His mother remained an enigma.
It was obvious she was hiding her power, no, folding it inward so completely that even existence itself seemed to overlook her. To Axiros, this was far more frightening than open strength. Concealment at that level required mastery bordering on the absurd.
His first birthday crept closer with each passing day. His mother prepared for it with quiet enthusiasm, turning it into something far grander than necessary, despite there being only the two of them.
Decorations appeared one by one. Food he couldn't yet eat was carefully prepared anyway, as if the act itself mattered more than the result.
Once, she vanished.
An entire hour passed.
Axiros felt an unfamiliar tightness settle in his chest. Worry, raw and unrefined. He hated it. He reminded himself that nothing in this world should be capable of threatening her. And yet, the feeling refused to leave.
When she returned, she was not the same.
Blood clung to her clothes. Soil stained her skin. Flecks of flesh, not human were still embedded in the fabric. She carried something wrapped tightly, obscured from normal sight, and moved with deliberate care to keep it out of his view.
She smiled at him as if nothing had happened.
Axiros did not ask.
His eyes had already seen everything.
The residue of violence lingered around her like a fading echo. Whatever she had gone to retrieve, it had not been obtained peacefully. And whatever it was… it was important enough to warrant slaughter.
'Where did she even go?' he wondered.
On the night of his birthday, the world felt still.
A cold wind brushed past the house, slipping through the trees, whispering against the walls, but none of it reached inside. The house remained warm, sealed, as if reality itself bent to preserve what lay within.
A single cake sat on the table. A single set of candles.
Axiros leaned forward and blew them out with a soft breath.
The flames died instantly.
"Happy birthday, little Axiros!" She said cheerfully as she clapped.
His body had grown strong enough now. Crawling came easily. Standing was no longer a struggle but an event waiting to happen. To his mother, his intelligence had already crossed the boundary of what could reasonably be called human.
She looked at him with pride.
Axiros, however, felt something else entirely.
Anticipation.
Whatever his mother had brought back that day…
Whatever she was hiding…
He was certain, this birthday was not meant to be ordinary.
"Now it's time for your gift." She said.
She turned toward the kitchen without a word.
Seconds later, she returned, carrying a box wrapped carefully in layers of gift paper.
Yet nothing about it was simple.
Axiros's eyes reacted instantly.
The box itself was alive with movement, currents of energy flowing along its surface in deliberate, measured cycles. It was engraved with unfamiliar characters, sharp and archaic, their structure unlike any system he had encountered before.
They were not merely decorative. These were functional. A rune set native to this world… or perhaps something far older.
The air around the box felt heavy.
Oppressive.
The energy radiating from within was inconceivable, dense to the point of distortion, absolute in a way that pressed down on his perception. For the first time since his rebirth, Axiros felt his certainty waver.
'What did she even kill…?'
This was not the residue of a common beast. Not even a powerful one. The energy carried intent, resistance, defiance, remnants of something that had refused to be erased.
The object inside was completely obscured.
Not hidden by technique, not shielded by runes, but shrouded by its own presence. The energy it emitted folded inward and outward at the same time, forming a veil his eyes could not pierce.
That alone unsettled him.
And his mother managed to kill whatever possessed it within an hour!?
Axiros remained still, his expression blank, his mind racing.
There was only one way to find out.
He would have to open the box.
"Here you go!" She said as she handed him over the box.
"Thank you ma!" He said, not being able to control his urge to open the box.
The only reason she had even considered gifting something to a one-year-old was his exceptional intelligence.
No ordinary child would have been trusted with something like this. But Axiros was anything but ordinary. She had seen it in the way he observed the world, the way his gaze lingered a second too long, the way he reacted not with instinct, but with understanding.
Axiros accepted the gift with visible delight.
Clutching it tightly, he hurried off toward his room with unsteady but determined steps, intent on keeping it safe. He knew, of course he did, that hiding anything from his mother was pointless. Still, the act itself mattered. Habit, perhaps. Or instinct. Old reflexes carried over from lives where secrecy had meant survival.
He placed it down, carefully, almost reverently.
Then he ran back into the hall.
What greeted him was the soft sound of laughter.
His mother stood there, giggling quietly, her expression warm and amused. She had seen everything. There was no doubt about it. She was laughing at his little attempt, at the seriousness with which he had treated the situation.
Axiros understood immediately.
Yet he wasn't bothered. Nor was he embarrassed.
If anything, there was something… comfortable about it.
For once, he did not feel the need to guard himself.
"Thanks once again, ma." He said softly as he waddled up to her and hugged her.
"Oh it's alright. After all you are my own. Who else would I even do it for?" She said softly as she bent down hugged his small stature back.
They proceeded to have dinner together, sitting across the table from one another, Axiros's seat noticeably raised to compensate for his small stature.
