THE AETHERBORN

Thorne sat beside his father for what felt like hours. He wasn’t sure how long he had cried, but at some point, the tears had stopped, leaving only an emptiness in their wake. His face was wet, and he wiped at his cheeks with the back of his hand, but something sticky clung to his skin, refusing to go away.

He rubbed harder, his sleeve smearing the substance even further across his face.

“Go away,” he whispered brokenly, his voice barely more than a breath.

But it didn’t.

He blinked, his gaze drifting back to his father’s pale, still face. He didn’t dare look lower, he couldn't. There was so much blood. The floor was slick with it, the dark red liquid soaking into Thorne’s trousers, cold and sticky. I should leave, he told himself, but he couldn’t. His legs wouldn’t move. He couldn’t leave him.

I can’t leave him. Not yet.

The room seemed brighter now. Thorne turned toward the window and saw the faint light of dawn creeping over the mountains. The sky was painted in shades of orange and red, fading into the soft blue of early morning. For a moment, his eyes were drawn to the beauty of it, but then they fell on the streaks of blood smeared across the wall, and the horror of the night came rushing back.

First light. The men had said they would wait until first light. Then they’d leave. They’d taken Bea with them. I have to find her. The thought was a sudden rush of purpose, but it faltered almost as quickly as it came. What would I even do if I found her?

The knights were so strong. They were warriors, trained and armored, carrying swords with them—real swords. He was just a boy. And worst of all, they were looking for him.

He swallowed hard, his hands shaking. They were looking for me. This is all because of me.

His chest tightened, and the guilt crashed over him, suffocating. This all happened because I got angry with Spiro. So stupid. Stupid! Stupid! His fist struck his head again and again, the dull pain offering no relief from the crushing weight of guilt. The ache didn’t go away. It never would.

He had to leave. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, sharp and clear despite everything else blurring around him. “Follow the trail to Alvar. Run!”

With a final, trembling look at his father, Thorne forced himself to his feet. His knees buckled, his body swaying unsteadily, weakened from the night of fear and grief, and from the toll of using aether. The hollow feeling that had settled in his bones when he first tapped into the aether still lingered, less intense but persistent. He felt fragile, like he might shatter at any moment.

He turned toward the door but hesitated, his gaze lingering on his father’s body. I have to go. I have to run. But leaving felt wrong. It felt final.

With a deep breath, he forced his legs to move. His feet carried him through the house in a daze, his mind barely registering the destruction around him. When he stepped outside, the light of morning hit him like a slap. He blinked, his eyes stinging from the sudden brightness.

His mother’s garden—her pride, her life’s work—was destroyed. The once vibrant flowers and herbs were trampled, their colors lost beneath a layer of dirt and broken stems. He felt the grief rising again, threatening to drown him, but he bit down hard on his lip, tasting blood. No. Not now. Run.

His legs carried him, though his body screamed for rest. He moved through the familiar path to the outskirts of the forest, the one he had walked countless times with his father. His feet seemed to know where to go, even when his mind could barely focus.

Once he reached the edge of the trail, something inside him shifted. He felt his pulse quicken, and suddenly, he was running.

“Run! Run!” His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, urging him forward. His legs burned with the effort, but he pushed on, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The wind whipped through his hair, but it brought no comfort. There was no escaping the weight pressing down on his chest.

He ran until his lungs felt like they would burst, his legs heavy and leaden. His body screamed for rest, but he couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. Not yet.

Doubled over, he gasped for air, his vision swimming as he stumbled to a halt near a tree he recognized. The rocks. He and his father always stopped there during their runs, resting before continuing deeper into the woods. Just a little farther. His legs trembled, but he forced them to move. His vision blurred with exhaustion, he ignored the flashing words that appeared before his eyes.

After what felt like hours, he reached the familiar outcropping of rocks. He crawled into the small hole they had once found a beetle, hugging his knees tightly to his chest.

“Just for a moment,” he mumbled, his eyelids drooping heavily. Sleep claimed him before he could fight it.

*

When Thorne awoke, the world was brighter, and for a moment, he forgot everything. But the peace lasted only a heartbeat before the memories of the night came crashing down on him, smothering the fleeting sense of calm.

They’re gone. Mom. Dad. Bea.

He lay still, staring at the ceiling of the small hideout, unwilling to move. I should have stayed asleep. His stomach growled, a sharp reminder that time was passing, and he couldn’t stay hidden forever.

With a groan, he crawled out of the fort and blinked against the sunlight. The sun was high now, its light harsh and unforgiving. I must have slept for hours. He felt the hunger gnawing at him, but he pushed it aside. There was no time to eat. I have to get to Alvar.

