Cool morning light filtered through the modest windows of the Ashborne home. The hearth still smoldered with dying coals, their gentle glow the only remnant of last night's warmth. It had been nearly three days since Father returned from the orchard with that deep wound across his ribs. Though the bleeding had slowed, his every move elicited a wince that radiated through the house's otherwise tranquil air.

Kael, six months old in body but immeasurably older in mind, perched quietly on a padded blanket nearby. His infant eyes rested on Father, who lay propped up by cushions on the makeshift bed that Mother had insisted remain near the hearth. Each time Father inhaled sharply or shifted uncomfortably, Kael felt a twinge of helplessness. Despite his knowledge and budding power, he could not openly heal or defend his father—doing so would spark too many questions for a mere baby to answer.

A Quiet Morning

The day began with Mother's careful routine. She lit a small lantern, poured fresh water, and mixed a mild herbal infusion—one of the remedies given by Hanna to stave off infection. As she knelt by Father, pressing a damp cloth over the wound, Father tried to mask his discomfort behind a soft smile.

"I'm doing better," he murmured. "I'll be on my feet soon."

Mother frowned, lips tight with concern. "You say that, but you still tense with every step." She drew the cloth away, checking for fresh blood. "You can't force this, Joren."

He nodded, conceding her point, and turned his gaze to Kael. "Meanwhile, this little one hardly cries at all. Doesn't it seem strange?"

Kael responded with a perfectly innocent coo, trying to appear as a normal infant thrilled by his father's attention. Inside, he mulled over his own progress. Over the last few days, he'd quietly repeated his synergy drills with Minor Air Channeling and Minor Fire Channeling, refining their fusion in the most inconspicuous ways. Each time, he nearly triggered a visible spark or heat wave but always cut it short to remain unnoticed.

He couldn't remain content with small illusions of heat. Not when deeper threats lurked. If a single wolf had nearly cost Father his life, what of the many greater dangers prowling Aurelia's forests or, eventually, the demon-kind Kael recalled from his past? He steeled himself to grow stronger quietly.

Subtle Training Between Chores

Mother, needing to fetch more water and check on the orchard news, set Kael in a wicker bassinet lined with blankets. Before leaving, she gave Father a strict look. "Rest. No forging, no moving heavy tools—understood?"

Father laughed softly, then grimaced. "I promise, no forging." After she left, he allowed a weary sigh. "I hate feeling useless," he muttered, glancing at Kael. "Better to be cautious than to tear this wound open."

Kael blinked sympathetically, letting out a small whimper that might pass for baby empathy. His father patted the side of the bassinet, eyes gentle. "Your mother's right, you know. Hard as it is, we've got to let time do its work."

The moment Mother's footsteps faded outside, Father settled deeper onto the pillows. Within minutes, the lull of pain and exhaustion coaxed him into a light doze. Kael seized the opportunity to practice in stealth.

He inhaled softly, drawing from the intangible well of mana he'd honed since infancy. A warm tingle rose in his chest as he coaxed a thread of Fire. Simultaneously, he channeled a faint spiral of Air, letting them swirl together just above his small palm. The swirl was invisible to mundane sight, but Kael perceived it through his heightened senses.

This time, he tried weaving them into a protective shell the size of a walnut. In his mind's eye, it resembled a flickering orb of heated wind. The swirl held for a count of five, then ten…

[Notification: +1 Control Through Focused Synergy! Minor Fire Channeling → Lv.3!]

A subtle thrill shot through Kael as the silent alert hovered behind his vision. He allowed a fraction of pride—his synergy was stabilizing faster. Rather than push too far, he dismissed the swirl, hand dropping back to the blanket as though in a baby's reflexive twitch. Father remained oblivious.

A Small Errand from a Neighbor

The morning stillness broke when someone knocked softly at the door. Father stirred awake, brow creasing. "Come in," he called weakly. The door opened to reveal Rowan, the orchard worker who had first come begging for Father's help days ago.

"Joren," Rowan said in a hushed tone, stepping inside. He caught sight of Kael in the bassinet and gave a polite smile. "How's the wound?"

