Rebirth - Part 2
The first morning after his discovery and birth, the small village on the edge of the Lyrien Forest woke up to news spreading faster than the wind.
The small house belonging to the young couple, Aeran and Mireille, where the baby was taken, had become the center of attention.
People arrived, some bringing warm cloth, some bringing herbs for the couple, and some just wanting to see the baby who was rumored to have been born accompanied by a strange light.
Eldenbrook Village was a simple place.
Its people were accustomed to a quiet life: farming, hunting, and occasionally dealing with wild magic storms from the forest.
But a baby with a "birth light" was not ordinary. Almost all the villagers had never even heard of such a phenomenon.
"The light was soft blue… like magic," someone said.
"I saw it too! From my house window!" another chimed in.
"It must be a sign. A sign of what, I don't know, but it must be important."
Behind all the commotion, the baby they were talking about was sleeping peacefully inside the house, wrapped in a thin wool blanket.
Mireille, the young woman who had just become a mother for the first time, looked at the child with eyes filled with a mixture of love and anxiety.
She touched the baby's cheek. "Look at his eyes… they're so strange. Gray."
"A very pale gray," Aeran added, rubbing his messy hair.
"I've never seen anyone with eyes that color."
"It's not just the color," Mireille said, lowering her voice to a whisper.
"When he opened his eyes last night… I felt like I was being looked at by someone older than that tiny body."
Aeran did not answer. He wanted to dismiss his wife's worries, but he felt the same way.
The baby's gaze… was different.
A newborn's eyes should be blurred, confused, unfocused.
But Eryon—the name chosen for no known reason felt so right—looked at the world calmly, as if he were remembering something forgotten.
Knock knock knock.
The door to their house was tapped.
Aeran opened the door, finding several villagers standing awkwardly. Some looked enthusiastic, some fearful, and some just curious.
"May we see him?" an old woman asked, almost whispering. "I heard his eyes are strange… and there was a light accompanying his birth."
Mireille and Aeran looked at each other. They knew the request would come—a small village like this never missed an oddity.
Finally, Aeran nodded. "Only for a moment."
The neighbors entered slowly, keeping their distance. They circled the small bed where Eryon was sleeping. Faces full of curiosity drew closer.
When Mireille lifted the baby, a soft light seemed to seep from his skin. Not a bright light, just a thin shimmer, like the reflection of water under moonlight. But it was enough to make everyone fall silent.
"He… shines," a young man muttered.
"That's not lamplight, is it?"
"No… it's coming from his body."
Someone swallowed hard.
"We've heard things like this from legends. About children blessed by magic spirits."
"No, spirit children usually have white hair. This child doesn't."
"Then what is he?"
No one answered.
Mireille looked at her son, then carefully tilted the baby so they could see his face.
Those eyes opened.
Everyone immediately held their breath.
Deep, clear, pale gray eyes, like a frozen lake in winter. Eyes that felt like they were gazing far beyond the present and beyond life.
An adult man stepped back. "My god… those are not a baby's eyes."
"He looks as if… as if he understands what we're thinking," the old woman said with a trembling voice.
But it wasn't just his eyes. When Eryon opened his eyes, the air in the room changed. Strange. Warmer? Heavier? Like a subtle energy spreading around them. A few specks of dust even seemed to lift, as if a gentle wind was swirling near the baby, even though the room was completely still.
"This is magic," one of the young men whispered. "I'm sure it's magic."
"But babies can't use magic!"
"Normal babies, yes," he replied, shaking. "But this child isn't normal."
Mireille tightened her embrace on her child, as if to protect the baby from the gazes of people who were now filled more with fear than curiosity.
"Enough," Aeran said firmly. "It doesn't mean he's dangerous."
But there was one more thing that silenced everyone.
When Eryon looked at them—with just one small glance—a faint blue glow appeared around those gray eyes.
Then… it disappeared.
As quickly as a blink.
But enough to make the hearts of the villagers pound.
The old woman slowly stepped back. "A child with eyes like that… was mentioned in an old story."
"What story?" Aeran asked, worried.
The woman didn't answer directly. She took a breath, then said:
"A child born with gray eyes and a soft light… is a child who carries memories from another world."
The room immediately fell silent.
Aeran tensed. Mireille hugged Eryon tighter.
"That's just a story," Aeran quickly said. "An old fairy tale to scare children."
"Is it?" the woman said. "Because I remember the other part—that child would bring about great change to Arthea."
A soft gust of wind flowed as she finished speaking. The oil lamp in the corner of the room flickered slightly.
Eryon stared blankly at the old woman, neither crying nor smiling. Just… looking. Looking as if he understood every word that had just been spoken.
The woman bowed deeply. "If the story is true… then this child will bring wonder… or disaster."
Mireille was about to protest, but before she could say anything, a light sound was heard—not a human voice, but like a subtle whisper that flowed only into Eryon's ears.
…Eryon.
The gray eyes moved slightly. He heard the voice again—the same voice as when he was born. A voice that called him, not with fear, but with calming warmth.
Eryon let out a small yawn.
And for the first time since birth… he gave a small, faint, but truly visible smile.
The villagers froze.
"Newborns don't… they don't smile like that."
"That wasn't a reflex smile. That was… it was like… conscious."
"This child… who exactly is he?"
Aeran and Mireille did not answer.
Because they didn't know either.
But amidst the fear and the commotion, one thing became clear:
The baby named Eryon did not come into this world as an ordinary infant.
He carried something—from where, for what purpose—that even the world of Arthea itself seemed to be waiting for.
And from the shadows of the small house, an old sorcerer who happened to be passing by felt a ripple of magic from a distance.
He stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
"…I feel a rare resonance," he muttered softly.
"From that house. From that child."
Eldenbrook might be an insignificant small village.
But today, a great destiny began to faintly pulsate in that place.
And it all… started with a pair of gray eyes that had not yet understood this world, but had already drawn the world's attention.
-- To be continued