His legs were stiff as he started running again, though it was more of a slow jog now. The weakness from the aether had faded, but the exhaustion from the previous night clung to him like a heavy weight. Every step felt like a struggle, but he kept moving, forcing his body to obey.

As he ran, the notifications that had been waiting for him finally broke through the fog in his mind. The words flashed before his eyes, clear and insistent.

Skill level up: Running!

You have reached level 2 in Running!

Thorne waved the notification away without a second thought, his focus entirely on the uneven ground ahead of him. Rocks and roots jutted from the earth, ready to trip him at any moment, but he kept running, driven by the urgency in his chest.

After nearly an hour, he stopped beside the tree with the hollow, the one he and his father always passed on their way through the forest. The owl that usually roosted inside was nowhere to be seen, and Thorne wasted no time climbing into the small, round opening.

He sat there for what felt like long minutes, waiting for his breath to steady and his stamina to return. His stomach growled fiercely, a constant reminder that he hadn’t eaten since... since before everything happened. The thought made his chest tighten, but he shoved it aside. I need to find food.

Thorne peeked out of the hollow, scanning the forest for any sign of danger. When he was sure nothing was stalking him—man or beast—he slipped out of the tree and into the open.

This time, he ran slower, more measured, his eyes scanning the underbrush for anything edible. He was lucky to spot some berries, the kind his father had always told him were safe to eat. He hesitated, his father’s voice echoing in his head, then plucked a few and ate them quickly. They weren’t enough to fill him, but at least they dulled the ache in his stomach.

He kept moving, aiming for the small creek he knew was nearby, when his ears picked up something that made his blood run cold.

Voices.

Thorne froze, his heart pounding in his ears. Without thinking, he darted into the nearest bush, crouching low as the faint sounds of conversation reached him through the trees.

“I’m telling you, he’s here somewhere! I found tracks!” one voice snapped, frustration clear in the tone.

Another voice, calmer but edged with weariness, answered. “Are you sure? We’ve been at this for hours.”

The first man growled. “I’m the scout. I know tracks when I see them. Besides, the commander ordered us not to return until we’ve found the boy.”

The second man sighed, sounding resigned. “Are you even sure the tracks are fresh? The kid couldn’t have come this far alone.”

Thorne’s heart raced as the realization hit him—they found his tracks. They were after him. The fear gripped him like a vise. I have to run.

His father had taught him about scouts, about how they could track almost anything, just like hunters. His mind raced, searching for a way out, and then a memory surfaced. Water. If you want to lose someone who’s tracking you, get to water. A river, a lake, anything.

The creek!

Without a second thought, Thorne bolted from the bush, sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him. His feet pounded against the earth, his heart thundering in his chest. He was so close—so close to the creek! If he could just make it there, maybe he could lose them.

He ran until the voices faded behind him, the rush of his pulse in his ears drowning out everything else. When he finally reached the creek, a sigh of relief escaped him. But he couldn’t stop. Not yet.

He glanced left, then right, uncertain which way to go. Just go. With a deep breath, he stepped into the creek, the cold water splashing around his legs. The rocks beneath the surface were slippery, and every step felt precarious. He nearly lost his balance more than once but managed to keep himself upright.

The voices of the men echoed faintly again, and panic clawed at him. Keep moving. Don’t fall. He forced himself to slow down, taking careful, deliberate steps. One wrong move and he could slip, break something, and then they’d catch him for sure.

For what felt like an hour, Thorne crept along the creek, his feet cold and numb from the water. The voices grew more distant, but they never disappeared entirely, like shadows haunting the edges of his awareness. He kept going, forcing himself deeper into the forest, away from the men hunting him.

As he went on, the forest around him began to change. The familiar greens and blues faded, replaced by strange hues of yellow, orange, and deep red. The plants looked alien—trees with twisting branches that curled unnaturally, and bushes with thick, snake-like stems that moved ever so slightly, as if reaching for him.

Thorne frowned, his stomach tightening. Where am I? Everything looked so different, so strange, but he couldn’t afford to leave the creek. It was his only protection.

The water soaked his trousers, creeping higher until it reached past his knees. His teeth chattered as he hugged himself, trying to stay warm despite the chill seeping into his bones.

He had no idea how long he had been walking, but eventually, the sky began to darken, and he realized night was falling. The voices had disappeared hours ago, and the forest was eerily quiet.

Shivering, he decided to step out of the creek. He didn’t recognize anything around him—not the trees, not the bushes, not even the weeds that grew along the water’s edge. The plants were thick and unnatural, their yellow stems curling like snakes, moving of their own accord. Thorne backed away from them, his heart racing.

