Dawn and the Mist
Dawn spread a violet sheet over the canopy of Aetherion, as if the sky itself was painting its doubts before making a decision. Lioran's refuge still breathed the night; warm embers blackened the stones, a few fireflies danced behind resin windows, and voices awoke without haste. The elves of the hamlet, all of warm brown complexion, were learning to recognize Kaelios's pale and undecided silhouette, like one gets used to a new moon: curious, beneficial, but uncomfortable in its light.
Kaelios was not yet "fully" Kaelios. His form kept blurred edges—a cloak of nebulous mist that sometimes allowed a view into his starry interior. When he walked, one could hear a light gust of wind and a faint clicking of stars; when he spoke, his voice sounded like a stone rolling in the rain. He was neither fully spirit nor fully flesh. That was both his weakness and his mystery.
"Today, you take on your most important lesson," Lioran said, smiling and smoothing his cloak. "You learn to disappear without vanishing."
"Disappear without vanishing?" Kaelios repeated, trying to imprint a thought that was not just a sensation.
Lioran showed him patiently. "Foot-leaf, foot-root. Don't take the leaf as a foothold; take the root that supports it. When you place your foot, think of the place where the sap never freezes."
Kaelios brought his attention back to the ground, concentrating the Primordial Will into micro-currents. The glow escaping from him diminished; his contours became dense, like a drizzle that thickens into fabric. His silhouette wavered, then held. He took a step; no cracking sound. He smiled, choked and triumphant at the same time.
"Good. We'll try the branch jump tomorrow," Lioran said. "And don't put your foot down like you're planning to buy it."
* First Days – The Grammar of the Forest
They learned to distinguish dead wood from damp wood, to guess the direction of the sap beneath the bark. Lioran spoke of the invisible paths that sylphs follow; of stones that, piled three by three, indicate an ancient border.
"Elves don't have a kingdom," he said, "but the forest remembers for us."
In the evening, Lioran lit a tiny fire, hidden in a hollow in the earth; Kaelios, fascinated, watched the filaments of heat like one reads a celestial map.
"You're looking at it as if the fire owes you an explanation," Lioran teased.
"It's giving me one," Kaelios replied.
> Aeni: Activation: Divine Analysis – passive mode.
> Observation: controlled combustion; gases, pressures, micro-currents of air. Conversion into schematics.
>
Glyphs floated on the edge of his mind. Kaelios only had to will them for the flames to obey. He held back. Lioran said: learn first, then bend.
At night, Kaelios dreamed. Not of stars or gods: but of white stone walls, corridors where boots clacked, a gold crown placed on a purple cushion. Cries. A brother's gaze. A smile that was too calm. Then the cold.
"You always frown in your sleep," Lioran noted in the morning. "Bad dreams?"
"I don't know if they are dreams… or memories returning in fragments."
"Then we will let them come. When they want to."
* Universal Memory – Reading the Unknown
On the fifth day, they reached a forest hamlet: a few suspended platforms, connected by rope bridges. The inhabitants—elves with nutty brown complexions and lively eyes—looked at Kaelios with the caution reserved for unusual phenomena. Lioran reassured them:
"He's a friend. He's paying his share. And he only glows when he sneezes."
An old craftsman gave them wooden tablets covered in symbols. "Sap accounts," he explained. Lioran did not know how to read those numbers. Kaelios stopped and stared at the runes.
> Aeni: Corpus cross-referencing. Universal Memory: extraction of common mathematical structures.
> Result: hybrid quinary system. Conversion possible.
>
"You can read that?" Lioran asked, astonished.
"My mind… can."
"Keep that to yourself. The gods don't like things that understand too quickly."
They helped sort the accounts. In exchange, they were offered sap cakes and woven bark to camouflage Kaelios's glow. Lioran joked:
"There, you have a local fashion: autumn-foliage collection."
* First Danger – The Shadow Dogs
On the seventh evening, the forest changed its mood. The wind no longer passed through the branches; it clung to them.
"We are being followed," Lioran whispered. "Keep your lights cold."
Three shadow dogs emerged, with ink-black fur and frosty fangs. These were minor creatures sent by priests of the god Vael'Tor—Lioran recognized them by the ritual cuts carved into their flanks.
"They're not after you for your beauty," he said, drawing two short blades. "It looks like a god felt something unusual when you appeared."
Kaelios felt an internal surge, an ocean of will.
> Aeni: Usage authorization: Primordial Will – limited intensity (level 1). Effect: mental coercion, pressure of existence.
> — Authorized.
>
The clearing bent. The dogs slowed as if the air was turning to stone. Lioran leaped, precise, cutting tendons, avoiding the icy bite. Kaelios extended his hand:
> Divine Analysis – trajectory, speed, weakness of the shadow meshes.
>
He traced an arc of dark light in the air that cleanly severed the ritual chain linking the three beasts. They dissipated into cold ash.
"That was impressive," Lioran said, panting.
"It's like I knew where to strike."
"Keep that talent… and the modesty," he added with a wink.
They buried the broken collars under a stone. Lioran became serious:
"If a priest has marked us, the Inquisition will eventually come. The gods don't like anomalies. And you, my friend, are an anomaly with special effects."
* The Sanctuary of Clear Leaves
Two weeks passed. Lioran taught the silent codes—fingers, whistles, stones placed in a certain way. Kaelios assimilated everything with the ease of a river finding the sea.
"We're here," Lioran said one morning. "Clear Leaves. An ancient sanctuary, guarded by druids. They heal, they listen. They don't like the gods."
The druids let them enter after a brief rite. Around a pool, white trees wove their foliage. The air smelled of cold honey. Kaelios sat on the edge of the water.
