"Thorne!"

Thorne grimaced, quickly shoving his wooden soldiers under the bed. The valiant Ser Knight had been on the verge of defeating the evil wizard, and now—of all times—his mother had to call him. Why now? He let out a huff of frustration. Ser Knight’s sword was about to deal the final blow. Ugh.

"Coming!" he hollered back, pulling on his boots. He cast one last glance at the half-finished battle, then sprinted outside.

He found his mother in her garden behind their house. The familiar scent of moist earth and the fragrance of herbs greeted him, calming him a little. His mother was bent over a peculiar plant with blue leaves and bulbous flowers, her gloved hands working gently at its base.

Today was one of the rare days his father had ventured deeper into the forest, leaving Thorne at home. Most of the time, days like this were filled with endless lectures about plants and potions. He didn't mind his mother’s lessons, but compared to the excitement of hunting with his father, they felt... boring. Thorne crossed his arms and stood there, his mood sour.

"I'm here," he grumbled, scuffing the ground with his boot.

His mother glanced up and gave him a soft smile before pointing toward a small bag near the garden bed. Thorne picked it up and wrinkled his nose as he looked inside. The coarse sand-like substance made his nose itch.

"What's this?" he asked, dumping the small bag next to her.

His mother grabbed a handful of the dust and sprinkled it around the plant’s roots. To his surprise, the blue leaves trembled, vibrating as if they were alive—or itching, like his nose. Thorne's eyes widened at the odd sight.

"That’s ground-up bitebeetle," his mother explained, wiping her brow with her leather glove. "If it touches your skin, it’ll make you itch like crazy, but it has its uses." She pointed to the bulbous flowers on the plant, careful not to touch them. "These flowers defend the plant when you try to pluck its leaves. They release a weak toxin that causes paralysis if you’re not careful."

Thorne frowned, looking from the flowers to the dust in her hands. "So, what does the bitebeetle dust do?"

"It neutralizes the flowers’ toxin." She reached out and carefully placed her hand on one of the blue leaves. "See?" Her fingers twisted gently, and the leaf fell away without any reaction from the flowers. She smiled at him, a radiant, warm smile. "Want to give it a try?"

Thorne hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay." He stepped closer, his heart beating faster as he reached out. His hand hovered over the plant for a second before he cautiously touched one of the leaves. A slight shiver ran through the plant, but it didn’t react beyond that. He twisted his hand, and the leaf came off with ease.

His mother’s smile grew wider. "Good, very good!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and soon Thorne found himself smiling, a small spark of pride flickering in his chest.

"Once your core is formed," she said, standing up, "I’m sure you’ll develop the herbology skill!"

Thorne’s smile quickly faded into a grimace. Herbology? He would much rather have a skill related to swords or even bows. He wanted to be just like Ser Knight, battling evil wizards and defending the realm, not fiddling with plants.

His mother laughed, clearly seeing the disappointment on his face. "Oh, don’t be like that! Herbology is a useful skill. You can grow plants that heal wounds, make you smarter, or even make you better at fighting." She winked at him, a twinkle in her eye.

Thorne’s eyes widened. "I could be as strong as Dad?" he asked, excitement creeping into his voice.

His mother chuckled, dropping the handful of dust and lunging at him playfully. "Of course! But you also have to eat all your food!" Her fingers found his sides, tickling him mercilessly. Thorne shrieked with laughter, trying to squirm away, but her hands were everywhere.

"Mom! Stop!" he gasped between laughs, tears forming in his eyes.

After what felt like an eternity of laughter, his mother finally relented, letting him go. She wiped a smudge of dirt from his cheek with her thumb and helped him to his feet. "You know," she began, dusting off her gloves, "people are always eager to buy plants for their potions. Lightbell is popular for healing, and Shoura can never get enough of them."

Thorne nodded, thinking of the village alchemist. Shoura always seemed excited when they brought herbs to sell. Every time his mother went to the village, she returned with a pouch full of silver coins. His father, on the other hand, only managed to get a few coppers for even the biggest boars they hunted. How is that fair?

