Thorne froze, terrified he had said something wrong. His mother’s eyes were wide, her disbelief so clear that he felt his heart leap into his throat. Seeing his reaction, she visibly forced herself to calm down, taking a deep breath. After a moment, she bent down so their eyes were level, giving him a reassuring smile.
“Honey, how many points did you say you had?” she asked, her voice softer now, trying to ease his nerves.
Thorne hesitated, then checked the page in his mind again, just to be sure. “150,” he repeated, his voice small.
For a moment, his mother looked as though she was having an internal battle, her expression caught somewhere between amazement and disbelief. Finally, she exhaled, shaking her head in wonder. “That’s... that’s amazing, honey,” she said, but her tone betrayed her shock.
Thorne frowned, confused. “It is?” he asked.
His mother chuckled, her smile widening. “Oh yes! Most people get between seven to ten points per level. The elder races, like us, usually get nine to twelve points. I get ten points per level. But your fifteen points... Thorne, that’s incredible!” She practically beamed with pride, pulling him into a tight hug so suddenly that he could barely breathe.
“Mom, stop!” Thorne whined, struggling to get free. She finally let go, collapsing onto the grassy ground with him, laughing.
“My marvelous child,” she said affectionately, pushing a few unruly strands of hair behind his ears. Her smile was so full of warmth, it made him feel like he was glowing.
“Now,” she continued, more serious, “let’s talk about where to put your attribute points.” She took his hands in hers and looked him in the eyes. “Each stat has a different effect on your body and your abilities. Strength makes you stronger, while agility makes you faster. Dexterity gives you better coordination and control, and vitality increases your health and resilience. You’ll need to be careful about how you distribute your points, because it will shape your future.”
Thorne listened intently, his mind racing with the possibilities. His mother’s voice grew even more serious as she added, “A lumberjack would want strength, a hunter would need dexterity, and a blacksmith would rely on both strength and endurance to excel in their craft.”
He frowned, trying to absorb all the information. The weight of what she was saying started to sink in. This is important. This will affect the rest of my life. A knot of panic started to form in his stomach.
“But... I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up!” he blurted, his face full of worry.
His mother smiled gently, her expression softening. “That’s okay, honey. You don’t need to decide right now. The advantage of being part of the elder races is that you have more than enough points to figure it out over time. You’ll have room to experiment until you know what you want to be.”
Thorne sighed dramatically in relief, his shoulders slumping. “Phew,” he said with a smile.
Then, a new question popped into his mind, and he frowned. “What about spirit, wisdom, and willpower?” he asked, remembering the other stats he had seen on his character sheet.
His mother’s eyes twinkled as she raised her left hand, palm up. Before Thorne’s eyes, a small bird, crafted from pure white energy, fluttered into existence, its wings shimmering with aether. Thorne’s mouth fell open in awe as he reached out to touch it. His finger poked the bird gently, and the tiny creature wobbled slightly, but didn’t fall apart.
“How did you do that?” Thorne asked, his eyes wide with excitement. He jumped to his feet, practically bouncing up and down. “How? How? How?”
His mother sighed, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have shown you that,” she muttered under her breath. Then, louder, she said, “With the manipulation skill, of course. In time, I’ll teach you how to do it too.”
“But I want to learn now!” Thorne interrupted, his voice filled with excitement and impatience.
His mother’s glare was enough to stop him in his tracks. “Enough, Thorne. You’re not ready yet,” she said, her voice firm. “Unless you want to spend a few weeks in bed after each lesson, like last time.”
Thorne’s eyes widened in horror, and he quickly shook his head. No way am I going through that again.
Satisfied with his response, his mother continued. “As I mentioned, some skills use the aether in our cores—not the wild aether around us. Spirit, wisdom, and willpower help you manage that aether.” She gestured toward the air around them. “Wisdom determines how much aether your core can hold, making it bigger and stronger.”
Thorne nodded eagerly, his eyes wide with interest. His mother smiled at his enthusiasm and continued. “Willpower affects how quickly your core replenishes aether. The more points you invest in it, the faster your core will recharge. For mages, willpower also makes their spells more powerful.”