Father tried to sit up straighter, biting back a grimace. "Healing, bit by bit. Still can't do much forging, or so my wife insists."

Rowan nodded. "Probably wise. I—I'm sorry we keep bothering you. But the orchard folk wanted me to see how you fare. They also wondered if… well, if you have spare nails or simple barricade pieces. Another fence post was found ripped last evening."

Father sighed, frustrated by his incapacity. "I can't forge them fresh. But maybe in my chest by the wall, I have some leftover nails or half-finished brackets. Help yourself to rummage."

Rowan nodded gratefully. "We'll pay, of course. Maybe I can leave coin behind."

"Don't be silly," Father said. "Just take what you need. We keep each other afloat in times like these."

Rowan offered a lopsided smile, then rummaged in the small forging corner under Father's direction. Kael observed the man's stiff posture, sensing lingering fear. The orchard wolves had left deeper scars on the villagers' morale than Father's physical injury. If random beasts could gain earth-infused power, what else might lurk in the deeper wilds?

Eventually, Rowan collected a modest handful of nails, plus two iron brackets. "Thanks, Joren." A glance fell on Kael again. "Your boy's grown so quiet—almost too well-behaved."

Father tried to laugh. "He's just special, I suppose."

Kael responded with a babyish gurgle, feigning ignorance. Inwardly, he noted how often passersby commented on his unusual calm. He'd have to adopt more typical infant fuss now and then if he wanted to remain inconspicuous.

Rowan left soon after, leaving behind a faint tension in the air. Father's gaze drifted to the forging corner, eyes heavy with longing. Kael recognized that look—someone used to action, forced to remain idle.

Midday Care

Mother returned as the sun climbed overhead, carrying a small parcel of dried fish and a worried furrow on her brow. "Old Merrek's caravan is delayed," she announced. "Folks suspect the roads might be unsafe. More sightings of odd beasts near the forest trail."

Father exhaled softly. "Can't the orchard families band together more? They can't always rely on me or any single villager. I barely came back unscathed."

Mother pursed her lips. "They're trying. Tensions run high. Some want to hire a traveling mage from Ironspur, but coin is scarce."

Kael listened intently, mind churning. This entire region faced a growing threat from mana-charged creatures. Even if Father recovered, the underlying problem wouldn't vanish. Should Kael remain hidden indefinitely? The vow he'd made to safeguard his family pressed on him, urging him to refine his abilities faster.

"I'll warm lunch," Mother said, pulling out a small pot. "Then I'll recheck your bandages."

Kael watched her bustle about, then directed his attention to the flickering hearth. He considered discreetly using Minor Fire Channeling to intensify the coals. A small test—enough to reduce her workload. But if she noticed the sudden flare, would she suspect something?

He settled for a soft, nearly undetectable push: a whispered breath of Air coaxed the coals to glow a fraction brighter, gently speeding the pot's heating. Mother continued stirring, oblivious. It wasn't much, but Kael smiled inwardly—this was how he'd unify magic and subtlety.

The Crimson Thread of Mana

After lunch, Father napped again, leaving Mother free to tidy. Kael quietly lay on his blanket, letting the soft hum of the forging corner lull him into a half-meditative state. Once sure no one was watching, he extended his perception inward, seeking the faint hum of his own mana core. He was still unawakened by the world's definition, but that didn't stop him from channeling.

In his mind, it appeared as a swirl of muted color—like a pale red ember overshadowed by potential. He called it forth, feeling a gentle wave of warmth flow down his arms to his fingertips. If he were older, this might manifest openly as a cantrip or a minor flame. Right now, it was intangible.

He pressed further, letting that warmth travel. He imagined weaving slender filaments of Air around the flame. The synergy came more easily with practice. At times, he felt like he could shape a flame-laced breeze into a protective bubble. But sustaining it required steady control—one slip and the swirling currents might produce a visible distortion or an unintentional spark.

