Emma's mind unfolded like a half-bloomed flower—every color, noise, and smell caught her wide, wandering gaze. Though nearly Alan's height, her limbs curved like willow shoots. She needed his steadying palm to sit upright. When strangers neared, her breath quickened, her fingers clutching emptiness until Alan drifted close. Then she fisted his shirtfront, cheek pressed to his chest as if his heartbeat smoothed the world's sharp corners.
Alan and Emma wove their bond through shared whispers and narrowed looks as time passed. While other children raced through golden fields, these two haunted the wood. Their secrets made townsfolk clutch protective charms whenever they passed their homes.
Alan was not bothered by their nervous gossip and spiteful curses. Deep down, he knew they meant well—or maybe he just didn't care.
He was not like them, and he was aware of it. Magic flowed through him as natural as rain to a creek. Not a day over four when he'd tamed fire, wind, water, and earth without lessons. Even the dark and light served him as master. Emma was not as talented as him, but her touch disturbs the fluids of the living. Neighbors shivered at her strange fingers, yet Alan always squeezed her elbow in their silent language—an eyebrow twitch that said: Pay them no mind, a lip quirk signaling: We've sweet berries hidden in the loft.
On Alan's sixth birthday, a frozen well changed everything. Ferris and Lix stood still, watching frost spiderweb across the stone. "Fix it!" Ferris hissed, eyes darting toward empty lanes. "Now!"
Alan melted every glistening shard but was puzzled at their terror. Why did the man who'd bragged about his fire now startle at frost? Why did the woman who'd cheered his rain dances flinch from his touch?
Lix's shoulders relaxed when he promised to limit his magic to kindling fire and whistling wind. Ferris stopped jumping at owl hoots. Alan didn't protest. He knew they meant well.
Only during secret moments with Emma—her soft palm patting his as he whispered woes to the dark—did the ache in his chest ease. Though her words still stumbled, her steady gaze promised what mattered most: they'd always have each other in this world of wary looks.
Ferris and Lix's arguments crackled like green wood in a fire pit. "Let him grow into his power," Ferris urged, hammering down hot iron. "Chain what you can't control," Lix countered, crushing rosemary too fiercely in her mortar. With each spat, their marriage became brittle like autumn leaves.
Lix's worry sprouted thorns. She banned floating, demanded Alan walk like a normal child, and hid his natural talent. Each precaution carved a new distance between them until family meals passed in silence, broken only by spoons scraping bowls.
The final fracture came when Ferris confessed his wandering heart to a hunter's apprentice—a flame-haired woman who came for arrowheads and left with more than forged steel. Their bastard son now squalled in a mountain lodge, proof of a broken vow.
Lix's tears fell like winter's first sleet. Ferris' confession shattered their fragile peace, fulfilling the fears that had gnawed her bones for years. She crumpled to the ground, betrayal's bitterness flooding her mouth. She sobbed like the helpless creature she had become since their marriage. Now, she feels worthless even in his eyes.
But Alan was not helpless; even without his thought, his magic surged. His wind—meant to whistle only at the breeze—now slammed Ferris and his mistress against the cottage wall. The squalling infant tumbled from the woman's arms, hovering mid-fall in a sudden updraft.
"Stop this madness!" Ferris shouted, flinging fireballs that dissolved into smoke before reaching his son. The wind around the child became a swirling cage, tiny fists beating at thinning air. Across the room, the mistress clawed at her throat where unknown fingers squeezed.
Ferris barked at the air, voice raw. "Lix! By the old gods, help them!" Fireballs sparked and died in his trembling hands. "I'll send them away! You'll never hear their names again!" The wind around the child tightened, tiny lips turning blue.
Lix pressed her palms to the stone floors, watching her son's shadow ripple with storm magic. A smile curled at the corners of her lips for a fleeting moment until Ferris wriggled toward her, dirt smearing his cheeks. "Please," he rasped. "Not the baby. My sins aren't his."
His pretty face is as miserable as a rain-soaked kitten. Lix despised it, but her heart ached as his pitiful eyes met hers.
"Alan!" Her voice snapped as she staggered upright. The boy stood haloed in the storm light, eyes blazing in a face she scarcely recognized. "Look at me!"
The wind softened. The infant sank a little.
Lix gripped Alan's chin, forcing his gaze away from the flailing bastard. "Enough." Her thumbs framed his furious eyes. "Breathe," she commanded, voice dropping to their old storytelling tone. "In through your nose, out through your mouth—like when we whispered to the stars, remember?"
The house exhaled. The infant settled like thistledown on the ground.
Alan's knees buckled. Lix caught him as the storm in his veins died, rage leaking from his pores like fever sweat. Ferris reached for them, but Lix turned her shoulder, cradling her son's shuddering form.
"Gone by dawn," she said flatly. "All of them!"
The storm died, but the mistress still clawing at her throat, forgotten by all. Ferris picked up his bastard—only then did he notice his mistress' face turning purple.
"Emma!" he screamed. The girl didn't reply.
Her eyes locked onto the choking woman, knees sinking into the floury mud she'd made moments before the shouting. Her fingers twisted unnaturally. The baby's wails mixed with Ferris' pleas, creating a song that made her skull feel full of bees.
WHAP! The slap came—Ferris'. Her nose trickled red, tearing flowing. The mistress gasped.
Ferris cradled the mewling infant, the mistress clinging to his belt like storm-tossed ivy, and left.
"What is she?" the trembling mistress whispered into his collarbone. Ferris only spat.
Alan watched as his father's shadow blurred into the twilight. I could call down fire, he thought. Freeze their footsteps in the mud. Why did I stand to lose Ferris to others? But Mother's arms encircled him, her rosemary-scented hair tickling his cheek.
"It's not your fault," Lix murmured into his temple. The lie curdled in her throat. She pulled Emma in, embracing the children for warmth, for comfort. Quiet tears flowed down her cheeks. Shame and guilt stirred as she wondered whether Ferris would've stayed if the bastard's leg hadn't twitched and the homewrecker hadn't turned purple.
When her tears dried, Lix guided the children to the cold fire pit, humming the lullaby she'd sung through fevers. But her eyes kept flicking to the door's iron latch as if expecting Ferris to come stumbling back with apologies spilling from his lips.
He never did.