The night settled over the orphanage, twin moons casting pale silver light across the quiet grounds. Orion sat near the pond, legs crossed, eyes fixed on the shimmering reflection. The day had been long—training, observation, the subtle sparks of his instincts—and yet sleep refused him.
He couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching. Not a person, not a student, but something distant, patient, and aware. His instincts prickled at the edges of his consciousness, the same sensation he had felt during his first backflashes.
The water rippled as a soft breeze passed, and for a fleeting moment, Orion saw movement—a shadow flickering across the surface, just beyond the reach of the moonlight. He froze.
"Who's there?" he whispered, his voice almost lost in the night air.
No answer came. Only the faint whisper of wind, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. Yet Orion felt it. Someone—or something—was observing him. And it wasn't ordinary.
His thoughts drifted back to the events of the day. Pebbles hovering, reflexive catches, instinctive movements. Nothing powerful… not yet. But enough to prove one undeniable truth: he was no ordinary coreless boy.
The memories surged again—Earth, the child, the meteor, the chaos of his previous life. They intertwined with his new instincts, creating a tapestry of motion, awareness, and potential.
"Why me?" he muttered, almost to himself. "Why was I reborn here? And… what is this power?"
The shadow on the pond's edge shifted again, a faint, almost ethereal glow tracing the figure's outline. For an instant, Orion caught a glimpse of a girl—long hair dark as the void, eyes reflecting the twin moons, and an aura of quiet, dangerous power.
Then she vanished.
Orion's chest tightened. She's real. And she knows something… about me. About the Eclipse.
He pressed his hand to the water, the reflection rippling across his face. His body ached—not from exertion, but from the weight of realization. He was more than weak. More than coreless. Somewhere inside, a dormant force waited, whispering promises of power, growth, and a destiny that stretched far beyond this orphanage, this planet, this galaxy.
Lyra's voice interrupted the stillness, soft and cautious from behind him. "Orion… you've been staring at the water for hours. Are you alright?"
Orion turned, a faint, determined smile on his lips. "I'm fine. I just… need to understand who I am. And what I'm capable of."
Lyra nodded, but her gaze lingered on the pond, sensing the faint traces of something she couldn't yet name.
The twin moons reflected across the water, their light bright and constant—a silent witness to the first steps of something extraordinary.
Orion clenched his fists, feeling the faint stir of instinctive power ripple through him once more. He was small, weak, and judged by everyone around him. But he would awaken.
He would grow.
And one day, Aurelia—and perhaps even the stars themselves—would know the name Kael Adren had taken in this new life: Orion.
The night stretched on, silent but full of unseen eyes and untold possibilities. Somewhere, beyond the twin moons, a presence lingered, watching, waiting, and calculating.