The palace of **Aelthrys** had never felt so full yet so empty.
Courtiers moved with forced elegance.
Soldiers marched with quiet tension.
Priests lit silver lanterns at every corridor, whispering protective chants under their breath.
But the atmosphere was wrong.
Every elf felt it.
A tightening.
A pressure.
A shift in the air that made even experienced mages swallow nervously.
They didn't know the source.
But they *felt* it.
The prince was stirring.
The world was shifting.
And the heavens above were watching.
---
## **THE PRINCE WHO BENT REALITY WITHOUT TRYING**
Inside the nursery, Liam sat on a silken blanket surrounded by carved toys—stars, moons, tiny wooden animals. A normal infant might have knocked them over, chewed them, or tossed them randomly.
Liam sorted them.
By shape.
By density.
By center of gravity.
Not consciously.
Not scientifically.
Instinctively.
The toys floated a few centimeters off the floor, turning slowly like celestial bodies orbiting a hidden sun.
Seraphielle froze in the doorway.
"Liam…"
The toys dropped.
All at once.
He blinked innocently, tiny mouth parting with a soft "Mm?"
Seraphielle exhaled shakily.
Was it instinct?
A leak of power?
A subconscious reaction?
She didn't know.
She only knew one thing:
The sealed power inside her son was no longer sleeping.
It was *stretching.*
Preparing.
---
## **A GATHERING OF THE ELVISH HIGH COURT**
Later that morning, Thalorien summoned the High Council. Only the most trusted commanders, mages, and elders attended. Their faces showed fresh anxiety.
The emperor stood before them, hands clasped behind his back.
"Speak freely," he said. "The palace is locked against spies. No truth leaves this room."
An elder mage stepped forward, bowing respectfully.
"Your Majesty… the mana around the nursery tower is shifting again."
Thalorien's jaw tightened.
"How much?"
The mage swallowed.
"Enough that the ley-lines beneath the tower realigned themselves last night."
A ripple of shock spread across the council.
Ley-lines were ancient, sacred, immovable.
Except now—
they had moved.
For him.
"For a thousand years," one general whispered, "only grand rituals or calamity beasts have warped ley-lines…"
"And my son is neither," Thalorien said sharply.
The room fell silent.
Seraphielle spoke next, her voice a fragile thread of calm:
"He is growing."
The council exchanged worried looks.
Growing meant awakening.
Awakening meant danger.
Danger meant the world might not survive the wrong moment.
Thalorien raised a hand.
"No panic. No rumors. No prophecy chants. Liam will awaken when he is ready, and until then we guide him with love, discipline, and safety."
An elder bowed deeply.
"As you command."
But as they dispersed, every elf walked with a heavier step.
They understood.
The prince was approaching a threshold.
And thresholds could shatter worlds.
---
## **THE THREE RACES SEND APPEASEMENT MISSIONS**
Far beyond the elvish borders, the world continued trembling.
### **In Human Lands**
King Aldros gathered his ministers.
"We cannot afford hostility. Prepare a caravan—fine silks, enchanted crystals, medicinal tonics, war reparations. Everything."
"Everything?" a minister repeated.
Aldros glared.
"You want to live, don't you?"
No one argued.
---
### **In Dragon Clans**
Molthrax forced a decision.
"We will send tribute. Gold roots, flame pearls, dragonsteel."
A young dragon resisted.
"We bow to no one!"
Molthrax's voice cracked like thunder:
"You will bow to this child if necessary. The sky itself knelt!"
Silence.
---
### **In the Demon Abyss**
Old Night convened his council for the third time this week.
"We send our rarest offerings. Not weapons, not threats. We send what the elves value."
"And if they reject it?"
Old Night stared into the churning blackness.
"Then we die someday soon."
---
## **A GRAND EVENT IN AELTHRYS**
Weeks later, the emissaries from all three races arrived—each escorted with layers of elvish guards who were not protecting *the emissaries from danger*…
…but protecting Liam from *them*.
The palace prepared a formal reception hall.
Tall spires draped in celestial banners.
Glittering pools reflecting starlight.
Soul lanterns burning with soft magic.
It was a grand moment.
It should have been one of diplomacy and fragile peace.
Instead, it became something else.
Something terrifying.
---
## **THE INFANT IN THE HALL OF KINGS**
Liam was carried into the grand hall by Seraphielle, wrapped in white-blue silks.
The emissaries bowed.
Humans bent their knees.
Dragons lowered their wings.
Demons pressed their foreheads to the floor.
They weren't paying respect.
They were showing submission.
The Protector stood behind the elvish throne, form shimmering with cosmic energy. His expression was unreadable, but the hall's temperature dropped whenever someone stared too long.
Thalorien nodded at the emissaries.
"You are here to offer peace, not manipulate. Choose your words."
The human ambassador stepped forward first, holding a box of enchanted crystals.
"We offer unity—"
He froze.
