Chapter 2 **Chapter 2: Born Again Beneath Twin Moons**

  The first few months blurred together in a haze of soft light, warm embraces, and the constant rhythm of survival: eat, sleep, cry, dream. Auren's newborn body limited him to the most basic functions, but his mind—oh, his mind—remained intact.Not at full capacity, not yet. His thoughts were sluggish, sometimes tangled in strange instincts and primal needs, but his awareness was whole. He watched. He listened. He learned.

  His new mother, a woman with golden-brown hair and a strong, melodious voice, called herself Lira. His father, a tall man with the weathered hands of a swordsman and the careful movements of a scholar, was named Derrin. They lived in a sturdy stone house at the edge of a sleepy village, surrounded by thick forests and rolling fields. A small river snaked past their home, its waters pure enough to drink without enchantments. There were no skyscrapers, no neon lights, and no hum of synthetic energy—just the quiet heartbeat of life, ancient and untouched. It was beautiful. It was terrifying."My little starborn," Lira whispered one night, rocking him beneath twin moons that painted the world silver. "You’ll be strong. I know it."

  Auren gurgled back at her, frustrated by the limits of his new form. He was a scientist, not a root vegetable! But he had to be patient. His old world had taught him nothing if not patience—and the bitter cost of tampering with systems he hadn’t yet grasped. This time, he would grow carefully. Methodically. Like nurturing a delicate culture of cells—except this time, the culture was himself.

  Language came first. Every day, Lira and Derrin spoke around him—soft, lilting syllables that flowed like music. To his surprise, the structure wasn’t wholly foreign. The grammar was flexible, the syntax intuitive—though certain words seemed to shimmer, not with sound, but with resonance. Some phrases carried subtle pressure, as if their meanings tugged gently on the mana around them not activating it, not commanding it, but harmonizing with it.

  Emotive resonance, he realized. Meaning resided not in sound, but in intent. It wasn’t the words that shaped magic; it was the will behind them. A beautiful system, elegant and terrifying.

  Mana suffused everything. It wasn't channeled through gestures or chants; it simply existed, like wind or warmth—invisible, yet palpable. At first, Auren sensed only faint pulses, like echoes from a distant drumbeat. But with each passing day, his perception refined. He began to notice how mana bent subtly toward life: Lira’s affection wrapped him in a golden glow, soft and steady. Derrin’s worries stirred sharp-edged currents, cool and angular. Even the village dogs and birds carried flickering threads—warm ochres, bright greens, dancing silver.

  Mana wasn’t summoned; it was felt. It responded. And it was responding to him.

  One evening, months after his birth, Auren attempted his first true experiment. Flat on his back in a cradle of handwoven reeds, he stilled his breath and turned inward. He visualized the mana like a fine mist suspended in the air—dense but malleable. Then he reached with something deeper than muscle or thought: intention.

  He shaped an image in his mind: a spiral of air gently coalescing above his chest. At first, nothing. He released the thought, then reformed it—gentler, clearer. No command. Just invitation. The mana shifted. For a breathless moment, it gathered into a faint swirl, shimmering above him like dew catching moonlight. Then—gone.

  Auren's eyes widened. His tiny hands waved with excitement. He’d touched it.

  The door creaked open. Lira stepped in, cradling a clay lamp in both hands. She caught him squirming and smiled. "Were you reaching again?" she whispered, sweeping him up. "You’ve always felt everything so deeply."

  Auren blinked at her, surprised. She knew?

  "Some children sense the flow early," she said absently, more to herself than to him. "It runs in the blood… sometimes. But yours? Yours sings."

  She began to hum softly, a lullaby made of notes that carried no words yet the mana in the room began to shimmer subtly, threads of it swirling into warm patterns. Magic here wasn’t forced into shape; it was coaxed. Invited. Auren drifted to sleep in her arms, more determined than ever. This world breathed mana like his old one breathed oxygen, and he would learn to breathe deeper than anyone else.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Not all was peaceful. Within weeks, Auren noticed an undercurrent of tension in the home. Visitors came in small groups some in robes patterned with arcane geometry, others in armor faintly humming with embedded mana. They never stayed long. Words like: "Core Testing," "Affinity Assessment," and "Potential Scouting" drifted through overheard conversations.

  Derrin would grow silent after they left. Lira was more watchful. Protective.

  "They won’t take him," she said one night, not knowing Auren was awake in her arms. "Not my son. Not again."

  Auren didn't know what "again" meant, but he filed it away. There was a system here one that harvested magical potential. And if a child showed too much... Born Again Beneath Twin Moons

  The first months blurred together in a haze of soft light, warm embraces, and the constant rhythm of survival: eat, sleep, cry, dream.

  Auren's newborn body limited him to the most basic functions, but his mind, oh, his mind remained intact.

  Not at full capacity, not yet.

