Thorne stood frozen, his hand clutching at his chest as if to protect the core inside him. Fear gripped his body, making it hard to breathe. His mother’s serious expression only made the terror worse, and for a long moment, all he could do was stare at her, his heart racing.

Eventually, his heartbeat began to slow, but the fear lingered, a heavy weight pressing down on him. “But...” he murmured, his voice weak and desperate. “But I’m human, right? So, it’s okay. I’m not in danger.” He tried to reassure himself, forcing the words out, even though a sinking feeling in his gut told him the truth.

His mother’s sad smile was all the confirmation he needed. It felt like the ground was falling out from under him.

“I had hoped,” his mother began softly, “that you would be just like your father. Just like Bea.” She sighed, her eyes full of sadness. “But deep down, I knew. I saw the signs. How, without even realizing it, you used the aether around you. Do you remember how the fire would jump a little higher when you were cold in the winter? Or how, when a plant in the garden irritated you, it would seem to shrink back as if trying to avoid you? And that time you got angry with your sister... the sudden gust of wind that scattered her books? The floorboard that cracked, leaving her cursing?”

Thorne’s eyes widened. He remembered those moments clearly—small, odd events that he had always thought were just coincidences. Like the time Bea had refused to take him with her to the village, and he had watched her leave, sulking by the window. The branch from the tree outside had broken suddenly, landing on her head. She’d sported a large bump for a week, and Thorne had secretly enjoyed her misery. Had that been me?

His thoughts were interrupted by his mother’s next words.

“A formed core at the age of eight is unheard of.” Her voice sharpened, and her eyes narrowed with a seriousness that sent a chill through him. “You must never tell anyone, Thorne. No one can know that you’ve formed a core so young. Do you understand?”

Thorne nodded quickly, the intensity of her gaze leaving no room for disobedience. When she looked at him like that, he knew better than to argue.

“But...” he began, his voice trailing off as confusion clouded his mind. “What’s wrong with forming a core? Everyone does it.” He frowned, trying to make sense of her warning. “All the kids in the village talk about the skills they get once their cores form. It’s normal, right?” He crossed his arms, still not understanding why it was such a big deal. “Dad says I’m almost a grown-up. So what if I formed it early?”

His mother’s stoic expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Her beauty seemed to shine even brighter as she laughed softly. “Oh, honey, you’re a long way from being a grown-up.” She shook her head. “Most people don’t form their cores until they’re fourteen. That’s the age of coming of age, when they’re considered adults. To form a core at eight... it’s unheard of. And if people knew, it would raise questions—questions we don’t want to answer.”

Thorne scowled, his frustration rising. He hated being treated like a child. I’m not a kid anymore! He could already hunt in the forest with his father, something most people were too afraid to do. How could she still call him a kid?

His thoughts turned back to his core and what his mother had said about others asking questions. “Why did I form a core so young, then?”

His question seemed to catch his mother off guard. She frowned, opening and closing her mouth several times as if struggling to find the right words. Finally, she sighed and met his eyes.

“I thought you had figured it out, Thorne,” she said gently. “You’re part of the elder races.”

The world seemed to tilt. Thorne’s mind went blank, and for a moment, he couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Elder races? His mind screamed in protest. I’m human! How can I be...

“But... but the notifications said I was human,” Thorne stammered, his voice barely a whisper. “How can I be an elder race if my stats say I’m human?”

His mother nodded, as if she had anticipated his reaction. “Yes, as far as I know, your true lineage doesn’t appear in your stats. It’s a trait that seems to have developed over time, perhaps to keep the elder races hidden. Or maybe our bloodlines have diluted so much over the centuries that we appear more human than we are.” She paused, her eyes thoughtful. “But it doesn’t matter. There are still two ways to know if someone is of the elder races. One is the early formation of a core. We are magical beings, so connected to the aether that it takes less time for us to absorb enough to form a core, much quicker than the other races.”

