Chapter Four — Too Strong

  The man’s name was Elias.

  He lived alone in a small cabin a few miles from the road, deep enough in the forest that the outside world rarely bothered him. He didn’t ask many questions, which made Aethyrion nervous—but also relieved.

  They sat across from each other inside the cabin, the space lit by a single lantern and a weak fire crackling in the stone hearth. The warmth felt unreal against Aethyrion’s skin, like it might vanish if he moved too suddenly.

  Elias slid a metal cup across the table.

  “Water,” he said. “Drink slow.”

  Aethyrion nodded and obeyed immediately—then realized no one had ordered him to. He slowed himself down, embarrassed, and took a careful sip.

  It tasted like iron and smoke.

  It tasted real.

  “Where’re you from?” Elias asked casually, poking at the fire with a stick.

  Aethyrion’s shoulders tensed.

  “I… don’t know,” he said after a moment. “Nowhere, I guess.”

  Elias glanced at him but didn’t press. Instead, he stood and grabbed a small loaf of bread, tearing off a piece and setting it on the table.

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  Aethyrion stared at it.

  “Go on,” Elias said. “You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”

  Weeks, Aethyrion thought.

  He reached for the bread.

  The table cracked.

  The sound was sharp and sudden. Wood splintered under his fingers as the corner caved in slightly.

  Aethyrion froze.

  “I— I didn’t—” His hand snapped back like he’d touched fire. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  Elias stepped back instinctively, eyes widening just a fraction.

  The silence stretched.

  Aethyrion’s chest tightened.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt anything,” he said quickly, panic creeping into his voice. “I swear. I try not to. I try really hard.”

  Elias studied him for a long moment.

  Then he slowly sat back down.

  “Kid,” he said carefully, “whatever you’ve been through… you’re not the first broken thing I’ve seen.”

  Aethyrion swallowed.

  “I don’t always know how strong I am,” he admitted. “Sometimes things just… break.”

  Elias nodded, like that explained more than it should have.

  “Then you learn,” he said simply. “Or you keep living scared of yourself.”

  That hit harder than any punch.

  Aethyrion looked down at his hands.

  “I don’t want to hurt people.”

  “I can tell.”

  They ate in silence after that. Carefully.

  For the first time, Aethyrion tried to control himself instead of pushing harder. Slower movements. Smaller actions. Less force.

  It felt like learning to breathe all over again.

  Then—

  A low hum vibrated through the air.

  Aethyrion’s head snapped up.

  The armor reacted before he did—subtle vibrations under his skin, systems waking quietly. His heart rate spiked.

  Elias noticed immediately.

  “What is it?”

  “They found me,” Aethyrion said softly.

  Outside, distant lights flickered between the trees.

  Not lanterns.

  Search drones.

  Aethyrion stood so fast his chair toppled backward.

  “I can’t stay,” he said. “They’ll hurt you if they think you helped me.”

  Elias opened his mouth to argue—then stopped when he saw Aethyrion’s expression.

  Not fear.

  Responsibility.

  Aethyrion reached for his helmet, hesitating for half a second before pulling it on. The familiar weight settled over him, sealing away his face, his age, his humanity.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, voice muffled now. “For the table. For everything.”

  Elias shook his head slowly.

  “Kid,” he said, “you didn’t break my table.”

  Aethyrion paused.

  “You reminded me it can be fixed.”

  Then Aethyrion was gone—moving fast, silent, drawing the lights away from the cabin and back into the forest.

  Elias watched until the trees swallowed him whole.

  Somewhere out there, a fifteen-year-old boy ran from people who wanted to own him—trying desperately not to become a monster while learning how to be human.

  End of Chapter Four