Aion woke as if surfacing from deep water.
For a moment he did not know where he was. His body felt strangely light, almost hollow, as though something heavy had been lifted from inside him. The fever that had burned through his veins the night before was gone — not dulled, not resting, but absent, like a fire that had been extinguished so completely it left no warmth behind.
The room was quiet.
Not the soft, breathing quiet of early morning, but a hushed stillness that felt as if it were waiting.
Aion lay still, listening. No birds sang outside the window. No footsteps creaked in the house. Even the wind seemed to have paused.
"Mama?" he whispered.
No answer.
He sat up slowly, half expecting the dizziness to return. It did not. His head was clear. His chest felt steady. His small body, so recently wracked with heat and trembling, felt strangely strong.
Then he saw his hands.
Faint threads of pale gold ran beneath his skin, like veins filled with light instead of blood. They pulsed softly, in time with his heartbeat, brightening when he moved, dimming when he held still.
Aion stared.
"I'm…" His voice trembled. "I'm glowing."
He lifted one hand, turning it in the dim light. The glow followed, fluid and alive. It was not harsh or blinding — it was gentle, warm, like sunlight filtered through water.
But it should not have been there.
Fear crept slowly into his chest.
He rubbed his hands against the blanket, then against his shirt, as if the light were something that could be wiped away. It remained, patient and persistent.
Aion slid out of bed and padded across the floor. The wooden boards were cold beneath his feet. As he walked, faint reflections of his glow flickered across the walls and ceiling, ghostly echoes of something that did not belong in a small human room.
"Mama?" he called again, louder this time.
Footsteps sounded in the hall.
The door opened.
Mara stood there, already dressed, her hair hastily braided, her eyes dark with exhaustion and worry. She had not slept. The moment she saw Aion's glowing hands, her breath caught.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then Aion's fear spilled out. "Mama, something's wrong with me."
She crossed the room in three quick steps and knelt in front of him. "Let me see."
He held out his hands, trembling.
Mara took them in hers.
The light did not burn her. It did not shock her. It only dimmed slightly beneath her touch, as if soothed.
A tear slid down her cheek.
"You're warm," she whispered. "You're alive. You're here."
"I was sick," Aion said. "I thought I was going to disappear."
"I thought so too," she admitted. "But you didn't."
He looked down at their joined hands. "Am I broken?"
The question cut deeper than any fear of pain.
Mara shook her head fiercely. "No. You are not broken."
"But I look different."
"Yes," she said. "You do."
He waited for her to say that meant he was wrong.
She didn't.
"You're still my son," she said. "Light or no light."
Something in Aion loosened. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of flour and woodsmoke.
Behind her, Elden appeared in the doorway.
"What's happening?" he asked softly.
Mara turned so he could see.
Elden went very still.
"That's…" He swallowed. "That's not normal."
"No," Mara said. "It isn't."
Aion looked between them, fear blooming again. "Am I going to go away?"
Elden stepped forward and placed his hand over Aion's glowing fingers. The light dimmed further.
"No," he said. "You're right here."
Outside, the wind stirred for the first time since dawn.
Clouds shifted.
And somewhere far beyond mortal sight, something old and vast felt the echo of awakened divinity and began to turn its gaze toward a quiet house where a child glowed in the dark.