The alley was silent after the attack.
The bullies had long since fled, leaving only their broken sticks and the echoes of their screams behind. The vines that had bound them slowly withered back into the cracks of the stone walls, crumbling into dust as though they had never existed.
And yet, the boy still stood frozen in place, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.
His small hands trembled. His bare feet were planted firmly against the cobblestones, yet he felt as though he might drift away at any moment, carried by the very wind that now swirled protectively around him.
What had he done? What was he?
For years he had endured humiliation, beatings, and rejection. For years he had known hunger as his closest companion, pain as his shadow. But never—not once—had he fought back. Until tonight.
The power had not come from his fists or his voice. It had not been something he had learned from others. It had come from the world itself—from the wind, the vines, the earth beneath his feet. As if the world had been waiting all along to answer him.
The boy pressed a hand to his chest, his glowing eyes dimming back to their usual dark brown. The fear that had once bound him was gone, replaced by something he did not yet understand. But deep down, a seed had been planted. A seed of possibility.
---
The following days blurred together, yet everything felt different.
When he reached for food in the markets, fruits sometimes fell from stalls without anyone noticing. When he hid from guards, the shadows seemed deeper, cloaking him until they passed. When he wept at night, the rain always came, masking his tears.
The other children avoided him now. Some whispered that he was cursed. Others said he was a demon. Wherever he went, their gazes followed him—half fearful, half hateful.
But if the people of Olindo abandoned him, the wild did not.
The boy began to wander beyond the streets, beyond the marble gates of the nobles, into the forgotten places where the city's glow faded into wilderness. It was there, in the depths of the forest, that he felt alive.
The trees whispered to him with voices no one else could hear, their leaves rustling in patterns that formed words in his mind. The rivers hummed lullabies, carrying secrets in their currents. Animals that fled from others came close to him, their eyes reflecting trust instead of fear.
One evening, as the sun bled gold across the horizon, he sat by an ancient oak, his thin frame curled against its roots. The bark was rough, yet warm beneath his touch.
You are ours, the tree seemed to whisper. You are not alone. He closed his eyes. For the first time in his life, he believed it.
---
Weeks became months.
The boy learned to listen.
He learned which plants could heal wounds, which roots carried water, which berries nourished. He learned to walk barefoot through the forest without snapping a twig, to read the stars when the moonlight guided his path.
He learned that when danger came, the earth itself would protect him. Wolves that prowled too close were driven back by sudden winds. Venomous snakes slithered away when the grass itself moved against them.
And he learned that within him lay a connection deeper than hunger, deeper than pain—something that pulsed in rhythm with the beating heart of nature.
Yet Olindo was never far away.
Every so often, he would return to the city's edge, driven by hunger or curiosity. He would watch the palace towers gleam in the distance, their golden domes piercing the clouds. He would watch nobles in silks pass by in carriages, their laughter carried on the wind.
He did not know who his parents were. He did not know why he had been abandoned. All he knew was that the city had no place for him.
Still, something tugged at him whenever he looked at those towers. A feeling he could not explain. A thread, faint yet unbreakable, pulling him toward the place that had rejected him.
---
It was on such a day, as he sat near the city gates, that fate shifted again. A group of soldiers marched past, their armor gleaming, banners fluttering in the breeze. Behind them rode a noblewoman in a gilded carriage, veiled in silks.
The boy's stomach twisted with hunger, and his gaze flicked to the basket of fruits carried by one of the servants.
Before he could move, the wind whispered. The servant stumbled. An apple rolled from the basket, tumbling across the dirt until it stopped at the boy's bare feet.
He hesitated. To take it would mean punishment if caught. But hunger gnawed at him, merciless.
As his hand reached down, the carriage curtains shifted.
For the briefest moment, he locked eyes with the veiled noblewoman within. Her face was pale, framed by golden hair, her eyes wide with shock—as if she had seen a ghost.
Princess Elenya.
Her heart clenched, though she did not know why. Something in the boy's gaze—those eyes, glowing faintly as the sunlight touched them—pierced her like a blade.
The carriage moved on.
The boy stood frozen, the apple in his hand, unaware that the woman he had just seen was his mother.
---
That night, as he slept beneath the stars, dreams came to him.
Dreams of a tower of marble, of golden crowns and jeweled thrones. Dreams of a woman weeping, her voice calling out though her face remained hidden in shadow.
When he awoke, the wind howled through the forest, bending the branches as though trying to speak.
The boy sat upright, his chest tight. He could not name it, but he felt it: a destiny reaching for him, like roots spreading through soil, unseen yet unstoppable.
---
But destiny is not gentle.
The following week, the boy wandered too close to the city once more. This time, guards noticed him. Their eyes narrowed at his ragged clothes, his strange gaze.
"You there! Street rat!" one barked. "What are you doing lurking here?"
He froze, clutching the half-eaten bread he had stolen.
"Look at those eyes," another muttered, drawing his sword. "That's no ordinary brat. I've heard whispers—strange things in the alleys. Could this be… him?"
The boy's heart pounded.
The guards advanced.
And the earth stirred.
The cobblestones beneath their boots cracked, vines slithering upward to ensnare their ankles. The wind roared, scattering their torches, plunging the street into chaos.
The boy did not wait. He fled into the night, the city's shouts chasing him like hounds.
But as he vanished into the forest once more, one thought echoed in his mind.
They feared him.
And for the first time, he wondered…
If they feared him, could they also one day bow to him?