Because Liam's eyes opened.
Silver.
Luminous.
Unblinking.
The toys he had left in the nursery were *not* here.
But the energy he held inside him was.
The crystals in the human's hands began vibrating.
Light spilled from the seams.
The ambassador panicked.
"S-Stop it—! It's unstable—!"
Seraphielle gasped and gripped Liam closer.
Thalorien reached for his blade.
Elyndor stepped forward—
but the explosion happened first.
---
## **THE SECOND INCIDENT OF POWER**
The box ruptured.
Crystals shattered midair, fragments sparkling like deadly stars.
The humans screamed.
The dragons stepped back.
The demons prepared to flee.
But Liam…
Liam simply raised a hand.
A tiny hand.
The fragments froze.
Every piece.
Every shard.
Every light particle.
An entire explosion stopped in midair.
Suspended.
Silent.
Obedient.
None of the emissaries dared breathe.
One dragon whispered:
"He… stopped destruction again."
A demon croaked:
"Not stopped. Owned."
Liam turned his small wrist.
The shards swirled together, forming a perfect sphere of light that pulsed softly as though awaiting instruction.
Then—
with a gesture of innocent curiosity—
he flattened the sphere into a soft glowing ribbon.
And let it drift gently to the ground like falling silk.
No destruction.
No sound.
No wasted energy.
Just control.
Pure, effortless control.
Seraphielle nearly fainted.
Thalorien's heart stopped.
Elyndor lowered his head in reverence.
The emissaries were beyond terror.
The human ambassador whispered:
"…he rewrites physical law…"
The dragon emissary knelt fully.
The demon emissary burst into cold sweat.
And Liam?
Liam simply giggled at the floating ribbon.
---
## **THE EFFECT ON THE ELVES**
The elves had always revered magic.
They understood mana better than any other race.
They had seen wonders across centuries.
But they had never seen this.
This wasn't magic.
This wasn't talent.
This wasn't divine blessing.
This was authority over reality.
A group of elvish priestesses began crying—
not from fear,
but from awe.
"Our prince…" one whispered, voice choked,
"…is touched by creation itself."
Another murmured:
"He is not a miracle. He *is* the miracle."
And the elves understood something awful:
They could not guide his destiny.
They could only pray he chose kindness.
---
## **THE SYSTEM BREAKS ANOTHER BARRIER**
That night, after the disastrous diplomatic event, Liam fell asleep in his cradle.
But his mind didn't rest.
The system stirred.
**[System Reboot — 12%]**
**[New Function: Surface-Level Analysis]**
Liam's vision blurred, then sharpened.
He saw the world differently.
Threads again, but clearer now:
* Emotional threads
* Fear threads
* Mana threads
* Destiny threads
They tangled, twisted, danced around people like faint lines of light or shadow.
The strongest threads were tied to:
His mother — bright silver
His father — deep gold
The elves — pale blue
Elyndor — cosmic white
His enemies — red, fraying, desperate
The Overseer in the sky — cold, metallic, watching
And beneath it all…
A thread he hadn't seen before.
A thread tied to **himself**
but extending upward into darkness.
**Unknown Origin Thread — Locked**
He shivered.
Even the system didn't know where that thread led.
---
## **ELYNDOR'S FINAL WARNING**
The Protector appeared beside the cradle.
Not with drama.
Not with celestial force.
Quietly.
Solemnly.
"Thalorien. Seraphielle. The seal weakens."
They stood immediately.
Their hearts pounded.
"How long?" Thalorien asked.
"A year. Perhaps two. At most three."
Seraphielle clutched her chest.
"When it breaks… what happens to him?"
Elyndor met her eyes.
"When it breaks, he stops being 'prince' and becomes what he truly is."
"And what is that?" Thalorien whispered.
Elyndor remained silent for a long moment.
Then he said the words no parent in the world could bear:
"A being the heavens will fear…
or follow."
Seraphielle collapsed to her knees.
Thalorien caught her, holding her trembling form close.
Elyndor bowed his head.
"The fate of this world does not rest on armies, empires, or gods…
It rests in the hands of a child."
His eyes shifted to Liam.
A child sleeping peacefully.
Clutching a star-shaped toy.
Completely unaware of the destiny suffocating the world.
"And when he awakens," Elyndor said softly,
"nothing will remain the same."
---
## **THE CHAPTER CLOSES ON A QUIET PROMISE**
That night, Liam stirred.
His sealed core pulsed.
Threads glowed faintly around him.
The unknown thread thrummed like a pulse of destiny.
He opened his eyes briefly—
silver rings glowing in the moonlight.
He felt the world fearing him.
He felt his parents loving him.
He felt enemies plotting in distant shadows.
And he made a quiet, impossible promise to himself:
*I will grow.
I will awaken.
I will choose my fate—
not theirs,
not the heavens',
not even the system's.*
His eyes closed again.
And the world slept nervously around the prince who shouldn't exist.