Carefully, he visualized forming a small barrier in front of him, no bigger than a child's palm. He counted the seconds of stability: one, two, three…

Then Father stirred, shifting the room's hush. Kael let the synergy fade. He resumed the baby pose—wide eyes, parted lips, as though enthralled by dust motes in the sunlight. Father blinked blearily, groaning at the pull on his wound.

"You awake, little one?" he whispered, offering Kael a gentle grin.

Kael responded with a soft coo, tucking away the memory of that near-formed barrier. He was close to shaping a practical defensive skill. Another day or two of secret practice might yield results beyond illusions.

Afternoon Distraction

Mother stepped outside again to trade news with a passing neighbor, leaving Father to attempt some light tasks. "Just going to the table," he said to Kael, as though the infant could protest. With visible effort, Father pushed himself upright, pressing a hand against the bandaged side. He wobbled slightly but managed to stand.

His gaze fell on the forging tools. A grimace crossed his face. "Guess I'll do a quick inventory of nails for Rowan." Step by careful step, he approached the corner where he stored materials. The effort cost him: each movement pulled at the scabbed wound. Kael watched, wishing he dared conjure a mild support breeze to steady Father. But that risked discovery.

Father rummaged a moment before doubling over, breath hissing. Kael's heart lurched. In a reflex, he nearly extended a wave of Air to keep Father balanced. Instead, he clenched the blanket, forcibly restraining the impulse.

"Damn it," Father muttered, pressing a hand to the bandage. A small red blotch marred the cloth. Kael's anxiety spiked, only to see Father straighten after a few ragged breaths. "I'm fine," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

He found the nails but realized the futility. "What am I doing? Eliana will scold me if I tear this wound again." Slowly, he placed them aside and limped back to the makeshift bed.

Kael's small fists clenched. The orchard's trouble had robbed Father of normalcy. It stung to watch, powerless. Another impetus to refine his secret skills.

Late Afternoon Visitor

As shadows lengthened, another knock sounded. This time, a traveling peddler named Merrek—older, stooped but lively in gesture—poked his head in. "Heard about your injury, Joren. Figured I'd deliver these wares myself." He set down a small crate of iron scraps and forging supplies, items Father typically restocked monthly.

Father managed a grateful smile. "Merrek! You made it. I'd stand to greet you properly, but—" He gestured to his bandages.

Merrek nodded sympathetically. "No need. News of odd beasts on the road slowed me, but I'm here. Thought you might want these, though I see forging might be a ways off."

"Still, I appreciate it," Father said. "I can pay once my work resumes."

"Nonsense," Merrek huffed. "You've always been fair with me. Pay whenever. Or trade me some nails once you're back on your feet." He then spotted Kael. "Ah, there's the quiet child. Barely a cry or fuss, hmm?"

Kael blinked innocently. He was growing accustomed to such remarks. Already, he vowed to incorporate a random babble or fuss soon to maintain the pretense.

Merrek stayed for a bit, exchanging local gossip. A few travelers reported glimpses of "Earthen boars" near the western trail—pigs seemingly touched by magic, sporting tough hide and faint green glow in their eyes. The orchard wolf problem extended beyond just wolves, it seemed.

Kael's chest tightened at the realization. Mana-infused animals were no mere coincidence. Something in Aurelia's ley lines or an unknown phenomenon must be stirring. He listened quietly until Merrek departed, leaving behind an uneasy hush.

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Evening: Shared Worries

By sundown, Mother cooked a simple stew, worried lines creasing her face as she recounted Merrek's tales to Father. He lay on his side to ease pressure on the wound. Kael lay between them on a soft mat, chewing a bit of cloth like a teething infant, but in truth, focusing on their conversation.

Mother sighed. "If earthen beasts roam further, even caravans will avoid this region. Brightwood might become isolated."

Father tried to remain optimistic. "We can handle a few beasts if we prepare. The orchard folk are gathering volunteers. Once I'm mended, I'll do a proper forging round—spare spears, nails, anything to fortify fences."

His voice lacked the usual confidence. Mother gently touched his hand. "Don't push yourself. We don't want you bed-bound again."

