered with quiet intensity. What form would it take? Fire like my father? Life like my mother? Something entirely unexpected? The anticipation was a constant, low hum beneath my daily existence.
Life in this world was intrinsically shaped by these gifts. Hunters like Cassian ventured beyond the relative safety of the village palisades, their abilities a shield and spear against the wild beasts roaming the untamed forests and mountains. Others, like Elowen selling vibrant bouquets at the market square, wove their magic into the tapestry of everyday life. Adventurers, a common sight passing through, formed the backbone of frontier defense, hunting monstrous threats or, in tales that fascinated me, forging deep bonds with certain beasts, taming the wildness into powerful partnerships.
Driven by this burgeoning understanding and the insatiable, analytical curiosity of my past life, I turned experimenter. Cassian, pragmatic as ever, sometimes brought back mana crystals from his hunts deemed too flawed, small, or unstable for the village artisans' needs – discards. To me, they were priceless research materials. My small hands, guided by decades of ingrained scientific methodology, probed their secrets.
The breakthrough came through meticulous comparison. **Beast essence**, the vital energy of a magical creature, solidified upon death, crystallizing into the cores Cassian harvested. They were dense, tangible reservoirs of primal power. Human energy, however, seemed fundamentally different – fluid, internal, a current flowing *within*, likely the very fuel for our abilities. But the beast cores… they *retained* their potent energy, inert yet potent. I learned that village smiths and enchanters channeled this power, either forging it directly into weapons pulsating with elemental fury or transferring its essence to empower existing arms.
*That* was my current project. Hidden away in my modest room, afternoon sunlight painted golden stripes on the wooden floor. Before me stood a carefully arranged apparatus: two thick glass containers connected by braided copper wire salvaged from an old lamp. One container held a simple kitchen knife, its blade submerged in a viscous, faintly luminescent orange solution I'd painstakingly brewed from harmless, common household reagents – a conductive medium. The other container held the same solution, and nestled within it, pulsing with a deep, verdant light, was a palm-sized beast core – a low-grade Wind Razor cat's essence, discarded after Cassian's last hunt.
Taking a steadying breath, I carefully connected the wires. A low, resonant *hum* filled the quiet room. Visible threads of emerald energy, like captive lightning, snaked from the core, traveling along the copper pathways, diffusing into the orange solution surrounding the knife. Tiny bubbles fizzed at the blade's surface. Minutes stretched, the core's vibrant glow steadily dimming as the inert steel knife drank in the wind-aspected energy. Finally, the transfer ceased. The core was now a dull, lifeless stone. The knife blade, however, shimmered with an intense, almost blinding green radiance that slowly faded, leaving behind only the faintest emerald sheen along the cutting edge, visible only when the light caught it just right.
I lifted it. The familiar weight felt… different. Not heavier, but *charged*. A distinct thrum of contained power resonated up my arm, a silent vibration against my palm, like holding a slumbering storm. Heart pounding with a potent mix of triumph and sudden caution, I aimed the blade towards the bare wall opposite my small bed and gave it an experimental, controlled flick of the wrist.
*Shhhink!*
The sound wasn't metal on air, but the sharp parting of the atmosphere itself. A razor-thin line of condensed, vibrant green mana hissed from the blade's edge. It crossed the small room in an eyeblink and struck the wooden wall with a sharp, startling *CRACK!* A thin, smoking gouge, smelling faintly of ozone and splintered pine, marred the surface before the energy dissipated into a shower of harmless, fading green motes.
I froze, staring at the evidence. *Too loud. Too visible.* The thrill of success warred sharply with apprehension. What if Elowen heard? Carefully, deliberately, I placed the still faintly humming knife high on a shelf, tucking it securely behind a stack of carved wooden blocks – a child's toy hiding a dangerous secret. The sharp scent of ozone lingered stubbornly in the air.
Descending the stairs, I sought the comforting normalcy of home. Elowen hummed a soft, familiar tune as she swept the hearthstone floor, afternoon sunlight catching the dust motes dancing in the air. The rich, savory aroma of her evening stew drifted invitingly from the kitchen. I slid into my customary chair at the worn oak dining table, the warmth of the room a balm to my nerves, just as the heavy front door burst open.
Cassian stood framed in the doorway, his broad frame momentarily blocking the fading daylight, a wide grin splitting his dust-streaked face despite his obvious fatigue. In his large, calloused hands was a substantial wicker cage, covered with a rough cloth. From within came a sharp, piercing *screee!* that vibrated with indignation and wildness.
"Adam! Look what decided I needed company on the ridge trail!" Cassian boomed, his voice filled with good-natured excitement as he carefully set the cage down with a soft thud near the doorway.
Curiosity instantly banished my lingering worry about the wall. I scrambled down from the chair and ran to him, wrapping my arms briefly around his sturdy legs in a quick hug, the familiar scent of pine needles and earth clinging to his clothes. Then, drawn by the sound, I turned my full attention to the cage. Cassian chuckled, a warm, rumbling sound, and gently lifted the cloth cover.
Perched regally on a thick wooden dowel inside the cage was a bird. Its plumage was a breathtaking blend of sun-bright yellow, edged with deep, iridescent sapphire blue along the powerful sweep of its wings and the long feathers of its tail. But it was the head that truly captured my breath and held it. Fierce, intelligent eyes the colour of molten amber regarded me with unnerving intensity, set above a wickedly sharp, curved beak that gleamed like pure, polished *gold*. This was no songbird. This was a falcon, proud, wild, and radiating a contained, potent energy that prickled against my senses even through the wicker bars. It felt… *alive* in a way that went beyond simple biology.
"Found his mother tangled in some poacher's net near Blackthorn Crag," Cassian explained, his voice softening as he watched my rapt attention. "Got her free, but the commotion startled this little lordling right out of his nest high up on the cliff face. Too young yet to fly that distance back. Seemed… right." He ruffled my hair affectionately. "Consider him an early name-day gift. Just for you, son. No grand intentions, just thought you'd like him."
My eyes stayed locked with the falcon's unblinking amber gaze. The world outside – the hidden knife, the gouged wall, even the enticing smell of stew – faded into insignificance. There was only the bird, the fierce intelligence burning in its eyes, the palpable thrum of untamed power resting within its small, feathered frame, and the simple, profound warmth in Cassian's words: *Just for you, son.*
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