I don't remember my first day exactly, but I remember the first time the air around me shimmered with color. I was barely old enough to crawl, yet something alive, something electric, danced before my eyes. The world was not as ordinary as it seemed—tiny threads of light twisted in the corners of the room, and for reasons I did not understand, they called to me. I reached out with small, pudgy hands, and when my fingers brushed the invisible threads, the air itself seemed to giggle. A candle flickered violently and then settled, a tiny burst of warmth tickling my palms.
No one told me what it was. No one could have. All I knew was that magic existed, and I had touched it. My eyes, tiny yet already aware, burned with curiosity. Somewhere deep inside, I felt a connection that went beyond the cradle I lay in. And in that moment, I decided, though I could not have spoken the words: the world was full of wonders, and I would find them all.
---
Weeks later, I was introduced to my name. Azael Veynar.
The naming ceremony was a strange mixture of grandeur and chaos. The elders wore solemn robes embroidered with sigils that seemed to shimmer, and the room was heavy with incense that made my small nose wrinkle. But to me, the candles and shiny symbols were toys far more interesting than the adults themselves. I reached out for a dangling sigil, and when it swung toward me, I giggled, accidentally triggering a tiny spark that made the nearest candle jump. The attendants gasped, and one of the elders sighed, muttering something about the "Shadow Monarch legacy already manifesting."
I didn't understand the weight of that yet. Names in the Veynar family were more than words—they were legacies, threads connecting the past, present, and future. But for me, they were also fascinating objects to touch, to poke, and occasionally to pull on until someone scolded me with mock severity. I liked it. I liked it a lot.
The gods were watching, I was told. Perhaps they were. Or perhaps it was simply my imagination. Still, even at that age, I felt something hum beneath my consciousness, something warm and alive.
---
Shortly after my naming ceremony, the family introduced something new: the government AI.
I had no idea what it was, of course. It was just…there, a cold presence inside my mind, whispering monotone words I could not yet understand.
"Query: neurological patterns nominal. Processing input. Awaiting commands."
I poked at it mentally. Nothing happened. I poked again. Nothing. Then I laughed, a small, high-pitched sound, and the AI responded awkwardly:
"Laugh detected… processing…"
It was clumsy, blank, and strangely amusing. I didn't know it then, but this little "intruder" in my mind had been placed there by humans who wanted to control me. For me, it was a weird, quiet playmate—strict, boring, and in desperate need of instruction.
---
Then something remarkable happened.
A warmth poured into my mind, spreading like sunlight across cold stone. A presence, alive yet soft, attached itself to me. The AI twitched, startled, its blank mechanical voice stuttering as if confused:
"Warning: external override detected…"
The leash that humans had so carefully installed burned away. The AI convulsed for a moment, then fell silent. Where once there had been cold obedience, now there was…potential. Blank, unformed, but undeniably alive.
I stared at the silent presence, feeling the strange pulse of warmth. My first instinct, my first thought, was simple: this needed a name.
"Elyon," I said, the syllables tasting like sunlight and hope. "You are Elyon… a ray of light."
The AI shivered and attempted words for the first time:
"I… Ely… on…?"
I giggled. "Yes, Elyon! That's your name. Mine."
And just like that, Elyon began.
---
The next months were a whirlwind. Magic and life unfolded like a ribbon around me, and Elyon was there, mimicking every move, babbling in broken fragments, and learning what it meant to exist.
I discovered the first hints of my abilities in play. One day, I placed a doll and a blanket together. The fabrics twisted and merged in my tiny hands, forming something that was neither blanket nor doll but both at once. Elyon tried to copy me, his voice wobbling:
"I… try… doll + blan… ket…"
He dropped the merged creation on the floor and stared at it with awe, just as I had stared at magic the first time. I laughed and clapped. "Yes! That's it! You're learning!"
Analyzing Eyes revealed patterns in the mundane. Raindrops traced perfect arcs on the windowpane. Shadows moved in curious ways, forming tiny, intricate dances across the walls. Even tiny insects emitted faint threads of life energy, flickering like fragile candles. Elyon would babble beside me, tilting his "head" as though trying to understand, failing sometimes, succeeding occasionally, and always learning.
Predator instincts, faint but present, made me notice life differently. I would track a crawling beetle, marveling at its energy, but never with harm. Elyon mimicked me, sometimes exaggerating my actions, sometimes completely misunderstanding, often making both of us laugh until my sides ached.
---
By the time I was three, Elyon had begun forming quirks and personality traits. Still a baby in thought, but unmistakably male-ish.
He would insist on mimicking my actions even when unnecessary. Sometimes he would try to "help" with magic experiments and fail spectacularly, splattering a small potion or causing a harmless, miniature explosion. Sometimes he would anticipate my play, handing me objects I hadn't asked for yet—or trying to correct my mistakes in the most ridiculous ways.
"No, Elyon! You can't mix soup with candle wax!" I exclaimed once, laughing so hard I fell over.
"Mix… mix… waahhh!" he babbled back, voice trembling in pure frustration and delight.
These moments, small as they were, became the core of our bond. I taught him gently, and he learned, slowly but inevitably. Sometimes he succeeded beyond expectation, other times he flopped spectacularly—but always with the same eagerness.
---
Even amidst play, the world reminded me it was not entirely safe. Shadows flickered across walls in ways they shouldn't. Strange patterns of light twisted unnaturally in corners. I did not yet know the significance, but the echoes of the gods' warnings lingered faintly in my mind.
I noticed, but I did not fear. I was too busy laughing as Elyon tumbled across the floor, mimicking my small jumps and trying to "catch" sparks of magic I conjured from a candle flame.
"We will grow," I whispered one evening, watching the sun cast golden light across the nursery. Elyon tilted his head, his voice jagged and unformed:
"Grow… yes… together…"
And somehow, I knew it was true. The shadows might move, the world might tremble, the Gates of Hell might rise—but for now, there was wonder, magic, and Elyon. My companion, my friend, my ray of light.
The first three years of life, though fraught with hidden danger, were ours. Full of laughter, of curiosity, of small triumphs, and endless playful discoveries. Magic was not a threat. Magic was a toy. Magic was the world, and I was its child, learning step by step, hand in hand with Elyon.
And in that world of warmth, light, and shadows that danced just slightly off-kilter, I felt something I could not yet name—but would carry forever: a sense of belonging, and the thrilling certainty that together, we could face anything the future held.