Thorne’s ears perked up at the mention of spells. “Do you know any spells?” he asked eagerly.
His mother shook her head. “No, it was too risky. Mages are closely watched. If you want to learn magic, you have to enroll in a school or become an apprentice to a mage. The attention that would’ve brought would’ve been too dangerous.”
Thorne’s excitement dimmed slightly, disappointed that she couldn’t teach him any real spells. The small bird seemed like magic to him, but maybe aether manipulation was close enough.
“What about spirit?” he asked after a moment.
“Spirit is a stat that’s often overlooked,” his mother said. “For most races, spirit makes it easier to use aether. The more spirit you have, the less aether you need for skills or spells.” She looked directly into his eyes, her expression serious. “But for us, spirit has an even greater effect. It allows us to harness the wild aether around us with fewer consequences.”
Thorne’s breath caught in his throat. “You mean... if I put points in spirit, I’ll be able to play with aether without getting so tired?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement.
His mother rolled her eyes, clearly amused by his enthusiasm. “Yes, Thorne, you’ll be able to ‘play’ with aether,” she said, arching an eyebrow, “without exhausting yourself to the point of sleeping for days.”
Thorne ignored her teasing and clapped his hands together. “Then I’ll put all my points in spirit!” he announced, already focusing inwardly, summoning the character sheet to allocate his points.
“You’ll do no such thing!” his mother’s voice cut through his excitement, her tone sharp. Thorne snapped his attention back to her. “You need a balanced build. It’s dangerous to focus all your points in one attribute and neglect the others. If you put everything into agility, for example, you’d be fast, but without dexterity, you’d lose your coordination and trip over your own feet. And without vitality, even a small injury could become life-threatening. Do you understand?”
Thorne pouted but nodded reluctantly. I guess she knows best.
“Now,” his mother said, her tone softening, “let’s distribute your points.”
It took much longer than Thorne had expected to decide where to allocate his points. He kept insisting on adding more to spirit, but his mother was adamant about prioritizing agility, vitality, and endurance. After a lot of back-and-forth, Thorne’s character sheet finally looked balanced and complete.
Name: Thorne
Level: 10
Race: Human
Age: 8
Special Trait: Elder Race
Health Points: 360/360
Aether: 240/240
Stamina: 320/320
- Strength: 22
- Agility: 34
- Dexterity: 23
- Endurance: 32
- Vitality: 36
- Spirit: 35
- Wisdom: 24
- Intelligence: 25
As soon as he invested the points, a numbing sensation swept through Thorne's body, like a wave crashing over him. But then came the pain—sharp and overwhelming, as if his bones were shifting beneath his skin and his muscles were being stretched to their limits.
“Shh, it’s okay, baby,” his mother whispered, pulling him into her arms as his body shook with sobs. He could hear her muttering to herself, "Too many points... too soon."
The pain surged, growing more intense, and Thorne gasped, his fingers digging into his mother’s arms as if holding on for dear life. It felt like his muscles were being torn apart and reattached, his bones reshaping themselves from the inside out.
But then, as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. Thorne blinked, confused. The lingering fear of the pain returning left him tense, but when his mother gently brushed his wet cheek, he finally allowed himself to relax.
“It’s over now, sweetie,” his mother said with a soft, guilty smile. “I should have warned you.”
Thorne shakily stood up, feeling his legs tremble for a moment before he regained his balance. A strange feeling washed over him—his body felt different, lighter and more powerful. But he couldn’t quite place what had changed.
“Hey, Thorne, catch!” His mother’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked up just in time to see a large branch hurtling toward him. Instinctively, his hands shot out, catching the massive branch mid-air with a grunt.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
For a moment, he stared in disbelief at the branch, holding it easily above his head. He turned to his mother, wide-eyed.
His mother was giggling, covering her mouth with her hands like a child who had just pulled off a prank. “Oh my! I only meant for you to jump back and avoid it, but I guess you’re strong enough to catch it now! My big, strong man!” She laughed again, her voice light with amusement, while Thorne’s face burned with embarrassment.
