It happened on a day that should have been ordinary.
A clear, soft afternoon in **Aelthrys**, sunlight glinting off silver towers and crystal bridges. Children laughed in courtyards. Courtiers walked with scrolls. Guards relaxed, believing the world's fear kept danger at bay.
Peace felt almost real.
Almost.
Thalorien had taken Liam for a walk through the palace's **Starlight Garden**, a place where ethereal trees grew leaves of shimmering pale blue, and tiny glowing insects drifted like floating lanterns.
Liam sat in a sling on his father's chest, tiny hands gripping the cloth, silver eyes wide.
He loved the garden.
The mana here was calm. Quiet. Balanced.
A perfect place to practice sensing the world's threads.
Thalorien lifted a glowing petal and held it in front of his son.
"Do you like it, Liam?" he asked softly.
Liam reached for the petal.
But his fingers didn't touch it.
The petal floated *toward him.*
Thalorien's breath caught.
"…"
He swallowed.
"Perhaps the wind," he muttered.
He didn't believe it.
Not really.
---
## **A SMALL ACCIDENT WITH LARGE CONSEQUENCES**
A group of young elf trainees were practicing mana-thread weaving near the garden's edge. They weren't close enough to disturb Liam—
Or so everyone thought.
One trainee—nervous, inexperienced—misaligned a mana thread.
A sharp crack split the air.
The woven spell ruptured.
The containment crystal holding the practice energy shattered. Mana exploded outward in a violent burst—shards spiraling like deadly silver knives.
"GET DOWN!" the instructor shouted.
Guards rushed forward.
Thalorien turned instantly, wings flaring, arms shifting to shield Liam—
But the mana blast was faster than any mortal body.
It was already mid-flight.
Dozens of razor shards, each capable of slicing bone, shot straight toward the emperor… and his child.
Thalorien roared, twisting his body to take the blow—
*The shards stopped.*
In midair.
Frozen.
Every single one.
Not slowed.
Not weakened.
Frozen as though time itself had inhaled and forgotten to exhale.
Silence fell.
Not just silence—
A soul-deep stillness.
The plants stopped swaying.
The glowing insects drifted motionless.
Even the air stilled like crystal.
Thalorien didn't dare move.
Slowly…
Very slowly…
He looked down at his son.
Liam's eyes were open wide—
not in fear,
but in concentration.
A faint silver ring glowed behind his pupils.
Just one pulse of his sealed core leaking through.
The shards hovered inches from their faces.
Liam lifted a hand.
His tiny finger curled inward—
just a small, simple gesture.
The shards obeyed.
They fell to the ground all at once with a soft metallic rain.
No one breathed.
Not the trainees.
Not the instructor.
Not the soldiers who rushed in at full speed and then froze mid-step.
An infant had stopped a lethal spell's explosion.
Without chanting.
Without moving.
Without effort.
---
## **THE PANIC OF WITNESSES**
A trainee whispered, voice trembling:
"Did… did the prince just control mana with a thought?"
Another fell to his knees.
"He… he froze time…"
"No," the instructor rasped. "He froze **reality**."
Soldiers stared at Liam with wide eyes, fear and awe mixing like water and oil.
One guard dropped his weapon.
Another made a silent prayer.
A third began crying.
"He's blessed," someone murmured.
"Blessed?" a different elf replied with trembling voice. "Or beyond blessing?"
A rumor was born that moment:
**The Prince Can Stop Death.**
It would spread across the empire like fire.
---
## **THE EMPEROR'S FEAR AND PRIDE COLLIDE**
Thalorien lifted Liam gently from the sling, holding him with both hands.
His voice was barely audible.
"You saved us."
Liam blinked.
He looked at the shards on the ground—
then at the frightened elves around him.
Too many saw.
Too many understood.
Thalorien breathed slowly, steadying himself.
"None of you," he said calmly, "will speak of this outside this garden."
His eyes sharpened.
"I am not asking."
The elves dropped to their knees.
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
But even kneeling, they trembled.
Because what they saw wasn't elvish magic.
It wasn't any magic.
It was a violation of natural law.
Something only the Protector or ancient star-spirits should have been able to do.
Yet a child with a soft face and tiny hands had done it—without understanding, without intention.
And if he could do that by accident…
What would happen when he did it on purpose?
---
## **THE QUEEN'S REACTION**
When they returned to the nursery, Seraphielle stood when she saw their faces.
"What happened?"
Thalorien didn't speak immediately.
He handed Liam to her gently, as though holding something fragile, priceless… and dangerous.
"He saved my life," he said finally.
Seraphielle blinked, confused.
"What do you—"
He stepped closer, voice low, strained.
"A spell ruptured. Shards flew toward us. Liam stopped them."
Seraphielle stared at him.
"Stopped… them…?"
"Midair," Thalorien whispered. "No chanting. No movement. Just… stopped."
Seraphielle slowly sat down, her eyes fixed on her child.
Liam reached for her hair, smiling softly.
Seraphielle's lips parted.
"You… saved your father…"
Tears welled in her eyes.
But they weren't purely joy.
They were terror too.
"Thalorien," she whispered, "if elves witnessed this—if anyone saw—"
"They did," he said.
Her breath hitched.
"But they will stay silent. I commanded it."
Seraphielle closed her eyes, holding Liam close.
"This is too soon," she whispered. "He's still a baby…"
Thalorien exhaled shakily.
"He is not a baby. Not anymore. Not truly."
---
## **THE PROTECTOR EXPLAINS THE IMPOSSIBLE**
Elyndor appeared without warning.
His presence dimmed the lanterns.
"You felt it, didn't you?" Thalorien asked.
"I felt the seal strain," Elyndor answered. "The child acted instinctively. A protective reflex. Remarkable."
Seraphielle swallowed.
"That… that power… what *is* it?"
Elyndor's eyes glimmered with something between awe and alarm.
"It is not an element. Nor a spell. Nor a divine blessing. It is not even a Tiered force."
He faced them.
"It is Origin."
Silence.
"Origin?" Thalorien repeated. "You mean—"
"Yes," Elyndor said. "The foundation of all energy. The first spark. The authority that precedes laws, precedes magic, precedes creation itself."
Seraphielle's hands tightened on Liam's blanket.
"You mean… he can rewrite reality?"
Elyndor didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
His silence was answer enough.
---
## **THE ELVES BEGIN TO WHISPER**
Despite Thalorien's orders, rumors seeped through the palace.
Servants whispered:
"The prince halted a spell storm."
"He stopped death itself."
"He commands laws yet unborn."
"He is heaven's heir."
Some knelt when he was carried through halls.
Others left offerings outside his nursery.
Others prayed silently as he passed.
The elves did not fear him.
They revered him.
And reverence was just another form of fear when too intense.
Thalorien and Seraphielle knew:
They could not hide Liam forever.
Not from the elves.
Not from the world.
Not even from himself.
---
## **THE BOY WHO FELT THREADS OF FATE**
That night, as Liam drifted to sleep, he felt something new.
A thread.
Thin.
Warm.
Constant.
It tied him to his father.
To his mother.
To the elves who worshipped him.
To the enemies who cursed his name.
To the Protector watching from the sky.
The world was becoming tethered to him.
Piece by piece.
Thread by thread.
Power by choice.
He didn't fully understand it yet—
but he would.
Soon.
Very soon.
His sealed core pulsed gently, like a sleeping star turning in its sleep.
The world outside trembled.
And Liam slept peacefully in his mother's arms—
too young to walk,
too small to speak fluently,
but already strong enough
to reshape destiny with a thought.
The prince who shouldn't exist
had taken his first step into the world's fate.
And the world would never recover.