His stomach growled again, but the strange forest offered no food. He had seen berries earlier, but they were unlike anything he’d encountered before—red, bulbous things hanging from long, willowy branches that brushed the ground. I can’t eat those. I don’t know what they are.

Feeling defeated, Thorne sat down beside the stream, hugging his knees to his chest. The creek was the only familiar thing left in this strange, unsettling forest. He leaned against the trunk of a nearby tree, its bark bright orange as if painted by someone’s hand. His mind drifted to thoughts of his family—his mother’s laughter, his father’s strong arms, Bea’s teasing smile. Where are they now? What’s happening to them?

Before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep again.

*

Thorne jolted awake, his heart pounding as he looked around in confusion. Did they find me?

His breath came in short gasps as his eyes darted through the darkened forest. But no, it wasn’t the men. He had fallen asleep again, and now the world had turned pitch black. The forest that had been unsettling by day was now terrifying by night.

Thorne’s senses strained, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to figure out why he had woken up so suddenly. The night was still, the air thick with tension. He heard no footsteps, no voices—nothing that could explain the creeping fear crawling up his spine.

A faint rustling sound to his left made him snap his head up sharply.

Two enormous, yellow eyes glowed in the darkness, staring back at him.

A chill ran down Thorne’s spine. His body froze, every hair on his neck standing on end. Danger. The low growl that followed was the only warning he had before a massive wolf lunged at him, teeth bared.

Thorne’s eyes widened in terror, his muscles locking for a split second. But instinct kicked in, and he rolled to the side just as the wolf’s jaws snapped shut, inches from where he’d been lying.

The beast landed heavily, its claws scraping against the ground as it spun to face him again, baring its fangs with a vicious snarl. A fetid smell hit Thorne’s nose, making him gag. The wolf’s growl deepened, its muscles coiling as it readied itself for another strike.

Thorne scrambled backward, his eyes darting around the dark forest, searching for something—anything—to defend himself. His heart raced, pounding so loudly in his ears that it drowned out the sounds of the forest. I need a weapon. If only I had my bow...

The wolf crouched lower, its eyes locked on Thorne, and he knew it was about to pounce again.

In his panic, he felt his control over the aether slip. Without meaning to, the tapestry of colorful motes bloomed into his vision, swirling and dancing before his eyes. For a moment, the world around him blurred, the wolf becoming nothing more than a shadow against the brilliant colors of the aether.

The aether... I can use it.

Desperation clawed at his mind as he tried to remember the sensation he had felt when he’d helped the small seedlings grow in his mother’s garden. Come on... But his thoughts betrayed him, drawing a frustrating blank.

The wolf leapt toward him, its jaws wide, saliva dripping from its maw.

Please, Thorne whispered, raising his hand instinctively toward the aether. Help me.

The motes surrounding him seemed to shiver in response, as if they had been waiting for his command. They twirled and danced, surging toward him in a rush of energy. He felt the connection snap into place, the aether bending to his will as the weeds around him began to move.

The wolf’s eyes widened in midair, sensing something was wrong. It twisted in the air, trying to adjust, but it was too late.

Thorne didn’t know how it happened, but the yellow weeds near his feet thickened and shot up like massive vines, wrapping around the wolf’s hind legs just before it landed. The creature let out a startled whine as it was yanked back with incredible force, its body jerking violently in midair.

Thorne stumbled to his feet, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. He watched as the wolf thrashed and snapped, biting into the vines that held it, trying desperately to free itself. He knew he had only moments before it would break free.

Do something.

Green motes flowed from his hand, infusing the nearby weeds. They responded instantly, growing larger, more robust, their tendrils reaching toward the wolf. Thorne felt the aether surging through him, pushing him to act. With a single thought, he commanded the weeds to wrap around the wolf’s neck.

The thick tendrils lashed out, curling around the wolf’s throat. The beast thrashed, clawing at the ground in a desperate attempt to break free, but the more it struggled, the tighter the vines squeezed.

The wolf’s eyes bulged, and it let out a gurgled whine as the vines constricted around its neck, cutting off its air. Its movements grew weaker, its struggles more frantic, until finally, with one last spasm, the wolf’s body went limp.

Thorne stood frozen, staring at the lifeless creature. The light faded from its eyes, its massive form collapsing onto the ground with a dull thud. He felt the connection to the aether snap, the power leaving him as quickly as it had come.

A wave of weakness hit him like a hammer, making his knees buckle. His vision swam, and he toppled over, collapsing beside the creek. His body felt like lead, too heavy to move, too exhausted to even think. He lay there, barely breathing, caught in a strange limbo between sleep and consciousness. His mind floated, disconnected from the world around him.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours. Time seemed to stretch and blur. It wasn’t until the distant howls of wolves pierced the night that Thorne’s senses began to stir again. His fingers twitched, and with great effort, he blinked his eyes open.