His mother’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Now,” she said, taking a playful step back, “why don’t we race back to the house and see who’s faster?”
Thorne narrowed his eyes, a newfound sense of competitiveness bubbling up inside him. “Fine!” he said, determination building.
“One, two, three... go!”
They bolted through the forest, the world around them blurring into streaks of green and brown. The wind rushed against Thorne’s face as his legs carried him faster than ever before. He felt a sense of freedom that was entirely new—a surge of exhilaration as his body responded to his every command with ease and power. More. I want more points to spend. The thought came unbidden, a sudden yearning for even more strength.
*
The following days saw a dramatic shift in Thorne’s routine. His mother insisted on giving him lessons in aether manipulation, which meant staying home instead of joining his father in the forest to hunt.
At first, Thorne was excited. He imagined conjuring birds or pulling off incredible feats like his mother had shown him. But he was quickly disappointed. His lessons were far from the exciting displays of power he had hoped for. Instead, they were long, drawn-out lectures about the nature of aether, its properties, and the dangers of manipulating it improperly. Thorne barely had the patience to sit through them, his mind wandering constantly.
The only time he paid attention was when his mother guided him in the practical part of the lessons—learning to interact with the aether around him. She taught him how to isolate a single mote of aether, an exercise that proved to be far more difficult than he’d expected. The motes acted like they were part of a larger organism, clinging together and resisting separation.
After much concentration and frustration, Thorne finally managed to isolate a single mote. His mother then instructed him to bend it to his will, to make it move according to his commands. It was an exhausting task, and by the end of each lesson, Thorne found himself mentally and physically drained.
The good news was that, after that first day, both his father and Bea stopped acting weird around him. His father treated him like before, and Bea—well, she went back to teasing him relentlessly. Thorne found some comfort in that normalcy, whining to his father about being stuck at home and grumbling to Bea about his mother’s “boring” lessons.
*
Thorne buttoned his shirt with sluggish fingers, the early morning light spilling into his small room through a crack in the shutters. The house was quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards and the soft rustling of wind against the walls. But as he pulled on his boots, something caught his attention—a hushed conversation, muffled by the thin wooden wall separating his room from the main living area.
He paused, his brow furrowing. It was his mother’s voice, soft yet urgent, her words almost lost beneath the ambient sounds of the house. For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, a sudden need to listen overtook him. He leaned toward the wall, his ears straining, but the words came in fragmented pieces, tangled with the creak of a shifting chair and the faint clink of dishes.
Frustrated, Thorne squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to focus. Suddenly, it was as if someone had cranked up the volume on the world around him. Every sound hit him like a hammer—the gentle sigh of the wind, the scuttling of mice in the corner, the creak of the ceiling beams under their own weight. He clutched his ears with his fists, letting out a low groan as the cacophony overwhelmed him.
No. I need to hear her. Just her.
Gritting his teeth, Thorne tried again, shutting out everything but his mother’s voice. He took a deep breath, willing the chaos to quiet. The noise ebbed, fading into the background until only her soft tones remained.
“…We have to leave, Kerean,” his mother said, her voice trembling but resolute. “It’s not safe anymore. For neither of our children.”
Thorne’s breath hitched. The floor creaked faintly, followed by the sound of shuffling—his mother packing, perhaps?
“Where should we go?” his father’s deep, gruff voice replied, tinged with resignation.
“To Marian,” his mother said, her words coming faster now. “She’s the only one who can help. Thorne needs her.”
Thorne’s pulse quickened. Who was Marian? And why did he need her?
His father sighed, the sound weary and heavy. “We need coins to get there. Give me some time.”
“We don’t have time, Kerean!” His mother’s voice rose, sharp and nervous. “We need to leave now! We need a focus for Thorne; it will become too obvious he’s different otherwise. We’re leaving as soon as I finish packing.”
Thorne’s chest tightened. Different? They were leaving because of him?
