Chapter 3: A God's Clumsy Childhood
From the moment Fay could walk, the little house of the Lorians knew no peace.
At two years old, his small steps carried the weight of forgotten stars. When he stumbled, the floorboards shook. When he sneezed, windows rattled. And when he cried… lanterns flickered, doors creaked open, and once, the well outside burst with water as though the earth itself wept for him.
"Careful, Fay!" Maren called, rushing to snatch a jug before it toppled.
But it was too late. With a clumsy wave of his hand, the jug didn't just fall—it shattered into dust as though time itself had crumbled it. Fay blinked at the mess, crimson eyes wide, then began to laugh.
Elias groaned, running a hand down his face. "That's the third this week…"
Fay, though brilliant in mind, was trapped in the clumsiness of a child's body. His divine power leaked with every uncontrolled movement, turning accidents into disasters.
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At night, things were no easier.
It became a routine for Elias and Maren to wake to an empty bed, their son nowhere in sight.
"Fay? Fay!" Maren's voice quivered with panic as she searched the darkened home.
They often found him outside—barefoot in the yard, standing under the moonlight with his white hair glowing faintly. Sometimes stones floated around him like planets circling a sun. Other times, the grass itself bowed flat as though kneeling to him.
When they carried him back, Fay would simply murmur in his sleep, crimson eyes flickering half-open. "Moon… pretty…"
And though they scolded him, deep inside they feared what the villagers might say if they ever saw.
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The years passed swiftly. By age five, Fay's clumsiness had grown both more dangerous and more impressive. He tried to help with chores, but his "help" often left more destruction than good.
Once, when Elias asked him to split firewood, Fay clapped his hands—and the log turned to ash in an instant, scattering like snow on the wind. Another time, he attempted to pull water from the well, only to lift the entire wooden structure into the air before dropping it in shock.
"Fay!" Elias scolded, though his voice trembled between anger and awe. "You'll tear down the whole house next!"
"I-I didn't mean to!" Fay stammered, cheeks red. His tiny hands trembled as he tried to will the water bucket back into place. It did return… though upside down, spilling the contents all over his father's boots.
Maren only sighed, hugging her son close despite the chaos. "He's trying, Elias. He just… doesn't know his own strength."
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By the time Fay reached six years old, the villagers had taken notice. His white hair and crimson eyes already made him a curiosity, but now stories spread—about how tools sometimes vanished near him, or how the old scarecrow in the fields once burst into flames when Fay had a tantrum.
"He's not normal," they whispered at the market.
"Blessed by the heavens… or cursed by demons," another muttered.
Fay heard them sometimes, his small fists tightening. But instead of anger, he felt only determination. I chose this life. I will not let their fear decide it for me.
At seven years old, he had grown taller, his control improving slightly. The world still bent to him, but less chaotically. Now, when he lifted his hand, a pebble floated rather than a boulder. When he grew upset, sparks crackled in the air instead of storms raging outside.
Still, his parents kept him close. They knew the truth: even his smallest accident was a power far beyond mortals.
And Fay himself knew—though he stumbled and blundered his way through childhood, each clumsy step brought him closer to understanding how to walk the world as something more than a god.
End of Chapter 3