He couldn't handle completely solid foods just yet. His fingers were still clumsy, lacking the fine coordination needed to properly grip utensils. Even holding a spoon was a small struggle. Still, he persisted, fumbling only slightly as he brought it to his mouth. The effort itself was impressive for someone his age.
The silence that followed was not awkward, nor heavy. It was serene.
Axiros didn't particularly enjoy the meal, its taste was bland to him, unremarkable compared to memories of far grander things, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Food was food. Sustenance was something he had learned not to take for granted.
Afterward, they retired for the night, surrendering themselves to the gentle pull of sleep. It came easily, wrapping the house in quiet stillness.
Before that, his mother had given him a firm instruction.
He was not to open the box, not until he could walk and speak properly, not until he had grown a little more. Preferably a few more feet, she had said with a faint smile. Axiros had agreed without protest. He understood restraint better than most.
Years passed in much the same routine.
Days blended into weeks, weeks into years, marked by slow growth and quiet moments. The house remained unchanged, steady and calm, nestled within the woods.
A child, nearly four feet in height, lay sprawled across the bed in a loose, unguarded manner. His frame was slender, still carrying the softness of youth, yet there was a subtle sturdiness to him that hinted at a body growing far beyond what was normal for his age.
His hair was a striking white, unnaturally so. It flowed freely across the pillow in soft, disordered strands, catching even the faintest traces of light. It was not the dull white of age, but something vivid and alive, like freshly fallen snow under moonlight.
His face was calm in sleep. Too calm.
There were no traces of childish restlessness, no twitching limbs or uneven breaths. His breathing was slow, measured, almost deliberate, as though sleep itself obeyed him rather than the other way around.
His features were finely shaped, almost delicate, yet carried a quiet sharpness beneath the surface.
Long lashes rested against his cheeks, casting faint shadows. Beneath them, his eyes, when open, were anything but innocent. Even now, there was an unsettling sense that awareness lingered behind closed lids, waiting.
His hands rested loosely at his sides. Small, but not weak. The fingers were long, unusually so for a child, marked by faint calluses that had no place on someone his age. They looked like hands accustomed to grasping, shaping, and holding power.
Then a voice rang out from the hall.
"Axiros, wake up. It's already ten in the morning. Breakfast is ready!" His mother shouted from the hall.
It cut through his slumber and gently pulled him back into wakefulness.
"Coming mom.." He said as he gently rose up from his bed, with a groan and a long yawn.
He headed to the bathroom to freshen up, his steps light and practiced. The cold surface beneath his feet barely registered as he moved. Habit guided him more than awareness.
He stopped before the mirror.
The reflection that stared back was… unusual.
For his age, his physique was remarkably defined. His frame was still youthful, lacking bulk, but every line was clean and deliberate.
Lean muscle traced his arms, shoulders, and torso, shaped not by chance but by consistent effort. There was no excess, no imbalance, only efficiency.
His muscle mass far exceeded that of others his age.
Axiros had trained relentlessly from the moment his body allowed it. As soon as he could walk steadily, as soon as his coordination had matured enough to endure strain, he began.
There had been no wasted movements, no reckless exertion. Every exercise was measured, calculated to extract the maximum growth his developing body could naturally sustain.
He had used his own techniques, refined, restrained versions of methods born across countless lives. Techniques adapted to this fragile stage, designed not to break him, but to nurture his foundation.
The results were evident.
Beneath his skin, his muscles thrummed faintly, packed with raw potential. Not explosive, not volatile, but coiled. Like something waiting to be unleashed once the conditions were right.
It wouldn't be long now.
He met his own gaze in the mirror, eyes steady and clear.
Soon, it would be time to open the gift.
"Looks like my physique is developing well. Great, no growth inhibitors in my body this time." He said as he looked himself in the mirror and chuckled.
He headed downstairs where the smell of breakfast immediately perked up his nostrils.
"Soo, you made salmon for breakfast?" He said as he sat down, his mouth watering.
"Yes, your favorite." She said softly as she sat down too.
Minutes passed by in silence.
"Now.. can I open your gift from the past few years?" He asked, with curoisity brimming.
"Looks like your body has grown quite a lot. Yeah, sure, go ahead." She said.
He had received three more gifts over the course of his other birthdays, each presented in the same careful manner.
Each time, his mother had given them to him without explanation. No ceremony beyond the moment itself. No hints. No warnings. Only that same calm certainty in her eyes, as if she knew exactly when they would matter.
Axiros had never opened them.
He hadn't even asked what lay within. Curiosity was something he had learned to restrain long ago. Questions could wait. Some things were better left untouched until the right moment revealed itself.
And now, that moment had come.
He could feel it.
There was no sudden revelation, no dramatic shift in the air, but a quiet certainty settled within him. His body had grown strong enough. His mind was more than ready.
It was time to open them.