As darkness thickened, the trio found a moment of quiet. Kael drifted through half-lidded rest, reflecting. He yearned to accelerate his training, but how?

He recalled glimpses of advanced synergy from his past life as Aerion, feats that could quell beasts in a single incantation. But this child's body limited him. He'd have to grow carefully, step by step.

Nighttime Resolve

When the house settled into the hush of night, Father's breathing slowed in fitful sleep, and Mother dozed lightly at his side. Kael opened his eyes, making sure no one watched. Then, as softly as a whisper, he conjured a swirl of Fire and Air within his palms. The swirl formed a hazy orb in his mind's eye—the beginnings of a defensive technique.

Tonight, he dared push further. Instead of letting it vanish after a few seconds, he continued feeding minute mana threads into it. The swirl expanded to the size of an apple. He pictured it around himself as a miniature shield.

One breath… two… The swirl held. A subtle dryness tingled on his skin, and he felt the heat build. If he poured any more power in, the temperature might become noticeable. He reined it in, focusing on stability.

[Notification: Minor Air Channeling → Lv.6. Enhanced Elemental Control!][Notification: +1 Spirit Through Focused Practice!]

A pulse of warmth traveled through his core, signifying growth in Spirit—his capacity to channel mana. He suppressed a grin. Another step forward.

But sustaining the shield took concentration. After nearly twenty seconds, a faint waver emerged; he fought to maintain balance. Then Father shifted with a muffled groan. Fearful of being caught, Kael let the swirl dissolve, silent as breath.

He exhaled, heart pounding with cautious elation. Twenty seconds was an eternity in a life-or-death struggle. Another few days, maybe he could hold it a full minute. Soon, he'd have a real defensive barrier—subtle, but enough to intercept small claws or a savage bite if needed.

Sliding deeper into baby-sleep, Kael carried that kernel of hope with him.

The Following Dawn

The next morning arrived with a faint drizzle. Raindrops tapped on the window frame, creating a soft chorus in the grey light. Father awoke feeling marginally better—he sat up more easily, though a grimace lingered. Mother tested the bandage, relieved to find no fresh bleeding.

"I'll see if Rowan needs more nails," Father said, stifling a cough. "I can at least direct him to what's left from storage." He swung his legs down, standing with mild effort.

Mother guided Kael into his arms. "Hold him while I tidy. He's missed some fatherly time." She smiled, pressing a small kiss to Kael's brow. "Just be careful."

Kael found himself cradled against Father's broad chest. The sensation was comforting, if bittersweet—Father's heartbeat was strong, but tension from the half-healed wound etched lines in his posture. Kael made a soft baby sound, gently patting Father's tunic with tiny hands, as if to say, Don't overdo it.

Father gave a small laugh. "You're fussing over me now, little one? Don't worry, I'll be fine. Soon enough, I'll teach you how to hold a hammer properly."

Kael let out a playful coo. The notion struck him: a time would come when he'd actually hold a real hammer or staff, forging not just metal but also channeling arcane energies. A quiet vow surfaced—I'll protect you both before that day.

Outside Commotion

Suddenly, voices rose outside. Through the drizzle, Kael heard urgent tones. Mother, alarmed, set her chores aside and opened the door. Father, still cradling Kael, followed more slowly.

At the threshold, they glimpsed Rowan sprinting up the muddy lane, splashes of rain about his ankles. "Joren—Eliana!" he shouted. "One of those earthen boars—someone spotted it near the orchard path, heading this way!"

Father tensed, teeth gritted. "Here?" He glanced at the half-finished fence lines in the distance. "Damn."

Rowan nodded breathlessly. "Just one, but it's bigger than normal. Glowing marks on its hide—like a faint green. We need to set up some barricade, scare it off at least."

Mother turned to Father. "You can't fight," she pleaded, eyes wide.

Father's expression twisted with frustration. "I know, but Rowan, you can gather how many?"

"Three or four from the orchard. We'll have pitchforks, a couple of spears, but—" Rowan's voice shook. "We might not stop it if it charges. Can't you help plan something, Joren? You know about forging and methods to barricade better than anyone."

