REINCARNATED WITH THE BOOK OF SUPREME LAWS

SENSING THE UNIVERSE IN THREADS

Elior squatted by the small creek behind the village, watching the water flow over pebbles and mud. He picked up one smooth stone, rolling it in his hand. It felt ordinary enough. A pebble, a thing the world had made for walking and skipping. Nothing more.

He tossed it lightly.

And then the world changed.

Not around him. Inside him. A rush of awareness, like falling into an endless sky. Lines of light appeared, thin and tangled, connecting the pebble to the water, the grass, the trees, the soil, the sun. Threads of energy stretched further, farther than he could see — winding around the village, stretching into the hills, the forest, even into places he could not yet imagine.

The pebble tumbled across the ground, but in that moment, Elior understood it. Not consciously. Not with words. But the connection pulsed in his mind. He reached out, focusing. His small hand trembled.

And the pebble stopped.

It hovered.

Then it lifted. Slowly at first. A centimeter, then two, as if it was learning to obey him. His eyes widened. Something in his chest burned softly — warmth, weight, a pulse that felt like the heartbeat of the universe itself.

He concentrated harder. His tiny fingers curled, not touching the stone, only thinking. And the pebble flew back into his hand. Gently. As if it had always wanted to return.

Elior’s lips parted. He barely breathed.

Behind him, a rustle.

“Elior?” a voice called softly. He turned. A small girl from the village, Miren, maybe a year older than him, stood halfway out of the bushes. Her eyes were wide, a mixture of awe and fear. She hadn’t said anything to anyone yet. “Your… eyes…” she whispered.

Elior blinked. His pupils were normal. He felt normal. But inside, the threads still pulsed faintly, like a map only he could read.

“I… I was just playing,” he said, trying to sound casual. His voice sounded wrong to his own ears. Too calm.

Miren nodded slowly, not moving closer. She had seen something she could not explain, and it had scared her in the tiniest way.

“Come play,” she said after a pause. Then she turned and ran back toward the village, leaving Elior staring at the pebble.

His heartbeat finally slowed. The warmth in his chest settled. But the world had changed. The connection lingered, faint and humming, like strings stretched too far and not yet broken.

He threw the pebble again. It rolled across the dirt normally. He frowned. Not yet. The understanding came in bursts. Sudden, unpredictable, terrifying and thrilling at once.

The sun dipped a little lower, and the village children’s voices echoed faintly from the square. Lana shouted something about a game, Taron grumbled at her noise. But no one had noticed the glow in Elior’s eyes, the subtle pulse of something older than the forest. Only Miren had.

He slid down to sit on the edge of the creek, letting his tiny fingers trail in the water. He could still sense the threads. The lines were faint now, barely there, but enough to remind him. To remind him that he had touched something older than the mountains. Something that waited, patient and silent, for him to grow.

A leaf floated by on the water. He focused, gently. It twirled in place before drifting normally downstream. A small, almost invisible display of his awakening. Enough to thrill him, enough to scare him.

He picked up the pebble once more, rolling it in his hand. Law of Beginning. 0.1 percent. A faint spark in the corner of his mind, but already so much more than he could explain.

Tomorrow, he would try again. Slowly. Carefully. Secretly.

Even from afar, a shadow stirred in the trees. Not yet threatening. Only watching.

Elior had touched the threads. And someone, somewhere, had noticed.

The first step had been taken.