The meal was strange. Thorne could feel the weight of his father’s and Bea’s gazes on him, as if they couldn’t help but steal glances every few moments. They looked at him like he was something dangerous—like a wild animal that could lash out at any second. Every time Thorne looked up, their eyes quickly darted away, as if they were trying to hide their concern. His father, in particular, looked guilty, and every now and then Thorne would catch his mother nudging him under the table.

Thorne’s hunger, which had gnawed at him earlier, had long since disappeared. He played with his food, pushing it around the bowl. The strange tension in the room made him feel uneasy, and the odd behavior of his father and sister only made it worse.

His mother pushed her bowl aside and stood up, breaking the heavy silence. "Thorne, why don’t we take a walk?" she suggested, her voice light and casual.

Thorne nodded eagerly, eager to escape the stifling atmosphere that clung to the small room like fog. "Yes, please!" he blurted out, pushing his chair back and standing quickly.

As they made their way to the door, his mother glanced back at Bea, who had remained quiet throughout the meal. “Bea, would you be a dear and clean up for us?” The request wasn’t harsh, but there was a sharpness to her tone that made Bea look away, guilt written all over her face. She couldn’t meet Thorne’s eyes.

His mother gently ushered him out the door, and they started walking. Instead of taking the usual path toward the village, she led him in a different direction—toward the familiar trail that wound through the woods toward Elver City.

The air outside was crisp, and Thorne could hear the forest coming alive around them. Now that they were deeper in the woods, the sounds seemed to amplify in his mind—the rustle of leaves, the skittering of small creatures, the distant calls of birds. Every subtle movement, every whisper of wind brought with it new sounds, and Thorne had to focus hard to filter them out. He had visited these woods for as long as he could remember, but now it felt as if he was hearing them for the first time.

His mother was quiet as they walked. Every so often, she would reach out to touch a plant or flower, infusing it with aether. Wherever her hand passed, the plants would bloom more vibrantly, their leaves brighter, their stems stronger. By the time they passed, the forest behind them was marked by a trail of life—healthy, glowing plants that seemed to have sprung to life in their wake.

"How are you feeling?" his mother finally asked, her voice soft as she knelt beside a small reed that looked ready to die.

Thorne sighed. "It’s still hard to keep the noise away. The aether motes keep showing up when I lose focus. It’s like I have to keep doing the same thing over and over." His frustration seeped into his voice, and he clenched his fists at his sides.

His mother nodded, as if she had expected his response. She leaned down and breathed new life into the reed, watching as it transformed into a beautiful, radiant flower. She gently caressed the petals, her touch light and delicate. After a few moments, she looked up, her expression more serious than usual.

"You’ll have to forgive your father and Bea," she said with a sigh. "They knew that once your core formed, there would be changes. But knowing something and experiencing it are two very different things."

Thorne frowned, not fully understanding. What changes? He looked down at his hands, trying to spot any differences, but they looked the same. His mother, seeing the confusion on his face, chuckled softly.

"Silly me," she muttered under her breath as she stood up. “After your core was formed, you changed a little... just a little,” she said, holding up her hand with her fingers close together, showing him just how small the difference was.

"That’s not much," Thorne said, his confusion deepening. If it’s so small, why are they acting so strange?

His mother laughed again, nodding in agreement. "It doesn’t seem like much, does it?" she said. "But it’s enough that your father and Bea were surprised. The problem is, they can’t really figure out what’s changed, and that’s what’s confusing them even more."

Thorne raised his hands again, trying to see what she was talking about. His arms looked the same... and yet, they didn’t. He squinted and gasped in surprise. Beneath his skin, something glowed—a faint radiance, like a light shining from within. Panic rose in his chest as he looked up at his mother, but she only smiled, her eyes calm and gentle.

Without a word, she reached inside her blouse and pulled out a pendant. The teardrop-shaped stone at its center shimmered a bright blue in the sunlight, almost glowing. But when she unclasped the necklace and held it in her hand, the stone dulled, its glow vanishing until it looked like an ordinary rock.

Thorne was so focused on the pendant that he hadn’t noticed the change happening in front of him. When he finally looked up at his mother, he froze, the words catching in his throat. He stumbled backward, his foot catching on a root, and he fell to the ground, staring at her in shock.

