THE AETHERBORN

Thorne woke to the unfamiliar creaks and groans of a room that felt as broken as he did. He blinked groggily, trying to take in his surroundings. The small, dilapidated space had walls with cracks wide enough for beams of sunlight to slice through, and a salty breeze from the sea gently ruffled his hair. The floor beneath him was uneven, the wooden planks groaning with each subtle movement. In one corner sat an old, rickety table, cluttered with scraps of fabric, discarded objects, and a faint stench of decay that clung to the air.

His thoughts snapped back to reality as an annoyed huff cut through the silence.

"Of course! His highness doesn't even offer us a thank you!" Jonah sneered, lounging on the fragile table, which looked like it might collapse under his weight at any moment.

Thorne's voice cracked as he asked, "Where am I?"

Jonah rolled his eyes, his lips twisting into a smirk. "Well, we couldn’t exactly take you back to your palace, your majesty. So, you'll just have to deal with our humble abode."

Thorne scanned the room again, this time with a clearer perspective. It was small and rundown, but there were signs of life: a neatly folded blanket in the corner, a few chipped mugs on a makeshift shelf, and a small fire smoldering weakly in an improvised hearth. For all its decay, this derelict shack was Jonah and Ben’s home. A pang of guilt hit Thorne—his attic suddenly seemed luxurious in comparison. He understood Jonah’s bitterness now. This wasn’t just about teasing; it was envy born from hardship.

Jonah’s voice snapped him back to the present. "How'd you end up looking like a corpse? Fight a dragon or something?"

Thorne hesitated, not wanting to give too much away. "I... went into the forest to fight a beast. Wanted to test myself."

The words hung in the air as Jonah stared at him, his jaw slack. "You're insane!" he finally blurted, half-laughing, half-disbelieving. "Who in their right mind goes into the elven forest alone to fight beasts?"

Thorne winced but didn’t respond. It had seemed like a necessary challenge at the time.

With a scoff, Jonah reached into his pocket and pulled out the magical bones Thorne had collected from the boar. He dangled them in front of Thorne’s face. "Found these on you. Thought they might be worth something."

Outraged, Thorne instinctively tried to grab them back, but his body betrayed him. Pain flared through his limbs, and he slumped back onto the bed, groaning. Ben, always quiet but watching closely, grunted in Jonah’s direction. Jonah rolled his eyes and tossed the bones to the side with a smirk.

"Alright, alright. Keep your precious bones. But don't forget, we had to swipe some regenerative salve from an alchemist to patch you up. Ben almost got caught!" Jonah said nonchalantly, as if Ben risking his freedom was just another day's work.

Thorne glanced down at his side, where the sticky salve covered what had been a gaping wound. The cream was already working its magic, knitting his flesh back together. He mumbled a soft, "Thanks."

Jonah scoffed, but Ben, sitting nearby, offered a small, warm smile. Jonah began gnawing on a drumstick, casting occasional glances at Thorne. "So, what’d you face in that forest? Was it big? Sharp teeth? Horns?"

Thorne’s stomach growled loudly as he eyed the food in Jonah’s hands. Jonah noticed and sneered, "Hope you’re not expecting a free meal after we saved your royal ass."

But before Thorne could respond, Ben silently slid a small parcel wrapped in cloth into his lap. Thorne opened it to find a slice of blueberry pie. His heart skipped a beat. How did Ben know it was his favorite?

He glanced at Ben, who merely smiled and gestured for him to eat. Thorne devoured the pie, savoring each bite, trying not to show just how starved he was. In the back of his mind, he realized something: Ben wasn’t just quiet—he was observant, far more than Thorne had ever given him credit for. He’d have to be careful not to underestimate the round-faced boy from now on.

Jonah continued between bites of his drumstick, peppering Thorne with more questions. "So, what kind of beast was it? Tell me it had claws or wings or something cool."

Thorne wiped his mouth and sat up straighter, feeling slightly more energized from the food. "It was a boar. A big one. And it used aether, like magic, to attack."

Jonah nearly choked on his food. "A boar with aether powers? You’re not making this up just to sound tough, are you?"

Thorne shook his head, the memory of the fight still vivid. "I’m serious. Almost didn’t make it."

Ben, sitting quietly beside them, gestured with his hands. Jonah sighed before translating, "Ben wants to know why you didn’t just run away, if it was so dangerous."

Thorne hesitated before answering. "I wanted to test myself. See if I could handle it."

Jonah gave him a long look, then shook his head. "You’ve got a death wish, Thorne. But I gotta admit, that’s kind of brave. Stupid, but brave."

Thorne smirked, grateful for the backhanded compliment. "Thanks. I guess."

Jonah continued to chew on his drumstick, his eyes flicking toward the magical bones on the floor. "So, what’s with those bones? Are they worth anything?"

