The garden was alive with the sounds of morning—chirping birds, rustling leaves, and the laughter of children playing near the fountain. Zephyr Ashborne stood apart, small hands tracing the faint currents of energy that no one else could sense.
"Why do you stand there all alone again, Zephyr?" asked one of the older children, a boy named Lior, who often tried to tease him.
Zephyr looked up, dark eyes bright. "I'm… observing. Watching how the wind moves. Seeing how leaves fall. It's… interesting."
"Interesting?" Lior scoffed. "You mean boring. Come play with us!"
Zephyr shook his head with a small smile. "I… can play later. Right now… I need to see."
Unseen by the other children, a small glow shimmered around his hands. He had been practicing quietly for weeks, mimicking movements of soldiers he watched from afar, experimenting with energy, and following the instincts that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him. A tiny leaf floated upward as he waved his hand subtly, then drifted down again, perfectly caught in a miniature current he had created himself.
"Wait… what?" Lior exclaimed, eyes wide. "Did you… make that leaf… fly?"
Zephyr tilted his head, pretending to be puzzled. "I… I think… yes… maybe. But only a little." He laughed softly, a sound like wind chimes.
Across the garden, Kael and Elara watched quietly from a balcony. Elara's eyes shone with curiosity and caution. "He is strong… far stronger than any child his age. But he is still only eight. I worry… will he understand his limits?"
Kael chuckled, arms crossed. "Limits? He is discovering his own path. That is all that matters now. The rest… will follow."
Zephyr crouched low, hands tracing intricate patterns on the soft earth. He whispered to himself, testing and retesting. "Flow… yes… spin… follow… hmm… not strong enough… need more." His voice was soft but confident, full of determination.
Nearby, soldiers practiced sword techniques, their movements precise, almost hypnotic. Zephyr watched, eyes narrowed, memorizing each stance, each flow of energy. Later, in secret, he tried to mimic their motions alone in the library. Blocks and leaves became his sparring tools; he imagined the currents swirling as they did around the soldiers' blades.
That night, dreams returned—clearer now, sharper than before. He saw himself as a boy on Earth, painting under sunlight, reading under a tree, feeling a strange ache in his chest, knowing things he could not explain. He woke with a gasp, small hands clutching the blanket.
"Dream… me… Earth… sun… paint…" he whispered. The memory was fleeting, but it left a strange warmth, a spark of instinct, urging him to try, to experiment, to understand the world in ways no ordinary child would.
By the next morning, Zephyr had arranged small objects in the garden—sticks, stones, and leaves—forming patterns he intended to test. He waved his hands, tracing invisible currents, murmuring softly: "Flow… spin… follow… yes… stronger… yes…" The air shimmered faintly, responding to him in subtle ripples, almost like a mirror of his intent.
The other children watched, awe and fear mixing in their eyes. "How… how can you do that?" one whispered.
Zephyr shrugged, grinning. "I… just try… see what happens. You… can try too, if you want."
Lior hesitated, then stepped forward. Zephyr let him try, guiding his movements gently. The boy's attempts were clumsy, the leaf barely twitched. Zephyr laughed, a soft, carefree sound, and shook his head. "Not… like this. Watch… slow… flow…"
Kael observed quietly. "He teaches, he experiments, he learns… all alone and with others. That is how a path begins. Not with strength, not with fame, but with curiosity and action."
Elara smiled, placing a hand on Kael's arm. "He is bold… stubborn… a child in mind, but already learning far beyond his years. I wonder… what dreams will come next?"
Zephyr, ignoring the adults, continued his experiments, hands swirling through the air, small orbs of energy forming and dissipating. Each night brought faint echoes of Earth—faces, sunlight, laughter, colors, and music—but none of it made sense. And yet, they drove him forward, urging him to explore, experiment, and grow.
In the garden, under the soft light of early morning, Zephyr Ashborne moved like a tiny storm—curious, playful, independent, and already far stronger than any other child around him. His path had begun, quiet but unstoppable, shaped by instinct, dreams, and the boldness of a child who refused to wait for the world to teach him everything.