Thorne’s thoughts swirled as he remembered the overwhelming sensation of aether rushing into him. The feeling had been both terrifying and exhilarating, filling him with a power that made him feel invincible. And yet, it had also felt like a force that could destroy him if he wasn’t careful.

“When did you form your core?” he asked, curious now. He had always thought his mother was... different.

A wistful expression crossed her face, a mixture of happiness and sadness in her eyes. “I was ten,” she said softly. “Ten to twelve is the usual age for our people. So, for you to have formed your core this early... it’s a miracle.”

Thorne’s frown deepened. But why does it matter so much? The question had been nagging at him ever since their conversation had started. “But why is it important that I formed it so young?”

His mother gave him an exasperated look. “Thorne, I’ve told you this before,” she said, her tone edged with impatience. “When you form a core, you can finally start leveling up, learning new skills, and earning attribute points to make you stronger, faster, and healthier. Your peers won’t form their cores for years, but you already have a head start. By the time they catch up, you’ll have almost a decade of growth on them!”

Thorne’s mind reeled as he tried to wrap his head around the enormity of what she was saying. If he had nearly ten years of progress on everyone else... I’ll be the strongest one! No one would be able to mock him, to push him around. He could be as powerful as his father, or even more.

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A grin spread across his face, excitement bubbling up inside him. Spiro, you’re going to regret every time you picked on me! He could already imagine how things would change, how he’d be respected, maybe even feared.

"Spiro, I’m coming for you!" he thought gleefully.

“I know it’s difficult to grasp the enormity of the advantage you have over your peers,” his mother said softly, watching him closely. “But in time, you’ll understand just how lucky you are.”

She cocked her head slightly and asked, “How many skills did you gain?”

Thorne furrowed his brow, trying to recall. The day the arbitrator had appeared was still a blur in his mind, but as if summoned by his thoughts, the familiar list of skills appeared before his eyes, clear as day:

* Foraging: level 1

* Tracking: level 1

* Archery: level 1

* Running: level 1

* Stealth: level 1

* Reading: level 1

* Arithmetic: level 1

* Herbalism: level 1

* PRIMAL AETHER MANIPULATION: level 1

His mother smiled when he read the list to her. “Me and your father were hoping for those skills,” she said, clearly pleased, “although stealth is a bit of a surprise. I suppose spending all that time hiding in the forest has paid off.”

Thorne blinked in surprise at how calm she seemed, especially about something as mysterious as Primal Aether Manipulation. “Most parents,” she continued, noticing his confusion, “prepare their children for the day they form their core. They want them to have as many skills as possible because progressing in skills earns experience, which helps you level up. It’s why some crafters take on apprentices at a young age—so they’re ready to use their skills once their core forms. Of course,” she added with a knowing look, “not everyone can gain every skill. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, a skill just won’t come to you.”

Thorne nodded thoughtfully. He knew a boy from the village who had already started working with the blacksmith, hoping to gain the blacksmithing skill one day. That made sense to him now—people trying to prepare before their core formed so they could jump ahead.

“What about Primal Aether Manipulation?” Thorne asked, his voice hesitant. His mother had avoided the topic so far, but after experiencing the raw power of aether, he was eager to learn more. The sensation of wielding that force, even for a moment, was intoxicating. He wanted to feel it again, to understand it.

His mother’s expression shifted slightly, but she didn’t shy away from his question. “That’s a skill all elder races share,” she explained. “It’s the second way we know we’re not human. No other race can see the aether as we do. There are some mages who possess skills that allow them to catch brief glimpses of it, but for us, it’s as natural as breathing.”

She raised her hand, and Thorne watched as a couple of bright yellow motes danced excitedly toward her palm, shimmering like fireflies in the soft light.

“Each mote of aether has a different color,” she said. “Each belongs to an element. In time, you’ll learn to recognize them—the way they move, their specific energy. The applications of aether are endless, and even after eons of study, we’ve only scratched the surface of what can be done with it. As your skill in Primal Aether Manipulation increases, you’ll find it easier to wield. But... there are drawbacks.”

