Chapter 5: The Boy Who Can Do Anything (Age 12)
I'm Fay Lorian.
Twelve years old. A commoner. A troublemaker.
And, as I like to tell myself sometimes: the strongest clumsy disaster the world has ever seen.
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1. Growing Up Clumsy
When I was ten, I thought I had everything figured out. By then I could control my powers better, stop breaking things by accident, and avoid turning our house into rubble. Or so I thought.
Two years later, nothing has changed.
Take yesterday, for example. Father asked me to help chop firewood. A normal chore. Safe. Easy. I even promised I'd do it "carefully this time."
I set the log down. Lifted the axe. Swung gently.
The log didn't split—it exploded into a thousand splinters that rained down on the yard like sharp snowflakes. Our poor chicken ran squawking for its life, and Father just stood there, jaw hanging, his hat slowly sliding off his head.
"Careful, you said?" he muttered.
"Uh… progress?" I offered with a grin.
He buried his face in his hands. "Progress will kill us before winter does."
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Or how about the time Mother asked me to fetch water from the well? Simple enough. I tied the bucket to the rope, lowered it down, pulled it up. Easy.
But when I tugged too hard, the entire well lifted out of the ground with a horrible crunch, stone blocks dangling in the air as if caught by invisible strings. Villagers screamed, children cried, and I—panicking—dropped it.
The well landed with a thunderous crash, dirt flying everywhere, water splashing high enough to drench the roofs. Everyone stared at me, mud dripping from their hair and clothes.
"…Oops?" I said weakly.
Mother just sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fay. Someday we won't have a house, a well, or even ground to stand on."
I laughed nervously. "Don't worry. I'll just… rebuild it?"
Their silence told me everything.
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Even my friends weren't safe from my "talents."
We played tag once near the fields. When I tripped, the ground cracked in a neat little line that chased my friend like a snake, nearly making him faint. Another time, I tried to kick a ball—just a simple kick—and the ball flew so high it never came back. The others teased me for "sending it to the gods," but I kept quiet. If only they knew.
Still, despite all the disasters, I was happy. My parents loved me, the villagers tolerated me, and even though whispers followed me everywhere, I didn't mind. I'd chosen this life. And every broken wall, every shattered tool, every "oops" was proof I was living it.
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2. Midnight Escapes
Some habits never die.
Even now, at twelve, I still wander out of bed at night. My parents used to panic when I was younger, but now they've learned to expect it. "If Fay's missing," Father grumbles, "check the roof first."
And he's usually right.
I like sitting up there under the stars, my white hair glowing faintly in the moonlight, crimson eyes reflecting the sky. The world feels… smaller when you've once ruled eternity. But from the roof, from a boy's perspective, it feels infinite again.
Sometimes animals still gather near me—owls perching on the fence, foxes curling up in the grass, even fireflies hovering around like tiny guardians. It's peaceful.
But there's also… something else.
Lately, when I sit under the moon, I feel eyes on me. Not villagers, not animals, but something heavier. A gaze that comes from far, far above.
The heavens.
And when I look up, I swear I can almost hear voices carried on the wind.
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3. Whispers Among the Gods
Far above, in the divine realm, the gods argued.
"The presence grows stronger," murmured the Goddess of Light, her radiant eyes narrowing. "That resonance—could it truly be Nirvana?"
"Impossible," barked the God of War, his voice like clashing steel. "He abandoned the throne. He vanished. To return now, in a mortal body? Madness."
The God of Time frowned, silence weighing on his words. "And yet… who else could carry such weight? Even restrained, even hidden, the power leaks. It bends the threads of fate itself. No mortal could contain it."
Whispers rippled through the council. The Throne of Eternity still stood empty, unclaimed. Dozens had tried, yet none could withstand it. And now, rumors spread of a crimson-eyed boy in the mortal realm, a child who broke wells and cracked earth with careless stumbles.
The gods exchanged uneasy glances. Some felt fear. Others, hunger. If Nirvana had returned, it could mean war—or opportunity.
But none dared speak the truth aloud:
The God of Gods might walk the earth again.
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4. Fay at Twelve
Of course, I knew none of that.
For me, twelve meant chores, lessons from Father, and Mother's endless sighs as I "helped" around the house. It also meant villagers treating me strangely. Not cruelly, not kindly—just strange.
Children still played with me, but carefully, as though I might break if they touched me. Adults spoke to me politely, but their eyes slid away too quickly, like they were afraid of staring too long.
Once, an old man muttered as I passed: "That boy ain't human. Mark my words."
I laughed when I heard it. Not human? Heh. He's not wrong.
But I didn't mind. I'd rather they think me strange than worship me like before.
Still, sometimes I caught Father watching me with that look in his eyes—pride mixed with worry. Mother, too, often hugged me tighter than usual, as if she feared I'd vanish. They never said it, but I knew: they saw the cracks between who I was and who I pretended to be.
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5. The Accident at the Festival
Everything came to a head at the summer festival.
The village gathered in the square, lanterns hung high, food sizzling over fires. Children played, merchants shouted, and music filled the air. For once, everyone seemed happy.
I tried to join in. Really, I did. I helped carry barrels, lit lanterns, and even joined the other kids in a tug-of-war.
Big mistake.
I didn't mean to pull hard—I really didn't. But the moment I tugged the rope, the entire opposing team flew through the air, crashing into a food stall with a spectacular crash. Pies, apples, and meat skewers rained down on the crowd.
The square fell silent. Dozens of eyes turned to me.
"…Oops?" I said weakly, rope dangling in my hand.
Then chaos erupted.
Some villagers laughed, calling it a miracle of strength. Others muttered darkly, whispering curses. The children I'd flung scrambled to their feet, bruised but unharmed, glaring at me like I'd done it on purpose.
I wanted to sink into the ground.
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That night, as I sat on the roof again, I stared up at the stars. My crimson eyes glowed faintly, and my chest felt heavy.
I wanted to be normal. Just for one night. Why is that so hard?
The wind stirred, carrying a whisper. Not from the village, not from the forest, but from above.
"Fay…"
I froze, blood running cold.
It was faint, distant, but unmistakable. A voice. A divine voice. Calling my name.
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6. A Shadow in the Sky
Unseen by mortals, a shadow lingered at the edge of the heavens, watching. A lesser god, drawn by the resonance of Nirvana's power, stared down at the mortal boy with crimson eyes and white hair.
"So it's true," he whispered, trembling. "The Supreme One walks again… in human flesh."
Fear and hunger twisted his expression. If he could claim this child—if he could take his power—perhaps even the Throne of Eternity would bow to him.
But before he could descend, the shadow froze. Those crimson eyes below turned suddenly upward, locking onto him.
For a heartbeat, it was as if the boy saw him—truly saw him.
The god gasped, staggering back, his divine body quaking. "Impossible…! He noticed me?"
And then, with a faint smile, the boy looked away, as if bored.
The shadow fled.
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7. The Weight of Choice
I leaned back on the roof, stretching my arms. Yep. I definitely felt someone watching tonight.
It didn't scare me. Not yet. After all, I had chosen this life. I had chosen weakness, humanity, fragility. But if the gods wanted to come knocking, well… let them.
For now, I'm just Fay Lorian. Twelve years old. Commoner. Clumsy disaster.
But the day will come when the gods realize what I am.
And when that day comes… I'll decide if I'm still the god called Nirvana, or if I've truly become just Fay.
End of Chapter 5