The village had not changed in shape
but its atmosphere had fractured.
Rinve could feel it even before he saw it. The morning air still carried the scent of damp soil and burning wood, yet the villagers' gazes had become invisible walls. Not rejecting him
but no longer welcoming him either.
He walked beside Galor, his steps slower than usual.
"Father," Rinve said at last, "if I stay inside and don't go out… will everything return to normal?"
Galor stopped.
He looked at his son for a long moment, then shook his head slowly.
"Nothing truly returns to normal once the world has noticed you, Rinve."
The honesty of the words cut deep.
Too deep.
Rinve lowered his gaze.
"I don't want to make them afraid."
Galor let out a long breath.
"They're not afraid of you. They're afraid of what you might represent."
That day, a visitor arrived in the village.
Not a knight.
Not a merchant.
But a man dressed neatly, wearing a dark coat and a small badge on his chest marked with a symbol unfamiliar to the villagers, yet enough to drain the color from the village chief's face.
"A regional observer," someone whispered.
Rinve didn't know what it meant.
But he knew one thing Ellara stiffened the moment she saw the man.
The observer spoke politely. Too politely.
He asked simple questions at first: about the village, the forest, the livestock. Then, gradually, his questions shifted.
"Have there been any… unusual incidents lately?"
Without realizing it, every gaze drifted toward Rinve.
Galor stepped forward.
"There haven't been."
The observer smiled faintly.
"Interesting. Because the reports we received mention a minor distortion in this area."
"The report is wrong," Galor replied coldly.
The observer studied him for a moment, then nodded as if accepting the answer. But his eyes never stopped moving watching, measuring.
The pulse in Rinve's chest reacted to that gaze.
Ellara moved closer, standing beside Rinve. Her hand brushed his shoulder briefly a silent signal to stay calm.
"He's not here to attack," she whispered. "Not yet."
"Not yet?" Rinve whispered back.
Ellara didn't answer.
That night, Galor forbade Rinve from leaving the house.
Not harshly.
Too calmly.
"From now on, you don't train without me," he said.
"And you never show anything in front of others."
"Why?" Rinve asked.
Galor looked at him steadily.
"Because the world is more dangerous than monsters."
The words struck deeper than any threat.
That night's training was different.
No swords. No magic.
Galor only told Rinve to stand still in the yard and feel his surroundings.
"What do you sense?" Galor asked.
Rinve closed his eyes.
"The wind… the soil… your breathing."
Galor nodded.
"Now what don't you sense?"
Rinve was silent for a long time. Then his expression changed.
"People," he answered quietly. "I… can't feel them."
Galor froze.
Ellara, watching from a distance, stepped closer.
"That's not a normal ability."
Rinve opened his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
Ellara knelt in front of him and looked straight into his eyes. For the first time, she spoke without riddles.
"Rinve," she said softly,
"you don't just contain power. You are… separated from it."
Rinve didn't understand.
"I don't feel strong."
"That's exactly why," Ellara replied.
"Your power doesn't flow outward. It's locked inside. And instinctively, the world can't read you."
Galor tensed.
"That's dangerous."
Ellara nodded.
"And it's the only reason this village hasn't been destroyed."
Rinve clenched his hands.
"I don't want the village to be destroyed."
Ellara smiled faintly.
"Then you must learn the hardest thing of all."
"What?"
"To remain small… even when you are no longer small."
Days passed.
The regional observer did not leave.
He stayed in the village chief's house, speaking late into the night. The villagers grew uneasy. Whispers turned into speculation. Some blamed Galor. Others spoke Rinve's name in hushed tones.
Rinve heard every word.
He didn't cry.
But something in his chest began to change shape not a pulse, but pressure.
One night, Rinve slipped out quietly.
He stood beneath a sky full of stars, far from home. Ellara was already there, as if she had known.
"I can't endure this," Rinve said softly.
"If I leave… will the village be safe?"
Ellara was silent for a long time.
"That's a question no child your age should have to ask," she said at last.
"And that is your answer."
Rinve lowered his head.
Ellara continued,
"If you leave now, the world will take it as an invitation. If you stay… the world will test you."
"Which is better?" Rinve asked.
Ellara smiled bitterly.
"Neither."
Rinve looked up at the sky.
"Then… I'll stay."
Ellara stared at him sharply.
"You know what that means?"
Rinve nodded slowly.
