The silence didn't last. In time, sounds became more than just murmurs. He heard the rhythmic clang of the forge from the village below, the bleating of sheep in the distant pastures, the rustle of wind through the dry grass that surrounded Braelor's Rest. And, closer, the everyday sounds of the orphanage: the scrape of wooden bowls, the crackling fire in the hearth, the soft weeping of a child in the night.
He grew accustomed to the routines. Waking before dawn, the chill biting even in summer months. Meager meals of gruel, swallowed in silence. Chores assigned before the sun fully rose – fetching water from the well, sweeping the stone floors, mending torn clothing. Even the youngest were expected to contribute, their small hands learning the harsh realities of labor.
Kim (as he was known in this life) watched everything, his unnervingly still eyes absorbing details the other children missed. He saw how Marga's hands, worn as leather, could coax a flickering flame to life with a touch of kindling and a word whispered under her breath. He observed Aldric surreptitiously studying the worn pages of a discarded herbal, muttering incantations that seemed to quicken the growth of a struggling seedling in the small garden patch. Lirien, with her nimble fingers, could weave protective knots into fishing nets that returned heavier than any others, murmuring quiet blessings as she worked. Even Mira, the silent shadow, seemed to anticipate the movements of the wind and weather, always finding shelter just before a downpour, a subtle breeze seemingly guiding her steps.
They were all touched by it, this unseen force. Some knowingly, some unknowingly. And among them, Aldric, Lirien, and Mira were starting to notice Kim.
"He never talks," Aldric muttered one day, leaning closer to Lirien and Mira as they were mending clothes together. Aldric, ever curious, was always observing, his bright eyes missing little. "Just…watches. Like an owl."
Lirien, her small fingers deftly knotting thread, glanced at Kim across the room, where he was meticulously sorting buttons. "Maybe he's… simple," she whispered back, though her eyes held more curiosity than judgment. Lirien collected anything and everything, and sometimes it felt like she was trying to collect people too, trying to understand their worth.
Mira, silent as ever, just shook her head, her dark eyes fixed on Kim for a moment before returning to her sewing. Mira didn't need words; her understanding seemed to flow through unspoken channels. She sensed things others missed.
Later that day, while they were all gathered for their meager midday meal, Aldric, ever bold, nudged Kim with his elbow. "Hey, Owl-boy," he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "What are you always looking at?"
Kim paused in his methodical consumption of gruel, his gaze, as always, disconcertingly direct. He considered Aldric's question with a gravity that seemed out of place on a child's face. "Observation, young Aldric, is the foundational pillar of comprehension. To perceive accurately is to begin to understand profoundly." His tone was measured, precise, almost…adult, yet undeniably childlike in its earnestness.
Aldric blinked, momentarily taken aback by the formal response. Then, a grin spread across his face. "'Comprehension'!" he repeated, mimicking Kim's tone exaggeratedly to Lirien and Mira who were giggling softly. "Fancy words for a bowl of mush!"
Lirien, emboldened by Aldric's teasing, leaned forward. "Are you ever going to talk, properly, Kim? Like… normal words? Not those…big ones?" She offered him a small, brightly colored button she'd been hoarding. "Here," she said shyly. "For your collection… of silence."
Kim accepted the button with a slow, deliberate movement, examining its simple design with an intensity that would have beenfit a jeweler inspecting a priceless gem. "Your offering, Lirien, is… acceptable. While verbal articulation may be deemed conventionally 'normal,' silence, in its own right, possesses a profound communicative capacity. It allows for… focused introspection." He turned the button over in his hand again. "And this button...it is indeed quite…button-like."
Mira, surprisingly, spoke then, her voice barely a whisper, but clear and direct. "He _does_ talk," she stated, looking at Aldric and Lirien with an almost pitying gaze. "You just don't listen properly." She looked back at Kim, a flicker of something like understanding in her dark eyes.
Kim met Mira's gaze, a faint, almost imperceptible nod acknowledging her quiet observation. He felt a nascent connection forming with these children, different as they were. Aldric, with his restless energy and sharp questions. Lirien, with her quiet kindness and collection of small treasures. And Mira, who saw more than she said, a silent mirror reflecting back the unseen currents of the world.
One afternoon, while tasked with sorting through a pile of cast-off items from the noble houses, Kim found it. Buried beneath torn silks and chipped porcelain, a small, tarnished silver locket. It was unremarkable at first glance, its clasp broken, its surface dull with age. But when his fingers brushed against it, a faint warmth radiated outwards, a subtle vibration humming beneath his skin.
He picked it up, turning it over in his small hand. The metal felt alive, thrumming with a faint energy. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sensation. The warmth intensified, spreading up his arm, a tingling sensation reaching his fingertips. He felt a pull, a connection, as if the locket were whispering secrets he could almost understand.
He opened his eyes, and a flicker of understanding sparked in his mind. It wasn't just metal. It was a vessel, a conduit. Something within the locket resonated with the unseen energy he felt permeating the world.
He looked around the storage room, his gaze now sharpened with newfound awareness. He noticed it then – subtle shimmering patterns in the dust motes dancing in the faint light filtering through the grimy window. A faint aura surrounding the discarded tools leaning against the wall. The very air seemed to vibrate with an unseen energy.
He wasn't just seeing the world, he was _feeling_ it in a way he hadn't before.
He tucked the locket into the folds of his worn tunic, a sense of purpose stirring within him for the first time in this new life.
Later that evening, huddled by the dying embers of the hearth with the other children, Kim watched Marga as she prepared a poultice for a child who had scraped his knee. He saw the almost imperceptible glow emanating from her hands as she mixed the herbs, the soft murmur of words that accompanied her movements. It wasn't just her knowledge of plants, it was something else, something…more.
Driven by an impulse he didn't fully understand, Kim reached out a small hand, his fingers trembling slightly. He focused on the warmth he had felt from the locket, trying to replicate the sensation, to reach out to that unseen energy.
Nothing happened. He felt only the rough stone of the hearth beneath his fingertips, the lingering chill of the evening air. Disappointment flickered within him, a childish frustration at his own inability.
But then, as he drew his hand back, he noticed it. The embers in the hearth, almost completely extinguished, suddenly flared. A small spark erupted, spitting a tiny trail of smoke into the dim air. The other children stirred, glancing at the hearth with mild curiosity. Marga, however, paused in her movements, her gaze sharp and fixed on Kim.
Her eyes, usually distant and weary, narrowed slightly, a flicker of something akin to…interest? It was fleeting, gone in a moment, replaced by her usual pragmatic expression. She simply continued preparing the poultice, her silence heavier than usual.
But Kim had seen it. He had felt it. A faint spark, yes, but a spark nonetheless. And he knew, with a certainty that resonated deep within his being, that it was no coincidence.
He had touched it. That unseen energy. He had, however faintly, called it forth.
He looked down at his small hand, fingers still tingling with a faint echo of the warmth from the locket. A new feeling bloomed within him, replacing the aimless waiting. Curiosity. Excitement. And something else, something…familiar.
Power.
He was no longer just listening and watching. He was going to learn. He was going to understand. He was going to grasp this magic, this unseen energy, and make it his own.
And in the dim light of the flickering embers, a faint smile touched the lips of the silent child, a spark of something dangerous igniting in the ash of his second awakening.