The Moment His Power Returned
The first sign was subtle.
A flicker beneath his skin. A shift in the air around him. A presence that had been caged for so long stirring awake, stretching in the darkness of his mind like a beast rousing from slumber.
It came in a breath, in the space between heartbeats—a pulse of something vast and formless, pressing outward before withdrawing just as quickly. It was weak still, bound by the seal his mother had placed upon him, but fractured now, leaking fragments of something greater.
Power.
Not the passive, dormant kind he had carried for years, a dull ember smothered beneath layers of control, but something raw, ancient, waiting to uncoil.
Aeron knew.
And so did Malik.
His father had always studied him with cold precision, eyes measuring potential against expectation, disappointment against control. Every glance was a calculation, every silence a verdict.
But now, for the first time, Malik's gaze held something else.
Wariness.
For years, Aeron had been a failure. An experiment gone wrong. A vessel unworthy of the god he was meant to become.
Now, he was a threat.
And that changed everything.
---
The Lock and the Key
They moved him that night.
Not as punishment.
Out of fear.
His usual chambers were stripped from him, emptied of his books, his window, the thin illusion of freedom he had been allowed to maintain. The guards did not speak when they came for him—four of them, silent and faceless beneath their ceremonial armor. Their hands gripped his arms like iron vices, dragging him through the halls of the temple as if he were already something other.
Aeron did not struggle. There was no point.
Instead, he memorized.
The route they took. The turns, the steps, the doorways. The placement of the torches, the flickering shadows that stretched across the marble floors. Every detail was a thread in a larger tapestry—one he would need to unravel.
Then, the descent began.
The stairway spiraled downward, deeper than any room he had ever been allowed to enter. The air grew heavier, thick with magic that clung to his skin like oil. The torches did not follow them here—only the faint, pulsating glow of ancient runes carved into the walls, their shapes shifting in the dimness as if alive.
A prison.
A tomb.
A place built to hold something greater than men.
At last, they reached the chamber.
Aeron barely had time to register its vast emptiness before the chains came next.
Iron shackles.
Heavier than necessary.
Their surfaces were carved with sigils that burned against his skin, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Every movement sent a cold energy through his veins, locking his magic down before it could even surface. It coiled inside him like a beast with clipped wings, hissing in frustration but unable to stretch, to expand, to fight.
He tested them, of course.
Tugged, pulled, concentrated—searching for a gap, a weakness.
Nothing.
Even the slightest strain sent fire through his limbs, the magic suppressing him sinking deep into his bones like poisoned fangs.
His father had planned for this.
And still, it was not enough.
They stripped him of food.
Water was rationed—just enough to keep him alive, just enough to stop him from slipping too far into weakness.
The guards did not speak to him.
They did not even look at him.
Only the silence remained. The slow, rhythmic dripping of water from the temple's cracked ceiling. The distant echo of footsteps far, far above. The weight of the unseen—something watching, something waiting.
Malik did not visit.
Not at first.
But Aeron knew his father too well.
He was waiting.
Planning.
Studying.
And when the time was right, he came.
---
The Test
The chamber was silent when Malik entered.
Aeron did not move.
He sat against the far wall, wrists and ankles bound, chains taut against the stone. His body ached—hunger, exhaustion, the slow-burning pain of magic turned against him.
But his eyes were clear.
Malik stepped closer, the sound of his boots deliberate, controlled. He stopped just outside Aeron's reach.
"Do you understand now?"
His voice was cold. Sharp. An edge honed over years of command.
Aeron did not answer.
"The seal is failing," Malik continued, watching him. "That means you are waking up. It means there is still a chance to fix you."
Aeron finally lifted his gaze.
"Fix me?"
His voice was hoarse from days without water, but the words still cut.
Malik knelt, the movement slow, deliberate. His expression unreadable.
"You were meant to be great, Aeron."
A pause.
"The vessel of a god. The herald of the old ways."
Another pause.
"But she took that from you."
The words were careful. Placed like stones in a foundation, one after the other.
"She ruined you."
Aeron's fingers curled into fists.
His mother's face rose unbidden in his mind. Her hands—gentle, warm. Her voice—soft, certain.
"I will protect you, my son."
"One day, you will understand."
And now, her magic was breaking.
His father saw it as a second chance.
A chance to mold him.
To shape him back into the weapon he was meant to be.
But Aeron knew better.
This was not Malik's victory.
This was his mother's will finally awakening.
And he would not let it be twisted.
---
Selene's Warning
On the ninth day, Selene came.
Aeron had not expected it.
Had not even considered the possibility.
No one could enter this place. Not without Malik's permission. Not past the guards, the barriers, the layers upon layers of enchantments meant to keep him trapped.
And yet—
One moment, he was alone.
The next, she was there.
"Aeron."
The whisper cut through the silence like a blade.
His head snapped up.
He hadn't heard the door. Hadn't heard the guards move. Hadn't felt the air shift.
And yet—
Selene was kneeling before him, eyes sharp in the darkness, fingers already moving toward the chains.
"How—"
"No time."
She pulled something from her sleeve—a small dagger, its hilt wrapped in cloth, its blade etched with old runes.
"This seal on you," she murmured, fingertips brushing the shackles. "It's failing, but not fast enough." Her eyes flicked to his face. "Your father is planning something, isn't he?"
Aeron hesitated.
Then, finally, he nodded.
Selene exhaled sharply. "I heard things in the city. Whispers. He's preparing a ritual." She hesitated, voice dropping lower. "Something to take control of your power. Permanently."
The words landed like a blow.
Not unexpected.
But far worse than he had imagined.
His father would never let him go.
Not as himself.
Only as something reshaped, reforged.
Selene's grip tightened on the dagger.
"We need to get you out."
Aeron almost laughed.
"You think it's that easy?" He lifted his wrists, showing the chains. "Even if we break these, Malik has wards all over this place. If I step beyond this room, they'll tear me apart."
Selene was silent for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she turned the dagger in her hand, eyes flicking toward the symbols carved into the walls.
"What if we didn't break you out?" she murmured.
Aeron frowned.
"What?"
Selene's gaze sharpened.
"What if we made them think you were still here?"
And just like that—
The path to freedom began.