My mother’s gaze pierced mine, brittle and blazing—a storm of suspicion and love clashing in her irises. The jig was up. Her knuckles whitened against the crumpled fabric of her skirt; a fractured breath betrayed her composure. She knew. But how deep did the knife of her suspicion cut? My mind raced—confession might shatter her, but silence would poison her trust.

  “Kane.” she hissed, voice fraying at the edges, “tell me you’re not hiding things from me!” Her plea hung between us, sharp as glass.

  I blinked innocently. “Mama?”

  She barked a humorless laugh. “Don’t. Don’t. You’ve been scheming since the day you first grabbed hold of the scriptures.” Her finger jabbed the air, accusatory. “Babies scream. They drool. They don’t squint at scrolls like scholars! And your cries—gods, Kane, even your wails sound rehearsed!” Her chest heaved, anger crumbling into something raw. “I’ve watched you. Studied you. You’d sooner chew through philosophy than a rattle. What are you?”

  The question lingered, thorny and unanswerable. Before I could dissemble, her voice cracked. “Or is it me? Maybe I’ve lost my mind. The goddess gifted me a child, but…” She sank onto the bed, muffling a sob into her palms. “How do I protect a miracle I don’t understand?”

  Guilt coiled in my chest. This woman—exhausted, fierce, terrified—had pieced together the riddle of me. The truth clawed up my throat. Enough.

  Summoning my power, I levitated from the cradle, the air shimmering faintly around me. She didn’t notice, shoulders still shaking. “Mama.”

  Her head snapped up. For a heartbeat, fear flickered—then she snorted, swiping at tear-stained cheeks. “Of course you’re floating. Why wouldn’t you be?” Her laugh trembled, but her hand reached for me instinctively. “Divine or demon, you’re mine. Just…explain someday. Please.”

  I stretched a dimpled hand toward the leather-bound scriptures piled on the bed, their gilt edges glinting like trapped starlight. “G-Gobbesh,” I managed, saliva pooling under my tongue. So much for divine gravitas.

  “The Goddess?” she murmured, her moss-green eyes narrowing at the books. A beat passed; then her breath hitched. “Oh! You mean the Celestial Goddess’ scriptures?” She seized the largest tome, its spine crackling like autumn leaves.

  I nodded, my wobbly neck protesting. “G-Gobbesh Y-Yesh.”

  Her brows knitted. “What about her?”

  Fluttering down like a dandelion seed, I pointed at the floorboards, their knots and grooves blurring through my underdeveloped vision. “Obbesh, b-breem me. H-hair!” My cheeks burned. How could a reincarnated soul end up having to play charades?

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  Mother’s gasp was sharp as shattered glass. “The Goddess… brought you here?”

  I bobbed my head, nearly toppling mid-air, before careening back into her embrace. Her arms closed around me—a sanctuary of lavender and sweat.

  “I knew it!” she cried, tears spilling like liquid silver. “The Goddess is watching over us!” She hefted the scripture, its pages whispering secrets. “This book holds Her disciples’ teachings. They say She descended to Amaranthine eons ago, gifting blessings that outshine even the most potent of Elvish magic.” Her voice softened, feather-light. “Strength to split mountains… flames spun from stardust… and you, my love. You also seem to be blessed.”

  I nestled closer, my tiny ear pressed to her thunderous heartbeat.

  “Normally,” she continued, “Her blessings crown only those who conquer the Great Spire. But the Veilborn…” Her fingers tightened around me. “Children born with Her grace. Saints or omens—the texts can’t agree. Yet every Veilborn vanishes, Kane. Every one.”

  My eyes widened. “P-Preesh… b-bad?”

  She chuckled, her eyes wet and weary. “Genius indeed.” Her smile faltered. “The priesthood claims they ‘guard’ them, but I won’t let them cage you. Not even Rolim—”

  The door slammed open, hinges screaming. It seems that speaking of the devil makes him appear.

  Rolim stormed in, his shadow a black blade slicing the sunlight. “Ialantha!” he snarled, his breath reeking of sour ale and rotting ambition. “Do you have any idea what you've done?"

  My mother stood as a stoic shield between his overbearing presence, blocking him from my cradle, "That sounds pathetic coming from you, considering what you did."

  Rolim's rage was palpable, "The boy is our ticket out of this squalor—it’s how we can redeem this family! The church pays a king’s ransom for Veilborn!”

  He lunged for my cradle, his fingers reaching for me.

  I tensed, power prickling under my skin—

  A roar erupted.

  A wall of water surged between us, churning like a storm-lashed tide. Rolim stumbled back, droplets hissing where they struck his tunic.

  Mother stood rigid, viridian light writhing around her upraised palms. “You keep saying we.” she spat, her voice glacial. “There is no we. Touch him, and I’ll carve your greed into your tombstone.”

  Rolim’s lip curled. “You’ll crumble. You always do.”

  “You mistook mercy for weakness.” The barrier thickened, its currents snarling. “Leave. Before I forget the man you pretended to be.”