The gentle rustle of the evening breeze carried with it the faint scent of roses as Lady Elena stood in the quiet garden, her silver hair glinting under the soft light of the setting sun. The garden had always been her refuge—a place where the burdens of her noble responsibilities seemed to dissolve, even if only for a moment. But tonight, her thoughts weighed heavy, consumed by the same two people who now anchored her world: her grandson, Aiden, and her daughter, Lyria.
Elena could still remember the day Lyria had arrived at her estate, carrying Aiden in her arms. Her daughter had looked pale, fragile, and haunted by betrayal. The fiery warrior Elena had raised was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a woman broken by grief and abandonment. Elena's heart had ached at the sight, yet she had said nothing, choosing instead to focus on the small child nestled in Lyria's arms.
From the moment Elena first held Aiden, she had known he was different. His quiet, watchful gaze had unnerved her; it was as though he could see through her, reading every hidden thought and emotion. "He's extraordinary, isn't he?" Elena had murmured to herself that day, cradling the infant in her arms.
Over the years, her initial impression of Aiden had only deepened. By the time he was walking and talking, it was clear he was no ordinary child. His intelligence was far beyond his years, and there was a poise to him that seemed almost unnatural. At just three years old, Aiden devoured books meant for adults, asked questions no child his age should have understood, and even seemed to grasp the subtle tensions in the household.
But it wasn't just his intellect that set him apart. There was a quiet darkness in Aiden, a shadow that lurked beneath his bright exterior. Elena had caught glimpses of it in the way his gaze lingered on Lyria, or in the moments when he thought no one was watching. And then, there was that day—the day of his second birthday.
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Elena had been in another part of the house when it happened. Lyria had accidentally cut her hand while preparing a small feast for Aiden's celebration. By the time Elena reached the kitchen, the scene she walked into left her speechless. Lyria's hand, which had been bleeding profusely just moments before, was completely healed. And Aiden… Aiden had been standing nearby, his small fists clenched, his eyes glowing faintly with an unnatural light.
Elena hadn't said anything then, too stunned to react. But the memory haunted her, confirming what she had long suspected: Aiden was far more than he appeared to be. Since that day, she had kept a closer watch on him, observing the way he seemed almost too careful, as though deliberately hiding parts of himself. And yet, there were moments when his power slipped through the cracks—moments only she seemed to notice.
As much as she loved Aiden, Elena couldn't deny the unease he inspired. He was her grandson, yes, but he was also something larger, something she couldn't quite grasp. And then there were her own feelings—feelings she could barely admit even to herself. Around Aiden, she felt vulnerable in ways she hadn't been in decades, as though he held a power over her she couldn't explain.
Elena sighed and turned away from the garden, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions. She knew she had to stay strong, for Lyria and for Aiden. Whatever secrets her grandson was hiding, whatever destiny awaited him, she would be there to guide him.
With a determined stride, Elena made her way back to the house, vowing to be ready for whatever lay ahead.