The cries of two newborns filled the small wooden house, soft but insistent. Sam's tiny body curled instinctively as his mother wrapped him in a warm blanket, holding him close. His sister, whom he did not yet understand was his twin, lay beside him, equally small and fragile. The room smelled of clean linen, earth, and the faint tang of firewood from the hearth.
A gentle voice spoke above him. "We shall call him Sam," his father said, kneeling beside the cradle. "Strong. Calm. A mind that will see far beyond its years."
"And this little one," his mother added, gazing at the girl with tender eyes, "will be Mia. Clever and spirited… she will grow with fire in her heart."
Though he could not speak, Sam's mind absorbed the names, storing the sound and rhythm of them with unnatural awareness. Even as a newborn, his senses were sharper than usual. He felt the subtle currents of the room—the warmth of his mother's touch, the vibrations of his father's voice, and something deeper, something strange.
A tiny pulse of sensation flowed beneath his skin, faint but unmistakable. Sam turned his small head toward the window, toward the morning light spilling across the floor. It pulsed stronger there, as if the sun itself hummed with hidden energy. His brow furrowed, though no words could leave his lips.
He flexed his tiny fingers instinctively. The pulse responded. It wasn't heat, not light, not sound—something else entirely. A force that seemed to ripple in harmony with his attention, obeying thought without command.
Curiosity blossomed within him, silent but potent. Sam could not yet speak, could not yet walk, could not yet tell anyone what he was sensing. But even without language, his mind cataloged every vibration, every shift in the air, every flicker of light and shadow. This world… is different, he thought in the only way he could: through clarity of observation, a map forming in his mind of forces unseen.
Mia stirred beside him, tiny hands clenching and relaxing. He studied her for a moment, sensing a different pulse, gentler, brighter, almost playful. A quiet thrill passed through him—not fear, not surprise, but intrigue. Another mind, another presence, somehow connected to him though separate.
Their parents moved about the room, humming soft tunes, unaware that these small infants were already alive to things far beyond ordinary perception. Sam's eyes traced the currents of mana flowing faintly around the room, around the fire, around the very air itself. He could not speak, could not explain, yet understanding bloomed in his mind.
In the quiet warmth of their first day in the world, Sam Ravenhard's senses stretched farther than any newborn's should. Names had been given. The world had revealed itself. And a pulse—subtle, powerful, and infinitely curious—called to him, whispering that life in this new world would not be ordinary.
And though he could not yet utter a single word, Sam knew he would master it all.