Thorne’s curiosity spiked, and he jumped to his feet. “Drawbacks? What kind of drawbacks?”

His mother sighed softly, her eyes clouding with concern. “Most people can only use the aether stored in their core. Skills and spells require aether to activate, and once someone’s core is drained, they have to wait for it to replenish. The speed of that recovery depends on stats like spirit, wisdom, and willpower.”

She paused, her gaze meeting his. “We’re different. We can draw aether from our core too, but Primal Manipulation allows us to use the raw aether around us—just like you did when you turned my well-tended garden into a wild forest.”

She shot him an accusing glare, and despite the serious tone, Thorne couldn’t help but chuckle, offering a sheepish apology.

“But using raw aether is taxing,” his mother continued. “Aether in its natural state is volatile, a force that resists control. That’s why we develop cores—to filter and manage it. Our cores are special in that they can both filter and amplify the effects of the aether. Your little display in the garden, for example... even a high-level mage would have difficulty pulling that off.”

Thorne’s eyes widened in awe. Even a high-level mage? He had no idea the power he had wielded was that extraordinary.

“That miraculous ability,” his mother went on, “comes at a cost. The more aether you use, the more strain it puts on your body. That’s why you were bedridden for weeks after your core formed. When using Primal Manipulation, you have to be careful to only use what’s necessary, especially at your current level. As your skill grows, you’ll be able to handle more aether safely.”

Thorne was speechless. The weight of what his mother had told him was beginning to sink in. I can use aether like that... but it could hurt me if I’m not careful. His mind raced with possibilities, a mixture of fear and excitement swirling inside him.

“How do you know so much?” he asked, his voice filled with awe.

His mother smiled at his expression, though her smile faded slightly as she answered. “My father told me once my core formed. Just like I’m telling you now.” Her voice grew softer, more distant. That was the first time Thorne had ever heard her mention her father—his grandfather. He had asked about his grandparents many times before, but his mother had always deflected the questions, changing the subject.

“And later,” she continued, “I met another woman from the elder races. She taught me most of what I know about using aether. She showed me ways to manipulate it that I could never have imagined on my own.”

Thorne’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve met others like us? There are more elder races?”

His mother nodded, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Yes, though not many. Most have faded away or gone into hiding. But I met one—Marian. She was a friend, the only one I’ve had from our kind. She made this pendant for me.” She gestured to the teardrop pendant she always wore around her neck. It was a simple, dull gray stone now, far from the vibrant blue it had once been.

Thorne’s brow furrowed in confusion. “It looks... different now.”

His mother nodded, her fingers brushing the pendant fondly. “It’s a focus. It gathers aether and helps keep my true appearance hidden. In time, we’ll need to visit Marian again so she can make one for you. As you grow, the changes will become more noticeable, and people will start to ask questions.”

“People will notice?” Thorne asked, his mind spinning.

“They will,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “Most people, especially those living far from the cities, have forgotten about the elder races. To them, we’re just characters from old stories, heroes or monsters from myth. But there are others—nobles, powerful mages—who still know the truth. Some of them... they hunt us, Thorne. They hunt us for our cores.”

Thorne’s heart skipped a beat. People would hunt us?

His mother’s gaze softened, and she reached out to touch his arm, offering him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. We’re safe here, for now. But we’ll have to be careful.”

Thorne nodded, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. As they started walking back toward their home, his mother asked him how many attribute points he had. Thorne focused for a moment, and the familiar character sheet appeared in his vision, displaying the number of points.

“150,” he said absentmindedly, still lost in his thoughts.

The words had barely left his mouth when he felt himself bump into something soft. He looked up and realized he had walked straight into his mother, who had frozen in place, her eyes wide with shock.

“HOW MANY?” she screeched, her voice echoing through the trees.