Chapter 2: Whispers and Questions

Five loops. That’s how long Omega had existed—long enough to trace every moss-lined path in the Village of Shared Silence, to know the scratchy comfort of Lira’s specially woven blankets, and to feel the muted rhythm of cycles turning into phases, marking time in this quiet valley.

He was also old enough to notice a different kind of silence: the sudden hush that fell whenever he approached a gathering of adult Silvans, the way their serene expressions tightened almost imperceptibly. He saw how the younglings—bright as new spring leaves, bursting with innate vitality—instinctively shifted away, their energy signatures flickering like snuffed candle-flames the moment he stepped toward the waterfall’s shimmering cascade. They didn’t run screaming, but drifted apart, leaving him standing alone by the water’s edge.

Why was his skin pale as moonlit stone, inscribed with those faint gray swirls that pulsed whenever sadness or fear took hold? Why did sunlight, which filled everyone else with effortless vigor, leave his own skin prickling uncomfortably and his violet eyes watering? And why the milk? Each phase, Lys brought a clay flask from the furry creature Orin kept penned near the treeline, a source of constant, quiet shame. The milk quieted the endless, gnawing emptiness inside him—a hunger no Silvan seemed to understand—yet every swallow felt like bitter proof that he did not belong.

The hurt sharpened that cycle. He was watching the green younglings share laughter beside the rushing water when one pointed, not unkindly, but with open curiosity. A murmur passed through the group, and they drew their shared energy tighter, subtly excluding him. A familiar hollow coldness spread through Omega’s chest. He slipped away into the fern-shadowed lower path, wrapped his arms around his stomach, and tried to ignore the insistent ache the milk never truly stilled.

That’s when he saw it: a large iridescent beetle, its carapace gleaming with metallic blues and greens, scuttling across the damp ground near his foot. Before thought, before caution, a raw, unfamiliar instinct surged. Omega lunged, his small hand surprisingly swift. He crushed the beetle with a sickening crack. Then, overwhelmed by the emptiness inside and an impulse he couldn’t name, he shoved the broken shell and soft innards into his mouth.

For a single, horrifying mark, there was only the foul taste and gritty texture. Then—a jolt. Not pain, but an alien surge of energy, sharp and electric, flooded outward from his core. It felt like warmth, briefly, intensely pushing back the gnawing emptiness. Strange, fleeting sensations erupted in his mind: an instinctive urge to burrow deep into cool earth, the phantom feeling of multiple limbs scrabbling for purchase. The surge vanished as quickly as it came, leaving behind a wave of nausea and a profound sense of wrongness, as if he’d violated something fundamental.

Spitting, trembling, heart pounding with a mixture of disgust and inexplicable fear, Omega frantically wiped his mouth and kicked dirt over the crushed remains. He didn’t understand what had just happened, only that it felt secret, shameful, and deeply disturbing.

He fled to the relative sanctuary of the library. “Aris?” he called softly into the dusk-filled stacks, the scent of old parchment usually a comfort.

When Omega asked why leaves were green, why the others seemed to drink sunlight, Aris explained patiently. “They draw energy directly from the light, Omega. It is woven into their very nature, like breathing. For most Silvans, knowledge of our world simply is when we emerge—but you learn step by step. Your mind reaches for answers the rest of us never needed to seek.”

The words offered little comfort against the memory of the jolt and the lingering wrongness. Later, he found Lys and Lira near the looms, their hands moving rhythmically, but their energy felt troubled. He caught only fragments of their low conversation—isolation… sharper questions… the intensity of his gaze—before they noticed him standing there.

Soon, prompted by his arrival, all five of his parents stood with him in the central clearing. The air felt thick with unspoken concerns. Omega felt the gray swirls beneath his skin throb, a familiar reaction to distress.

“Why am I white?” he cried out, the question bursting forth, fueled by the day’s hurt and his secret shame. “Why can’t I drink sunlight like the others? Why the milk?”

Lys knelt, her expression gentle, though her eyes held a flicker of the same conflict he sometimes felt in her touch. “Your body is unique, Omega. A special beginning sometimes requires special fuel to grow strong.”

“My beginning?” he pressed, sensing evasion. “Why was I a baby? No one else starts as a baby.”

Aris sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of their long experiment. “Your creation was… different, Omega. An attempt to learn something new. We did not know it would mean the first true childhood our people have ever witnessed.”

“Is that why they move away?” His voice shook. “The other children? Am I… broken? Am I bad?” The beetle memory pulsed sickeningly.

Solis’s hand settled firmly on his shoulder, a grounding point of calm. “Never bad, Omega. Simply different. People sometimes fear what they don’t yet understand.”

Aris added quietly, his gaze distant, perhaps thinking of his scrolls, “Ancient lore speaks of many ways life can share strength, or energy. Some ways change both beings involved, some allow a spark to be carried onward intact… and some consume entirely, leaving only ash behind. Our people have followed one path for so long, perhaps we have forgotten others exist. Perhaps your difference… points toward those forgotten paths.”

As Aris spoke of consuming and sharing strength, Omega’s right hand, hidden behind his back, twitched involuntarily—a sharp, distinct flick of his index finger, mimicking nothing he consciously intended. He froze, startled by the alien movement.

Lys saw it. Her breath hitched audibly, and she took an instinctive half-step back, her face paling. The gentle healer was momentarily eclipsed by a flicker of deep, parental fear, her eyes fixed on his hand. What was that? What change is working within him?

Lira, noticing Lys’s sudden pallor but perhaps misinterpreting its cause, quickly pulled Omega into a fierce hug, burying his face against her soft tunic. “You are our pearl found among the moss,” she murmured, her acceptance a balm. Lys, recovering quickly but now avoiding Omega’s gaze, added reassurances that they would always keep him safe. Orin gave a solemn, protective nod, while Solis’s calming presence tried to smooth the turbulent emotions rippling between them all.

The warmth of Lira’s embrace dulled the edge of his secret guilt, though not its foul taste or the confusing memory of the jolt. A fragile seed of hope took root alongside the poisonous weed of his horrifying act by the path. Perhaps being different wasn’t just an ending—perhaps it was simply a lonely beginning on a path no one else could walk, a path he didn’t understand himself.