Kael felt Father's heart racing under his small palm. The orchard families needed more than a quick plan; they needed real defense. But Father's wound prevented a direct fight.

"Fine," Father managed. "I'll come as far as the orchard gate—just to direct. Eliana, watch Kael."

Kael's pulse pounded. Another crisis, and once again Father would push his injured body to help. He yearned to do something. But how?

Tension on the Lane

Within minutes, Father grabbed a walking stick, ignoring Mother's protests that he remain indoors. Rowan helped steady him. Mother, torn with worry, held Kael close as she hovered in the doorway. Rain pattered on the thatched roof, adding a grim note.

Together, Father and Rowan trudged off toward the orchard. Kael, in Mother's arms, let out a whimper that contained more than mere baby discomfort—he felt powerless. Another savage beast approached, and Father risked re-injury.

Mother exhaled shakily. "It'll be fine," she whispered, as if trying to reassure them both. She retreated inside, hugging Kael to her chest, pacing anxiously. "He'll just direct them, no direct fight—he promised."

Kael's mind churned. The orchard gate was only a few hundred yards away. If that boar truly arrived, a half-crippled father might not hold back from stepping in to protect neighbors. And if the boar had more earthen power than the wolf…

He needed a plan.

Taking a Risk

Before Mother could barricade the door from worry, Kael let out a shrill infant cry—his first real wail in days. Surprised, she paused mid-step. "Kael?" He wailed again, thrashing as though unsettled. She tried to soothe him, rocking him softly, but he twisted, letting the blanket slip.

She frowned. "Are you hungry again? Or—" Another cry. The volume startled her. She carried him closer to the hearth, attempting to cradle him, but Kael kept fussing, eyes squeezed as if in pain.

"Shh," Mother crooned, alarmed that her ever-calm baby was inconsolable. "What's wrong?" She started rummaging for a leftover mash, suspecting hunger.

Kael pressed advantage. The moment her grip loosened, he flailed, toppling sideways from her arms. She caught him—yet in that confusion, he managed to slip the door latch with a tiny foot. The door swung open under the pressure of the drizzle-laden wind. Rain blew in, surprising Mother.

"Oh dear—!" She struggled to keep Kael steady, water pattering the threshold. Kael kicked again, letting out a near-scream. His aim: to break free from her arms just enough that she had to set him down for a moment.

Which she did—placing him gently but hastily in the cradle near the door, so she could push the door shut against the wind. In that split second, Kael mustered a subtle swirl of Air around himself. The swirl formed a slight breeze that propelled the cradle forward—just enough that the wheels (Father had built a wheeled cradle for mobility) began rolling out the open door.

"Kael!" Mother gasped, slamming the door half-shut behind her as she dashed to catch the cradle. But the cradle, guided by Kael's silent synergy, rolled faster than it should over the slick threshold, out into the drizzle.

A jolt of adrenaline coursed through Kael. This was reckless—but he had to get closer to the orchard, or at least within earshot, in case Father confronted that boar. If needed, Kael might unleash his ephemeral shield or a small flame-laced air swirl to distract the beast. He had no illusions that he could kill it, but even a fleeting hesitation might save Father's life.

A Dash Through the Rain

Mother rushed after the cradle, cursing the mud and rain. Kael, continuing his forced crying, tried not to think about how bizarre this must appear from her perspective: her typically calm baby had turned frantic, inadvertently rolling out into a downpour.

She seized the cradle's handle, halting its slide. "What in the world—? Kael, hush, hush!" She scooped him out, drenched by rain. He continued his wailing performance, thrashing just enough that she found it hard to retreat indoors. Instead, she improvised by pressing him close and scanning for any shelter or vantage. Her gaze flicked up the lane, where Father and Rowan had disappeared.

Her maternal instinct warred with the knowledge that Father might need help if things went awry. "I can't leave you alone inside, not with you so distressed," she murmured, hugging him. "Let's see if we can find Joren. Maybe that'll calm you." She threw a blanket over him, trudging up the muddy path in small steps.

