The first thing he sensed was weight—not upon his body, but upon his very existence. A heavy pulse thrummed through the dark, a rhythm older and deeper than any heartbeat. His awareness floated, unanchored, drifting in a sea of warmth and muffled sound. Voices rumbled outside, but he could not grasp their meaning. Every word slid past him like water over stone.
He couldn't remember who he was. Not a name, not a past, not a single memory. Only the feeling that something should be there, like an empty space carved in the center of his being.
A crackle of light pierced the darkness.
Then the world pulled him forward.
Cold air washed over his skin. He squinted against blinding light, his newborn eyes unable to bear it. He gasped—no, he cried—out of instinct rather than intent, and the sound echoed strangely in his ears, almost foreign.
"He breathes," said a soft voice. Feminine. Gentle. It vibrated like velvet against glass.
"His aura… it's faint." A deeper voice responded, tinged with concern.
Hands lifted him, warm and steady. Through blurred vision, he saw long silver hair drape over a woman's shoulder. Her skin glowed faintly, as though moonlight lived beneath it. She looked down at him with pale, luminous eyes—an elf, though he lacked the word to name her.
"Welcome, little one," she whispered. "Welcome to the roots of Elyndor."
The man beside her carried the same ethereal features—sharp ears, a serene expression, a mantle woven from leaves that shimmered with enchantment. He touched the back of his tiny head with careful reverence.
"He is frail," the man murmured.
"He is ours," the woman answered.
They wrapped him in an iridescent cloth. The glittering fabric hummed with a faint spell meant to protect newborns. But the soft glow dimmed as it touched his skin.
The mother's brow furrowed.
"…Strange."
The father noticed too. "The cloth rejects nothing. Why would it dim?"
The woman pulled the baby—pulled him—closer to her chest. Her expression hardened with a protective edge. "He lives. That is enough."
The father hesitated… then nodded.
A name came next. A word spoken with calm certainty.
"Aeryn."
The name struck him like a chime resonating through water. Aeryn. Even with no memories, no past, it felt right. Like a thread woven into his soul.
But as the name anchored itself in him, something stirred beneath his consciousness.
A ripple. A flicker. A soundless click.
[Initialization complete.]
The message whispered in a voice that was not a voice. Neither male nor female, but precise. Mathematical. Unnatural. For a heartbeat, the world stalled as the unseen mechanism unfurled within him like a blooming flower.
[System Online.]
Aeryn twitched. His mother glanced down, noticing the sudden movement, but she mistook it for instinct.
The strange presence pulsed again.
[Error: Vessel Ether Capacity critically low.]
[Recommended Action: Begin Ether Absorption.]
[Status: Locked until growth threshold met.]
Aeryn could not speak. He could not think in coherent words. But the presence lingered, cold and mechanical, observing him—as though cataloging him.
And he understood, instinctively, that no one else felt it.
The System belonged to him alone.
The world outside continued unaware.
The midwives bowed deeply to the parents—who must have been people of status, judging from the ceremonial robes and ornate roots curling across the chamber walls. The birthing hall was alive, a sanctuary carved beneath the vast roots of an ancient tree. Its trunk rose through a massive opening in the ceiling, stretching beyond the sky itself.
Aeryn looked up through hazy vision and felt a faint shiver. The tree was monumental, unfathomably vast, radiating a presence that made the air hum.
This was no ordinary tree.
The mother—Eryndis—smiled tenderly. "Look, Aeryn. The Heartroot watches your first breath."
The father—Vaelor—placed a hand over his heart in silent respect. "May you grow under its blessing."
But as Aeryn's gaze settled on the colossal trunk, something else stirred within him.
A whisper.
Not the System. Not a machine-like message.
Something deeper.
A low, ancient rustle. Like a wind passing through leaves that were older than time. For an instant, the tree's pulse synced with his own, and Aeryn felt a gentle tug—strange, intimate, as though welcoming him.
Eryndis noticed the newborn's fixation. "…He's calm," she murmured. "Most children cry before the Heartroot."
Vaelor's brows rose. "Perhaps he's charmed by it."
Or perhaps the tree sensed something the parents did not.
Aeryn's frail body trembled faintly. Eryndis brought him closer to keep him warm. The trembling wasn't cold. It was awareness—something inside him wanted to reach toward that ancient presence.
But the System chimed again.
[Warning: Ether Resonance attempt detected.]
[Resonance forcibly canceled.]
[Vessel unsuitable. Strength level: 0.]
Aeryn's vision blurred. His tiny form slumped slightly as exhaustion overtook him.
The System quieted.
Eryndis held him tighter.
"He's tired," she said softly.
But Vaelor did not look convinced.
