Elliot was six when people outside his family began to notice him.
It started with whispers.
At the market. In training yards. In places Michael didn't linger anymore.
"Michael Myers' son is… different."
"They say he broke a reinforced dummy."
"No child moves like that."
Michael heard them all.
He pretended not to.
Training continued—but changed. Michael shortened sessions. Focused less on strength, more on control. Breathing. Stillness. Ending every form early.
Elliot understood why.
The world had rules. If you broke them too loudly, something broke back.
One afternoon, as Elliot finished his exercises, a presence settled at the edge of the yard.
Someone was watching.
Elliot felt it before he saw her.
Small. Slight. Almost fragile-looking.
An elf.
She leaned against the fence, hood pulled low, eyes the color of polished glass. She looked young—no older than sixteen—but something about the way she held herself betrayed time far deeper than her appearance.
Michael stiffened the moment he noticed her.
"Can I help you?" he asked coolly.
She smiled nervously. "I was told there was a child here who trains… unusually."
Elliot's grip tightened on the wooden sword.
Michael stepped forward, placing himself between them.
"There's nothing to see," he said.
The elf's eyes flicked to Elliot anyway.
Just for a second.
And in that second, Elliot felt it—
Recognition.
Not admiration.
Assessment.
Her smile faltered.
"He already knows how to restrain himself," she said quietly. "That's rare."
Michael's hand hovered near his sword.
"What do you want?"
The elf hesitated, then bowed slightly.
"My name is Lirael," she said. "I am a warrior disciple. I was… asked to see if the rumors were true."
"By who?" Michael demanded.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she looked at Elliot.
"Do you know why people like you are dangerous?" she asked him softly.
Elliot met her gaze.
"Because we take too much," he said.
Lirael blinked.
Then, very slowly, she nodded.
End of Chapter 12