Kael quieted his cries—just enough to appear soothed by the movement but still upset if she tried to turn back. Inside, he felt a swirl of relief. He was going to be closer to Father, hopefully in time to intervene.

An Ominous Sight

They hadn't gone far when shouts carried on the wind from beyond the orchard fence. Mother froze, eyes wide. She held Kael tighter, stepping behind a low stone wall to peer ahead. A cluster of villagers—Rowan among them—stood facing something large and bristling at the orchard's edge. Father leaned on his walking stick off to one side, face pale but resolute.

And the beast—a boar with patches of earthen scales glinting under the drizzle—stomped the ground, letting out a guttural snort. Its eyes glowed with a faint green light, and chunks of muddy turf flew with every scrape of its hooves. The orchard fence stood partially intact, but one section was battered open as if by unstoppable force.

"Stay back!" Father yelled, brandishing the stick more like a symbol than a weapon. Rowan and two others hefted crude spears. Another villager carried a pitchfork, trembling. The boar stomped again, seemingly unafraid. A faint green shimmer coursed along its flank.

Kael's heart hammered. He recognized the aura: residual earthen mana, not unlike the wolf's. This boar likely had even greater strength. If it charged, Father's half-healed side wouldn't withstand a single blow.

Mother watched in horror, not daring to approach. Kael felt her body shivering around him. He suppressed the urge to conjure a swirl of air right then and there. Wait for the critical moment.

The Charging Boar

Rowan took a step forward, spear trembling. The boar snorted, then lowered its tusks. Father tried to wave them all back, but it was too late. With a thunderous bellow, the boar charged.

Mud sprayed. Rowan's spear jabbed but barely scratched the creature's earthen plates. Another villager thrust, only to have the spear glance off. The boar slammed into the orchard fence, splintering more planks. One man stumbled, crying out. Father gritted his teeth, raising the stick to distract it from trampling the prone villager.

Kael's breath caught. The boar pivoted, focusing on Father's movement. Father braced with pained determination, but he was no shape to dodge swiftly. The beast snarled—it would gore him if no one intervened.

Kael's mind raced. He couldn't simply do nothing. Mother, holding him, was too paralyzed with fear to act. Summoning every ounce of focus, Kael visualized the swirling synergy of Fire and Air. He aimed to conjure a small but potent shock—a flash that might distract the boar for an instant.

He inhaled. Through his half-lidded infant eyes, the world slowed. He funneled mana from his core, weaving it into an invisible lance of heated air. Not a direct flame—just a superheated gust. He let it swirl behind the boar's flank, aiming to create a sudden wave of scorching wind.

A Calculated Distraction

Kael unleashed the swirl. A ripple of heated air battered the boar's side, enough to singe its coarse hide. Steam and a faint hiss rose under the drizzle. The boar squealed in surprise, halting its charge for a split second, thrashing about to locate the source of unexpected heat.

That fleeting hesitation allowed Father to hobble aside, narrowly avoiding the boar's tusks. Rowan and another villager rushed in with renewed vigor, jabbing at the creature's flank. Their spears found slightly better purchase in the confusion, drawing blood. The boar screeched, staggering, uncertain which threat loomed largest.

Kael's chest burned from the effort. Maintaining the swirl required more mana than any of his prior experiments. He let it fade quickly to avoid detection. His whole body trembled—Mother might notice, but hopefully she'd attribute it to shock from the commotion.

The boar, bleeding and disoriented, decided the orchard no longer offered easy prey. With a furious squeal, it spun and charged off into the nearby trees. Muddy tracks and broken fence posts lay in its wake. Villagers panted in relief.

Aftermath

Rowan helped the fallen villager up. Father nearly collapsed from the stress on his wound. He clutched his side, face drawn with pain, but alive. Mother rushed forward, Kael in arms, ignoring the mud as she reached Father's side.

"Joren!" she cried, voice thick with emotion. "Are you hurt worse?"

