The Arcanist Reborn

The days turned to weeks, and Eryon's connection to the hum deepened. It was no longer a faint, elusive vibration in the background—it had become a constant, a subtle yet persistent force that wrapped around him like a second skin.

He still practiced in secret, wary of drawing attention to himself. The servants often glanced at him with unease, muttering under their breath about his unusual silver eyes. The rumors had grown louder since the incident with the floating block, though none dared voice their concerns directly to Lord Hadrian.

But Eryon didn't let their whispers bother him. He had more important things to focus on.

It started during a storm.

Rain lashed against the nursery window, the wind howling as though trying to tear the old manor apart. The fire in the hearth sputtered, shadows dancing wildly across the walls. Thunder boomed in the distance, shaking the very foundation of the house.

Eryon sat in his crib, wide awake despite the late hour. The hum had changed. It was no longer the soft, rhythmic pulse he had grown accustomed to—it was wild and chaotic, surging and crashing like the storm outside.

He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, letting the hum fill his senses. It roared around him, raw and untamed, but there was a pattern within the chaos, like a song buried beneath layers of noise.

For the first time, he felt the presence of lightning.

It was sharp and crackling, a thread of pure energy that pulsed through the hum like a living thing. He focused on it, letting its rhythm guide him. Slowly, he raised his tiny hand, feeling the energy coalesce around his fingertips.

A faint spark flickered in the air, bright and fleeting, but it was enough to light up the dark room for a heartbeat.

Eryon gasped, his body trembling from the effort. The spark vanished, leaving only the crackle of the storm outside. But he felt exhilarated—this was something new, something powerful.

The storm passed, but Eryon couldn't stop thinking about that moment. Lightning had been different from the other elements he had touched through the hum. It wasn't steady like earth or gentle like water—it was wild, unyielding, and alive.

In the days that followed, he began to experiment with the hum in new ways. While the servants bustled about their daily chores, he sat in his crib, his mind reaching out to the unseen threads of energy around him.

He started with fire. It was elusive, flickering and shifting whenever he tried to grasp it. But by focusing on the warmth in the room—the embers of the hearth, the sunlight streaming through the window—he began to understand its rhythm. He managed to summon a small flame, barely more than a spark, that danced on the tip of his finger before fading away.

Water came more naturally. When the servants brought in a basin of water to clean him, he would reach out with his mind, feeling the hum resonate within the liquid. It was cool and fluid, moving effortlessly in response to his touch. With practice, he managed to create small ripples in the basin without lifting a finger.

Air was the easiest. The hum in the wind was light and playful, always moving, always changing. By focusing on the breeze that drifted through the open window, he could nudge it ever so slightly, making the curtains flutter more than they should.

Earth was the hardest. The hum in solid objects was deep and slow, as though it resisted change. He could sense it within the wooden frame of his crib or the stone floors beneath him, but trying to move it felt like pushing against an immovable wall.

One evening, while Eryon was quietly practicing, his father entered the room. Lord Hadrian's heavy boots echoed against the stone floor, his presence as cold and imposing as ever.

Eryon immediately stilled, his small body tensing. He wasn't sure how much his father knew about his abilities, but he doubted the man would approve.

Hadrian approached the crib, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied his son. "You've been… busy," he said, his tone unreadable.

Eryon didn't move, his silver eyes watching his father warily.

"The servants talk," Hadrian continued. "They say you're… unnatural. That strange things happen when no one is looking." He leaned closer, his gaze piercing. "What are you, child?"

Eryon didn't respond, of course. He was still an infant, bound by the limitations of his body. But his mind was racing.

Hadrian straightened, his expression hardening. "I don't know what you are, but I will find out." With that, he turned and left, the door slamming shut behind him.

Eryon's heart sank. His father's words lingered in his mind, a reminder that his growing abilities would not remain a secret forever. But he didn't let fear deter him. If anything, it only strengthened his resolve.

He would continue to explore the hum, to learn its secrets and master its power. This world was vast and mysterious, and he had only scratched the surface of what it had to offer.

As the moonlight streamed through the nursery window, Eryon closed his eyes, reaching out to the hum once more. It greeted him like an old friend, its endless rhythm weaving through the fabric of the world.

And as he drifted off to sleep, he dreamed of lightning, fire, and all the wonders yet to come.