The questions started small, innocent observations from a naturally curious child. But as Aetos grew more aware of the world around him and his place within it, the differences between himself and others became increasingly harder to ignore.
"Why doesn't Daphne's mother visit?" he asked Brother Matthias one grey afternoon, watching from the temple steps as some children received family visits during the monthly market day. Merchants and farmers climbed the mountain path, arms full of small gifts and treats for their young ones.
"Daphne's mother passed to the next world," Matthias explained gently, setting aside his meditation beads. "That's why she lives here with us, where she's cared for and loved."
"Like me?" Aetos brightened with sudden understanding. "Did my mother pass too? Is that why I'm here?"
The question Matthias had dreaded for five long years hung in the air between them like morning mist. "I... we don't know, little eagle. You came to us as a baby, too young to tell us your story."
"From where?"
"From the storm."
Usually, this mystical answer satisfied Aetos—he liked the romantic idea of being storm-born, chosen by the wind itself. But today, something hesitant in Matthias's tone caught his attention. The boy's eyes, usually dancing with uncontainable mirth, grew serious and searching.
"But babies don't come from storms," he said slowly. "Cassia explained where babies really come from. She learned from the midwife. So where did I really come from?"
Matthias set down the scroll he'd been reading, giving the child his full, undivided attention. This moment had always been coming. "You came to us on a night of great tempest, unlike any storm we'd seen. I found you in the ruins of the eastern wing, perfectly dry and safe while rain fell in torrents all around. We never learned who brought you or why they chose that night."
"So someone did bring me," Aetos said slowly, his young mind processing this information. "I had a mother and father somewhere, but they left me here in a storm."
"We don't know why—"
"They didn't want me." The words came out flat, matter-of-fact, but Matthias saw the hurt bloom in those storm-grey eyes like ink spreading through water.
"Oh, Aetos, no." Matthias pulled the boy close, feeling the small body tense with pain. "Sometimes parents must make impossible choices. Perhaps they brought you here because they knew you'd be safe, loved, trained in your remarkable gifts. The storm that night—it protected you, delivered you specifically to us. That speaks of love, not abandonment."
But the seed of doubt had been planted in fertile soil. Over the following weeks, Aetos grew noticeably quieter, more observant of the world around him. He noticed how other children spoke casually of families, of homes beyond the temple walls, of mothers' lullabies and fathers' lessons. He saw the visiting merchants with their sons, teaching trades with patient hands. He watched Master Zephyrus with his visiting nephew, noting a resemblance in their features that he would never share with anyone.
The breaking point came during evening meditation. Aetos, supposedly practicing breathing exercises with the other young students, had let his consciousness wander the halls while his body sat in perfect stillness—a dangerous trick of spirit-walking he'd discovered by accident and kept secret. He drifted unseen past the masters' chamber, where urgent voices carried through the thick door.
"—can't hide his origins forever," Brother Kyrios was saying with characteristic sharpness. "The boy asks questions now. What do we tell him when he demands real answers?"
"The truth," Master Zephyrus replied calmly. "That we don't know. The storm brought him, and—"
"The storm." Kyrios's voice dripped with skepticism. "A convenient tale for a child. But someone birthed that boy, someone with power enough to keep him alive through that supernatural tempest. Someone who abandoned him here for reasons we can only guess."
"Abandoned is a harsh word—"
"What else would you call it? Leaving an infant in a storm that destroyed buildings? If not for divine intervention, the child would have died. His parents, whoever they were, cared more for their own concerns than his life."
"Enough," Zephyrus said sharply. "We cannot know their hearts or circumstances. Perhaps they had no choice. Perhaps—"
"Perhaps they were pneuma users who broke sacred laws. Perhaps the child was illegitimate, or cursed, or simply unwanted. We tell ourselves pretty stories, but the truth remains: someone threw that boy away like refuse, and we collected him like storm debris."
Aetos's consciousness snapped back to his body with such violent force that he gasped aloud, disrupting the entire meditation circle. Before anyone could stop him, he fled the hall, his bare feet slapping against cold stone.
Matthias found him hours later in his secret place—a small cave in the cliff face that only someone who could dance on air currents could reach. The boy was curled tight as a fist, face streaked with tears that had already dried in the constant mountain wind.
"Storm debris," Aetos whispered brokenly. "That's all I am. Something thrown away. Garbage the wind delivered."
"You heard Brother Kyrios." It wasn't a question. Matthias settled beside the boy, noting how the wind seemed agitated, swirling with Aetos's emotional pain. "You must understand, Kyrios speaks from fear, not wisdom. He fears what he doesn't understand, and you, my dear boy, are beyond his limited understanding."
"But he's right, isn't he? Someone didn't want me. Someone looked at their baby and decided to throw me away in a storm."
Matthias was quiet for a long moment, choosing his words with infinite care. "Perhaps. Or perhaps someone wanted you so desperately much that they gave you up to keep you safe. Perhaps you were so precious that letting you go was the greatest sacrifice they could make."
"You don't know. You're just guessing."
"No," Matthias admitted honestly. "I don't know. But I know this with absolute certainty—you are wanted now. You are loved now. You are chosen now, by all of us. We could have sent you away, but we fought to keep you. We could have raised you as a servant, but we made you family. Storm debris? No, Aetos. You're a gift the storm trusted us to treasure."
Aetos uncurled slightly, considering. "Brother Benedictus says I eat too much. He complains every day."
"Brother Benedictus would complain if the sun was too bright or the rain too wet. He still makes your favorite honey cakes every week without being asked."
"Master Zephyrus spends extra time teaching me when he could be resting."
"Because you're worth teaching. Because your potential amazes him."
"The eagles accepted me as one of their own."
"Because they recognise their own kind." Matthias smiled gently. "And if eagles know you belong in the sky, what does it matter where you began on earth?"
They sat in comfortable silence, watching stars emerge one by one in the darkening sky. Finally, Aetos spoke again, his voice carrying new determination. "I'm going to become the greatest pneuma warrior ever."
"Oh?"
"Yes. And when I'm famous and powerful, if my birth parents are alive somewhere, they'll hear about me. They'll know what they gave up. And I'll show them—" his voice caught painfully, "—I'll show them they were wrong. I was worth keeping. I was worth loving."
Matthias's heart broke a little. "And if they're not alive? If there's no one to show?"
Aetos considered this carefully. "Then I'll show everyone else. I'll prove that foundlings can be just as good—better—than anyone with a family name and ancestry. I'll make the temple so proud they kept me that they'll tell stories about their decision for generations."
"Oh, little eagle," Matthias said softly, blinking back his own tears, "we're already proud. So very proud."
But the damage was done, the innocence cracked. The carefree child who climbed without fear because he trusted the wind loved him had discovered his first real pain—the possibility that human love was conditional, that he could be discarded. From that night forward, Aetos threw himself into training with new, almost desperate intensity. Every technique mastered, every limit pushed, every achievement claimed was armour against the wounds of abandonment.
He still laughed with the other children, still played with his usual enthusiasm, still spoke to the wind as a trusted friend. But those who knew him best saw the change beneath the surface. The storm-child had learned that even eagles could fall if no one was waiting below to catch them.