Leo was a sponge with ears.
Every morning he trailed Caden to the training yard, wooden sword dragging behind him like a lazy dog. The hunters called out drills—"Left foot, pivot, strike!"—and Leo mouthed the words while he watched the flames spit from his dad's palm. At night he made Selene name the herbs in her pouches until she laughed and flicked water at his nose.
"What's this one again?"
"Moonwort. Stops bleeding. Say it."
"Moon-wort."
"Good. Again."
"*Moonwort.*"
He couldn't read yet, but he'd sit on the rug with picture books open upside-down, tracing the squiggles like they owed him money.
One afternoon he finally cracked a real magic primer—leather cover, pages smelling like old campfire. He got as far as the chapter titled **WITCHCRAFT** before Selene's hand came down like a gate.
"Nope." She snapped it shut.
"Why?"
"Because I said so." Her voice went tight, the way it did when thunder rolled too close. "There's one in the deep woods. Cursed the whole jungle. Even the knights won't touch it."
Leo's eyes got big, but he only nodded. Inside, the word **witch** lit up like a flare.
Later he found a safer book—**Legends of the Goddess-Blessed**. Heroes who weren't born, just *made*. Infinite tricks up their sleeves. Selene's voice softened when she read that part aloud, like she was handling something breakable.
"Some live near the capital," she said, tucking him in. "Their light pulls people in. And monsters."
Leo stared at the ceiling. *I've got light too. Just gotta figure out the switch.*
---
He was five when the headache hit.
He'd been tracing runes at the kitchen table, sunlight striping the page. Then—**BAM**—a spike behind his eyes. He dropped the charcoal.
A girl's voice, close as breath:
"*Leo… took you long enough.*"
Giggle. Gone.
The pain vanished. He blinked at the empty room.
*…Hello?*
Door creaked. Caden poked his head in, grinning. "Village run, champ?"
Leo shoved the voice into a corner of his skull. "Race you to the gate."
---
Village walks were half lesson, half parade. Everyone waved at Caden like he was the mayor and the sheriff rolled into one.
"Why's everybody kissing up?" Leo asked, kicking a pebble.
"Dad's the muscle," Caden said, ruffling silver hair that matched Leo's. "I keep the goblins polite."
"Celebrity," Leo muttered. "Got it."
They got home to Selene in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked.
"Really? All day?"
Caden's grin went sheepish. "We… trained?"
"Trained your mouths, maybe. I heard you gossiping with Old Marta for twenty minutes."
Leo hid behind his dad's leg. "I learned a new parry!"
"Great. You can parry the broom tomorrow. Whole house."
Leo groaned so loud the neighbor's dog barked.
---
Training got weird fast.
Caden expected baby steps. Leo took leaps.
Six months in, Leo blocked every practice swing—*clack, clack, clack*—wood on wood, no misses. Caden's jaw dropped.
"You're five."
"I count the beats," Leo said, shrugging. "One-two-*block*."
Selene watched him light a candle with a finger-snap, then heal the blister it left.
"Kid, you're scaring me."
"Scaring's extra credit," Leo said, and blew the flame into a tiny dragon that looped once and popped.
At night he lay awake, palms open, feeling the two sleeping things inside him stir like cats in a bag.
*Echoes. Void.*
*Soon.*
For now, he had chores, sword forms, and a mom who threatened to make him scrub the privy with a toothbrush if he skipped spelling practice.
Good enough.