The sun hung low over the eastern mountains, casting long shadows across the Ashborne estate. Zephyr Ashborne crouched by the fountain, hands tracing the faint currents of energy that only he could sense. Today, curiosity had taken him beyond the garden. He had ventured to the edge of the estate, where soldiers practiced under the careful eye of instructors.
"Flow… like wind… yes… spin…" he whispered softly, mirroring the movements of the soldiers. The soldiers' energy was sharp and disciplined, a clear reflection of their Spirit Realm training. Zephyr's small hands wove patterns, subtly shaping the currents around him. Though he could not fully match them, the air responded faintly, tremors of energy teasing at his fingertips.
From across the training yard, Lior and other children watched him again, curiosity mixing with envy.
"How does he do it?" Lior whispered. "He's just a kid… he shouldn't even know how to move energy like that!"
Zephyr didn't respond. He was too absorbed in observing the soldiers—their footwork, the flow of their energy, the subtle shifts in their aura as they moved in perfect synchronization. He memorized every motion, not as a mimic, but as a child intuitively experimenting with a puzzle he did not yet fully understand.
Later, when no one was watching, Zephyr slipped behind a line of trees, small notebook in hand. He scribbled observations:
"Energy… flow… strong… weak… hmm…"
"Soldiers… patterns… like wind… leaf…"
"Try… spin… lift… yes?"
Then he tested the ideas in secret, arranging sticks, stones, and leaves into small formations. His fingers danced through the air, tracing circuits of energy he had only felt but never seen. Small leaves lifted, swirling, forming tiny orbs that hovered obediently. His heart raced with excitement.
"Up… yes… follow… yes…" he muttered. Even the faintest wind seemed to twist and play along, as if acknowledging the tiny stirrings of power in this child's hands.
Across the continent, families and sects watched with interest and caution. The Ashbornes were respected, their estate a hub of observation for wandering cultivators. Some came to challenge, some to learn, but all noted the small boy who moved with instincts and precision beyond his years.
That night, Zephyr lay awake, dreams fluttering across his mind. Flashes of Earth returned—painted skies, soft music, the feel of books in sunlight. The images blended with currents of energy he had felt in the garden. The dreams left a tingling warmth in his chest, urging him to push further.
The next morning, Zephyr returned to the training ground. He watched the soldiers more closely, noticing small details: how they shifted weight, how their palms guided energy, how they breathed in rhythm with the currents around them. Then he tried something new—combining his instinctive movements with the soldiers' techniques.
The results were subtle but undeniable. A pebble hovered midair longer than before, a small leaf twisted in spirals as if alive, and Zephyr felt the first true pulse of the Spirit Realm responding to his touch.
"Flow… follow… yes… stronger…" he whispered, spinning. For a brief moment, a glimmer of light flickered above his hands—a tiny echo of the Void Realm, chaotic yet beautiful. Zephyr laughed softly, unaware of the danger it hinted at.
Elara and Kael observed from the balcony, arms crossed, smiles hiding their concern.
"He is learning… faster than any child should," Elara murmured. "And yet… he remains playful, curious. That is the only thing keeping him safe—for now."
Kael's eyes glimmered. "Yes… the currents of the continent are vast. Factions, families, soldiers, sects… all are threads in a grand tapestry. And yet, he senses patterns that no one else sees. That is instinct… genius… and perhaps something else, something buried in the depths of his past life."
Zephyr spun again, tiny orbs of energy circling him like fireflies. The other children tried to imitate him but faltered, their attempts crude and clumsy. Zephyr only laughed softly, a sound of wind and sunlight, and shook his head.
"I… just try… see… feel… you… try too," he said, small arms waving gently to guide them.
By midday, wandering cultivators and minor nobles had begun to notice. Whispers spread: The Ashborne child… he experiments alone… but even in play, he surpasses children his age… and perhaps more.
The continent itself seemed to respond. Winds carried faint murmurs of distant rivers, mountains whispered along the ridges, and energy flows twisted subtly in hidden currents. To most, it was imperceptible. To Zephyr, it was a playground—a living, breathing map of forces to explore and understand.
And so, the child continued, spinning, observing, experimenting. The Ashborne estate, the soldiers, the children, the continent itself—all became pieces of a puzzle only he could see. Yet even as he laughed and played, the whispers of higher realms and distant chaos stirred in the edges of his awareness, promising a future far beyond what the eyes of the continent could imagine.