Aion woke before the dawn, though dawn never truly came.
The room was filled with a color he had no name for — not darkness, not light, but something caught in between, as if the world itself had forgotten which it was meant to be. The air felt heavy against his skin, thick with an unseen pressure that made his chest ache when he breathed.
For a long moment, he lay still, listening.
No birds.
No wind.
No distant clatter of the village waking.
Only silence, deep and waiting.
"Mama?" he whispered.
Mara sat on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her eyes were fixed on the small window across the room, where that strange gray-gold glow leaked through the glass.
"I'm here," she said, though her voice sounded far away.
Aion pushed himself upright. His wooden horse slipped from his fingers onto the blanket, its cracked leg catching briefly on the fabric before settling.
"What's wrong?"
She did not answer him immediately. Instead, she reached out and brushed his hair back from his eyes, as she had done a thousand times before. Her hand trembled.
"The sky," she said softly. "It's… wrong."
Elden stood near the window. He had not slept. The lines on his face were deeper than usual, as if he had aged years in a single night.
Aion slid off the bed and padded across the floor.
When Elden saw him, he opened his mouth to stop him.
But it was already too late.
Aion reached the window and looked outside.
The sky was moving.
Not clouds — the sky itself.
High above the village, vast spirals of pale gold and soft blue turned slowly through the heavens, like currents in a cosmic sea. Light rippled through them, bending and folding, as if something unseen were stirring the firmament from behind a veil.
The air shimmered faintly, and the light had weight to it — pressing down on the land, on the houses, on Aion's own bones.
His breath caught.
It was beautiful.
It was terrifying.
And somewhere deep inside his chest, something answered.
The faint glow beneath his skin stirred, spreading through his arms and shoulders in soft, pulsing waves. It was not painful, but it was not gentle either — like a tide pulling against the shore.
"It's calling me," Aion whispered.
Mara rushed to him and pulled him away from the window, wrapping her arms around him as if she could shield him from the sky itself.
"Don't look," she said. "Please, don't look."
"But it knows me," he said quietly, his eyes wide. "It feels like… it remembers."
Elden closed the shutters, plunging the room into dimness. The strange light still seeped through the cracks, thin golden lines crawling across the walls.
Outside, the village was waking.
Voices rose in confusion and fear.
"What is that?"
"The sky—look at the sky—"
"Gods preserve us—"
Aion could hear people crying. He could hear prayers whispered in shaking voices.
"Is it because of me?" he asked.
Mara held him tighter.
Elden turned away, jaw clenched.
The answer was written in the way the light beneath Aion's skin brightened in response to the heavens.
Yes.
Outside, nature began to behave strangely.
The wind, which had been still all night, rose suddenly in soft, circular currents, turning leaves and dust into slow spirals that mirrored the sky. Animals grew restless. Dogs whimpered and hid beneath porches. Birds took flight all at once, wheeling through the air as if trying to escape something only they could sense.
Aion felt it all.
The pull in his chest grew stronger, a gentle but insistent tug upward, toward the moving light beyond the roof.
"I don't want to go," he said softly. "I don't want to leave you."
"You're not going anywhere," Mara said fiercely. "Do you hear me? Nowhere."
But the world was not listening to her.
Aion staggered slightly as a wave of dizziness passed through him. Elden caught his arm, steadying him.
"Sit down," he said. "Please."
Aion obeyed, sinking onto the bed. The wooden horse lay beside him. He picked it up, fingers tracing the cracked leg.
"I'm scared," he admitted.
Mara knelt in front of him. "So am I."
She hesitated, then asked the question that had been haunting her since the light first appeared beneath his skin.
"Aion… what do you feel?"
He closed his eyes.
"I feel… like something very old is watching me," he said slowly. "Not angry. Just… waiting."
Far beyond the village, beyond the clouds, beyond even the stars, Aetherion's gaze swept across the world.
He felt the divine resonance like a bell tolling through creation — the echo of a stolen piece of himself awakening in mortal flesh.
There.
He saw it.
A tiny spark of familiar light buried in a fragile human shell.
Lysera felt it too. The ache in her chest returned, sharp and sudden, like a reopened wound.
"He's alive," she whispered.
"He should never have been lost," Aetherion replied.
Below, in the small wooden house, Mara and Elden held their son as the heavens turned.
A knock came at the door.
Sharp. Urgent.
Elden stiffened. "Stay here," he told Mara.
He crossed the room and opened it a crack.
The blacksmith stood outside, face pale. "You see the sky?"
"Yes."
"Something's wrong. The animals are going mad. And—" He lowered his voice. "People are talking. About the boy."
Elden's blood went cold. "What about him?"
"About the light. Someone saw it through your window."
Mara's breath hitched.
Elden closed the door slowly.
"We have to go," Mara whispered.
"Where?" Aion asked.
"Somewhere the sky can't see you," she said.
But even as she spoke, the light outside intensified. The spirals in the heavens turned faster, brighter, the air humming with unseen power.
The door rattled as another knock came — louder this time.
"Aion!" a voice called. "We need to talk about your boy!"
Fear swept through the room.
Aion looked down at his glowing hands.
"I didn't want to be different," he said. "I just wanted to fix things."
Mara cupped his face. "You don't have to fix the world," she whispered. "You just have to stay."
But the sky was already moving toward him.
And somewhere in the forest beyond the village, Drazon felt the pull as well.
"They have found you," he said to the empty air.
"And now… so must I."