The day was getting close—Ashai's fifth "birthday." Not the day he was born, but the day Suhra found him.
He didn't really know what it meant but this one was different. Suhra had said she had a surprise planned.
"Maybe she found another book," Ashai thought as he washed his hands for breakfast. Or maybe it was another strange fruit from the cliffs. She often gave him things to make him think.
The air was cool and there was light fog outside. The Myhn swirled though the forest, something only Ashai noticed—and something else. A hum, not one that could be heard—but one like music outside reach.
When he stepped out, Suhra was already waiting. Her arms were crossed, and she wore her long cloak with ink designs stitched along the sleeves. She only wore that when something serious was coming.
Ashai was about to speak when the wind shifted, and someone stepped into the clearing.
"Well, well," said a smooth voice with subtle laughter following. "Still drawing lines in the dirt to feel important, Suhra?"
Ashai turned. A tall woman leaned against the doorway like she had always been there. She wore a cloak of soft gray, her eyes sharp but playful.
"Senvira," Suhra sighed, not even looking at her. "Still announcing yourself like a stage actor."
"It's not my fault you lack taste," Senvira replied. "But I did miss the smell of ink and caution."
She turned to Ashai and smiled. "You must be the quiet one."
Ashai stared. Her voice left a shimmer behind it, like the air itself had listened.
Senvira softened her tone. When she spoke again, the words had something else behind them. Weight. Warmth. They pressed gently into the space between them.
"Come closer, little one."
Ashai stepped forward. He paused halfway and blinked.
Then he spoke—quiet, but sure:
"Myhn. Voice."
Senvira froze mid-step.
Suhra turned, watching closely.
"Did he just—"
"Say what I think he said?" Senvira finished. Her smile faded, replaced by curiosity. "He felt the Luthien."
Ashai looked between them, unsure why they were surprised.
"He's not supposed to know that yet," Senvira said, lowering her voice. "Children don't get tested until they're eight. They don't feel Myhn until six—sometimes later. He's five…"
Suhra nodded "Like one of those geniuses, but sooner"
Inside, the fire was but coals. Ashai sat close on a chair while the women took their places on the floor. The silence in the cabin was captivating, almost intentional.
Senvira pulled out a smooth, pale stone rod.
"This helps me focus," she explained, setting it down.
She placed her hand against the floor, and a faint pulse of energy moved outward—a ripple of Myhn that shimmered in the dust.
Ashai's eyes followed it carefully.
"I'm going to show you something," Senvira said. "It's not a spell. It's not dangerous. It's just how we teach."
She drew three shapes in the air—glowing curves, each a different color.
"These are the three ways people use the Strand. That's what we call Myhn—the Strand. The energy that weaves through everything."
She pointed to the red arc. "Veythra. This is the part of the Strand tied to the world. Fire, water, wind, stone. These are the elements."
She pointed to the blue one. "Resona. The echo. Memory, sound, emotion. It lives inside us. It's hard to see, but you feel it."
And finally, the pale violet arc. "Sygros. The shaped Strand. Symbols, glyphs, and magic drawn into form. It's not alive—it waits for someone to give it meaning."
Ashai stared at the arcs without speaking.
Senvira continued. "There are ten known forms under each of these three. Thirty total. Most people never master more than one. When you truly understand a form, the Strand gives you a mark. A sign. Usually it shows up on the skin. It means you've become part of the pattern."
She looked toward Suhra. "Your teacher has two."
Ashai's eyes shifted toward Suhra, who gave no reaction.
Senvira turned back to the arcs—but Ashai wasn't looking at them anymore. He reached out—not toward one of the lines, but to the space between them. His hand moved slowly, fingers pausing in the center where no line was drawn.
Senvira watched him. Her smile had faded again.
"That's… not how most children react."
"He's not most children," Suhra said softly.
The glowing lines faded, vanishing like breath in winter.
Senvira stood and brushed her hands together. "All right. No more talking. Let's see what he can feel."
Senvira closed her eyes and brought two fingers to her temple. She whispered a single word—gentle, shaped with meaning. A simple tone meant to bring calm.
Myhn shimmered faintly in the air.
Ashai tilted his head.
Then blinked.
The sound faded. The air felt still, but not peaceful.
Senvira tried again. The tone slipped from her lips but failed to carry.
She smiled quickly. "Strange forest. Probably just the trees."
Suhra said nothing.
Senvira reached into her bag once more and pulled out a small silver thread, coiled like a ribbon. She let it unwind into a spiral on the floor.
"This helps with the next part," she said.
She knelt and placed her fingers near the thread. The air pulsed. The room shifted—not fully, just enough to notice. The firelight grew softer. The air smelled like wet stone.
Then the memory appeared.
A younger version of Senvira stood in the room, maybe thirteen. Her right hand glowed with her first mark—a faint swirl near her wrist. She smiled, proud and nervous.
"This is a memory," the real Senvira said. "Mine. The day I earned my first mark—Remnara."
Ashai walked forward, slow. He watched the memory but didn't reach out. His hand hovered nearby.
Then, something changed.
The memory-Senvira blinked. Her smile shifted. Just a little. Like she had noticed something unexpected.
Senvira's brow twitched. She quickly released the spell. The room returned to normal.
Ashai looked up. "She changed."
Senvira blinked. "What do you mean?"
"The memory. Her smile was different at the end."
Senvira paused. "That's… very detailed."
She rose to her feet, brushing off her cloak.
"You saw something I didn't intend. That doesn't usually happen. Especially not with children."
Ashai looked uncertain. "Sorry."
"No," Senvira said, forcing a smile. "That's not a bad thing."
Later that evening, the fire burned lower. Suhra stood near the doorway while Senvira watched Ashai through the window. He was outside now, sitting in the grass, stacking smooth stones.
"You saw it," Suhra said.
"I saw something," Senvira replied. "But I don't know what."
"You think he's dangerous?"
"I think he's… different. The Myhn doesn't touch him the same way. It hesitates. I've never felt that before."
Suhra nodded slowly.
"Luthien barely worked," Senvira continued. "Remnara responded to him. That shouldn't be possible—not like that."
Suhra didn't speak for a moment. Then she said, "That's why I didn't take him to the Guild. Or the Order."
Senvira glanced at her. "They'd want to study him."
"They'd try to fit him into their boxes. And if he doesn't fit…"
"They'd erase him."
Silence settled between them.
"You still never told me why you left the Order," Senvira said.
Suhra's voice was calm. "And I won't."
Senvira didn't push. She just nodded.
"I won't report this," she said. "Not unless I think it's a danger."
Suhra met her eyes. "That's more trust than I expected."
"You gave me a name when I was lost," Senvira said. "I haven't forgotten that."
Suhra's gaze drifted back to Ashai.
"I just want to keep him safe."
Senvira looked out at the boy again. "Whatever he is… I don't think the world will let you hide him forever."