THE AETHERBORN

“HOW MANY?” his mother yelled, her voice filled with shock.

Thorne froze, terrified he had said something wrong. His mother’s eyes were wide, her disbelief so clear that he felt his heart leap into his throat. Seeing his reaction, she visibly forced herself to calm down, taking a deep breath. After a moment, she bent down so their eyes were level, giving him a reassuring smile.

“Honey, how many points did you say you had?” she asked, her voice softer now, trying to ease his nerves.

Thorne hesitated, then checked the page in his mind again, just to be sure. “150,” he repeated, his voice small.

For a moment, his mother looked as though she was having an internal battle, her expression caught somewhere between amazement and disbelief. Finally, she exhaled, shaking her head in wonder. “That’s... that’s amazing, honey,” she said, but her tone betrayed her shock.

Thorne frowned, confused. “It is?” he asked.

His mother chuckled, her smile widening. “Oh yes! Most people get between seven to ten points per level. The elder races, like us, usually get nine to twelve points. I get ten points per level. But your fifteen points... Thorne, that’s incredible!” She practically beamed with pride, pulling him into a tight hug so suddenly that he could barely breathe.

“Mom, stop!” Thorne whined, struggling to get free. She finally let go, collapsing onto the grassy ground with him, laughing.

“My marvelous child,” she said affectionately, pushing a few unruly strands of hair behind his ears. Her smile was so full of warmth, it made him feel like he was glowing.

“Now,” she continued, more serious, “let’s talk about where to put your attribute points.” She took his hands in hers and looked him in the eyes. “Each stat has a different effect on your body and your abilities. Strength makes you stronger, while agility makes you faster. Dexterity gives you better coordination and control, and vitality increases your health and resilience. You’ll need to be careful about how you distribute your points, because it will shape your future.”

Thorne listened intently, his mind racing with the possibilities. His mother’s voice grew even more serious as she added, “A lumberjack would want strength, a hunter would need dexterity, and a blacksmith would rely on both strength and endurance to excel in their craft.”

He frowned, trying to absorb all the information. The weight of what she was saying started to sink in. This is important. This will affect the rest of my life. A knot of panic started to form in his stomach.

“But... I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up!” he blurted, his face full of worry.

His mother smiled gently, her expression softening. “That’s okay, honey. You don’t need to decide right now. The advantage of being part of the elder races is that you have more than enough points to figure it out over time. You’ll have room to experiment until you know what you want to be.”

Thorne sighed dramatically in relief, his shoulders slumping. “Phew,” he said with a smile.

Then, a new question popped into his mind, and he frowned. “What about spirit, wisdom, and willpower?” he asked, remembering the other stats he had seen on his character sheet.

His mother’s eyes twinkled as she raised her left hand, palm up. Before Thorne’s eyes, a small bird, crafted from pure white energy, fluttered into existence, its wings shimmering with aether. Thorne’s mouth fell open in awe as he reached out to touch it. His finger poked the bird gently, and the tiny creature wobbled slightly, but didn’t fall apart.

“How did you do that?” Thorne asked, his eyes wide with excitement. He jumped to his feet, practically bouncing up and down. “How? How? How?”

His mother sighed, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have shown you that,” she muttered under her breath. Then, louder, she said, “With the manipulation skill, of course. In time, I’ll teach you how to do it too.”

“But I want to learn now!” Thorne interrupted, his voice filled with excitement and impatience.

His mother’s glare was enough to stop him in his tracks. “Enough, Thorne. You’re not ready yet,” she said, her voice firm. “Unless you want to spend a few weeks in bed after each lesson, like last time.”

Thorne’s eyes widened in horror, and he quickly shook his head. No way am I going through that again.

Satisfied with his response, his mother continued. “As I mentioned, some skills use the aether in our cores—not the wild aether around us. Spirit, wisdom, and willpower help you manage that aether.” She gestured toward the air around them. “Wisdom determines how much aether your core can hold, making it bigger and stronger.”

Thorne nodded eagerly, his eyes wide with interest. His mother smiled at his enthusiasm and continued. “Willpower affects how quickly your core replenishes aether. The more points you invest in it, the faster your core will recharge. For mages, willpower also makes their spells more powerful.”

Thorne’s ears perked up at the mention of spells. “Do you know any spells?” he asked eagerly.

His mother shook her head. “No, it was too risky. Mages are closely watched. If you want to learn magic, you have to enroll in a school or become an apprentice to a mage. The attention that would’ve brought would’ve been too dangerous.”

Thorne’s excitement dimmed slightly, disappointed that she couldn’t teach him any real spells. The small bird seemed like magic to him, but maybe aether manipulation was close enough.

“What about spirit?” he asked after a moment.

“Spirit is a stat that’s often overlooked,” his mother said. “For most races, spirit makes it easier to use aether. The more spirit you have, the less aether you need for skills or spells.” She looked directly into his eyes, her expression serious. “But for us, spirit has an even greater effect. It allows us to harness the wild aether around us with fewer consequences.”

