I couldn't stop touching it.

  My chest.

  The exact spot where the heat had bitten the skin above my heart, beating in rhythm with the hooves: a dry, pulsing burn. Where the lines had drawn themselves, lines of brilliant light, interwoven, alive for a heartbeat, before vanishing.

  Something had changed. Not on the skin, but beneath it. Like the heat had left something behind. Not pain. Not exactly. Just… something that didn’t feel like me. My body knew and my mind didn't.

  My hand went back there, again. Like it had a will of its own, searching for something I couldn't see. I pressed hard enough on the skin to leave a white mark that faded in an instant.

  Nothing under the fabric, just smooth skin. Just my old…or better, new given my age, flesh. But the echo remained, whispering something my body understood and my mind didn't.

  "Did you say something, Arek?"

  Mom. Her voice was tired and worn.

  I shook my head. I didn't want to give her more worries. Not today, not now. Not ever if I could.

  Stop touching it, Arek. There is nothing there. You are just imagining things.

  The cart jolted over the cobblestones, bouncing me against the wooden boards with a flare of pain.

  It was uncomfortable. I miss diapers in times like these…

  Nobody spoke and Dad drove the horse with his jaw locked tight, hands white on the reins. I couldn’t see his face but his shoulders were tight.

  She held my head against her chest, but her breathing was strange, with small sobs hidden between breaths, like she was trying not to be heard.

  The silence was heavy. I don’t know why I thought that. It just pressed on my ears.

  Hooves and wheels. Wheels and hooves. The rhythm of the wheels wouldn’t stop. It rattled through the bench and into my back, making my teeth buzz.

  Uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable damned bench!

  Building facades slid past, an indistinct mix of bricks and strange faces running toward who knows where. I wanted to close my eyes and drown in that rhythm.

  "WHEEEEE!"

  A whistle. Sharp, metallic, merciless. It tore through the air and ripped me from my thoughts with a violence that hurt my teeth.

  White. Just white smoke. A wall of hot fog that tasted of iron and burning.

  Am I dead? Are these the clouds?

  "Oh, for the Gods…"

  Mirina jerked violently. She crushed my head against her chest, sinking me into her soft bosom, trying to protect me, or maybe to protect herself.

  I tried to wriggle free, fighting against the fabric of her dress that smelled clean, until I managed to free one eye.

  "Bwah…!" My father exploded in theatrical coughing, furiously waving his fist to cut through that artificial fog. "You and that damned pile of tin! You're poisoning the air and scaring my horse, to boot!"

  From inside the pulsing heart of the cloud, a man emerged in a blue coat and white shirt.

  He was perched on what at first glance looked like a cart moving without horses. He brought a hand to his ear, then pulled a brass lever, his mouth showing his teeth, probably from the effort..

  The hissing dropped in pitch, turning into a low rumble as the metal monster slowed, sliding lazily beside our bench. The smoke began to clear, revealing the sharp outlines of blue metal, shining now through the cloud of steam.

  "My apologies," the man called out, raising his voice over the humming. "What was that? I couldn't catch a word over all this racket."

  "I said you're terrorizing the beast! And my wife too!" He pointed first at the horse in front of our cart with his index finger, then at my mother with his thumb.

  "Oh, so now I come after the horse in the hierarchy?" The words came through clenched teeth. Sharp. Yet she was trembling. I felt it through her body, a subtle vibration that betrayed the fear her tone tried to hide.

  "A thousand apologies, truly. I'm still getting the hang of it," the man justified, gesturing with an enthusiasm that seemed almost like a disease. "But the Count insists we start to…"

  His elbow hit the lever while he was theatrically gesturing and he was gone.

  It was an instant. A metallic roar swallowed the rest of the sentence and the world vanished again.

  An explosion of white steam, dense, burning my nostrils like acid and reducing the street to a faded memory.

  When the fog cleared, the blue monster was already turning the corner at an unnatural speed, the man in the blue coat hung like an empty sack, off-balance and grotesque in his attempt to regain control.

