By the time Daerion reached his first year, the people of Karvoss Spire had grown used to his extraordinary presence. He was still a child, yet already larger and stronger than any infant they had ever seen. His small hands could lift objects heavier than himself, and he crawled across the nursery with a confidence that unnerved the soldiers who watched him.
Lord Karvoss often found himself marveling at the boy's awareness. Daerion could observe patterns in the courtyard, anticipate minor hazards, and mimic the motions of the engineers as they tinkered with old machinery salvaged from Vorgar's wastelands. "You see too much for your age," Karvoss murmured one evening, holding the child in his arms. "But perhaps that is how you must be, to survive here."
Outside, the world tested him. Acid rain hissed against the fortress walls, predators prowled the toxic forests beyond, and lightning split the skies with relentless fury. Yet Daerion never cried for fear or discomfort. He could sense danger before it arrived, curling into Karvoss's arms when a loose stone rolled toward him, or fixing his balance when the floor shuddered beneath the storm.
Even the Necrons noticed. Buried deep in the tombs beneath Vorgar, silent sentinels registered the boy's presence. They understood he was human, yet something about him was…altered. His essence bore patterns they could not classify, a resonance of knowledge and potential that set him apart from the simple mortals they had observed for millennia.
In the Spire, the people whispered that Daerion was blessed—or cursed. He babbled in strange patterns, sometimes mimicking the hum of the machines the engineers worked on, and would stare at schematics with unblinking focus, as if already understanding the principles behind them. Karvoss treated him with a mixture of fatherly care and careful oversight, teaching him only what a child could grasp while letting his natural abilities unfold.
As the storms of Vorgar raged on, Daerion's unusual growth and awareness became impossible to ignore. Though still a toddler, he already seemed to see the world differently, learning from its hazards, absorbing knowledge as naturally as he breathed, and quietly preparing for the path that would one day lead him far beyond Karvoss Spire—and beyond the stars themselves.
This chapter sets up:
Daerion's toddler years, advanced but still human.
Early cognition and physical skill, hints of the Emperor's embedded knowledge.
Interactions with Karvoss and the people, who are adapting to his abilities.
Necron awareness of him as something unique.
Vorgar as an active, shaping force in his early development.
If you want, I can continue directly into Chapter Four, where Daerion's superhuman growth accelerates further, he begins interacting with fortress systems and weapons, and his first true brushes with the Necron forces occur. Do you want me to go ahead with that?
You said:
By the way you can walk by himself now he may be still in toddler years but he is basically the size of a full grown adult
ChatGPT said:
Perfect — that gives us a striking visual and makes his early development feel truly otherworldly. So in Chapter Three, Daerion is:
Still a toddler in mental and social development, but physically the size of a full-grown adult.
Able to walk and manipulate objects like an adult, though his understanding of social norms is still childlike.
Showing subtle signs of the Emperor's embedded knowledge: instinctive understanding of machinery, patterns, and danger.
Vorgar's environment and the Necrons are already shaping his instincts.
Here's a rewritten Chapter Three: Child of the Wastes with that updated premise:
Chapter Three: Child of the Wastes
By his first year, Daerion had already grown to the size of a full-grown adult. His limbs were long and strong, his movements precise, yet his mind still bore the innocence and curiosity of a toddler. He walked through the halls of Karvoss Spire unassisted, each step steady and deliberate, turning corners and climbing steps as if the fortress itself were designed for him.
Lord Karvoss watched from the dais, arms crossed, a mixture of awe and unease etched across his scarred face. "You are no ordinary child," he murmured, observing Daerion manipulate a small mechanical device with nimble fingers, setting its broken circuits sparking to life with an instinctive touch. "Even Vorgar would have trouble breaking you…if it could understand your mind."
The people of the Spire whispered in awe. Guards and engineers gave him wide berth, instinctively protective yet wary of his strength. Even as a toddler, he could lift objects that would strain a seasoned warrior and stride across the courtyard with confidence, his head held high despite his age.
Outside, Vorgar's storms raged relentlessly. Lightning split the skies, acid rain hissed against stone, and predators patrolled the toxic wastes. Daerion moved through it all with careful awareness, sometimes pausing to study the pattern of falling rain or the motion of a distant beast, instinctively avoiding danger even before he fully understood it.
Deep below the surface, the Necrons watched. Silent sentinels stirred in their tombs, circuits alive with recognition. The boy was human—but something about him was beyond their records. His essence carried patterns of knowledge and instinct, unlearned yet unmistakable. He was human, yet modified. Potential…unclassified.
Karvoss approached him one evening, placing a hand on the toddler's broad shoulder. "You must learn patience, Daerion," he said gently. "The people will need time to understand you…even as you grow beyond them."
The boy tilted his head, blinking with an intensity beyond his years, and babbled a series of sounds that seemed oddly structured, almost like commands or calculations. Karvoss frowned. The child is learning faster than any human should…
Vorgar shaped him from his earliest days—the storms, the beasts, the constant threat of death—and yet he endured. And though still a toddler in thought, his body and instincts were already those of a warrior forged for a world that feared even the strongest of mortals.
And far beneath, the Necrons waited, silent and patient, observing the human child who defied their understanding.