His father growled, frustration boiling over. “Just… just give me today. I’ve got some hides that could fetch a good price, and maybe you can gather your herbs to sell to old Marnice. She’s been pestering me for days. Says she’s desperate for supplies.”
There was a pause, and Thorne imagined his mother shaking her head. Her voice came softer this time, distracted, as if her mind was already elsewhere. “I don’t have time to harvest, Kerean. I have to tutor Thorne and get the kids ready to leave…”
Their voices blurred into an indistinct hum of disagreement as Thorne sat frozen on his bed. They were leaving. For him. The weight of the realization settled like a stone in his gut, cold and heavy.
Who was Marian? Why did they need her?
His parents’ voices faded, replaced by the sound of the front door closing with a firm thud. His father had left. Thorne remained rooted to the spot, the knot in his stomach twisting tighter. The thought of playing with the aether, something that usually lifted his spirits, felt distant and unimportant now.
Later, his mother appeared in the doorway, her expression forcedly cheerful. She had a smile on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Thorne noticed the strain, the subtle tightness in her jaw and the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her apron.
“Breakfast is ready, sweetheart,” she said, her voice gentle but edged with an anxiety she couldn’t quite hide.
He followed her to the table, where Bea was already seated, her hair a wild mess that looked as though a bird had taken up residence there. She yawned loudly between bites, completely oblivious to the tension radiating from their mother.
The meal was subdued, the usual chatter absent. Thorne barely touched his food, his appetite drowned by the storm of questions swirling in his mind. Bea, as always, ate with gusto, even as her sleepy state slowed her movements. Their mother’s gaze lingered on Thorne, her concern thinly veiled, but she said nothing.
When breakfast ended, his mother stood and motioned for Thorne to follow her outside. “Come with me,” she said, her tone soft but insistent.
They stepped into the garden behind their house, a patch of earth bursting with wildflowers and herbs. The air was crisp and carried the faint, earthy scent of damp soil. His mother led him to a small clearing among the flowers and gestured for him to sit.
He sank onto the ground, his hands gripping his knees, waiting for her to speak. She knelt beside him, her eyes searching his face.
“Are you ready, Thorne?” she asked.
Her question hung in the air, heavy with meaning he didn’t fully understand.
Thorne didn’t know how to respond, so he simply nodded. Without hesitation, they began their exercises.
Thorne let his aether vision take over, and the world transformed into something out of a dream. The air was alive with luminous aether motes, tiny orbs of glowing energy swirling around him like fireflies on a summer night. He reached out with his mind, trying to command them, to make them move to his will. Sometimes, the motes seemed to listen, obeying with a delicate, fluid grace. Other times, they stubbornly resisted, slipping through his grasp like water through his fingers.
His mother watched intently from her spot among the flowers, her gaze sharp yet patient, observing his every move. Only she and Thorne could see the magic at work, the invisible currents of power flowing through the world. It felt like their secret, a bond they shared in this quiet little garden.
Finally, after what felt like hours of grueling effort, Thorne managed to gather the aether motes. They hovered around his hand, flickering uncertainly, before condensing into a small, luminous bubble of light. It pulsed softly, radiating warmth, and Thorne’s chest swelled with pride.
“I did it!” he exclaimed, his voice bursting with excitement.
But the bubble wavered, and in his elation, Thorne’s concentration slipped. The motes scattered, and the bubble burst in a tiny shower of light.
His mother clapped her hands, her smile wide and encouraging. “You did it, sweetie! That was amazing!”
Thorne couldn’t help but grin back, even as dizziness swept over him. The strain of manipulating the aether had taken its toll, leaving him lightheaded. He swayed slightly, and his mother was at his side in an instant, steadying him with a gentle hand.
“Let’s take a breather,” she said with a soft chuckle, guiding him to sit down among the flowers. “You’re doing so well, Thorne. I’m so proud of you.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes, the dizziness slowly fading. Thorne leaned back, the sun warming his face as he let his breathing return to normal.
“Mom,” he asked suddenly, his voice hesitant, “what level are you?”