His face must have betrayed his thoughts, because his mother frowned slightly. "What’s wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Thorne hesitated, trying to choose his words carefully. "It’s just... it’s weird that people pay so much for plants."

He glanced around the garden. Everything inside the fence was bursting with life, the vibrant greens and colorful flowers starkly different from the dull, lifeless trees outside. "How do you do it? With the bitebeetle dust and everything?" he asked, genuinely curious.

His mother paused, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. Thorne’s curiosity piqued. Why is she hesitating?

After a moment, she crouched down beside him, her fingers tracing the petal of a beautiful red flower. "You see," she began softly, "everything around us is made of aether."

Thorne straightened up, sensing the seriousness in her tone.

"Some people," she continued, her gaze distant, "are able to manipulate the aether. They can do incredible things."

Thorne’s attention sharpened. This wasn’t like her usual talks about plants. Aether? He had heard the word before in the village, but always in vague, cryptic ways. His mind buzzed with excitement. "You mean... like wizards?" he asked, his mouth forming a small 'O.'

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His mother chuckled and nodded. "Yes, like wizards. But not necessarily." She paused for a moment, then added, "There are many ways to use aether. Someone with access to it could become a mage, a warrior, or even something else, depending on their affinity and inclinations."

Her explanation was a bit too abstract for him, and Thorne’s mind latched onto the part that excited him the most. "Wait... YOU'RE A MAGE?!" he shouted, hopping up and down in excitement.

"Shh!" his mother shushed him, laughing as she tried to calm him down. "It’s more complicated than that."

Thorne’s excitement dimmed, and he plopped down next to her again. His mother sighed and continued, her tone more somber. "I’m not a mage, Thorne."

The finality in her voice deflated his enthusiasm entirely. He sat quietly, waiting for her to explain.

She shifted so that they were sitting face-to-face, the smell of damp earth surrounding them. She reached out and took his hands in hers, her palms warm and comforting. "I’m a little different from most people. I can see the aether around me, inside people, plants, and even in the wind."

Thorne frowned, his gaze following hers as she looked around the garden. What is she seeing? Her face had a dreamy, faraway expression, and no matter how long he looked, he couldn’t spot anything unusual.

"But if you can see aether, and we use it to make magic, why aren’t you a mage?" he asked, completely confused.

His mother smiled, and without a word, she let go of his hands and reached for a nearby plant. Its long, thin leaves drooped sadly, but when her fingers touched the smooth surface, the plant responded instantly. Its stalk straightened, the leaves rising as if they were alive again, growing stronger, taller, right before his eyes.

Thorne watched in awe as the plant continued to grow, its leaves nearly brushing the top of his head. His mother’s hands glowed faintly as she fed it aether, and the transformation left him speechless.

"That... that’s amazing!" he breathed, his eyes wide with wonder.

The leaf his mother had touched grew larger than Thorne’s head, radiating a soft, green glow that illuminated the space around it. Thorne’s eyes widened, glued to the spectacle unfolding before him. His world seemed to condense into the life-giving hand, the steady hum of magic filling the air.

Everything else faded away. The soft breeze, the rustling of the trees, even his own breathing—they became distant, mere echoes. A faint buzzing filled his ears, growing louder with each passing second. His heart raced, and a wave of dizziness swept over him, but his gaze never wavered from the glowing plant.

His head swam as if the world was spinning beneath him. He blinked, once, twice, three times, his vision blurring as sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He blinked furiously, unwilling to lose sight of the magic before him, afraid that if he looked away for even a second, the magic would disappear.

He blinked again—and everything changed.

The world exploded into color. His mother’s hand, once simply glowing, now shone with a radiance so bright it was nearly blinding. He gasped, turning away, but what he saw next stole the breath from his lungs.

Everything around him glowed. The garden, the plants, the sky—it was as though someone had painted the world with every color imaginable. Yellows and pinks swirled together, clashing with fiery scarlets that seemed to war against the soft blues. Colors he didn’t even know the names of shimmered and danced before his eyes, some moving gracefully, others darting away like startled creatures, as if trying to hide from his gaze.

