Time blurred. Not the void's nothingness, but the soft rhythm of Elowen's lullabies, the scent of Cassian returning from the woods – pine, earth, sometimes iron. Milestones arrived, small victories in a war against infancy. At eight months, gravity finally yielded. My legs, trembling water, pushed me across the worn nursery rug. Elowen gasped, pure delight. Cassian roared laughter, sweeping me up for a dizzying toss that pulled surprised gurgles from my throat. True speech took longer. A year and a half before the clumsy vocal cords cooperated reliably. Yet Zion stayed silent, a ghost observer. Speaking felt thick, awkward; the unfamiliar language stumbled off my tongue, though understanding flowed like water.
Five cycles of wildflowers and hearth fires passed. Then, through patient, focused observation – the old soul in the young body – the shimmering energy *everywhere* revealed its name. Sunlight dappling leaves wasn't just light. The vibrant pulse in Elowen's garden wasn't just life. The warmth radiating from Cassian after a hunt wasn't just exertion. It was *Mana*. The fundamental essence. The raw potential woven into the world's fabric. This ambient mana wasn't power itself; it was the *key*. The catalyst. It unlocked the unique abilities slumbering within everyone here. Power bloomed *from* them, shaped *by* this external force. Cassian commanded flickering fire with a thought. Elowen coaxed vines to curl with a whisper. My own potential remained a tightly closed bud. What would bloom? Fire? Life? Something unknown? The question hummed beneath my skin.
This magic shaped life. Hunters like Cassian relied on it beyond the village palisades, a shield against the wild. Others, like Elowen selling blooms, wove it into the everyday. Adventurers, passing through, hunted monstrous threats or, in tales I devoured, forged bonds with wild beasts, taming them into partners.
Driven by understanding and Zion's ingrained need to dissect, I turned experimenter. Cassian, pragmatic, sometimes brought back flawed beast cores – too small, unstable, useless to artisans. My treasures. Small hands, guided by decades of scientific method, probed their secrets.
The breakthrough came through comparison. Beast essence, vital energy, solidified at death into these cores – dense, tangible reservoirs. Human energy felt different – fluid, internal, the current fueling our abilities. But the cores… their power remained, inert yet potent. Smiths channeled it, forging weapons pulsing with elemental fury or transferring its essence to empower existing arms.
That was my project. Hidden in my small room, afternoon sun painted golden stripes on the floor. My apparatus: two thick glass jars connected by salvaged braided copper wire. One jar held a simple kitchen knife, submerged in a viscous, faintly orange solution I'd brewed from harmless reagents – a conductive medium. The other jar held the same solution, and within it, pulsing deep viridian light, a palm-sized Wind Razor cat core – Cassian's discard.
Steadying breath. Connect the wires.
A low hum filled the quiet. Threads of emerald energy, like captive lightning, snaked from the core, flowing along copper, diffusing into the orange solution around the knife. Tiny bubbles fizzed at the blade. Minutes stretched. The core's glow dimmed steadily. The inert steel drank the wind-aspected energy. Finally, stillness. The core: dull, lifeless stone. The knife blade shimmered with blinding green radiance that slowly faded, leaving only the faintest emerald sheen along the edge, visible only at the right angle.
I lifted it. Familiar weight, yet… charged. A distinct thrum of contained power resonated up my arm, a vibration against my palm. A slumbering storm. Heart pounding – triumph warring with sudden caution – I aimed the blade at the bare wall opposite my bed. Experimental wrist flick.
*Shhhink!*
Not metal on air. The sharp parting of atmosphere. A razor-thin line of condensed, vibrant green mana hissed from the blade's edge. Crossed the room in an eyeblink.
*CRACK!*
Struck the wooden wall. A thin, smoking gouge marred the surface. Smell of ozone and splintered pine. Energy dissipated into fading green motes.
I froze. Stared. *Too loud. Too visible.* Success warred with sharp apprehension. *Elowen?* Carefully, deliberately, I placed the faintly humming knife high on a shelf, tucking it securely behind a stack of carved wooden blocks. A child's toy hiding a weapon. Ozone hung stubbornly in the air.
Downstairs. Normalcy. Elowen hummed, sweeping the hearthstone. Dust motes danced in afternoon sunbeams. Savory stew aroma drifted from the kitchen. I slid into my chair at the worn oak table, the room's warmth a balm. Just as the front door burst open.
Cassian filled the doorway, blocking fading daylight. Dust-streaked, tired, but grinning wide. In his large, calloused hands: a substantial wicker cage, covered with rough cloth. From within: a sharp, piercing *screee!* Vibrating with indignation and wildness.
"Adam! Look what decided I needed company on the ridge trail!" Cassian boomed, excitement warming his voice. He set the cage down with a soft thud.
Curiosity banished the wall-worry instantly. I scrambled down, ran to him, wrapping my arms briefly around his sturdy legs – pine needles, earth, *Cassian*. Then, drawn by the sound, turned to the cage. Cassian chuckled, warm and rumbling, and gently lifted the cloth.
Perched regally on a thick dowel inside: a bird. Plumage: sun-bright yellow edged with deep, iridescent sapphire blue along powerful wings and long tail feathers. But the head… fierce, intelligent eyes, molten amber, regarded me with unnerving intensity. Above a wickedly sharp, curved beak gleaming like pure, polished gold. No songbird. A falcon. Proud. Wild. Radiating contained, potent energy that prickled my senses even through the wicker. Alive beyond biology.
"Found his mother tangled in a poacher's net near Blackthorn Crag," Cassian explained softly, watching my rapt attention. "Got her free, but the commotion startled this little lordling right out of his nest. Too young yet to fly that distance back. Seemed… right." He ruffled my hair. "Consider him an early name-day gift. Just for you, son. No grand intentions. Just thought you'd like him."
My eyes locked with the falcon's unblinking amber gaze. The hidden knife, the gouged wall, the stew's scent – faded. Only the bird. The fierce intelligence. The thrum of untamed power. And Cassian's words, settling deep: *Just for you, son.*