Thorne’s breath caught in his throat. “You mean... if I put points in spirit, I’ll be able to play with aether without getting so tired?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement.

His mother rolled her eyes, clearly amused by his enthusiasm. “Yes, Thorne, you’ll be able to ‘play’ with aether,” she said, arching an eyebrow, “without exhausting yourself to the point of sleeping for days.”

Thorne ignored her teasing and clapped his hands together. “Then I’ll put all my points in spirit!” he announced, already focusing inwardly, summoning the character sheet to allocate his points.

“You’ll do no such thing!” his mother’s voice cut through his excitement, her tone sharp. Thorne snapped his attention back to her. “You need a balanced build. It’s dangerous to focus all your points in one attribute and neglect the others. If you put everything into agility, for example, you’d be fast, but without dexterity, you’d lose your coordination and trip over your own feet. And without vitality, even a small injury could become life-threatening. Do you understand?”

Thorne pouted but nodded reluctantly. I guess she knows best.

“Now,” his mother said, her tone softening, “let’s distribute your points.”

It took much longer than Thorne had expected to decide where to allocate his points. He kept insisting on adding more to spirit, but his mother was adamant about prioritizing agility, vitality, and endurance. After a lot of back-and-forth, Thorne’s character sheet finally looked balanced and complete.

Name: Thorne

Level: 10

Race: Human

Age: 8

Special Trait: Elder Race

Health Points: 360/360

Aether: 240/240

Stamina: 320/320

Strength: 22

Agility: 34

Dexterity: 23

Endurance: 32

Vitality: 36

Spirit: 35

Wisdom: 24

Intelligence: 25

As soon as he invested the points, a numbing sensation swept through Thorne's body, like a wave crashing over him. But then came the pain—sharp and overwhelming, as if his bones were shifting beneath his skin and his muscles were being stretched to their limits.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” his mother whispered, pulling him into her arms as his body shook with sobs. He could hear her muttering to herself, "Too many points... too soon."

The pain surged, growing more intense, and Thorne gasped, his fingers digging into his mother’s arms as if holding on for dear life. It felt like his muscles were being torn apart and reattached, his bones reshaping themselves from the inside out.

But then, as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. Thorne blinked, confused. The lingering fear of the pain returning left him tense, but when his mother gently brushed his wet cheek, he finally allowed himself to relax.

“It’s over now, sweetie,” his mother said with a soft, guilty smile. “I should have warned you.”

Thorne shakily stood up, feeling his legs tremble for a moment before he regained his balance. A strange feeling washed over him—his body felt different, lighter and more powerful. But he couldn’t quite place what had changed.

“Hey, Thorne, catch!” His mother’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked up just in time to see a large branch hurtling toward him. Instinctively, his hands shot out, catching the massive branch mid-air with a grunt.

For a moment, he stared in disbelief at the branch, holding it easily above his head. He turned to his mother, wide-eyed.

His mother was giggling, covering her mouth with her hands like a child who had just pulled off a prank. “Oh my! I only meant for you to jump back and avoid it, but I guess you’re strong enough to catch it now! My big, strong man!” She laughed again, her voice light with amusement, while Thorne’s face burned with embarrassment.

His mother’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Now,” she said, taking a playful step back, “why don’t we race back to the house and see who’s faster?”

Thorne narrowed his eyes, a newfound sense of competitiveness bubbling up inside him. “Fine!” he said, determination building.

“One, two, three... go!”

They bolted through the forest, the world around them blurring into streaks of green and brown. The wind rushed against Thorne’s face as his legs carried him faster than ever before. He felt a sense of freedom that was entirely new—a surge of exhilaration as his body responded to his every command with ease and power. More. I want more points to spend. The thought came unbidden, a sudden yearning for even more strength.

*

The following days saw a dramatic shift in Thorne’s routine. His mother insisted on giving him lessons in aether manipulation, which meant staying home instead of joining his father in the forest to hunt.

At first, Thorne was excited. He imagined conjuring birds or pulling off incredible feats like his mother had shown him. But he was quickly disappointed. His lessons were far from the exciting displays of power he had hoped for. Instead, they were long, drawn-out lectures about the nature of aether, its properties, and the dangers of manipulating it improperly. Thorne barely had the patience to sit through them, his mind wandering constantly.

The only time he paid attention was when his mother guided him in the practical part of the lessons—learning to interact with the aether around him. She taught him how to isolate a single mote of aether, an exercise that proved to be far more difficult than he’d expected. The motes acted like they were part of a larger organism, clinging together and resisting separation.

After much concentration and frustration, Thorne finally managed to isolate a single mote. His mother then instructed him to bend it to his will, to make it move according to his commands. It was an exhausting task, and by the end of each lesson, Thorne found himself mentally and physically drained.

