The first light of dawn crept over the hills surrounding East Hollow Village.

  East Hollow had always been peaceful.

  But peace in this world never lasted.

  Birds sang softly. Dew clung to blades of grass.

  The world looked peaceful.

  It was lying.

  Inside a small cottage at the edge of the village, a cry split the morning air.

  The midwife stiffened.

  “That’s… strong,” she murmured.

  The newborn cried again.

  Not weak.

  Not fragile.

  Sharp.

  Focused.

  “Is he alright?” his father asked quickly, stepping closer.

  The midwife leaned in.

  “His eyes…”

  Elias's mother, exhausted but glowing, cradled the child gently.

  “Shhh… Sushank. I am here,” she whispered, brushing a trembling hand across his tiny cheek.

  The baby opened his eyes.

  Clear.

  Too clear.

  The midwife swallowed.

  “They’re… very bright.”

  “Bright?” his father laughed nervously. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” the midwife said quickly. “Yes, of course. Very good.”

  But for a single second—

  The candle flames bent inward.

  The room felt colder.

  The baby stopped crying.

  And looked at her.

  Not through her.

  At her.

  The midwife’s breath caught.

  “Why does it feel like he’s staring at me?” she muttered under her breath.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  His mother smiled faintly. “He’s just curious.”

  Outside—

  A dog began barking wildly.

  Then another.

  Then sudden silence.

  His father frowned. “Strange. They never bark like that at dawn.”

  The baby blinked.

  The weight in the room vanished.

  Birdsong resumed.

  The midwife forced a smile.

  “He’s healthy,” she said firmly. “Strong lungs. Strong gaze. You’ve been blessed.”

  “Blessed,” his father repeated softly, placing his hand over the child’s head. “Welcome to the world, Sushank.”

  —

  Months passed.

  The midwife, who had come to visit, watched silently.

  Sushank sat in the grass, staring at nothing.

  Very calm.

  The wind shifted.

  Grass bent slightly toward him.

  His mother clapped happily. “Look! He loves the wind!”

  His father chuckled. “Future wind mage, perhaps?”

  Elias tilted his head.

  As if listening.

  The midwife stepped closer.

  “Does he… often look like that?”

  “Like what?” his mother asked.

  “Like he’s listening to someone.”

  His father laughed. “He’s a baby.”

  Elias suddenly reached forward—

  And the breeze stopped.

  Completely.

  The adults froze.

  A heartbeat later—

  The wind returned.

  “Did you feel that?” the midwife whispered.

  “Feel what?” his mother asked.

  “…Nothing,” she said quickly.

  —

  That night.

  The stars were bright above East Hollow.

  Inside the cottage, Elias slept peacefully.

  His father leaned against the doorway.

  “He’s quiet,” he said softly.

  His mother smiled. “He’s always calm.”

  “Too calm,” he joked.

  Outside, the air grew still.

  Far from East Hollow Village—

  deep beneath an abandoned chapel—

  a man knelt inside a hidden chamber.

  Forgotten by everyone except the one kneeling at its center.

  He was smiling.

  Not nervously.

  Not madly.

  Genuinely happy.

  At last.

  Seven years of searching through sealed archives. Seven years of piecing together fragments no one else dared to touch. Seven years of pretending loyalty to paths he despised.

  And now it was in his hands.

  An old parchment.

  Its edges were charred. The ink faded but disturbingly sharp, as if freshly written.

  He unfolded it carefully, reverently.

  “I knew it…” he whispered. “There was always another way.”

  The ritual circle beneath him had already been carved. Precise. Obsessive. Every symbol measured, every angle exact.

  He inhaled deeply.

  “No more stagnation.”

  His finger traced the final line of the parchment.

  Velmora.

  He began the incantation.

  At first, nothing happened.

  Then the air thickened.

  The candles dimmed — not extinguished, just weakened, as if struggling to breathe.

  His smile widened.

  “It’s working…”

  The symbols on the floor flickered.

  Shifted.

  A faint crack appeared in the circle.

  His voice faltered for half a second — then steadied.

  “I offer my will—”

  The parchment tore itself in half.

  Silence.

  His smile froze.

  “That’s not—”

  The circle beneath him twisted out of alignment, lines bending like soft metal.

  The candles went out.

  Completely.

  Something cold slid through his chest.

  Not into his body.

  Through it.

  His breath caught.

  His shadow did not move when he did.

  It tilted its head.

  The whisper was barely audible.

  Disappointed.

  Then—

  A sound like glass breaking from inside his ribs.

  His scream never formed.

  When the candles relit themselves moments later—

  The circle was shattered.

  The parchment reduced to ash.

  And something was still kneeling at the center.

  Breathing.

  Back in the cottage—

  Sushank's eyes opened.

  The room darkened slightly.

  His father stiffened.

  “Did you… feel that?”

  His mother looked around. “Feel what?”

  His father thought the candles had gone out.

  But the flame was still there.

  The baby blinked.

  His eyes returned to normal.

  The air lightened.

  The stars brightened again.

  Far away—

  The twisted creature that had been born paused.

  Its smile faltered.

  It turned its head slightly.

  As if confused.

  As if something—

  Had noticed it first.

  —

  Morning came peacefully.

  Birds sang.

  Villagers laughed.

  East Hollow breathed in ignorance.

  His mother kissed his forehead.

  “You’re safe here,” she whispered.

  His father smiled down at him.

  “No matter what happens, we’ll protect you.”

  The baby stared up at them.

  Silent.

  Watching.

  For now, Sushank was just a child.

  Innocent.

  Loved.

  Safe.

  But the world had already shifted.

  And somewhere in the darkness—

  something that had never feared anything before

  felt hesitation

  for the first time.