Rebirth - Part 7
Eryon caused a magical explosion that shook the village.
That morning, Eldenbrook was enveloped in a thin, soft mist, as if the world was whispering that something was about to change. The birds had not yet chirped, the trees seemed to hold their breath, and the air felt heavier than usual, as if preparing to witness something that should not happen.
In the backyard of Aeran and Mireille's small house, Eryon sat on the ground, playing with fragments of light that appeared without his conscious effort. It wasn't a strong light—just gentle sparks, like stardust falling onto his palms.
The sparks pulsed.
Following the rhythm of his breathing.
Following his heartbeat.
Following his lack of understanding.
It had been some time now, since the "first light" incident, that Eryon felt something moving inside him. Not just magic, but more like a presence. As if there were two pulses in his chest: his own… and something much older, wider, quieter, yet immensely powerful.
Sometimes he felt like he was hearing the echo of footsteps from another world.
That day, when he tried to imitate the small game he usually played—forming a small circle of light above his palm—something different happened.
The light was no longer gentle.
It no longer followed his will.
It grew.
Stretched.
Swelled.
"Don't… too big," Eryon whispered to himself, his eyes widening in panic. He covered his hands, hoping to suppress it. "Stop… please, stop…"
But the magic did not stop.
Instead, it resonated.
Not with his body.
Not with his frightened little mind.
But with his soul—something far deeper and far vaster than anything the magical world knew.
Inside the room, Mireille was folding clothes when she felt a subtle tremor in the air. She turned to the window, her brow furrowed.
"Aeran… do you feel it?" her voice trembled.
Aeran, who was fixing a simple wooden tool, straightened up. "It's… Eryon."
They ran outside.
Too late.
In a split second, a pure white light—not soft blue or natural green like ordinary magic, but a pure white that was almost blinding—swelled from the spot where Eryon was sitting.
And—
BOOOOOM—!!
A soundless explosion, yet it shook the air, the ground, and the chests of all who felt it. The light swept across the yard, knocking down flowerpots, shaking the house's roof, sending birds flying in terror.
Eryon himself was thrown backward, his small body landing on the ground, trapped in a vortex of energy that he himself didn't understand.
Aeran lunged toward him, shielding the small body with his own.
Mireille ran, screaming his name. "Eryon!"
When the light finally subsided, all that remained was a perfectly circular patch of scorched earth, as if, for a moment, the world had been touched by something not of this world.
Eryon lay in the middle of it, his small body trembling but unharmed.
But his eyes, his gray eyes, sparkled—much stronger than before, like two shimmering stellar vortices that had just awakened.
Aeran knelt, hugging him tightly. "It's okay… it's okay… Dad's here. You're safe."
But even in that warm embrace, Eryon felt something.
A whisper.
Soft.
Cold.
Near.
— you opened the door…
His small body shivered. He sobbed, not understanding what had happened.
Behind it all, Eldenbrook had started moving. Neighbors came out of their houses, anxious faces staring toward Aeran and Mireille's home. Children hid behind their parents' legs. Adults exchanged frightened glances.
Someone whispered, loud enough to be heard:
"That wasn't ordinary magic…"
Another chimed in, their voice shaky, "That was… like ancient magic. Or something worse…"
Aeran knew.
Mireille knew.
And on that day, the entire village began to know:
Eryon Vale was not just a child with a talent for magic.
There was something inside him—something that did not belong to Arthea.
Something that this world was not even ready to face.
Aeran lifted Eryon's small body and carried him inside. Mireille followed with a pale face.
As the door closed, there was only one thing they could feel together:
Fear.
Not of the child, no.
But of what would happen to the world when the hidden power within him finally awoke completely.
And far in the distance…
in the ancient tower of the Arthea Academy…
a gigantic magic crystal suddenly vibrated, emitting a signal that had not appeared for a thousand years.
The magisters awoke from their meditation.
They did not yet know the name Eryon Vale.
But the wave of his energy had reached them.
They did not know its form.
Did not know its owner.
All they knew was one thing:
There was a resonance that had never been recorded in history.
And they had to find it.
-- To be continued