  My father spat on the ground, a gesture loaded with ancient contempt. "Rich people's toys. Bloody…"

  “Tarin! Mind your words in front of Arek!” My mother admonished and Dad smiled, turning back on the road.

  Our cart lurched under the weight of the still-nervous horse.

  "Dad? What was... that thing?"

  He barely turned, his thick eyebrows joined in a single line of shadow. "Hmm?"

  "It didn't have horses. How did it move? It ran like the wind." My eyes were still glued to that street corner, where the remnants of steam swirled like ghosts.

  "I won't have you taking a liking to these modern contraptions, understand, Champ?" His voice was hard, final. "A real man can only trust his muscles and his magic!"

  He turned away muttering something, the rumble of the cart wheels swallowing it whole, though Mum probably heard given the look on her face..

  "Dear." She answered a question I hadn't asked anyone in particular. "Your father hates progress, that's all."

  The look she shot at his tense shoulders told me something was coming.

  A breath. Her voice softened.

  "The world changes, sweetheart. New things arrive. Your father prefers old things, the ones he knows." She inhaled briefly. "You have to find balance, you know? Between the old and the new."

  Balance. Between the old and the new.

  The words stayed with me. I kept turning them over, even if I didn’t fully get them.

  "Yes, Mom. Like when old things work well but new ones are faster, and you have to choose which is better."

  She stopped breathing for a moment. Then resumed, but slower.

  Her eyes found mine. Not the way she looked at the road or the market stalls, scanning without really seeing. This was different.

  "Arek..." she said quietly. "You... when I listen to you talk, sometimes I forget how small you are."

  Small? Me? The word made no sense. Not when sentences came out already formed, already weighed. Like I'd said them a thousand times before, but I knew that wasn't true. Or was it?

  "Sweetheart, you..." She stopped, trying to catch that breath that had escaped her again. "You speak too well. Too well for a child not yet half a red moon old. Other children three years old don’t usually talk like this."

  Half a red moon? It is always so strange to count one age in moons that rise every six years.

  Her fingers tightened on mine. They didn't have the softness you'd expect from a mother, but were hard, marked by small calluses from a woman who worked and took care of the house and family with all her strength.

  "And you understand things that... that children shouldn't understand yet."

  I instinctively brought my fingertips to my lips, dragging her hand in the movement too.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "And magic... comes too easily to you. Sister Cora noticed it." Her hand slid from my lips to my hair, stroking me with a gentleness that still hid a tremor. "Others might notice it."

  Tarin turned, on his face a dark look, low and controlled voice. "There are people. People who look for special children. Children who know too much, who do too much."

  He didn't say who. He didn't say why. But his voice broke on the first syllable. Then he continued, lower and more controlled.

  Then he went back to watching the road without adding anything else.

  "When you're with other children," she hesitated for a moment, "or with adults we don't know... could you, well, how to say... speak a little more... simply?"

  Simply how?

  "Like Sipar?" I asked.

  She bit her lip. Her teeth sank in until they left a white mark. "A bit... well... yes. Exactly like that."

  Am I wrong? The thought made my stomach twist. It wasn't a discovery, it was a confirmation. Something inside me had always known, just waiting for the world to tell me.

  "Am I... too good, Mom? I thought be good was…good."

  "No!" She squeezed me tight. Her scent of flour and bread, that scent that had always been home, wrapped around me even in the slight breeze of the moving cart. "Never. But the world... the world is afraid of those who are a bit special, you see..."

  I involuntarily clenched my fingers and gripping Mirina's green dress.

  Like with Sister Cora. People are afraid of what they don't understand.

  And I was what they didn't understand.

  "Okay."

  My voice came out small and inside something broke, just a silent crack spreading in my heart.

  Something had settled inside: a heavy weight I couldn't explain.. Like her words had left footprints that wouldn't fade away. Even when the conversation ended. Not even when she smiled again.

  So not everyone is like me, then. I'm wrong and I do strange things.

  Her warm embrace surrounded me, pulling me back against her soft chest. She kissed my forehead with desperate force, her lips trembling slightly against my skin and her warm breath moving my hair in an irregular puff.

  "We love you. More than anything. Never forget that."

