Lucas was raised in the heart of the enchanted forest—a realm where ancient trees whispered forgotten truths and shadows slithered with the presence of hidden beasts. Their small wooden cottage stood protected within a magical maze spell, its paths shifting like living vines to ward off intruders.
To the world, they were ghosts. To each other, they were everything.
His mother, weary yet fiercely devoted, shielded Lucas from everything beyond the forest's edge. She named him Lucas, a name meant to bury the past and cloak the future in fragile hope.
Though his young mind brimmed with questions, Lucas never asked why they lived in such deep seclusion. He saw the fear etched into her every glance, the tension in her every step.
"She must have her reasons," he thought. "If I ask, it might hurt her."
One quiet afternoon, just before his first birthday, Lucas sat near the hearth as his mother stirred a pot of stew. He reached out with a tiny hand, eyes locked on the kitchen table. Without warning, the wooden slab floated upward, hovering in the air like a feather caught in windless stillness.
Delighted, Lucas giggled.
But his mother didn't.
The spoon clattered from her hand. Her eyes widened, her face drained of color. In a heartbeat, she scooped him into her trembling arms and sank to the floor, holding him as if the world itself had split in two.
"You must never use that power," she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. Promise me, Lucas… never again. That power—it brings darkness. And darkness doesn't spare even the innocent."
Lucas didn't understand. But he saw the fear in her eyes. That was enough.
"I'll be good," he thought. "I won't scare her again."
That night, she sat by his bedside, brushing a hand through his hair. Her voice was soft but weighted with sorrow.
"Children who awaken early… the darkness takes them. Twists them. Turns them into monsters who destroy without mercy."
She paused, eyes glistening. "But I won't let that happen to you, Lucas. I won't lose you."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away and forced a smile.
Lucas closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come easily. A silent promise took root deep within his soul.
"I won't let her cry again. I'll protect her. Even from me."
From that moment on, Lucas kept his powers hidden. But in the silence of the forest, beyond her sight, he trained. Stones shattered beneath his strikes. Trees split with the flick of his fingers. Wind bowed to his speed.
His hands were small, but his will was forged from steel.
"I have thirty years. One chance," he whispered to himself as he sliced through the air, sweat on his brow, eyes burning with purpose. "And I will be ready."
Six years passed. Lucas grew stronger, faster, and smarter. Yet to his mother, he remained the same wide-eyed boy who laughed freely and asked for bedtime stories.
Every smile he gave her was a shield. Every innocent giggle, a carefully guarded lie.
She believed she was protecting him from a cruel world. What she didn't know was that Lucas—her sweet, gentle boy—was preparing to face something far crueler.
Something that wouldn't just test his strength… but everything he believed in.
One late afternoon, as the sun dipped behind the treetops, Lucas returned home with a slain C-class monster slung over his shoulders. Its scaly hide glimmered in the dying light, its limbs dangling lifelessly. He dropped it beside their cottage with a dull thud that sent ripples through the forest floor.
His mother froze in the doorway, a basket of herbs slipping from her hands. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Lucas… what have you done?"
He met her gaze, calm and composed beyond his years. "I need it, Mom. Its flesh holds minerals I can use. I have to grow stronger."
Before she could speak again, Lucas knelt beside the carcass and began preparing it with sharp, practiced movements. He skinned the monster cleanly, separating the useful parts from the waste. His hands—small, yet calloused from years of secret training—moved with quiet precision. Soon, the rich scent of sizzling meat filled their modest kitchen, blending with the earthy aroma of herbs he'd gathered earlier.
His mother stood silently in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. She watched him work, a pang of sorrow twisting her chest. He was just a boy. And yet, not a boy at all.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. When did he learn to do all this? When did he become someone I don't recognize?
"You've grown so much," she murmured, her voice cracking. "I should've seen it… should've known. You've had to do everything alone."
Lucas turned, ladling broth into a wooden bowl. His eyes softened. "You haven't failed me, Mom. You protected me. That was enough. But now it's my turn to protect us."
She stepped closer, gently placing a hand on his cheek. Her fingers trembled. "You'll always be my little boy, Lucas. No matter how strong you get."
He smiled faintly, the edges of his mouth tugging upward with boyish warmth. "And that's why I keep going, Mom. Because I am your little boy."
Then he hesitated, arms wrapping around her waist in a rare show of vulnerability. His voice was quiet, fragile. "I just wanted to help. I see how hard you work. I thought… maybe I could make things a little easier."
Her breath caught. She placed both hands on his shoulders, her voice trembling. "Is that why you've been sneaking out? Hunting, training… alone?"
He gave a sheepish laugh, trying to brush away the tension. "Well, someone had to step up. You're amazing, but even amazing moms need a break, right?"
She choked on a laugh as her tears spilled over. Her arms folded around him tightly, pulling him close, holding on like she never wanted to let go. "You've been carrying so much, Lucas. I didn't even realize…"
"I grew up right in front of you," he whispered, burying his face in her shoulder. "You just didn't notice because you were busy being the strongest person I know."
She pulled back, wiping her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. "Alright," she said shakily, "I'll go set the table—"
"No," Lucas interrupted gently, placing a hand on her arm. "Sit. Just this once. Let me take care of you."
Her heart swelled, both proud and pained. She nodded slowly. "Okay… just this once."
Lucas moved swiftly, bringing the heavy pot to the old wooden table. He poured two bowls of steaming broth and handed one to his mother before sitting beside her. For a moment, the broken cottage felt whole, wrapped in warmth and quiet comfort.
She took a bite and her eyes widened. The flavors danced on her tongue—rich, complex, earthy, warm. She looked at him, smiling through her tears. "This is amazing. Better than anything I've ever made. Where did you learn to cook like this?"
Lucas laughed nervously. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face before he answered, "Just tried a few things. Glad you like it."
They sat in silence, savoring the moment. The forest outside whispered softly, but inside, the air was filled only with the sound of quiet laughter, shared warmth, and the unspoken bond between a mother and the son who had grown up too fast.