Thorne nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Maybe I can sell them for a few coppers. Or... use them."

Jonah raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Well, good luck with that."

Ben, ever the quiet caretaker, passed Thorne a small flask of water. He accepted it gratefully, taking a long drink. His mind felt clearer, and the exhaustion that had weighed him down was beginning to lift.

Jonah watched him closely, his sharp gaze softening just a bit. "Look, you’re tougher than you look. But you’re also reckless. Don’t be an idiot. You need to take care of yourself if you want to survive."

Thorne nodded, appreciating the concern buried beneath Jonah's gruff words. "I’ll try. But sometimes you’ve gotta take risks to get stronger."

Jonah snorted. "Just don’t expect us to come running next time you decide to play hero. We might not be able to save your sorry ass again."

Thorne chuckled. "Noted."

Ben made a series of hand gestures, and Jonah sighed in exasperation. "Ben wants to know if you need anything else. He’s got a soft spot for you, apparently."

Thorne smiled at Ben, genuinely touched. "No, I’m good. Thanks, Ben. And you too, Jonah. I owe you both."

Jonah shrugged, already losing interest. "Just remember that when we need a favor."

As Thorne lay back down, exhaustion finally taking over, he felt a strange sense of camaraderie. Despite the harsh words and the rough treatment, they had saved his life and given him a place to recover. He vowed to repay them in any way he could.

*

Thorne didn’t sleep long. The soft shuffle of feet across the floor stirred him from his slumber. He could hear Jonah and Ben moving around, their footsteps light but constant. At some point, they must have left, because the room fell into an eerie silence, and that was enough to bring Thorne fully awake. He stretched, expecting to feel the familiar protest of sore muscles and aching wounds, but to his surprise, his body felt refreshed. Only a dull twinge from his side reminded him of his recent battle.

His eyes fell on the thin, ragged blanket he had been sleeping under, full of holes and stains, a pitiful piece of fabric barely worth being called a cover. Jonah and Ben lived like this every day—in a shack barely held together, with none of the basic comforts he had in his attic. For the past year he had been fending for himself, learning that kindness was rare and often came with a price, but still… something gnawed at him. Ben's quiet care, the pie, Jonah’s gruff but genuine help. They didn’t have to save him. And yet they had.

Something unexpected stirred within him—an odd desire to help them. Where had that come from? He had always lived by the rule that it was every person for themselves. Kindness, he had learned early on, only led to betrayal. But then Ben’s quiet, kind face surfaced in his mind, followed by the irritating yet loyal Jonah.

Shrugging off the thoughts, Thorne decided to get moving. He stepped outside, his feet carrying him down to the docks. The wooden boards groaned under his weight as he walked, the salty sea breeze whipping against his face. Around him, the docks were alive with the familiar sights of Alvar's early morning bustle. Fishermen hauled buckets of fish onto the shore, their faces weathered from years of battling the sea. Nets hung over poles, dripping with saltwater as tired men prepared to sell their daily catch for a few coppers.

As Thorne meandered through the crowds, his mind drifted back to the fight in the forest. He had come out victorious, but the fatigue he felt afterward still gnawed at him. Sid’s brutal training never pushed him to the point where stamina mattered much—their bouts were short and vicious, usually ending with him battered in minutes. But that fight with the boar? That had drained him. His body, his aether—everything had been tested to its limit. He needed more stamina.

Resolute, Thorne decided it was time to distribute the points he’d earned from leveling up. He pulled up his character sheet, feeling a flicker of excitement as he considered where to allocate them. Stamina was a must, but so was spirit. The aftereffects of using aether still hit him hard, leaving him drained for far too long. If he wanted to improve his control and make full use of his new skill, he needed to bolster his spirit as well.

Without hesitation, Thorne dumped five points each into vitality, endurance, and spirit. When he finished, he felt a rush of satisfaction as he pulled up his updated status.

Name: Thorne

Level: 12

Race: Human

Age: 9

Special Trait: Elder Race

Health points: 392/410

Aether: 240/240

Stamina: 311/370

Strength: 25

Agility: 36

Dexterity: 28

Endurance: 32 → 37

Vitality: 36 → 41

Spirit: 40 → 45

Wisdom: 24

Intelligence: 25

He closed his character sheet with a small sense of satisfaction, feeling the quiet surge of strength coursing through his body. His mind, still buzzing with thoughts of his next move, sharpened as he passed the bustling fish market. Familiar faces blurred past him, but one, in particular, stood out.

Ben.

The boy was being far too obvious as he slunk through the crowd, his eyes locked on a plump purse dangling from a distracted woman’s belt. Thorne’s instincts kicked in immediately—Ben’s attempt at thievery was clumsy, laughably so. His movements were predictable, and anyone paying even the slightest attention would have caught on. The only thing working in his favor was the crowd that hid him from the woman’s view.

