The morning light spilled into the room through a narrow skylight, cutting a soft line across the floor. Aelius lay still in his crib, swaddled in deep blue cloth trimmed with runes. At a glance, he looked like any other noble-born infant: small, quiet, curious.
But he was already counting.
The number of footsteps in the hallway. The frequency of the scrying pulses in the warded corners. The flicker in the far-left crystal that meant it needed recalibration.
Three days old, and already, the routine was clear.
The first person to arrive that morning was the nurse, not Lira this time, but a younger woman with tired eyes and gentle hands. She didn't speak much. Just checked his pulse, measured his mana field with a small floating crystal, and scribbled on a parchment pad.
She hummed while she worked. Off-key, but soft.
Aelius didn't mind her.
She wasn't afraid of him.
Later, someone new came in — and this one stayed.
A man in his thirties, short brown hair, long coat with the silver insignia of a junior Arcanum scholar. He carried no staff, no guards. Just a satchel full of books, some kind of polished reader crystal, and an open expression.
He pulled up a chair next to Aelius's crib, sat down, and let out a slow sigh.
"Name's Orren," he said, glancing at the baby. "Not that you'll remember that. Or maybe you will. Who knows with you."
He flipped open a notebook.
"Third-day testing. Assigned to observe. No spells, no casting. Just behavior."
Aelius blinked at him once.
Orren gave a small smile.
"You're quiet. Everyone keeps saying that like it's a bad thing."
"I think it means you're thinking."
Aelius liked him immediately.
Not because Orren believed in him. But because he didn't want to dissect him.
Orren didn't prod or chant or analyze out loud. He just sat nearby, working through pages of notes, occasionally glancing over, as if waiting for Aelius to do something remarkable — but not demanding it.
"They think you're dangerous," Orren said once, almost to himself. "The resonance logs are weird. They say you looped a signal into the crystal."
He looked over again, this time with more curiosity than concern.
"I don't think that's dangerous. I think it's… new."
That word sat with Aelius. New.
Not broken. Not a threat.
Just new.
Later in the day, others came in and out.
A mage with high cheekbones and a stiff coat cast a silence field over the crib and muttered something about "containment drift." A different scholar placed a rune-etched toy on the floor — a cube meant to respond to infant mana flares. It didn't move.
They made notes and left, frustrated.
Aelius ignored the toy.
Too obvious.
By early evening, Orren returned, carrying a small crystal globe in one hand. It glowed faintly, like a contained cloud. He sat down again beside Aelius, this time resting the orb on the edge of the crib.
"This is for me, not you," he said. "It's an emotional field reader. Records stress, excitement, fear — things like that."
He smiled gently.
"They expect you to spike the readings. Cry. Panic. Something."
He tilted his head.
"But I don't think you will."
The globe stayed dim.
"See?" Orren chuckled. "Calm as ever. I'd say you were bored, but somehow I don't think babies get bored."
Aelius didn't react. But inside, he was memorizing every word Orren spoke. The man had no armor. No hidden commands. Just honest interest. He was watching, not hunting.
Orren rose after a while, giving a final glance at the crib.
"They're bringing someone important tonight," he said quietly. "I overheard it. Someone high up."
A pause.
"I hope they don't mess this up."
---
The sun dipped low.
The wardlights brightened.
And then she came.
Lady Caelia Virelith, Matron of House Virelith, entered the chamber with no escort, no greeting. Her presence filled the space like smoke — cold, slow, impossible to ignore.
She stopped at the foot of the crib and stared down at him.
Her eyes were like cut glass. Her voice colder still.
"So this is the miracle child."
She didn't kneel. Didn't touch him. She folded her hands behind her back and studied him like a living puzzle.
"Three days old, and already the Arcanum is whispering. Recursive mana behavior. Patterned output. Linear silence."
She leaned slightly closer, her expression unreadable.
"You're not just an heir. You're a weapon. A cipher. A possible breakthrough."
"Or a disaster."
Aelius stared back.
He didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
That seemed to amuse her.
"They say you don't cry. Good. Children who cry are ruled by impulse. You? I think you'll be ruled by function."
She turned to leave — but stopped at the door.
"They're bringing in a Tier-Four mainline crystal tomorrow. Independent alignment. Not of our house."
"They want to see what happens when a real structure meets… whatever you are."
Then she was gone.
Orren came back after she left.
He didn't speak right away. Just stood at the door, frowning toward the empty hallway.
Then he looked at Aelius and said softly:
"Don't let them turn you into something you're not."
He walked out before anyone could hear him say it.
The room was quiet again.
But Aelius wasn't still.
Inside his mind, he began laying out the next test. No spells. No wild magic. Just a question.
What will the crystal show them?
And what will I see… that they can't?