> Aeni: Measurement of magical networks: conscious plant network, low hostility, high memory. Recommendation: gentle synchronization.
>
He placed his palm on the surface. Waves ran between the water and his starry palm. Images flowed—elves laughing, gathering, fleeing, hiding. Cries of grief as well.
"You see?" Lioran asked. "Here, the forest speaks."
"It shows me fear."
"Normal. The gods decided our gentleness was a mistake. So we whisper. We disappear. We learn to be reborn."
The sanctuary, in recognition, offered them a night of rest. That night, Kaelios dreamed more intensely: flags flapping, a people chanting his name, a future Burkina above the desert, bridges of light, silent trains. Then a dagger. His brother's face. Blood flowing like a cut river. He woke up with a start.
> Aeni: High anxiety. Would you like to log?
> — No. Not right now.
>
* A Light with a Name
Dawn cast a silvery veil over the sanctuary. It was then that she appeared—first a breath, then a presence. The leaves stopped moving as if to listen. A woman advanced between the trunks, barefoot, with a pale silhouette and hair caught in the light. Her eyes contained the morning.
Lioran froze.
"Aërya," he murmured, almost in prayer.
She did not yet look like an elf: her features had something angelic and animal, both human and something else—it was the mark of her downfall, of her interrupted destiny. Her light did not crush anything; it revealed.
"Strangers at rest," she said softly, "what do you seek in a place where wars are forgotten?"
"Discretion," Lioran replied. "And perhaps… an ear."
Aërya's gaze fell on Kaelios. She shivered, imperceptibly.
"You wear stars like others wear skin. Who fashioned you?"
"I don't know," Kaelios said bluntly. "I have only recently awakened. I am learning."
> Aeni: Alert: unknown light emission. Partial correspondences with entries "Grace" and "Harmony." Probability: non-hostile divine entity – Aërya.
>
Aërya knelt by the pool.
"The gods don't like what escapes their narratives. They will send shadows and questions after you. Here, we first heal the visible wounds. Then, the ones that have no skin."
She placed two fingers on Kaelios's forehead.
"Infinite Grace."
A gentle warmth flowed into him. The rough edges of his aura smoothed; his starry form gained coherence.
"You'll be better," she said. "But don't hide too much: some fires die when they are smothered."
Lioran, delighted, tried some humor:
"If you have a spell to teach me to cook without burning half the foresters, I'll take it."
"Sylphides Astraéa," Aërya replied, smiling.
Filaments of air danced above the hearth, guiding the flame that began to cook the dough like a caress. Lioran's eyes widened.
"I take back everything I said about cooking. Goddess, marry me."
"First we let it cook," she joked, "and we'll see about the weddings."
They shared the meal. Aërya spoke little: one could sense that she had chosen the world of the living over the high steps of the heavens. Kaelios said even less: he didn't know what to say about what he didn't understand. But between them, something stretched like a clear cord.
* The Priests Come – and the Forest Chooses
In the afternoon, the sanctuary trembled. Monks in dark leather, bone masks, the march of the Inquisitors.
"They can smell your trail," Lioran said, already armed.
"I can stop them from crossing the border," Aërya offered. "But they will return, in greater numbers."
Kaelios felt the pressure of a gaze above the clouds—a distant, irritated god. His instinct told him: don't provoke a war here.
"Lioran, we'll divert them. No massacre."
"I love it when you say 'no massacre.' It's always so reassuring," the elf replied, ironically.
> Aeni: *Tactical Plan:
>
* Divine Analysis – mapping of air flows and sounds.
* Echo of footsteps: simulate phantom movements to confuse the Inquisitors.
* Primordial Will – brief impulse, sufficient to break the cohesion of the masks (ritual objects).*
Kaelios concentrated. Sounds emerged in the distance: snapping branches, whispered voices, impossible trails. The Inquisitors scattered to pursue ghosts. Aërya blew an Echo of Yldera—the forest amplified the illusion, replaying old hunts to better lose them.
"We can't stay," Aërya said. "I can guide you to a safe clearing."
"We will come," Lioran said. "And thank you."
They left the sanctuary under a violet sky. The walk was silent. Aërya led the way; Lioran watched the shadows; Kaelios held the rear, his back to the horizon.
At the edge of the clearing, Aërya stopped.
"I must go back to protect Clear Leaves. But listen, Kaelios: I don't know what you are, only what you do. You protect. You learn. You refuse to bend. If one day you name what I am to my people, do it by first looking at what I choose to be."
"I promise."
She walked away, a light on legs. Lioran remained silent for a moment, then:
"She likes you."
"She likes the world."
"It's often related."
* Simple Promises
Night returned. Kaelios sat with his back against a trunk.
"Lioran?"
"Yes?"
"You told me a year would make me almost as good as you."
"I lied: it will take you two years if you keep asking questions of the sky instead of watching where you put your feet."
"Then we have time."
They laughed softly. Above them, the stars moved as if they were listening.
> Aeni: Journal:
> — Skills used: Divine Analysis (mapping, trajectories), Primordial Will (limited coercion), Universal Memory (deciphering), Aërya's assistance (Infinite Grace, Sylphides Astraéa, Echo of Yldera).
> — Risks: growing interest from Vael'Tor (Darkness).
> — Recommendation: mobility, learning, controlled concealment.
>
Kaelios closed his eyes. In the darkness, the vision of the crown returned. This time, it cracked—and through the crack passed a thread of light that resembled Aërya's smile.
"Tomorrow," Lioran said, rolling up in his cloak, "I'll teach you how to jump from one branch to another without tearing off half your… stars."
"It's a deal," Kaelios replied.
The breeze carried the smoke away. Somewhere, very far away, a god grumbled—and the world, for now, did not listen.
End of Chapter 3.