Father wheezed, leaning on the walking stick. "I—I think I'm all right." Then he gave a shaky laugh. "That boar… it was about to flatten me. Then something startled it." He shook his head, baffled. "Felt like a sudden wave of—of hot wind?"

Rowan blinked. "I felt something too—like a blast of heat. Thought it was lightning at first, but no flash." Another villager scratched his head. "Strangest thing. The beast spooked right as it would've gored you."

They exchanged confused glances. Father's brow furrowed. "Might be some lingering orchard phenomenon from those earthen flows," he mumbled. "Grateful for small mercies, either way."

Mother, holding Kael, cast a trembling look at the orchard's wrecked fence, then at her husband. "Thank the Spirits," she murmured. She pressed a kiss to Father's cheek, tears mixing with the drizzle. Kael relaxed in her arms, forcing a convincing baby whine—exhaustion from the ordeal, as far as anyone else could tell.

A Private Reflection

Within the hour, the orchard folk dispersed, hurriedly patching fences before the rain worsened. Father and Mother limped back home, Rowan insisting on escorting them. Once inside, Father sank onto the bed with a gasp. Mother fussed, checking his bandage, relieved it wasn't torn further.

Kael watched quietly from her lap. He'd used a real portion of his mana in that swirling blast. His limbs felt oddly heavy, a sign of mild depletion. He needed rest—but the thought of Father's safety overshadowed fatigue. He'd done it—he'd protected Father indirectly, ensuring no one realized the infant was the cause. A secret success.

That evening, after Rowan departed with well-wishes, the little family sat in a subdued hush by the dim hearth. Mother prepared a simple meal, Father ate half-heartedly, and Kael feigned typical baby dozing. Every so often, Father mumbled about the strange hot wind phenomenon. Mother just nodded, too relieved he'd survived to probe further.

Late Night Resolve Renewed

When night fully cloaked Brightwood, Father dozed heavily, spent from the day's near-catastrophe. Mother sat in a chair, drifting in and out of sleep while crocheting. Kael lay in his cradle, mind abuzz despite exhaustion.

Today proved the viability of his approach—small, targeted illusions or blasts to tip the scales. He hadn't unleashed an open flame or an obvious spark. He'd conjured heated wind, ephemeral enough to pass for a freak orchard anomaly. None suspected a baby. That stealth was everything.

He slowly brought up his Status Window, mindful to keep his eyes half-lidded so Mother wouldn't notice if she glanced up:

Status Window

Name: Kael Ashborne

Talent: SSS (Hidden)

Age: ~6 Months

Core Grade: Unawakened

Physique: Omni-Element Physique (Sealed)

Level: 1

Strength: 3

Intelligence: 10

Spirit: 12 (recently increased)

Agility: 3

Constitution: 3

Skills:

Mana Sense (Novice, Lv.2)Minor Air Channeling (Novice, Lv.6)Minor Fire Channeling (Novice, Lv.3)

He noted with satisfaction the new Spirit value, and the skill levels creeping upward. Everything still read "Novice," but that was enough for subtle success. He let the window vanish, breathing out a slow exhale.

He was on the right track—quiet training, incremental leaps, carefully masked interventions. Step by step, he'd grow from an infant with hidden mastery into someone capable of truly shielding his loved ones. The orchard might be safer now that this boar had fled, but the greater lesson remained: Aurelia's dangers loomed, no matter how humble the setting.

Despite the day's strain, Kael felt a small glow of triumph. He'd protected Father without blowing his cover. For once, the helplessness he'd endured while watching Father's slow recovery softened. The synergy of Fire and Air was already paying off.

He closed his eyes, letting real sleep claim him at last. Tomorrow promised new trials, new training—and soon he'd ensure that no father, no mother, no villager would suffer harm if he could prevent it. Quiet or not, his presence now made a difference in ways no one could suspect.

And so, as the coals in the hearth dimmed to faint embers, Kael sank into slumber, the beat of father's steady breathing echoing in his ears. The forging of destiny had already begun, hammered out in subtle blasts of hidden power and unwavering resolve.