  Never. I promise.

  That word didn't sound like reassurance. It sounded like goodbye, or maybe like the last defense before a siege, and the cart kept jolting along the road as if to confirm it, each bump a reminder of the distance growing between us and the safety of home.

  I have to hide. I have to be less... less good.

  The promise squeezed my heart. Every breath I had to pull in, almost drag it, like the air itself had become denser.

  Fine. I'll be simpler. I'll speak simpler from today forward.

  The promise I'd made to myself was a noose tightening every thought, forcing it to shrink, to become trivial.

  "Can I leave the cart here?" Dad's voice brought me abruptly to the surface, tearing me from that sea of too-adult awareness.

  In front of us was a guard. He wore a blue cloak and armor that caught the sun's rays, sending them back in steel flashes that hurt to look at.

  "How should I know? I'm not the cart attendant."

  The man turned with indifferent rudeness. The reflection from his breastplate blinded me for an instant, forcing me to clench my fists to keep from bringing my hands to my eyes. I blinked, fighting against the dark spots dancing in my field of vision.

  When I managed to focus again, my gaze fell on the winged unicorn embroidered in white that dominated his chest. The symbol of the city of Astermond. It was an elegant design, but on this man it looked like just a mark of bureaucratic arrogance.

  "It was just a question. Never mind," he muttered, waving his callous hand through the air like he was brushing the whole thing aside.

  He jumped down from the cart with a leap that wanted to be confident, but the uneven ground betrayed him. He wavered for a long moment, arms flailing in the air searching for balance, until he found stability with a muffled grunt.

  Mirina couldn't hold back a laugh, a clear sound that clashed with the cold I still had inside. "Try not to hurt yourself, Tarin. You're not a kid anymore."

  "I'm fewer moons than you, old lady." He approached her, offering his hand to help her down. He was smiling, an open and proud expression, but his leg betrayed a slight limp as he tried to steady himself.

  "Only because nobody remembers the exact day you were born, young boy."

  She refused his hand and jumped down with a fluid leap, landing with the grace of someone who hasn't yet forgotten how to run through the woods. Then she turned and stared at him with a hard look, her lips pressed in a thin line.

  They're not going to make a scene here I hope.

  I held my breath, expecting the worst, but suddenly the tension broke. They both burst out laughing, a chorus of familiar voices filling the dusty air of the square.

  I smiled and my shoulders relaxed. It was always so embarrassing when they fought, be it in the streets or at home.

  Just moments before they'd whispered to me that I was in danger. They'd ordered me to hide, to mutilate my nature, to be less than what I felt I was. And now they were laughing, like the world had gone back to normal, like the shadows they'd conjured had vanished with a breath.

  My chest felt heavy, like I’d run too fast. Her words kept echoing in my head, hammering: too good, too special. Wrong…

  Maybe they're just exaggerating. I decided.

  Maybe I needed to learn to do it too. To laugh when everything inside was screaming.

  Mirina took my hand and we plunged into the crowd before I could really understand where I was. It was the first time I'd accompanied my parents to this market. The big market at the center of Astermond.

  Voices overlapped in a dense uproar: vendors shouting prices like they were prayers, customers bargaining fiercely, the sharp laughter of children chasing a dog between the stalls.

  The air was a tangle of smells hitting me in waves: warm biscuits from the bakery on the corner, the pungent smell of cut onions, the fishy odor of…well fish gleaming on ice. Everywhere there were colors attacking my vision: bright red fabrics, piles of yellow fruit, hanging meats swaying heavily.

  Mom’s hand loosened its grip, just a little, and for a moment I could breathe without feeling her heartbeat through her sweaty fingers.

  We passed a fabric stall. The vendor was shouting something incomprehensible about the quality of the weaves and he seemed so passionate about it that I almost wanted to stay and listen.

  Mirina slowed down, reaching out to touch a roll of cloth, deep blue as a sea, cutting him off mid-sentence. I had been about to ask him to continue, he had a way with words, when I noticed golden filaments woven through the fabric. Gold almost like the one on my chest before.

  "Mommy?"

