The twins grew faster than ordinary children, though time itself seemed unsure how it should treat beings born from my power. One moment they were small enough to sleep peacefully against my shoulders, the next they were already walking beside me through the forest paths, their eyes observing the world with unsettling awareness.
I named the boy Ren, for the quiet strength I sensed within him, and the girl Mei, whose presence carried a gentle but dangerous brilliance like moonlight reflected on a blade.
They were five when their power first revealed itself.
We were living near the edge of a mountain village, far from the larger kingdoms. The villagers believed me to be a wandering mystic raising orphaned children. That lie suited me well. Few questioned a robed shaman who could calm storms and heal fevers with a touch.
Ren sat across from me beside the fire one evening, legs folded exactly as I had taught him. His posture was flawless — too flawless for a child.
"Feel the spirits," I told him calmly. "Do not chase them. Let them come to you."
His brow furrowed. The air around him trembled faintly.
At first I thought it was imagination.
Then the fire bent toward him.
The flames stretched like living things, drawn by an invisible current. Sparks floated upward and circled his small body without burning him.
Ren opened his eyes, startled. The fire exploded outward before settling again.
Mei clapped excitedly from nearby — and the ground answered her joy.
Flowers burst from the soil around her feet, blooming instantly despite the cold season.
I stared at both of them in silence.
Prodigies.
Far beyond what even I had expected.
Power inherited not only from my spirit but refined through their own souls.
And power like this… attracted attention.
That night, after they fell asleep, I extended my senses across the spirit world. Already, distant entities had begun to notice disturbances — ripples spreading outward like stones thrown into still water.
The twins had announced themselves without meaning to.
Danger would come eventually.
So their training began in earnest.
Mornings were devoted to discipline.
I woke them before sunrise, guiding them through breathing exercises atop a cliff overlooking the valley. Cold wind forced concentration; distraction meant discomfort. Ren endured it silently, stubborn even when shivering. Mei complained loudly at first, but she learned quickly once she realized spirits responded more warmly to calm emotions.
"Power is not strength," I told them as they meditated. "Power is harmony. If your heart trembles, your abilities will betray you."
Ren nodded seriously.
Mei raised her hand. "What if I want my power to scare people?"
I almost smiled.
"Then you must first learn control. Fear without control destroys the one who creates it."
They accepted this, though in different ways.
Afternoons were for technique.
I taught them how to sense wandering spirits — small remnants lingering in trees, rivers, and stones. At first they struggled to distinguish imagination from reality, but children possessed one advantage adults lost long ago: belief came naturally.
Ren learned invocation chants faster than expected. His voice carried resonance, stabilizing spiritual forms with ease. He favored structured techniques — barriers, bindings, and defensive formations.
Mei, however, ignored structure entirely.
Spirits adored her.
They gathered around her without summoning, drawn by her laughter and curiosity. She spoke to them as friends rather than tools, and they responded with unpredictable enthusiasm. Once, an entire flock of spectral birds followed her back to the house and refused to leave for three days.
I realized then their paths would differ.
Ren would become a commander of spirits.
Mei would become one they chose to follow.
Evenings were quieter.
Those were the moments I allowed them to simply be children.
We walked through markets together, Ren holding my sleeve while pretending he was not cautious of strangers. Mei ran ahead chasing lantern lights, occasionally stopping to ask questions about everything she saw.
"Father," Ren asked once, "why do people fear shamans?"
"Because they fear what they cannot see."
He thought about that for a long time.
Mei tugged my hand. "But we help people."
"Yes," I said softly. "And sometimes that is what frightens them most."
They did not fully understand yet. I hoped they would not have to for many years.
One evening during training, I demonstrated spirit fusion — allowing a minor entity to merge briefly with my body. My aura flared, wind spiraling outward.
The twins watched closely.
Too closely.
Before I could stop them, Ren attempted the technique.
A spirit answered instantly.
Energy surged wildly around him, far stronger than a beginner should ever handle. The ground cracked beneath his feet as unstable power lashed outward.
I moved immediately, placing a hand on his head and stabilizing the connection.
"Slowly," I instructed. "Do not force unity. Invite it."
The spirit calmed.
Ren's breathing steadied.
When the fusion ended, he collapsed into my arms, exhausted but smiling faintly.
"I heard it," he whispered. "It spoke to me."
Pride stirred within me — an unfamiliar warmth.
Mei crossed her arms, refusing to be outdone. Moments later she reached toward the air.
Three spirits appeared at once.
I sighed.
Chaos incarnate.
Guiding her required far more patience, but her raw affinity surpassed even Ren's precision.
As months passed, rumors began spreading through nearby lands.
Stories of gifted children.
Of a white-robed shaman raising prodigies touched by the spirit realm.
I could feel watchers at the edge of my perception now — distant shamans, wandering exorcists, and darker beings drawn by curiosity or ambition.
Exactly as I expected.
Prodigy heirs attracted danger.
One night, as the twins slept beside the fading fire, I sat outside watching the stars.
Their futures stretched before me like branching paths filled with both brilliance and bloodshed.
I had lived long enough to know power never remained hidden forever.
But as I listened to their quiet breathing inside the house, I made a silent decision.
No matter what gods, spirits, or men came seeking them…
They would first have to face me.