The howls grew louder, more urgent. They’re coming. Thorne’s heart raced as the reality of the situation hit him. He forced his body to move, his muscles protesting with every twitch. A whole pack. I can’t fight them.

He groaned, pushing himself to his feet, his legs shaking under his weight. Every part of him screamed to rest, but the howls drew closer, and fear drove him forward. His eyes flicked toward the creek, and with a resigned sigh, he stepped back into the cold water.

I have to go back. I have to get to Alvar.

The water splashed around his legs as he waded upstream, moving as quickly as he could manage. The cold soaked into his bones, but it helped clear the fog from his mind. He couldn’t afford to be slow. Not now.

The forest seemed to come alive with the wolves’ howls, each cry more frantic than the last. The trees and shadows carried their anger, and Thorne knew they were hunting him—seeking revenge for the fallen wolf. His heart raced faster with every step, his breath coming in short gasps as the cold water numbed his legs.

Keep moving. Don’t stop. He had to survive.

A new notification flashed before his eyes, forcing him to focus on the words despite the panic building inside him.

Congratulations! You have leveled up!

You have reached level 11!

Skill level up: Primal Aether Manipulation!

Your Primal Aether Manipulation has reached level 3!

Thorne wanted to feel a sense of pride at the notifications flashing in his vision, at the fact that he had survived the wolf. But the angry howls that echoed through the forest kept his heart in his throat. There was no time to celebrate. No time to rest. He kept running, following the creek as it wound its way through the darkened woods, the water splashing around his legs.

The night dragged on, endless and exhausting. His legs moved out of sheer desperation, his body threatening to give out at any moment. But finally, after what felt like an eternity, he saw it—the familiar trail to Alvar. Even in the pitch-black night, the road was like an old friend, its twists and turns etched into his memory from the countless trips he had taken with his parents.

For a brief moment, he wondered if they had known this day might come. Had they been preparing him all along?

But there wasn’t time to dwell on those thoughts. His mind was fraying, his body on the verge of collapse. He stumbled forward, his feet dragging across the dirt. The sky above him began to lighten, the stars fading one by one as dawn approached.

His eyes were glazed, barely registering the change in his surroundings as the dense forest slowly gave way to open fields.

“Just a little longer,” Thorne whispered to himself, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

As he shuffled forward, a strange smell reached his nose, something foreign and out of place in the wild. The scent snapped his mind back to the present, and he blinked, trying to focus. His heart skipped a beat when he saw what lay ahead.

A city.

Nestled between cliffs and stretching toward a grey-sanded beach, the city of Alvar loomed before him. It was enormous—dozens of times larger than his village—and its sheer size filled him with a mix of awe and relief. I made it. I’m almost there.

Tears welled in Thorne’s eyes, blurring his vision. He was so close. Food. Shelter. Safety. He was nearly there.

With the last remnants of his strength, he stumbled forward, the trail turning into a dirt road as he neared the outskirts of the city. His body felt stiff, almost like it wasn’t his own anymore. Every step was a battle against exhaustion, and his legs trembled with every movement.

“Just... a little... longer,” he murmured, barely able to keep his eyes open.

But his battered body had reached its limit. With one final step, his legs gave out, and Thorne crumbled to the ground, his face pressed against the cold dirt. His limbs were like dead weight, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t force them to move.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard voices—faint at first, but growing louder as they approached. His vision blurred, the world around him fading in and out as exhaustion took its toll.

A heavy hand settled on his shoulder, rolling him over. Thorne’s half-lidded eyes met the face of a large man, his features rough and weathered. A thick, bushy beard covered the lower half of his face, and a long, angry red scar cut across his eye, giving him a menacing look.

Fear shot through Thorne’s exhausted body. No! Not more danger! He wanted to scream, to push the man away, but his dry, cracked lips couldn’t form words. His throat felt like sandpaper, and all that escaped him was a hoarse gasp.

Instinctively, he raised his hand, barely able to summon the energy to command the aether. Small pebbles near his feet trembled, lifting off the ground and flying toward the man’s face in a weak, desperate attack.

The man grunted in surprise, raising his arm to shield himself. He frowned down at Thorne, clearly confused by the display of aether.

“Easy there, kid,” the man said, his voice gruff but not unkind. “I’ve got you now.”

Thorne’s vision swam, the edges of his consciousness blurring. He wanted to respond, to demand answers, but the use of aether had drained the last of his energy. The man’s face seemed to spin, his rough features fading into darkness.

Before Thorne could even process what was happening, the world went black, and he passed out.