"I'll become the reason."
That night, the regional observer finally made his move.
He stood before Galor's house, accompanied by two lightly armed guards.
"In the name of balance," he said calmly, "we request that the child be examined."
Galor stood in the doorway, his body like a wall.
"No."
The air tightened.
Ellara stepped out of the shadows.
"If you take one more step "
The observer smiled thinly.
"Then what?"
Ellara glanced at Rinve for a brief moment, then turned back to the observer.
"Then the world will record this as your first mistake."
Silence fell.
Then the observer chuckled softly.
"Interesting."
He stepped back.
"Very well. Not today."
As he left, Rinve felt something inside him not rising, not exploding
but locking itself even deeper.
The pulse was calm.
Too calm.
Ellara looked at Rinve seriously.
"From now on… the game has begun."
Rinve nodded.
He didn't know what was coming.
But one thing was clear
He was no longer merely enduring.
He was being prepared.
After that night, the village never truly slept peacefully again.
The observer had left, but his presence lingered like smoke that refused to fade. People spoke more carefully. Doors closed earlier. Conversations stopped when Rinve passed, then resumed in quieter tones.
Rinve heard it all.
He learned something important that day fear doesn't always come as screams or violence. Sometimes, it exists as distance.
Training with Galor grew quieter. No praise. No harsh scolding. Only brief instructions and long observation.
"You're changing," Galor said one afternoon.
Rinve stopped swinging his wooden sword.
"In a bad way?"
Galor shook his head.
"In a dangerous one."
The answer wasn't comforting. But Rinve nodded.
Levane watched the changes with a heavy heart. The child who once laughed easily now spoke less, as if every word had to be chosen carefully. He hadn't lost his kindness if anything, he understood others too well.
"Rinve," Levane said one night,
"you don't have to carry everything alone."
Rinve smiled faintly.
"I know, Mom."
But in his heart, he knew that wasn't entirely true.
Ellara began disappearing more often.
Sometimes for a full day. Sometimes for two nights in a row. When she returned, her face was always tired, her eyes holding things she didn't share.
"What's happening outside the village?" Rinve finally asked.
Ellara studied him for a long moment.
"Movement."
"Whose?"
"Everyone who doesn't want the balance disturbed."
Rinve clenched his fist.
"Because of me?"
Ellara sighed.
"Because of what you might awaken."
The night training grew stranger.
Ellara instructed Rinve to sit still to breathe without any pattern, to let nothing flow.
"It's hard," Rinve said with his eyes closed.
"I feel… empty."
Ellara nodded.
"Emptiness is the safest place for you right now."
"Why?"
"Because something inside you keeps trying to answer the world. And the world… is impatient."
One day, a village child fell ill.
High fever. Labored breathing. Levane tried to help, but ordinary remedies failed. Panic spread. Galor was called. Ellara stood in the corner, watching Rinve.
The pulse inside Rinve trembled.
He stepped forward without being asked.
"Rinve?" Levane called in surprise.
Rinve looked at the child. He did nothing. Didn't touch. Didn't chant. He simply sat beside the bed and breathed slowly.
The pulse didn't flow outward
it aligned.
Minutes later, the child's breathing steadied.
Tears broke out.
All eyes turned to Rinve.
He stood slowly.
"I… I just sat there."
Ellara closed her eyes briefly. There it is, she thought. The first side effect.
The news spread faster than fear.
Some began to hope.
Some began to suspect.
Both were equally dangerous.
That night, Galor spoke with Ellara longer than usual.
"You saw it," Galor said.
"He affects his surroundings without realizing it."
Ellara nodded.
"And it will happen more often."
"How long?" Galor asked.
Ellara looked at the sky.
"Until the world stops pretending it doesn't know."
Rinve sat alone in his room, staring at his hands.
He didn't feel stronger. He didn't feel special.
Yet the world kept reacting to him.
If this continues, he thought, how long before they decide I'm too dangerous?
He closed his eyes.
For the first time, he didn't suppress the pulse.
He didn't let it escape
he simply acknowledged it.
The pulse responded calmly.
Far away, someone smiled as they sensed the subtle change.
"Interesting," they murmured.
"He's becoming aware… without breaking the seal."
In that small village, Rinve opened his eyes with a new resolve not to become strong, not to fight the world
But to understand it, before it understood him.
And that was the first step toward something unstoppable.