The manor was quieter than usual that evening. Most of the family had gathered in the west garden for supper, leaving the halls dim and still. Only the crackle of torches against stone and the faint rush of wind through the windows gave the air some life.
Zane, as always, had slipped free of watchful eyes. The toddler wobbled down one of the lesser-used corridors, his small fingers brushing the cold stone walls for balance. His tiny feet pattered against the wooden floor, every other step marked by a curious hum or soft laugh at nothing in particular.
He loved the silence. To him, silence was adventure.
But silence also hid dangers.
As he toddled further, something caught his eye—a thin glimmer near the ground. He crouched clumsily, balancing on his little legs. A rusted nail, jutting from the floorboard, half-buried but sharp, reflected faintly in the torchlight.
Without thought, his hand reached forward.
The pain was instant. A small cut ran across his palm, red beading quickly at the wound. His lips trembled, eyes watering as the familiar instinct to cry bubbled up in his chest.
But the cry never came.
Because before sound could leave him, something else awoke.
A blue glow pulsed across his forehead—soft, unnatural, deliberate. It shaped itself into the form of an infinity symbol, burning faint but undeniable.
The wound on his palm sealed in an instant, the sting gone as if erased. His tiny hand flexed once, perfect and unmarked.
Then, the shadows stirred.
They slid from the corners of the hall like liquid, stretching unnaturally across the floor. The air grew colder. Without hesitation, they coiled around the nail—swallowing it whole until the wooden boards lay bare, as though the danger had never existed.
The light faded. The whispers ceased.
Zane blinked. He looked at his palm. Smooth. Clean. He blinked again, wide-eyed and silent.
And then—he giggled. A soft, childish laugh, as though nothing unusual had happened at all. He clapped his tiny hands together and continued his uneven walk down the corridor, humming in that carefree way only toddlers could.
By the time the family returned inside, the nail was gone, the floor spotless, and Zane fast asleep with no memory anyone else could understand.
No one knew of the glow. No one knew of the shadows.
Only Zane had seen it.
And though he could not yet speak it, something inside him had already changed.