The air inside the manor felt heavy.Too heavy for something so small as a birth.
Outside the chamber doors, a man stood still—one hand on the wall, the other gripping the hilt of his sword like it might keep him from falling apart.His name was Cael Solarin, a knight whose blade once carved lightning across the battlefield.
Behind that door was his wife—Elara—the woman people once called the Blue Witch of the Empire.Inside, her voice had gone quiet.
A maid rushed out, breathless, her hands glowing faintly with a blue shimmer.That faint glow was Aether—the energy that marked all life. It always left the smell of rain and iron behind.
"She … she made it," the maid stammered. "But the child is quiet. And … she's lost too much Aether, my lord."
Cael didn't answer.He just pushed the door open.
The scent of herbs and incense mixed in the air. Elara lay against the pillows, her skin pale—too pale for someone whose fire once shook towers.Beside her, a small bundle of white cloth stirred with a faint pulse of blue light.
Elara turned her head toward the midwife. Her lips trembled.
"Let me … hold him."
The maid obeyed.
When the baby touched her arms, the room froze. Even the candles flickered lower, as if the air itself waited.
The child opened his eyes—deep blue, clear as still water—and suddenly the light swelled.From his small body, Aether surged outward, pouring through the room like breath released after drowning. It spiraled once in the air, then flowed back—straight into Elara.
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
"He's … he's giving it back!" someone whispered.
Narration
They would call it a miracle, but in truth it was something deeper.
Aether is life itself—the unseen current that moves through all living things.There are two kinds known to man:Natural Aether, the raw pulse that keeps one alive, and Formed Aether, born from intent.
Where Natural Aether sustains life, Formed Aether shapes it.Some can burn with it, others can heal, others forge steel or bend light. It becomes what the soul understands best.But those born with only Natural Aether—no second form, no intent—are said to carry a curse.Their bodies overflow with life, yet every use of it burns that very life away.
And yet, that child … returned it.
Elara's breathing steadied. Color crept back to her skin. For a heartbeat, the woman once called witch looked human again.She smiled faintly.
"He's quiet … but he's alive."
Cael stood there, speechless. The knight who had faced storms couldn't find a single word.
When Elara leaned forward, her strength faded. The glow dimmed.The midwives moved to take the child, but she shook her head. She cradled him tighter, whispering words too soft for anyone else to catch.
The light thinned. The hum of Aether quieted.The child didn't cry—he only stared back at her, calm, steady, almost knowing.
For a moment, the two of them looked like mirrors.
Then her hands loosened. Her eyes drifted shut. The baby stayed silent, watching.
Cael stepped forward, slow, heavy. He reached out and lifted his son.The moment his hands touched the small body, the child finally cried—one sharp, clear sound that cut through the silence and filled every corridor of House Solarin.
That night, a child of stillness was born to a house of storm and flame.And with him, the world began to shift—quietly, almost unseen.
End of Chapter 1