It had been eight years since the night Zelaive was born. Fleur was now twenty-five, and her son her only family—was turning eight.
On a quiet evening in the province of Mukali, in a small home surrounded by trees and flowers, the Henzu family celebrated.
Zelaive laughed with pure joy, his small face glowing in the candlelight as Fleur set the cake before him. He clapped his hands, eyes shining brighter than the candles themselves.
For a moment, Fleur forgot the burden of her past. She saw only her child's happiness, and it filled her heart with warmth. Raising him alone had not been easy, but in that instant, it was worth everything.
Yet as she turned from the table, arranging the food, her breath caught. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw silhouettes a familiar faces seated at the table beside Zelaive.
Her mother.
Her father.
Her grandmother Mitso.
They sat as if nothing had happened, smiling, eating, their presence as natural as the wind.
Fleur froze, her hands trembling. Her vision blurred with tears. She blinked—and the shadows were gone. Only Zelaive remained, happily munching at his cake, unaware of the ghosts that lingered in his mother's eyes.
But the sight tore open a wound Fleur had carried for eight long years.
In her heart, the past replayed with merciless clarity
Flashback — The Night of Birth
Eight years ago, Fleur had been nothing more than a frightened girl when her world was torn apart.
The pain came first—sharp, twisting, unbearable. Her body swelled unnaturally, as though months of pregnancy had erupted in moments. Then came the light—her stomach glowing faintly, lanterns flickering though no wind stirred. The air itself bent heavy, thick, and wrong.
Her mother's screams.
Her father's desperate cry.
And Mitso's voice, trembling but certain:
"She carries… but not as humans do."
The Nature of Zeal
Zeal.
The unseen force buried in all living things. Dormant in most, awakened in only a rare few—perhaps one in ten.
To wield zeal was to draw on life itself, to burn one's spirit into strength. Some called it a gift. Others, a curse. In the hands of the chosen, it could shield, heal, or destroy. But always, there was a price: the body weakened, the mind scarred, the soul marked.
The Morbs expelled it outward, shaping raw force.
The Closis manifested zeal into unique powers.
The Durdianeas bound their zeal to living companions.
Warriors, saints, monsters—zeal-bearers had been called all of these. For where zeal appeared, bloodshed often followed.
And that night, it came to the Henzu home.
The Confrontation
No sooner had Zelaive taken his first breath than the zeal-bearers arrived. One by one they filled the yard, their glow seeping through the cracks of the wooden house, drawn by the impossible surge that radiated from within.
Fleur clutched the newborn to her chest, heart hammering, while Marcella and Mando stood at the door, barring entry with nothing but trembling hands.
Mitso descended the stairs, her face pale yet resolute.
"You should not be here," she said, voice steady though her frail body shook.
The leader stepped forward, a tall Morb whose arms shimmered with crackling heat. His gaze was sharp, suspicious, hungry.
"We felt it," he said. "Power that should not exist. It came from this house. Show us the child."
"No," Marcella whispered, clutching the doorframe. "He's just a baby."
"Babies do not summon storms of zeal," the man snarled. His hand lifted, light building in his palm.
The air grew sharp, suffocating. Fleur's vision blurred. She heard her father shout, heard her mother's scream—but the blast came all the same.
The house shuddered. Splinters rained down. Marcella collapsed against the doorframe, blood streaking her side. Mando fell beside her, unmoving.
"Papa! Mama!" Fleur's cry tore from her throat, but she could not reach them—the zeal-bearers' glow pressed her back like an invisible hand.
Mitso staggered forward, placing herself between Fleur and the intruders. Her frail frame trembled, but her voice cut like a blade.
"You fools," she spat, fury burning in her eyes. "Do you even know what you are touching? That child is not zeal-born. He is beyond it. Beyond you."
The zeal-bearers faltered, exchanging uneasy glances. But the Morb raised his hand again, rage twisting his face.
"Then he is a danger to us all."
The blast struck Mitso full in the chest. For an instant, her body shone with defiance—then crumpled to the floor. Fleur screamed as her grandmother fell, lifeless, at her feet.
The Paradox Born
Zelaive stirred. His tiny eyes opened.
And the world broke.
A wave of light burst outward, silent and merciless. The zeal-bearers were hurled back as if struck by an unseen storm. Some collapsed to the ground, seizing as their zeal spasmed uncontrollably; others fled into the night, their bodies smoking as though scorched from within.
When the radiance faded, silence returned. The intruders were gone—scattered, broken, terrified.
But so too were Marcella. And Mando. And Mitso.
Fleur knelt among the wreckage, clutching her newborn son to her chest.Tears blurred her vision. Her family lay around her, broken and still. Only she and her son still breathed.
Zelaive's tiny hand curled against her skin, warm and steady. His eyes—too bright, too knowing—blinked up at her.
Fleur pressed her forehead to his. Her tears fell onto his cheek."You shouldn't exist," she whispered, choking on grief. "And yet… you are my son… my everything now."
Outside, the night was still. But in the distance, Fleur thought she heard it—low whispers carried on the wind, voices that did not belong to men. Watching. Waiting.
Back to the Present
"Make a wish, Zelaive," Fleur said softly.
The boy grinned and blew out the candles. For a heartbeat, the room was swallowed by darkness. But before Fleur could move, the flames rekindled themselves—one by one, the candles burned again, though no hand had touched them.
Zelaive gasped in delight. "Mama, look! I did it without even trying!"
Fleur's blood ran cold. She forced a smile for her son's sake, but inside her chest, fear clawed deep. That same impossible light… the same force that had taken everything from her… still lived within him, growing stronger by the year.
She reached across the table, holding his small hands tightly in hers. "Zelaive… promise me. Never show this to anyone. Do you understand? Not to friends. Not to strangers. To no one."
The boy tilted his head, confused by her trembling voice, but he nodded all the same.
Outside, the forest whispered with night sounds.
And it was there, far from the villages of men, that Fleur had chosen to remain. For she knew what would happen if the world learned of her son. Zeal-bearers would come again, drawn by his light. Governments, cults, hunters—they would all want to claim or destroy him.
That was why Fleur raised him in hiding, deep within the woods of Mukali. Away from curious eyes. Away from human greed.
Here, in the quiet solitude of the forest, Fleur prayed they would be safe.
But in her heart, she knew the whispers of eight years ago had never truly faded. They were only waiting.