The good news was that, after that first day, both his father and Bea stopped acting weird around him. His father treated him like before, and Bea—well, she went back to teasing him relentlessly. Thorne found some comfort in that normalcy, whining to his father about being stuck at home and grumbling to Bea about his mother’s “boring” lessons.

*

One morning, Thorne woke to the sound of raised voices. He slipped out of bed, rubbing his eyes as he padded quietly into the main room. He was surprised to find his mother and Bea arguing, their voices heated.

Bea’s face was flushed with frustration, her eyes red as though she was on the verge of tears. “Please, Mom! Just this once!” she begged, but their mother’s expression was unmoved, her arms folded firmly across her chest.

“No,” their mother said, her tone flat and final.

“But I want to see the new necklaces Ms. Titi has made!” Bea pleaded, her voice rising in desperation. “Please, only this once!”

Their mother’s gaze remained steady, unyielding. She didn’t even bother responding.

Bea, sensing that she was losing the battle, quickly changed tactics. “How are you going to carry both sacks to the village by yourself?” she demanded, a triumphant look crossing her face as she saw their mother’s brow twitch in annoyance.

But their mother’s eyes suddenly shifted toward Thorne, who was lingering by the door. “Your brother will help me,” she said with a sly smile. “He’s old enough.” Her gaze twinkled with amusement as she added, “And strong enough too!”

Bea’s eyes darted between the two of them, her face twisting with anger and disbelief. “That’s not fair!” she wailed, stomping her foot before running off to her room, slamming the door behind her.

Thorne grimaced, but with his mother’s urging, he went to change. Before long, he found himself carrying a heavy sack of herbs over his shoulder as they made their way toward the village.

*

When they reached the village square, Thorne gratefully set the sack down, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he took a breather under the shade of a large oak tree. His mother handed him a few copper coins and smiled. “Go see Ms. Titi and find a necklace for your sister. I’ll meet you after I’ve finished with the alchemist.”

Thorne nodded, watching as his mother slung both sacks over her shoulders with ease and headed toward the alchemist’s stall.

He wandered over to the line of colorful tents where Ms. Titi’s stall was set up, his eyes scanning the vibrant beads and stones that decorated the table. But something else caught his attention. Just a few stalls away, a group of boys stood huddled together, their eyes wide with excitement.

Curiosity piqued, Thorne edged closer to the group. His breath caught in his throat when he saw what they were staring at—a jar full of colorful, shiny marbles. Each one was more beautiful than the last, gleaming like tiny jewels in the sunlight. Thorne’s eyes lit up with wonder, unable to tear his gaze away.

But it was the marble in the other jar that truly captivated him. Unlike the rest, this one was twice the size, glowing faintly with a red light. Thorne’s heart raced as he recognized the motes of orange aether escaping from the marble, swirling around it like tiny embers.

Without thinking, he blurted, “Magic!” His voice was filled with awe.

A scoff came from the crowd. “Yeah, right!” Thorne turned to see Spiro, the alchemist’s mean son, glaring at him. “Don’t be stupid. There’s no magic here!”

Thorne frowned, narrowing his eyes at Spiro. “Yeah, there is!” he shot back, pointing at the glowing marble. “Can’t you see the light?”

Spiro’s face twisted in anger as he shoved another boy out of the way. “What do you know, wildling? Go back to your hut and play in the dirt like your mother!”

Thorne’s hands clenched into fists. His mind went blank the moment Spiro insulted his mother, the rage boiling up inside him. He barely noticed when Spiro tried to push him. Thorne didn’t move, standing firm as the older boy’s shove had no effect.

But something else was happening. Thorne felt his grip on the aether slip, and the colorful tapestry returned to his vision. This time, the orange motes surrounding the marble shot toward him, sinking into his skin. A rush of power surged through his body, filling him with a familiar sense of invincibility. His anger melted away, replaced by a cold, focused clarity.

Distantly, he heard the shouts of surprise from the boys around him, but he didn’t care. The aether was coursing through him, wrapping him in its energy.

Suddenly, a hand like iron clamped down on his shoulder, pulling him back to reality. “Thorne!” His mother’s furious whisper cut through the haze, and he looked up to see her glaring down at him, her face a mix of anger and fear.

Thorne’s eyes widened in guilt as he glanced around. The boys were staring at him in shock, their eyes wide with fear. Spiro had fallen to the ground, knocking over the stall and scattering marbles and stones everywhere.

People in the market had turned to watch, their expressions ranging from curiosity to suspicion. Some looked at him with fear in their eyes, others with quiet wonder.

“We are leaving,” his mother hissed, pulling him roughly away from the scene. Her grip was firm, her pace hurried.

“What?” Thorne started to ask, but his mother silenced him with a sharp look. He stumbled after her, confusion turning to horror as he glanced down at his arm.

It was glowing.

“Oh no,” he muttered in despair, trying to keep up with his mother as they left the village square behind.