The first light of dawn spilled over the land, painting the sky in hues of gold and amber as the sun's beams poured into the vast chambers of the Grand Library. The library was a sanctuary of ancient knowledge, its immense columns and rows upon rows of books stretching endlessly, as far as the eye could see. Regal covers and gilt edges shimmered in the soft light, their stories waiting to be told. The walls were etched with glowing runes, casting their faint bluish light across the marble floors, filling the space with an ethereal radiance that seemed almost alive.
Martha sat near one of the high balconies, her quill moving gently across the parchment in her journal. The silence of the library enveloped her, but it was a comfortable silence, the kind one finds only in places where history sleeps. Her thoughts were heavy, her heart full of a quiet concern she had not yet shared with anyone. She wrote carefully, her handwriting flowing with ease.
"To be honest," she wrote, her gaze flicking up toward the shelves of ancient tomes, "that child of mine is truly a handful. Every morning, without fail, he finds a way out of his crib. It's like he's drawn to this place...he comes into the library, always trying to reach for the books that are far too big for him. It's almost... cute, in a way. A bit troublesome, but cute."
Martha paused, her fingers resting lightly on the page. She had thought about Gabriel's strange behavior too many times over the past few months. His actions were more than playful mischief. There was something unsettling, something she couldn't quite place, that made her heart ache with an unspoken worry. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to clear her mind of the thoughts that cluttered it.
"Every time I look into your eyes, Gabriel," she murmured softly to herself, "I see loneliness. A kind of deep sadness... a regret, even, that doesn't belong in a child so small. You're not like other children...arent you?"
***
Her voice trailed off as she muttered the last part almost absentmindedly. The air around her felt thick, and the silence grew heavier, pressing against her thoughts. She sighed deeply, pushing the unease aside, before a small smile tugged at her lips. It was a fleeting thing, but it was enough to chase away the tension that had started to settle in her chest.
She dipped her quill again, writing slowly.
"I remember," she wrote, "when I first laid a small mana barrier to keep him from escaping, just so I could take a bath. It wasn't even five minutes before I felt the shift in mana...the moment I looked, he was already climbing out of the crib. Another time, when the maids were distracted for only a second, he was halfway across the doorway, crawling as if he had some urgent place to be."
A soft chuckle escaped her lips.
"And the bag incident," she continued in her journal. "The maiden had come to the library with a sealed satchel, claiming it was heavy and asked if I'd requested something. When I opened it, there he was. Curled inside like a kitten. He looked up at me and giggled. My heart skipped, and the poor maiden nearly fainted from panic."
Suddenly, the silence was broken by the unmistakable sound of cracking wood and the soft, infectious giggles of a child. Martha's gaze shifted toward the door, where Gabriel's laughter echoed down the hall. She shook her head and smiled, knowing exactly what had happened.
"Young Master Gabriel!" came a frustrated cry from one of the maidens. "Come back this instant!!"
Martha rose from her seat and made her way toward the sound of the commotion. At the entrance, she saw Gabriel, her little escape artist-being held by a flustered maiden with green moss-colored hair. Gabriel tugged at her locks and poked her cheeks, laughing with sheer delight.
Martha stepped forward, taking Gabriel gently into her arms. The moment he was with her, the mischief faded. He looked up at her with wide, innocent eyes, giggled softly, and curled his small hands into the folds of her robe.
"I wonder what goes through that little head of yours, my sweet boy," Martha whispered . The warmth of his body against hers eased the tightness in her chest. She stared into his eyes, those ever-knowing eyes that seemed to carry the weight of something... older.
The maidens exchanged baffled glances. None of them could understand how Gabriel kept escaping despite their constant measures to keep him at bay.
And yet, Gabriel always found a way. Martha sighed, the weight of it pressing deep. "What am I going to do with you..." she whispered. The silence that followed wasn't hollow, it echoed with doubt, fear, and a mother's quiet hope for a future she couldn't see.
***
Martha had tried everything...more seals, stronger wards, and even changing the layout of his nursery to confuse any patterns. She'd replaced his bedding with enchanted linens that would glow if he moved more than a finger. Still, the child slipped free. As if the very magic meant to contain him only made him more determined.
Her heart swelled with a mixture of affection and dread. There was something more to him...something that defied explanation. And in recent days, one name kept resurfacing in her mind.
"Gabriel," she murmured, brushing back a strand of his hair, "you know, you kinda...remind me of someone."
She carried Gabriel to the balcony once more and sat down, settling him in her arms. A maiden approached hesitantly with a stack of old books. Martha gave a silent nod, her gaze faraway.
With a sigh, she opened the first book. Gabriel relaxed, his tiny hands clinging to her robe.
"The Kingdom of Endalor, was discovered in the year 5657, long before the reign of dragons and the fall of the old kings" she began, her voice low and steady. "It was a land steeped in blood. Slaves were sold and tortured for the pleasure of nobles. The rivers ran red, in the blood of countless victims, until he came. Michael Vaelcrest, the one they called the Morning Star."
Gabriel's small hand reached out, brushing the page. Martha stilled.
"He's done this before," she whispered. "He always reacts to this name."
She continued reading, unable to ignore the chill running down her spine.
"He was but fifteen when he challenged the former Lords who once ruled the land. Fifteen, and already a terror to tyrants. He walked barefoot into the Court of Chains and returned with the heads of its masters."
Martha's voice wavered. Her gaze drifted down to Gabriel.
"Michael Vaelcrest," she said, barely above a whisper. "He could walk through walls. Escape any prison. Vanish into shadow and reappear at will. He left chaos in his wake... and laughter."
Gabriel's gaze was fixed on the book, unblinking. His fingers traced the words like he was remembering something. Martha's heart skipped.
She remembered another day...weeks ago now, when she'd held him in her lap and whispered, "Everything you need to know is in here," placing his hand upon the same book. He had been still then too, just like now.
Each day after, without fail, he would escape again and again. Always to return to this room, this book, this story. As if it called to something buried deep within him.
Her thoughts swirled, heavy and uncertain. What kind of future would Gabriel have? Would it be like Michael's, a path of glory and blood? Or something far darker?
Martha's hand drifted absently to her shoulder, the thoughtof it all made her heart ache. Her breath hitched slightly, as she mummered to herself while holding her son "I hope you will never awaken it, my child."
She looked down at Gabriel. He was still staring.
"Strange one, aren't you, Gabriel?" she whispered, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Just like him."
She let her fingers trail through his hair, eyes soft with wonder and worry. "I hope the gods have mercy on you, my son," she said through a shaky breath.
The runes on the walls shimmered with a new light, dim and haunting. It was almost as if the library itself had heard her.
Martha closed the book and held Gabriel close as he drifted into sleep. Whatever truths were hidden in his soul, the world would uncover them soon enough.
But for now, he was just her son.
And she would hold him while she still could.