He leaned closer, studying Aeryn's small features. "His aura is nearly nonexistent… even weaker than we feared."
A shadow crossed his expression.
"No matter," Eryndis insisted, though her voice wavered. "He will grow. Even the faintest ember can become a flame."
They spoke with love, but the truth lingered between their words.
Aeryn was born abnormally frail.
Among elves—whose lifespans stretched centuries and whose children were born with natural affinity to ether—that frailty was a dangerous omen.
And Aeryn felt their worry, even without understanding the words. Their emotions pressed around him like shifting currents.
He breathed. Slowly. His chest rose and fell weakly.
He could sense the world, yet he could barely cling to it.
[System Notice: Vitality Low.]
[Recommendation: Remain dormant.]
[Auto-dormancy in 3… 2… 1…]
His eyes closed.
Darkness embraced him once more.
But this darkness was different. It was soft. Gentle. Like a warm tide.
Inside it, the System floated silently.
[Observing growth cycle.]
[Progress: 0.01%.]
Time passed, though Aeryn couldn't measure it. Voices drifted in and out of his faint awareness, muffled by the cocoon of rest.
One day, a deeper tone pierced the warm haze.
"…Eryndis, we must face it. The child's ether vein is nearly closed. At this rate—"
"He will live," Eryndis answered sharply.
"With that weak a foundation?"
"He's our son. That is enough."
Their emotions swirled—doubt, fear, love. Aeryn floated through it all like a leaf on a river.
Then, one night, something changed.
A cold sensation seeped through the cradle beneath him. It was subtle at first, like a draft slipping through ancient corridors. Aeryn stirred, discomfort prickling against his fragile nerves.
The cradle shook.
Aeryn opened his eyes for the second time in this world.
The chamber was dimly lit. Lanterns made from living vines glowed faintly with blue bioluminescence. The air felt heavy.
A soft skittering rolled beneath the cradle.
Aeryn didn't have words, but he felt danger.
Something crawled.
Something not meant to be here.
The System flickered to life.
[Host senses anomaly.]
[Attempting analysis.]
[Result: Unknown entity. Threat Level: Minor.]
The cradle trembled again as a shadow rose from beneath it. A pair of glinting eyes peered over the edge—black as obsidian, unblinking. A creature no larger than a hand, its body covered in jagged shards like stone armor. Its thin limbs scraped lightly as it climbed.
Aeryn stared at it, breath quivering.
The creature cocked its head.
Then it lunged.
Aeryn's body reacted on pure instinct—he let out a weak cry. It wasn't enough to stop anything. But the System responded.
[Emergency Response Activated.]
[Generating Basic Shield: 1 Ether Unit Required.]
[Insufficient Ether.]
[Attempting substitute…]
[Life force conversion approved.]
Pain seared through his chest—sharp and cold. Aeryn gasped silently. Then a faint shimmer wrapped around him, translucent and trembling.
The creature struck the barrier.
Cracks formed instantly. Its mandibles clattered against the shield, gnashing.
Aeryn couldn't move. Couldn't scream again. His body was too weak.
The creature prepared to strike once more—when a fierce gust of wind slammed into it.
A hand swept through the air like a blade.
The creature exploded into dark dust.
Eryndis stood in the doorway, eyes glowing with wrath. She rushed to the cradle, lifting Aeryn with trembling hands.
"My child," she whispered harshly. "A night-shard? Inside this sacred hall?"
Vaelor arrived moments later, spear blazing with runes. His expression twisted as he saw the dissolved remains on the floor.
"That thing… how did it enter?"
Eryndis didn't answer. Her gaze was fixed on Aeryn's small face. His breathing was faint, but steady.
"He… protected himself," she whispered in disbelief.
Vaelor frowned. "Impossible. He has no ether."
But Eryndis held Aeryn closer. "Impossible or not… he lives."
Aeryn drifted between consciousness and sleep, the pain subsiding slowly.
The System remained faint but active.
[Emergency shield collapsed.]
[Life force reduced.]
[Host survival: 64%.]
[Analysis: Growth potential detected.]
[Evaluation: High.]
The final word lingered, echoing faintly.
High.
Something about Aeryn had shifted. Something the System recognized.
Eryndis wrapped him tightly in a new cloth. Vaelor inspected the shattered cradle and the creature's remains. His voice held a newfound urgency.
"This was no accident. Something stirs beneath the roots."
Eryndis nodded grimly.
And Aeryn, barely conscious, felt it too.
A tremor beneath the world.
A whisper from the ancient tree.
A hum from the System.
Three forces converging… around him.
The night passed, but its shadow lingered.
Aeryn slept, unaware of what his birth had already set in motion.