Life in the Sky-Cradle settled into a dull routine. We woke at the same time, ate the same bland meals, and were led through the same sterile hallways to play areas or lesson rooms. Every doorway had a metallic archway. "Persona Scanners," the attendants called them. They were supposed to make sure we weren't bringing anything dangerous in or out. Most kids ignored them, running through without a second thought.

  But sometimes, when I felt that warmth from the mark on my chest, that flicker of something ancient stirring within, the scanners would react. Not overtly – no alarms or flashing red lights that the attendants would notice. Just a subtle change in their low hum, a different frequency that only I seemed to register. It felt like they were trying to grasp onto something intangible, something they couldn't identify. Instinctively, I learned to suppress the feeling, to push the warmth and the fragmented memories down, a strange, unthinking command that originated from that pulsing mark.

  The lessons were conducted via flickering holographic displays. They taught us basic literacy, arithmetic, and history. The history lessons were where the true strangeness lay. They spoke of the "First Collapse" – a time of horror and destruction caused by "uncontrolled energies." They presented it as an age of chaos that the world was lucky to survive, saved by the formation of the Order of the Shard and their gift of "pure, predictable artificial mana." The displays showed crude depictions of uncontrolled elemental storms and shadowy figures, contrasting them with images of the Order's sleek airships and glowing tech.

  This narrative felt… wrong. Deeply, fundamentally wrong. My jumbled memories, though fragmented, hinted at something else entirely. A struggle. A sacrifice. Not chaos for the sake of it, but a desperate battle against something truly terrifying. The Order's story felt like propaganda, a convenient lie.

  I observed the attendants, the few other children my size, the mechanics of this floating structure. Everything relied on technology, fueled by the ubiquitous artificial mana. There were no gardens where life essence thrived naturally, no visible conduits of raw elemental energy. It was a world built on imitation, on control.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The mark on my chest became my focus. When I was alone, I would press it, trying to understand. It didn't hurt, but it felt like a knot of dormant energy. Sometimes, focusing on it would bring flashes – colors more vibrant than anything in the Sky-Cradle, sounds like thunder or cracking ice, the feeling of immense power flowing through me. These weren't just images; they were echoes of sensation, of being truly alive with power.

  One afternoon, while exploring a less-used hallway near a maintenance shaft – children weren't supposed to go there, but curiosity from an adult mind in a child's body was a powerful motivator – I passed a large, imposing scanner unit. As I walked by, the mark on my chest flared, hotter and brighter than ever before. The scanner unit didn't just change its hum; it shrieked, lights flashing a frantic red.

  An attendant walking nearby froze, eyes wide, looking from the machine to me.

  Pure, unadulterated instinct took over. It wasn't a thought, but a command resonating from the mark. Contain. Suppress. Hide. A feeling of pulling inward, of drawing energy back, surged through my small body. The warmth in my chest mark flared intensely for a second, then seemed to absorb everything. The scanner unit died abruptly, plunging into silence and darkness.

  The attendant rushed past me, eyes fixed on the machine. "Malfunction!" she exclaimed, relief flooding her face. "Just a faulty unit, thankfully." She didn't spare me a second glance.

  I backed away slowly, my heart pounding. I hadn't just felt something; I had done something. Something that reacted violently with the Order's tech. It was connected to the mark, to the memories, to this hidden power.

  This wasn't just confusion anymore. This was danger. My very existence, the echo of what I was, was detected and suppressed by the ruling power. I needed to understand what I was and how to control it, before the Order of the Shard found me again, and didn't dismiss it as a malfunction. The Sky-Cradle, my seemingly safe cage, was a threat in itself.