The Arcanist Reborn

The days after the attack on the Kael manor blurred together in a haze of escape and uncertainty. Mara and Eryon fled deep into the forests that bordered the estate, moving only at night to avoid detection. The hum was a constant presence in Eryon's mind, warning him of dangers before they arrived, allowing them to stay one step ahead of their pursuers.

But survival was only part of the struggle. The attack had left scars—not just on the ruined manor but on Eryon's soul. For the first time, he understood the weight of his powers and the consequences they carried.

Years passed.

By the time Eryon turned five, the forests were no longer a place of fear but a home. Mara had built a small, hidden refuge deep in the woods, where the trees grew so thick that sunlight barely pierced through the canopy. She worked tirelessly to provide for them, but it was Eryon who made survival easier.

The hum had grown stronger, more familiar. Eryon no longer struggled to sense its rhythms or pull at its threads. He had learned to summon fire to cook their meals, bend water from nearby streams to quench their thirst, and shape the earth into sturdy walls for their shelter.

Mara, once awed by his abilities, now spoke of them in hushed tones. "You're gifted, Eryon," she often said, her voice tinged with both pride and fear. "But the world will fear you for it."

Eryon took her warnings seriously. He knew the power he wielded made him a target, and the memory of the men who had attacked the manor still haunted him.

On his sixth birthday, Eryon's life changed again.

It began as a quiet morning. The hum around him was steady, its rhythms soothing as he practiced shaping the air into gentle breezes. Mara had gone to gather supplies from a nearby village, leaving him alone for the first time in weeks.

As he focused on his practice, a strange sensation rippled through the hum. It was faint at first, like a distant echo, but it grew stronger with each passing moment.

Someone—or something—was approaching.

Eryon stood, his silver eyes scanning the forest. The hum vibrated with tension, its threads twisting in ways he didn't fully understand.

Then he saw them.

A group of three figures emerged from the trees, their dark cloaks blending into the shadows. Their movements were deliberate, their eyes scanning the area with practiced precision.

Eryon's heart pounded. He didn't know who they were, but their presence felt wrong. The hum around them was dark and jagged, as though tainted by something unnatural.

One of them—a tall man with a scar running down his cheek—spoke in a low voice. "The boy is close. I can feel it."

Eryon didn't wait. He turned and ran, his small feet barely making a sound as he darted through the underbrush. The hum surged within him, guiding his movements and amplifying his senses.

"Over there!" one of the figures shouted.

Eryon didn't have time to think. He reached out to the hum, pulling at the threads of earth beneath his feet. The ground trembled, roots and vines erupting from the soil to block the path behind him.

It didn't stop them for long. The scarred man raised a hand, and the vines withered and crumbled as though drained of life.

"Impressive," the man said, his voice laced with dark amusement. "But you're still just a child."

Eryon stumbled into a clearing, his breath ragged. He turned to face his pursuers, his small body trembling but his silver eyes blazing with determination.

The scarred man stepped forward, flanked by his companions. "Surrender, boy. You can't win."

Eryon didn't answer. He reached out to the hum, pulling at the threads of fire and air. Flames burst to life in his hands, swirling into a fiery vortex that roared with power.

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "You've been practicing," he said. "But raw talent isn't enough."

He thrust his hand forward, and a wave of dark energy surged toward Eryon.

Eryon countered instinctively. The flames in his hands expanded, colliding with the dark energy in an explosion of light and shadow. The force of the clash sent him tumbling backward, his body skidding across the ground.

Pain lanced through him, but he refused to give up. He pushed himself to his feet, his mind racing. The hum was still there, thrumming with endless possibilities.

If fire wasn't enough, he'd use something else.

He reached for the threads of water, pulling moisture from the air around him. The droplets coalesced into a sharp, icy spear that hovered in front of him. With a flick of his hand, he sent it hurtling toward the scarred man.

The man dodged, but the spear grazed his arm, drawing a thin line of blood. His expression darkened, and he stepped forward, his dark energy swirling around him like a storm.

But before he could strike again, a blinding light erupted from the trees.

"Enough!" a voice boomed, filled with authority and power.

Eryon shielded his eyes, squinting at the source of the light. A figure emerged—a man clad in silver armor, his presence radiating strength and warmth. He raised a hand, and the dark energy surrounding the scarred man dissipated as though snuffed out by an unseen force.

"You dare hunt a child in my domain?" the armored man said, his voice cold and unyielding.

The scarred man hesitated, then snarled. "This isn't over," he spat, retreating with his companions into the shadows.

The armored man turned to Eryon, his stern expression softening slightly. "You've got potential, boy," he said. "But you're reckless. You need training."

Eryon stared at him, unsure of what to say.

"My name is Magnus," the man continued. "I lead the Order of Lumina. We protect those with gifts like yours—and we ensure they don't fall into the wrong hands."

He extended a hand. "Come with me. I can teach you how to control your power. How to survive."

Eryon hesitated, glancing back toward the forest. Mara was still out there, and he didn't want to leave her behind. But deep down, he knew Magnus was right. He couldn't keep running forever.

Taking a deep breath, Eryon reached out and took Magnus's hand.