His mother turned to him, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then a small, secretive smile tugged at her lips. “Seventeen,” she said simply.
Thorne frowned, confused. “That’s not very high. I’m already ten,” he pointed out, his tone laced with a child’s innocent bluntness.
His mother nodded, her gaze distant as she leaned back on her hands, her fingers digging into the earth. “It’s not,” she admitted with a sigh. “I made a choice, Thorne. Maybe it was the wrong choice, but it was mine.”
Thorne tilted his head, sensing the weight behind her words. “What do you mean?” he asked softly.
She turned to face him fully, her face serious, her voice quiet but firm. “In order to level up, Thorne, you need to...” She hesitated, the word hanging in the air between them. Then she looked him straight in the eyes, her expression unflinching. “Kill.”
Thorne blinked, his mind struggling to process her words.
His mother continued, her tone steady but tinged with sadness. “Your father is level twenty-nine because he hunts. He kills animals. But me... I couldn’t do it.” She shook her head, her gaze drifting upward to the sky. “Others seek power through strife, and nothing stands in their way—not animals, not aether beasts, not even people.” Her voice grew quieter, almost a whisper. “I’m not like them. I’m content as I am. The few levels I’ve gained through my skill level-ups are enough for me. I have my family, I have the aether. I don’t need power.”
Thorne listened, the gravity of her words sinking in, though he didn’t fully understand.
Suddenly, his mother stiffened, her head snapping toward the house. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the air as if sensing something Thorne couldn’t.
“Let’s get back,” she said abruptly, her voice tense. “Who knows what Bea’s been up to while we were practicing.”
She helped him to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes with hurried hands. They had barely taken a step toward the back door when Bea burst through it, her voice ringing out loud and clear.
“Mom!” she yelled, her hair a tangled mess. “Old Marnice is here!”
Thorne’s mother froze, her expression darkening as she glanced down at him, her brows furrowed in thought.
“Stay here,” she said sharply, her tone leaving no room for argument. Then, with a purposeful stride, she headed toward the house.
Thorne stayed where he was, confusion swirling in his mind. He strained his ears, trying to catch snippets of the conversation inside.
“Please, I beg you! I need nettleberries and Sweetmoon at the very least!” Old Marnice’s scratchy voice was desperate.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to harvest. Maybe next week?” his mother replied, her tone clipped and irritated.
Thorne crept closer, peering through the slightly ajar door. He saw Old Marnice leaning forward, her bony hands clutching her tattered shawl.
“I can’t wait another week! Autumn is around the corner, and I need to prepare my potions!” The old woman’s eyes darted around the house, her gaze sharp and intrusive. “My customers... Wait.” Her head tilted, suspicion clouding her features. “Are you leaving?”
Thorne’s mother stiffened, her hand moving to half-close the door, blocking the woman’s view. “No,” she said coldly. “Just cleaning the house.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“What in the name of the dead gods are you doing here, Marnice?” Thorne’s father’s voice cut through the conversation like a blade. He stepped into the room, his broad frame filling the doorway. “Didn’t I tell you my wife didn’t have any herbs for you?”
Marnice’s desperation deepened. “Please, Kerean! My supplies are dwindling. Just give me what you have!”
Thorne’s mother shook her head firmly, but the old woman’s voice turned frantic. “I’ll pay double the price for them!”
When her words didn’t sway his mother, Marnice grew angrier, her face flushing red. “Triple!” she exclaimed, her voice shrill.
Kerean hesitated, his gaze flicking to his wife. “Alera, that’s a lot of coin...”
A tense silence hung between them. Finally, his mother relented, her voice low and reluctant. “Fine,” she said. “But you’ll get the herbs in the morning.”
Relief washed over Marnice’s face, and she nodded eagerly, her smile revealing her two good teeth. After a bit more back-and-forth, the old woman left, her gait hurried and triumphant.
As soon as the door closed, Alera turned to Kerean, her face set in a deep scowl. “I don’t like it,” she said, her voice sharp. “I don’t like it at all.”
AETHERBORN!