Sub-Arc I-1: *The child who was never registered*
The forest was my first teacher.
Not because it taught me words, but because it never tried to name me. The trees did not ask who I was. The wind demanded no answers. The rivers did not wait for permission to flow around me. There, far from cities and temples, the world did not sustain itself through symbols or divine decrees, but through something far older.
Pure existence.
My mother brought me to the cabin at the edge of the clearing when I could barely walk. At first, she trembled every time she let go of my hand, as if she feared the forest might claim me. Then, little by little, she began to notice something that unsettled her even more.
Nothing claimed me.
Roots did not trip me. Thorns pulled back before cutting my skin. Insects crawled over me without biting. Not out of kindness. Not out of protective magic. Simply… because I did not fit into their normal rules of reaction.
—It's as if the world hesitates around you —she whispered once, unaware that I could hear her.
I was six years old when I realized something was wrong.
Not because anyone told me, but because I began to notice the difference between other children and myself. Occasionally, a traveler passed near the cabin. They brought children. We played, throwing stones or running through the trees.
They grew tired.
I didn't.
They got hurt.
I didn't.
And when one of them fell, the impact always seemed to be… delayed near me. As if gravity hesitated for a second before deciding whether to apply.
—What's your name? —a girl asked me once.
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
Not because I didn't want to answer.
Because there was nothing to answer with.
She frowned.
—You don't have a name?
I felt pressure behind my eyes.
The forest stirred slightly. Leaves rustled without wind. The girl stepped back without knowing why.
—You're weird —she said—. You give me chills.
She left soon after.
That night, my mother hugged me tightly.
—Not everyone will understand you —she whispered—. And that's okay. You don't need them to.
But I heard something else beneath her words.
Fear.
As the years passed, I began to learn on my own.
Not to read. Not to write.
To observe.
The world was full of invisible rules. Objects fell. Fire burned. Wounds bled. Everything followed clear patterns… except when it came to me.
When I focused, those rules became flexible.
They didn't disappear.
They hesitated.
Once, I stumbled near the edge of a ravine. I remember the exact moment my feet left the ground. The air did not receive me as it should have. There was no immediate fall.
Time stretched.
The sensation was strange, like standing between two decisions of the universe. I looked down. Then back. I thought, without words:
*Not yet.*
And the world accepted that idea.
I landed on my feet.
The ravine was still there. Gravity still worked. But it had waited.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Not from fear.
From understanding.
I wasn't breaking the rules.
The rules didn't know what to do with me.
In Heaven, unease grew.
The records showed increasingly frequent irregularities in the forest region. Not large enough to justify a full correction, but far too many to ignore. Aethrion watched the data with growing concern.
—Probabilities distort near him —he reported—. This is not chaos. It's structural hesitation.
—Then act —Vorth-Kael demanded—. Send an agent. Test his resistance.
—A direct intervention could provoke a reaction —Lysara replied—. We still don't know how far his anomaly extends.
From the shadows, Thael spoke softly.
—Or we could learn something… by letting him choose.
Aethrion closed the files.
—Prepare an Observer —he finally ordered—. No divine form. No name. Something… close.
The agent descended into the world weeks later.
My mother was the first to feel him.
—Don't go out today —she said tensely—. Something's wrong.
I had already noticed.
The air had weight. The forest—usually tolerant of me—was alert. Animals hid. Shadows aligned in ways that didn't match the sun.
He appeared at midday.
An ordinary man. Or so it seemed. Simple clothes. Attentive eyes. A smile too carefully measured.
—Good afternoon —he said—. I'm looking for shelter.
My mother hesitated.
—We don't usually receive visitors.
—I won't stay long —he assured—. I only need water.
I watched him.
Something about him was wrong.
Not his appearance, but his relationship with the surroundings. The world reacted to his presence with perfect precision. Too perfect. As if every particle knew exactly how to behave around him.
He had a name.
A strong one.
Anchored.
—You may come in —my mother finally said.
The man bowed slightly.
—Thank you… and you? —he asked, turning to me—. What's your name?
The pressure returned.
Stronger than ever.
The forest tensed. Branches creaked. The ground vibrated faintly beneath my feet.
The man tilted his head.
—Interesting…
My mother stepped forward.
—My son doesn't speak much.
—That doesn't matter —he replied—. I'm only here to observe.
That was enough.
For the first time, I felt rejection.
Not toward him.
Toward what he represented.
An attempt at definition.
Something stirred inside me—not like emotion, but like a natural response. Once again, the world paused to consider my preference.
And it chose.
The Observer tried to take a step.
His foot found no ground.
He didn't fall.
He simply… didn't advance.
The space in front of him refused to update.
—What…? —he murmured.
The symbols engraved within him—yes, I saw them—began to destabilize. His perfect structure confronted a variable it could not classify.
—Withdraw —he ordered, speaking to no one.
No response came.
The man slowly backed away, sweating.
—This… wasn't anticipated.
I took one step toward him.
The world held its breath.
—Don't come back —I said.
It was the first time I had spoken something like a command.
Not a sacred word.
Not a spell.
A bare intention.
The Observer vanished.
Not in light.
Not in shadow.
He simply stopped existing where rules could reach him.
My mother fell to her knees.
—What did you do…? —she whispered.
I looked at her, confused.
—I don't know.
In Heaven, chaos erupted.
—The agent was rejected! —Vorth-Kael roared—. Without combat! Without direct resistance!
Aethrion reviewed the conceptual recording of the event.
—He wasn't attacked —he said slowly—. The world chose to exclude him.
Thael smiled, satisfied.
—Now you understand —he said—. We are not creating a problem.
Lysara swallowed.
—We are witnessing the birth of something that does not need permission.
Below, in the forest, I understood nothing of gods or systems.
I only knew one thing with growing certainty:
The more they tried to touch me,
the less real their control became.
And for the first time…
the world was beginning to learn that with me.