Without thinking, Thorne raised his hands, trying to catch the colorful motes of light floating around him. “So pretty...” he murmured, his voice soft and far away. He barely realized that he had stood up. His heart filled with joy, and for the first time in his life, he laughed—a pure, unrestrained sound as he spun in circles, his arms flapping as if to chase the lights.

The motes seemed to play along, swirling around him, evading his touch and then darting back toward him. Each movement made the colors shift, creating waves of light that danced in harmony with his laughter.

His attention was drawn to the garden. The plants, every single one of them, glowed with a brilliance unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was as if each leaf, each petal, contained the light of a thousand stars, shining brighter than the night sky. The motes of light within the plants were so tightly packed, they formed radiant beacons, pulsing with life.

His eyes traveled downward, and for the first time, he noticed something else. Beneath the soil, a sea of motes shifted and swirled, shapes forming from the earth itself. Creatures—small, ethereal, like spirits—danced just below the surface. Something in the earth beckoned to him, pulling at the edges of his consciousness.

His hands rose, almost of their own accord, as if some unseen force was guiding him. He reached out toward the earth, inviting the shapes and creatures to the surface. The world around him felt alive, connected to him in ways he couldn’t comprehend.

Suddenly, everything happened at once.

"Thorne!" His mother’s voice pierced through the haze, desperate and alarmed, but his focus remained locked on the earth beneath him. The brown soil churned as if stirred by an invisible hand, and small sprouts began bursting through the surface, glowing and growing with incredible speed.

Thorne tried to move, tried to stop whatever was happening, but he couldn’t. His legs felt rooted to the ground, his body frozen in place as the sprouts shot up around him. Euphoria surged through him, battling against an overwhelming sense of weakness. He could feel the motes of light gathering, swirling around him like a storm, their presence almost suffocating. They drifted toward him, responding to a command he hadn’t realized he’d given.

The motes began to enter his body.

He gasped as they poured into every pore of his skin, filling him with an energy so potent it felt like it would tear him apart. They converged inside him, all of them gathering at a single point in the center of his chest. A loud crack, like the sound of shattering glass, echoed through him, and his entire body trembled.

The motes kept coming, flooding into him, overwhelming his senses. But then, just as quickly, some began to leave, exiting through his skin in waves. The plants that had sprouted from the earth continued to grow, shooting upward with unnatural speed until they rivaled the size and brightness of his mother’s garden.

He felt powerful. Stronger than he ever had before. But beneath that strength was something else—something hollow and empty, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. A void, a darkness that threatened to consume him from the inside.

I have to stop. The thought echoed through his mind, but he had no idea how. He was a statue, frozen in place, forced to weather the storm raging around him.

Another crack sounded from deep within him, and his body shuddered violently. The heaviness in his chest grew stronger, pulling at him, dragging him down like an anchor. Another crack, another shudder. His breath hitched as the colorful motes, once beautiful and inviting, now felt sinister and dangerous, burrowing into his body like invaders.

Stop! Please stop! his mind screamed, but his body remained still, unresponsive.

Another crack. His legs buckled under the weight of the energy flooding into him. Strong hands caught him, steadying him, but he couldn’t see who was holding him. His vision was awash with colors, swirling and shifting, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

The heaviness grew unbearable. It felt as though, if those hands let go, he would sink through the earth itself, pulled down into the deepest depths by the weight in his chest.

Another crack. His body shuddered again, and something deep inside him shifted. The heaviness reached a peak, pressing down on him with such force that he thought he might be crushed beneath it. But with that weight came a strange sense of relief, like a great pressure had been lifted.

The motes stopped moving. They hovered around him, suspended in midair. The world around him had come to a standstill, frozen in a moment of perfect stillness.

For a brief, fleeting second, Thorne was at peace. A soft smile curled on his lips as he marveled at the beauty of the world around him, so full of color and life. But the moment didn’t last.

The motes began to move again. Their stillness shattered as they surged toward him, faster and more determined than before. They slammed into him with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs, filling him with a power so fierce, it burned.

Pain exploded in his chest. The motes weren’t beautiful anymore—they were sharp, relentless, tearing through him with wild abandon. He could feel his mind splintering under the weight of it, his body no longer his own.

The final crack echoed through him like a thunderclap, and everything went dark.