  She turned, the warmth of the sun reflected in her smile. "Yes, sweetheart?"

  "When... that woman... made light..." My tongue moved sluggishly, like it had to push every syllable past my lips. Less fluid than I would've wanted. That's how other children usually talk, right? "It hurt me... here."

  I touched my chest, at the exact spot where the invisible sting had left its mark.

  Her smile vanished instantly, like a candle blown out by a gust of icy air. She crouched down, her eyes searching mine with an intensity that almost made me step back. "Where? Let me see."

  I lifted my tunic with uncertain fingers. The skin was smooth, clean. No marks, no bruises, no gold.

  "Maybe you were just a bit... worried." She stopped, like she was looking for a smaller word, one suitable for a child.

  No, that wasn't it.

  I wanted to say it. I wanted to say I'd seen golden lines, that a mark, a sign, had appeared and then disappeared, that something in my body knew things I didn't know.

  But I'd promised. Fewer questions. Less strange. Less wrong. Right?

  "It's okay, Mom." I nodded even though inside I was thinking: No, that's not it! But I didn't say it. And I lowered my tunic, resigned.

  "Now, where is Mervyn?" She raised her head, trying to orient herself in the middle of the market. "I ordered some tomatoes from him ahead of time."

  "Tomatoes?" Tarin asked, making his usual face when he didn't understand something.

  "Better get some fish too, dear, they say it works wonders for memory. At your age it's better to give it a little help." Her hand repeatedly brushed dust that wasn't there off his shoulder and winked at me.

  "Ha ha. Mirina, you are always sooo funny."

  Everything is normal. Everything is right. Everything is not wrong. I guess? I smiled anyway.

  But something... something was off. I didn't know what, but the feeling crawled under my skin.

  The air had changed, I was sure of it, but I couldn’t tell if it was thicker or thinner or if the difference was only inside me. Like someone had altered something you couldn't see but could feel.

  We kept walking between the stalls looking for the vendor she'd mentioned.

  Mom talked, Dad answered, she laughed, he laughed. I worried.

  Why did the voices around us seem... empty? Not distant, but hollow. A vendor laughed loud and crackling, but the sound arrived a beat after his lips moved. Lips through glass. Voices in a can.

  Strange.

  I slowed down.

  The light looked strange. I squinted, thinking maybe a cloud had passed, but the sky was clear. The shadows weren't sharp anymore. Everything seemed painted instead of real.

  What is happening?

  And the cold. It rose from the cobblestones through my shoes. Crept up my ankles, my legs, my back.

  She kept talking, moving away. Her footsteps echoed. He kept laughing and joking with her. The roar of his laughter. It echoed.

  Reverberated.

  Distorted.

  The others didn't hear anything. They laughed, bargained, and lived. But something in the air pressed only against my chest like the world wanted to tell me something I didn't understand yet.

  I looked right, then left. My head seemed to move in slow motion, like it was immersed in a liquid so dense and heavy that movements seemed to require incredible effort.

  Everyone was laughing like nothing had changed. Maybe it was just me.

  Only I feel that it's off? Something... in my heart, calling me...

  A dull thud in my ribcage. Not pain. Something pulsing: insistent, rhythmic, separate from my heartbeat.

  A call.

  Like a thread was attached to the center of my sternum and someone, somewhere, was pulling. Gentle but insistent.

  Come!

  The thought wasn't mine. But it was inside me.

  Look!

  I tried to ignore it. Kept walking but fell behind.

  Mom, don't leave me!

  She was pointing at some red fruit.

  Dad shook his head. His head said no but his hand was already descending toward his coin purse.

  Dad don't ignore me.

  The call didn't stop. It called. Called. Called. Louder. Louder.

  Even louder. More insistent.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  Something was about to happen. The feeling crawled through my bones, in the beat that wasn't just mine. The call pulled harder: come, look, remember. But remember what?

  Look up!

  I raised my eyes. The sun filtering between one stall tent and another blinded me for a long instant.

  Thump-thump. Thump-THUMP.

  I opened my eyes and… I saw it.

  And memories of black and red blood filled my eyes.