"It’s okay, child," his mother chuckled, clearly amused by his reaction. "It’s still me."

Thorne scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes roamed over her, taking in the subtle—but unmistakable—differences. She was still his mother... but not. Her appearance had shifted, changed in ways that were hard to explain.

Her eyes were the first thing he noticed. They had always been blue, but now they shone with a brilliance that seemed otherworldly. The color wasn’t just blue anymore—it was a sea of shifting shades, from deep cerulean to the lightest sky blue, constantly moving and swirling as if alive.

Her hair, which had always been a rich mahogany, now seemed to glow. It shimmered in the sunlight, almost as if each strand was alive, moving in an invisible breeze. Her face, too, had changed. The angles of her cheeks were sharper, more pronounced, like they had been carved from marble. She was beautiful—more beautiful than he had ever realized.

Lastly, her skin... it radiated light, brighter than the motes of aether that always danced around his vision. It was as if her entire being was made of light, and for the first time, Thorne saw the connection between his mother and the strange glow beneath his own skin. We’re the same.

She stepped closer, her hand outstretched. Hesitantly, Thorne reached out and took her hand. It was warm, familiar—just like always—but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was touching something far more powerful than he had ever imagined.

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"Let’s keep walking," she said softly. "It’ll help clear your mind."

Thorne nodded, trailing behind her, still awestruck by the transformation. Even the way she moved was different—graceful, almost floating. Every step seemed lighter than the one before, as if she was gliding through the air. It was mesmerizing to watch.

"Mom, how...?" he started, but she cut him off with a gentle look.

"Thorne," she said, her voice both patient and firm, "I know you have a lot of questions. But before we get into that, I want to tell you a story. After that, you can ask as many questions as you want." She smiled, though there was a hint of exasperation in her eyes.

Thorne pinched his lips together to stop himself from blurting out the millions of questions racing through his mind. He nodded, trying to control his impatience.

His mother chuckled at his expression and began walking again, the forest alive with light and life in their wake.

“When this world was created, it was wild. Beautiful but dangerous. Gods, so powerful that a mortal mind couldn’t comprehend, walked this land and saw the beauty. But... those Gods were few, and quarrelsome. So, each of them walked their own path, trying to avoid the others, because if two Gods decided to go to war, this world would break asunder.”

His mother’s voice seemed to flow through the trees, weaving between the branches and flowers, pulling in everything around them. It was captivating, as if even the forest itself was listening, eager to hear her tale. Thorne was so absorbed by her words that he jolted when he stumbled over something soft. A squeak pierced the air as a startled squirrel dashed up a tree, its beady eyes glaring at him before flicking back to his mother. She chuckled at Thorne’s clumsiness, but soon her voice returned to its dreamlike tone, continuing her story.

“Each God occupied a piece of this land,” she went on, her voice a melodic whisper. “They shaped and nurtured the lands they claimed as their own, turning them into something miraculous—places so pure, so extraordinary that nothing in the great expanse of the universe could compare. Yet, for all the beauty they created, they could not share it. Each God was bound to their own domain, with no one to walk beside them.”

Her words hung in the air like a soft breeze. Thorne found himself sitting on a familiar rock, his feet splashing gently in the creek that wound through the woods. He hadn’t even realized they had stopped walking. A squirrel now lounged contentedly on his mother’s lap, her fingers absentmindedly scratching its belly as she continued.

"Lonely and desperate for companionship, the Gods began to create children. These children were beings of incredible power, so tightly connected to the aether that it is said even one of their breaths could cause cataclysms on the other side of the world. These children were called the elder races."

Her voice lowered, growing sadder as her tale continued. “The Gods were happy once again. They had the Sylphs, the Titans, the Seraphim, and a myriad of other elder races to keep them company. The Gods had found new purpose in their children, dedicating themselves to nurturing and providing for them. And as the elder races grew, the Gods realized their children needed something more to continue progressing. They needed more aether, more challenges... more strife.”

Her eyes flickered with sorrow, her gaze drifting over the creek’s surface. When she looked at Thorne again, her expression was serious, and her words carried a weight that made his heart sink. “You see, Thorne, this truth has remained throughout time, even eons after the first conflicts. In order to grow stronger, in order to advance... there must be strife, conflict, and death. That is the unfortunate reality.”

