I remember the first time I walked. Or at least, the first time I walked and felt fully aware of it. My tiny legs wobbled beneath me, unsteady, like saplings in a storm. Every movement was deliberate; every stumble a lesson in balance and patience. I could feel my heart beating fast, my chest glowing faintly with that pulse of Starborn Light, as if it were cheering me on.
I reached the end of the polished wooden floor and stopped, staring at the world around me. The room was larger than any room I had known as John Warner. Sunlight spilled across tapestries depicting knights, dragons, and symbols I did not yet understand. Even as a newborn, I absorbed every detail—the scents, the sounds, the flicker of candlelight, the subtle hum of latent magic that vibrated along the walls.
A soft voice called to me.
"Draven, careful!"
I turned my head to see my nursemaid, Elara, a woman with sharp eyes and a quiet grace. She knelt beside me, offering a guiding hand. I understood her caution, though I didn't need it. My mind was far older than my body. Every movement, every thought, every calculation had the precision of someone who had lived before.
I smiled faintly, a small, knowing curve of lips.
I had memories of John Warner—memories of clumsiness, failure, and wasted potential. But here, I could anticipate my own body. I could control it in ways I never could before. I lifted one tiny hand, balanced myself, and took another step. Elara's eyes widened.
"You…" she murmured, as if words were failing her. "You're… extraordinary."
I didn't need her praise. I had known it. And yet, it was satisfying to hear someone acknowledge what I already sensed deep within. My Starborn Light pulsed stronger in my chest, warm and steady. I could feel the energy responding to my intentions, faint but undeniable.
---
By the time I could speak, I had already memorized the layout of the Valehart household. I recognized the servants by their gait, the subtle differences in their scents, the patterns in their speech. Every interaction was data, every glance a clue. My body was still that of a child, but my mind was fully grown. I could reason, analyze, and plan.
I remember the first time I consciously manipulated my Starborn Light. I was playing near the window, sunlight streaming through, and my gaze fell upon a small candle on the table. The flame flickered as a breeze moved past, and instinctively, I focused. My tiny hands lifted, unsteady at first, but the glow inside me pulsed with rhythm. The candle flame responded, dancing higher, brighter, controlled by my intent.
Elara gasped. "By the stars… the child…"
I smiled faintly. I did not yet have the strength to channel much, but even this small control was proof. The Starborn Light was mine, dormant and waiting, but already responsive. And I could feel it whispering to me, hinting at the vast potential it held.
---
The Valehart family itself was… complicated. My "parents" were distant, formal, and polite, but I could sense the weight of expectation in every glance they cast my way. They had ambitions for me, for the house, for the legacy that I had been born into. I understood their ambitions, but they had not yet grasped what I truly was.
My father, Lord Alaric Valehart, was stern and proud. His expectations were high, and his patience was measured. I could sense his disappointment whenever I failed to conform to their prescribed routines, even in my earliest days. My mother, Lady Selene, was gentler, warmer, but equally calculating. Every smile was a test, every gesture measured.
I observed them. I learned them. And I began to plan.
---
One night, I was lying in my cradle, staring at the faint glow of my chest. I remembered John Warner's life again—the mistakes, the loneliness, the endless nights staring at the ceiling and wishing for a second chance. And now, here I was, reborn, powerful, and aware.
A faint breeze drifted through the room, carrying a whisper of magic. The Starborn Light inside me pulsed and stretched, and I felt something shift in the air. The household was not entirely safe. Not every person I encountered was trustworthy. Already, I could sense currents of ambition, envy, and hidden motives swirling around me.
I flexed my hands, imagining the glow responding. Tiny sparks flickered like fireflies around me, and I could feel the hum of magic beneath the floorboards, the walls, the very air. It was alive. And I was its master, or at least, I would be.
The first hints of prophecy reached me even in my infancy. Whispers in the halls, fragmented conversations among servants, a hurried mention of "the Starborn child" and "the one destined to change Elyndor." I did not fully understand yet, but I remembered enough from John Warner's life to know that destiny was never gentle. Prophecy was dangerous. And people who wanted power would never hesitate to strike.
Even so, I was not afraid. I had been John Warner. I had known failure, despair, loneliness. That life had ended, and now I had a second chance. I would grow, I would master the Starborn Light, and I would survive.
The stars outside my window twinkled faintly, distant and eternal. And I, Draven Valehart, felt them resonate within me. They were silent witnesses, constant and unchanging, guiding me in ways I could not yet understand. But I would heed them.
I was alive. I was aware. I was powerful, in ways the people around me could not yet imagine. And I would not waste this life.
The first sparks had awakened.