  His thoughts were sluggish asometimes tangled in strange instincts and primal needs, but his awareness was whole.

  He watched.

  He listened.

  He learned.

  His new mother, a woman with golden-brown hair and a strong, melodious voice, called herself Lira.

  His father, a tall man with the weathered hands of a swordsman and the careful movements of a scholar, was Derrin.

  They lived in a sturdy stone house at the edge of a sleepy village surrounded by thick forests and rolling fields.

  A small river snaked past their home, its waters pure enough to drink without enchantments.

  There were no skyscrapers.

  No neon.

  No hum of synthetic light.

  Just the quiet heartbeat of life, ancient and untouched.

  It was beautiful.

  It was terrifying.

  "My little starborn," Lira whispered one night, rocking him beneath twin moons that painted the world silver.

  "You’ll be strong. I know it."

  Auren gurgled back at her, frustrated by the limits of his new form.

  He was a scientist, not a root vegetable!

  But he had to be patient.

  His old world had taught him nothing if not patience and the bitter cost of tampering with systems he hadn’t yet grasped.

  This time, he would grow carefully.

  Methodically.

  Like nurturing a delicate culture of cells — except this time, the culture was himself.

  Not all was peaceful.

  Within weeks, Auren noticed an undercurrent of tension in the home.

  Visitors came in small groups — some in robes patterned with arcane geometry, others in armor faintly humming with embedded mana.

  They never stayed long.

  Words like:“Core Testing”“Affinity Assessment”“Potential Scouting”

  Drifted through overheard conversations.

  Derrin would grow silent after they left.

  Lira more watchful.

  Protective.

  "They won’t take him," she said one night, not knowing Auren was awake in her arms. "Not my son. Not again."

  Auren didn't know what "again" meant. But he filed it away.

  There was a system here — one that harvested magical potential.

  And if a child showed too much too early… the wrong people might come knocking.

  He’d need to stay invisible, at least for now.

  The Dream

  On his first nameday — a quiet celebration with neighbors and honey-sweet bread — Auren dreamed for the first time.

  Not a child's dream of shapes and sound.

  A vision.

  He stood alone on an endless plain of obsidian glass.

  Above him, unfamiliar stars blazed like runes carved into the void.

  And before him floated a sphere — a mana core.

  Unlike the brilliant, pulsing cores he’d heard whispered about in stories, this one was different.

  Hollow.

  Empty at the center, yet surrounded by radiant energy that flickered like memory and motion intertwined.

  He reached out — touched it.

  And the world shattered into sensation Spiraling strands of nucleotides.The geomagnetic tension of planetary crusts.Molecular bonds locking and breaking in endless equilibrium.

  Science.

  Magic.

  Structure.

  Different vocabularies for the same truth.

  He awoke gasping.

  The vision lingered in his mind: that Hollow Core, spinning slowly like a waiting seed.

  Not filled with a single element.

  But ready to become anything.

  The Family’s Secrets

  Over the next months, the shape of the world sharpened.

  He learned the Vale name held minor noble standing — respected for history, not for power.

  Their crest, a silver river between twin mountains, marked them as scholars and quiet stewards.

  They were not warriors.

  Not mages of great renown.

  Their affinities, when they appeared, leaned toward passive elements earth, water, healing.

  Useful, not impressive.

  Auren understood now why they kept to themselves.

  Why they recoiled at the attention of robed scouts and armored emissaries.

  The great Factions didn’t just offer opportunity they took what they wanted.

  If he revealed too much, he risked becoming someone else’s tool.

  That wasn’t his path.

  He wanted to build, not bow.

  To understand, not obey.

  The Whispering Woods

  A few weeks after his first steps, the back door was left ajar during a warm spring afternoon.

  The pull of the Whispering Woods that ancient, emerald wall beyond their garden was too strong.

  He wandered into tall grass, giggling, unsteady.

  The moment he crossed the tree line, the air changed.

  Mana here was dense. Old. Watching.

  Each leaf seemed to whisper.

  Each branch bent with hidden purpose.

  Tiny flickers of light sprite wisps danced among the shadows.

  One zipped close, circling his fingers with curiosity before vanishing like a spark.

  Auren stared, entranced.

  But then the forest shifted.

  Something deeper stirred beneath root and stone.

  Vast. Quiet.

  Older than language, and aware of him.

  He didn’t move.

  Not out of fear.

  Out of respect.

  And then

  "Auren!"

  Derrin’s voice rang through the trees.

  Moments later, strong arms lifted him up.

  "By the Twins," Derrin muttered, heart pounding. "Never again. Not alone. Not in these woods."

  Auren nodded slowly.

  But a seed had been planted.

  One day, he would return.

  Not as a toddler.

  But as a mage.

  A scientist.

  A maker.

  Someone capable of unlocking the deep codes of the world magic and matter alike.