Thorne froze, his mother’s words echoing in his mind. Conflict... death? It felt so strange to hear her speak of such things. His mother had always been gentle, kind. Hearing her talk about war and suffering—it felt foreign, as if the words didn’t belong to her. He could see the weight of those words on her shoulders, dulling her usual brightness.

“The inevitable conflict began,” she continued, her voice tinged with regret. “The elder races went to war, and bloodshed filled the very bedrock of the world. Everything the Gods had created, everything they had nurtured, was crumbling before their eyes. The beauty they sought to share turned to dust as war consumed the land.”

Thorne’s mind reeled, trying to make sense of the story. Why? Why would they destroy everything? He had always imagined gods as all-powerful, all-knowing. How could they not find a way to stop the destruction? Why couldn’t they stop the war?

“The Gods, seeing the destruction, came to an agreement,” his mother said, her voice soft with sorrow. “They called off their hostilities. But by then, it was too late. The first of the elder races had fallen in battle. The God who had fathered that race was driven mad by grief. In his delirium, he obliterated the race responsible and went to war with the God who had created them.”

She looked up toward the sky, her gaze faraway, as if searching for something in the clouds. “One by one, the elder races fell. The Gods themselves were dragged into the conflict, and soon, they too began to fall. Entire races were wiped out, their existence erased from this world... and with them, the Gods.”

Thorne sighed, the story heavy on his heart. It sounded so senseless to him, all the death and destruction for the sake of power. If the Gods were so powerful, how could they not stop this? He felt a twinge of anger. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed... pointless.

“Only a handful of the elder races survived,” his mother said, her voice quiet. “But those few survivors were enough to carry on the legacy of the Gods. Without the Gods to guide them, a new order was born. The remaining people were no longer bound to their own domains. They traveled, met their old enemies, and for the first time, they mixed. They lived together, laughed together... and loved together.”

A soft smile tugged at her lips, as if recalling a distant memory. “The world began to heal. A new peace fell over the land, and the aether—wounded as it was—started to recover.”

Her smile, though gentle, didn’t last long. “But one day, a new race appeared. No one knows exactly how they came to be. Some believe they were descendants of the elder races. Others think that perhaps a few Gods had survived and, once again, sought companionship. Regardless of the how, new races began to emerge. The elves came first, then the dwarves, the beastkin, and eventually, dozens of other races appeared... and lastly, the humans.”

Thorne’s frown deepened. He could hear the bitterness in his mother’s voice when she mentioned the humans. Why? Why does she hate humans? The thought gnawed at him. She’s human, isn’t she? And I’m human too...

“The new races lived alongside the remnants of the elder races for many years,” she continued. “Often, they revered the elder races as Gods. They didn’t know the true might of the Gods, so to them, the elder races were divine. But that difference in power... it created something dangerous. Arrogance grew in the hearts of the elder races, while envy bloomed in the younger ones. It wasn’t long before the younger races came to the same realization that the Gods had so long ago. Strife and conflict would help them grow stronger, and once again, war erupted.” With a sad voice she added.

“This time, however, the elder races were truly doomed, because the young races came upon a discovery. They found a way to steal the connection the elder races had with the aether... and the source of their power.”

She paused, her voice trailing off. Thorne frowned, a thought stirring at the edges of his mind. Why couldn’t humans see the aether? He could see it—the motes that danced in the air, the energy that flowed through the trees and plants. How could humans not see it?

His eyes sought out his mother, searching her face for answers. She was watching him closely, her gaze patient, as if waiting for him to reach a realization.

His breath caught in his throat. The humans... they couldn’t see the aether. They were trying to steal it.

He looked around at the motes, now understanding their significance. They swirled around him, creating a mesmerizing display of light and life. This is what they wanted to take.

His hand flew to his chest, clutching at it as fear bloomed inside him. He could feel the aether inside him, deep within, at the core of his being. Was this what they had been fighting for?

His mother nodded, her face filled with grief and sadness. Her simple gesture carried the weight of the truth.

“Yes, Thorne,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Your core...”