The night Elyas was born, the sky blazed with stars. The villagers of Greystone, a small, unassuming town nestled in the valley between towering mountains, watched in awe as streaks of silver light danced across the heavens. Some whispered that it was a sign from the gods, while others spoke of ancient prophecies about the birth of a great wizard during such a celestial event.

In a modest stone cottage on the outskirts of the village, Elira and Thom, Elyas's parents, were oblivious to the cosmic significance of their son's birth. Elira had been in labor for hours, and as the midwife wiped her brow, the baby finally arrived, screaming loudly into the world.

The midwife, a stout woman named Marta, gasped softly as she caught the child. A warm, tingling sensation filled her fingers as she cradled the newborn.

Marta: "By the stars, this child... he's special."

Thom, holding his wife's hand tightly, looked up, confused.

Thom: "Special? What do you mean?"

Marta hesitated. She had delivered hundreds of babies in her lifetime, but none had ever given her this feeling before. The air around the child seemed to hum with energy.

Marta: "There's magic in him. Great magic. I've never felt anything like this."

Elira, exhausted but smiling at the sight of her son, chuckled weakly.

Elira: "Magic? In this one? I just hope he's healthy."

But Marta couldn't shake the feeling. As she swaddled Elyas and handed him to his mother, she whispered, "Blessed or cursed, this boy is touched by magic."