Thorne shook his head. Ben had no stealth, no subtlety. If he kept this up, it wouldn’t be long before he ended up in serious trouble—again. And then what? Another close call like when Thorne had saved Jonah? And getting caught in Alvar wasn’t just a slap on the wrist. Thorne had seen boys lose hands for less. He sighed, knowing there was no point in trying to intervene right now. Ben would figure it out the hard way soon enough. He always did.

Turning away, Thorne headed back toward the small tavern where his attic waited. The tavern itself was quieter than usual, with only a few early patrons grabbing a meal, the clink of mugs and soft murmurs filling the air. Thorne took the stairs two at a time, his mind still focused on his next trip to the forest, how he could test his new skill further.

But as he reached the top of the stairs, something made him stop.

He froze, straining his ears. Noises. Someone was inside his attic. His mind immediately flashed to Sid, or worse—guards. But as he neared the attic, he froze.

Thorne inhaled sharply, drawing his dagger and gripping the handle tightly. Who could it be?

With a determined breath, he twisted the handle and pushed the door open, ready for whatever—or whoever—was inside.

Inside, Thorne found Uncle seated at his small, worn table, scribbling in a ledger. The sight of the man, so calmly occupying his space, sent a jolt through Thorne. Without glancing up, his uncle muttered, "So, you’ve returned."

Thorne’s heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here? He couldn’t help but ask aloud, "Uncle, what are you doing here?"

Uncle finally looked up, eyes sharp and calculating. There was a weight behind his gaze that made Thorne feel exposed, as if every thought he had ever harbored was laid bare. "I could ask you the same thing. Where have you been?"

Thorne hesitated, scrambling for an excuse. His mind buzzed with half-formed lies, none of which seemed good enough. How much does he know? "I... I went for a walk. Needed some fresh air," he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady.

His uncle raised a single eyebrow, a gesture loaded with skepticism. "A walk, you say? Through the forest, perhaps?"

How did he know? Thorne’s breath caught in his throat. Panic clawed at him. Had someone been following him? Did they see him using magic? His pulse raced, but he forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "How did you…?"

His uncle leaned back in the chair, a faint, knowing smile creeping onto his lips. "I have eyes and ears everywhere, Thorne. You should know that by now. I knew you went into the forest."

Thorne’s chest tightened, but his uncle didn’t show any signs of knowing the real secret—that he’d used aether. At least there was that. Relief trickled into his veins, but he tread carefully. "I just wanted to test myself... thought I could handle it."

The smile faded from his uncle's face, replaced by a cold sternness. "Testing yourself is one thing, but the forest is no place to tempt fate. Especially for someone like you."

There was that phrase again. Someone like you. His uncle often used it, and Thorne still didn’t know what that phrase meant. He felt a mix of guilt and frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I know. I just… I need to get stronger."

His uncle sighed, closing the ledger with a firm snap. "I understand that drive, believe me. But recklessness? That will get you killed." His voice hardened. "You have to be smarter, Thorne. You won’t survive on raw skill alone."

Thorne lowered his eyes. He hated feeling like a child. "I’ll be more careful, Uncle. I promise."

His uncle studied him for a long moment, like he was weighing the truth in Thorne’s words. Finally, he gave a short nod. "Good. Now, tell me what really happened in the forest."

Thorne’s stomach knotted. Careful now. No mention of the aether. He took a breath and recounted the fight. He carefully left out any mention of aether—there was no way he was sharing that part of his story. He focused on the boar instead, on its size, the eerie smoke from its nostrils, the sheer brutality of the fight. His uncle listened intently, his face unreadable, nodding occasionally or asking a pointed question.

When he finished, his uncle’s expression remained stern. "Sid has been looking for you. He’s… let’s say, rather eager to remind you what happens when you skip training."

Thorne felt a cold pit form in his stomach at the mention of Sid. Of course, Sid would take missing a session personally. The rogue was already relentless, but now? He’d be hellbent on making Thorne pay. "I’ll find Sid and apologize."

His uncle’s gaze softened slightly, though there was a steely edge to his voice. "Be careful, Thorne. You have potential, but potential without discipline is wasted. Recklessness will not be tolerated."

Thorne nodded, feeling the warning beneath his uncle’s words. But deep down, he knew the truth. The first chance he got, he’d be back in that forest, pushing his limits, leveling up, discovering more of what he was truly capable of. The excitement and satisfaction of his new skill still thrummed beneath his skin. No way was he going to stop now.

His uncle’s lips curved slightly, breaking the tension. "Now," he said, with a glint of amusement in his eyes, "let’s play a game."

Thorne blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. His uncle had always been a man of many layers, but this was one of his favorite games: drawing Thorne in, catching him off guard—always one step ahead.