Chapter 7: Cover
The second month in the Grewe household marked a turning point for Jul. Though he was only an infant by appearance, his progress was nothing short of extraordinary. His once faint and steady aura began to grow subtly more vibrant. To someone who didn’t know, Jul seemed like a treasure as an unusually calm baby, so peaceful and never bother the adults. But to the Grewe's, who had decades of experience with energy and subtle magics, Jul was like a storm gathering power in silence. Both he and his wife couldn’t help but feel they were seeing something truly unique, something they had never imagined before.
Old Man Grewe often found himself wondering late at night.
"What kind of life lies ahead for a child like this?" he mused as he sat by the dim firelight.
"Power like his will attract attention, and attention like that brings nothing but danger."
Mrs. Grewe shared her husband’s unease, though her thoughts were tinged with a motherly protectiveness.
"He’s just a baby," she would whisper to herself as she rocked Jul to sleep.
"Whatever he is meant to become, he deserves to grow up safe, to know kindness before the world’s cruelty."
Their combined resolve deepened with each passing day, as did their fear of what might happen should Jul’s secret ever be discovered. One evening, as the fire crackled softly, Mrs. Grewe voiced her thoughts aloud, her knitting needles paused mid-stitch.
"Osric, what if someone finds out about him? What if they come for him?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Old Man Grewe exhaled a plume of smoke from his pipe, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
"If they find out, it’ll be chaos," he said gravely.
"The court, the Church… they’d tear this place apart to get to him. But they won’t find out. Not as long as I’m alive."
She placed her hands on her lap, her eyes reflecting both worry and determination.
"He’s just a baby, Osric. Whatever power he has, he deserves a chance to grow up safe."
Old Man Grewe nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames.
"Aye, he does. And we’ll make sure he gets it, no matter what."
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Mrs. Grewe first noticed the change when she held Jul one crisp morning. The boy's skin was warm to the touch, not feverish but radiating a comforting heat. When she looked into his eyes, it felt as though she were staring into an endless well of calm yet unfathomable depth.
“It’s like he sees right through me,” she murmured, brushing her thumb gently across his cheek. “
Osric, have you noticed anything… unusual?”
Old Man Grewe leaned against the doorway, his ever-present pipe in hand. He watched the boy for a moment, his brows furrowed.
He stepped closer and knelt by the cradle, placing a hand above Jul’s small form. Without touching him, he could feel the energy radiating outward. It wasn’t wild or chaotic. It was controlled, steady, and unnervingly vast for someone so young.
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“Most children take years to develop any significant energy flow,” he muttered. “But this one… it’s as if the world itself bends to him.”
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Jul spent much of his time in quiet observation. From his cradle, his wide, curious eyes followed the movements of everyone around him. Leon’s boisterous training sessions, Mrs. Grewe’s bustling chores, and Old Man Grewe’s quiet musings all seemed to hold his rapt attention. He watched, he learned, and—though no one could truly know—he understood. Jul began to piece together the simple language spoken around him. His keen observation of how the Grewes and Leon communicated helped him associate sounds with actions, emotions, and objects. When Mrs. Grewe lovingly cooed words while rocking him, he started to understand their meaning from her tone and repetition. Leon’s loud shouts during play and Old Man Grewe’s quiet instructions added more to his learning. Little by little, Jul’s mind picked up the rhythm and patterns of their speech, preparing him to one day talk back to them.
But it was at night that the changes became most apparent. As the household slept, Jul’s body subtly glowed with faint threads of silver light. The light seemed to respond to the moonlight streaming through the window, as if drawing strength from its soft glow. They wove around him like living threads, pulsating in time with his breathing, and the air around him grew still, almost reverent. It was as though the energy of the moon itself was being harnessed, channeling through Jul’s small form in an intricate, unspoken rhythm. Each pulse brought a subtle ripple of warmth and calm to the room, like the tide ebbing and flowing under lunar guidance. The energy flow that Mrs. Grewe had noticed before was now undeniable. It wasn’t just growing; it was evolving.
One night, Old Man Grewe stood silently in the doorway of the nursery, watching the phenomenon unfold. His face was unreadable, but his mind raced.
“If the Church or the court ever finds out about this,” he thought, gripping the doorframe tightly, “this child will never know peace.”
He turned away from the nursery and went to find his wife. Together, they discussed the danger Jul's growing power posed if it were ever noticed by the outside world. By the end of the night, they had resolved to create a barrier around their home, using knowledge rooted in old legends and arcane practices.
Mrs. Grewe took inventory of their herbal supplies, gathering ingredients known for their protective properties. She used sage for purification, rue to ward off ill intent, and elderflowers, said to shield against unwelcome spirits. Meanwhile, Osric meticulously carved runes of protection into the wooden beams of their home, drawing from symbols described in ancient tomes. The sigils included the Shield of Aegis for defense and the Binding Knot to trap and dissipate leaking energy.
In addition to the herbs and carvings, the Grewes worked with natural elements. They placed enchanted salt lines around the house's perimeter and buried small quartz crystals at each corner of the property. These stones, once charged under the light of the moon, would amplify the barrier’s strength.
The couple worked tirelessly for days, their combined knowledge and determination driving them forward. Finally, on the night of the full moon, they completed the ritual. Together, they recited an incantation invoking the protective spirits of the land and sky, their voices merging with the hum of the barrier taking shape:
"Ansuz berkanan algiz, løka oss til land og himmel, Skjold vårt hjem fra prøvende øyne. Thurisaz raidho gebo, forsegle linjene med styrke og nåde, La ingen skade finne dette hellige sted."
Their chant, spoken in the ancient Runen tongue, filled the air with a resonant energy, the words wrapping around the house like invisible threads of protection. As the last syllable faded, the glow of their efforts shimmered around the property before vanishing into the night.
Inside the house, Jul’s eyes fluttered open. Though his infant form remained still, his mind was keenly aware of the energy swirling through the air. The intricate web of magic created by the barrier hummed faintly, resonating with the natural flow of the world around it. Jul observed this with an almost unnatural clarity, feeling the rhythm and pattern of the spell as if it were a language written in light.
He focused on the energy—how it moved, how it connected each rune and symbol etched into the house’s frame. It wasn’t just magic; it was a tapestry woven from the essence of the earth, air, and the ancient knowledge of the Grewes. Jul absorbed every detail, his mind grasping the fundamental principles of the spell. Even as an infant, he was learning, not from words or instruction, but from the silent language of energy itself.
A faint shimmer of light enveloped the house, glowing momentarily before fading into invisibility. The air grew still, charged with a quiet power that reassured the Grewes.
“It’ll hold,” Osric said, his voice steady but weary. He turned to his wife and added, “As long as we’re alive, no one will find him.”
Mrs. Grewe nodded, her fingers brushing his arm. “He’s safe now. And we’ll make sure it stays that way.”