The grand halls of the Sanctum of Lumina stood tall, bathed in the morning glow of stained-glass reflections. Within these sacred walls, Zerathis had spent his childhood his earliest memories filled with the scent of old parchment, the soft murmurs of prayers, and the cold stone floors beneath his bare feet. But despite the serenity that enveloped the holy grounds, he knew his presence was an anomaly.
Even as a child, Zerathis was different. The other orphans were loud, playful, and carefree, their laughter echoing through the church halls. But he... he was quiet, observant, and strangely mature for his age. He had no memories of the mother who left him here, nor did he question her absence. Deep within, he always felt a weight pressing on him something unseen yet ever-present, as though the strings of fate had already begun to weave a path too heavy for his small shoulders. He spent his days studying under the watchful eye of High Priest Aedric, who treated him with a distant kindness, never cruel but always wary. The older priests whispered about him, speculating in hushed voices when they thought he wasn't listening.
"A child born under an ill omen..."
"Why did she leave him here? She was a hero once, but..." "They say he doesn't cry, doesn't complain... unnatural, don't you think?" Zerathis never let their words show on his face, but the weight of them settled deep in his chest.
His first true struggle came when he was barely eight. A routine sparring session turned into something else entirely. The church provided training in both discipline and self-defense essential for those who served under its banner. Zerathis had never enjoyed these sessions, but he participated out of duty.
One of the older boys, Garrick, had always found pleasure in taunting him. What's wrong, orphan? Afraid you might actually be normal for once? he sneered. Zerathis didn't react he never did. But when Garrick charged at him with a wooden staff, something inside him stirred. His body moved before thought could catch up. His foot slid half a step back, weight perfectly balanced. A turn of the wrist, a flick of the arm before anyone could react, Garricks weapon was gone. It clattered to the floor, spinning away.
Zerathis hadn't even realized what he had done. He stood frozen, one hand gripping Garricks wrist, his other pressing against the boys chest a position meant to break ribs if force had been applied. The entire chamber fell into silence. Malriks brows furrowed. That movement it was precise, refined, beyond anything an orphan boy should know. He stepped forward, breaking the tense silence.
Where did you learn that? Malriks voice was low, but there was something else beneath it. Not accusation, Recognition. Zerathis slowly released Garrick and stepped back.
I... dont know.
The answer was honest. He had never seen that technique before, never been trained in it. And yet, it had come as naturally as breathing. Malrik studied him for a long moment before turning away. The match is over, he declared. Resume training.
But as the other trainees hesitantly obeyed, Malrik cast one last glance at Zerathis. The movement, the instinct, he had seen something like it before, long ago, in the days of fallen kings and lost warriors.
That night, Zerathis found himself alone in the Sanctums library, surrounded by ancient tomes. He had always been drawn to the written word, seeking answers in ink when reality offered none. But there were no books that could explain why his hands moved with knowledge his mind did not possess. He traced his fingers over the faded scripts of a history long forgotten. The words whispered of warriors who defied fate, of battles unseen by mortal eyes. He did not know why, but a part of him felt drawn to these lost stories, as if he was missing a piece of himself buried within them.
From the doorway, High Priest Aedric watched him in silence. He had known since the boys arrival that Zerathis was different. Now, after what Malrik had reported, his suspicions only grew stronger. This boy is not ordinary," Aedric thought."
And soon, he will have to face the truth himself.