The long winter had finally loosened its grip on the land. Though the chill lingered in the morning air, the first hints of spring were creeping through the underbrush. Patches of grass peeked from beneath melting snow, and birds had returned to the sky with hesitant songs.
Lucian loved this time of year--the woods were quieter, gentler somehow, just before the world fully awoke. It was the perfect time to hunt. Not for meat--Selia had taught him to avoid overhunting during recovery season--but for training. To move silently. To test his senses. To learn how life survived in the wild.
He was alone that morning, Selia off on a long-range patrol and Laila staying back to help Elina with spring cleaning. He'd taken his wooden bow, still too weak for real arrows, and a small dagger Selia had lent him, warning him sternly never to unsheath it unless it was life or death.
Lucian stalked through the forest, soft boots crunching faintly over wet leaves. Then he saw it--a blur of white darting across a nearby clearing.
A rabbit.
But not just any rabbit. Its fur was pure white, not a trace of dirt. It stood out like a phantom among the shadows--an omen of good fortune, or so the older hunters believed. Lucian slowed, lowering his stance, breath even.
The rabbit froze, sensing danger. Lucian paused, and for a moment, they stared at each other.
Then--a scream.
It cut through the woods like a blade. Faint, but unmistakable.
Lucian's head snapped up. The rabbit vanished into the trees, forgotten.
More screams followed--short, sharp, terrified. A woman's voice. Then another. Multiple.
Lucian ran toward the sound without thinking.
His training kicked in. Each footfall was measured, silent despite the pounding of his heart. Trees whipped past him in a blur, the snow crunching louder with every step. The forest thinned as he approached the edge of what Selia had once called the Tron Woods--a borderland between Lustria and the neighboring county of Kirell.
Voices. Male. Confident. Cruel.
He slowed and crouched behind a low ridge, peering over the top.
In the clearing below, a small party had set up an improvised camp. Three women were bound at the wrists, kneeling near a tree. Their dresses were torn, their eyes wide with horror. Surrounding them were a dozen armored men--soldiers, clearly, with the colors and crest of Kirell County emblazoned on their pauldrons. A nobleman stood in front of them, tall and smug, sword lazily resting against his shoulder.
Lucian didn't need to hear the words to know what was happening.
He felt it. The way the noble looked at the women. The jeering from the knights. The lack of fear. These men weren't afraid because they believed no one would stop them.
Lucian's body trembled. Not with fear--but rage.
And something else. Something rising within him like lightning in a summer storm.
He remembered the spell.
It was something Laila had found in a book stolen from Nana's shelf--a technique for combining elemental magic with biology. Lucian had practiced it only once, in secret. The spell was called Surge, and it focused lightning magic into the user's nervous system, enhancing electrical impulses, doubling reaction time, and momentarily pushing the body beyond natural limits.
He crouched low and whispered the incantation under his breath.
"Voltaris impello corpus."
A crackle echoed from within.
His heart surged. Time slowed.
Suddenly, every detail was sharp. He could see the twitch in the noble's eye. The tension in the guards' necks. The flicker of wind that pulled at the fire.
And he moved.
Lucian dashed into the clearing like a shadow wreathed in electricity. He struck the first knight across the throat with a pulse of light magic, blinding him. The man fell without a sound. Before the others could even react, Lucian was behind the second, driving Selia's dagger into the gap beneath the shoulder plate.
He didn't think. He didn't stop. He moved with speed and clarity no five-year-old should possess.
Light magic burned from his hands, searing through armor. Surge kept his muscles burning like molten wires. He ducked under blades, twisted around spears, and moved--always faster than they could track.
When the noble finally noticed him, it was too late.
Lucian stood at the center of a ring of fallen soldiers, chest rising, breath sharp. The last three knights hesitated, unsure. The noble shouted something--a name?--but it was lost in the hum of magic.
Lucian lifted his hand.
He didn't know the name of the spell, but he willed it--poured every ounce of light magic he could channel into a single point.
A flash--blinding, searing. And then silence.
When his vision cleared, the three knights were down, moaning and clutching their faces. The noble reached for his sword, but Lucian was already there.
He grabbed the man's wrist and slammed his other palm into the noble's chest.
Light surged through him, searing into his heart.
The noble dropped without a sound.
Lucian stood there, trembling, the Surge spell beginning to fade. The pain hit almost instantly--his muscles spasmed, and a dull ache spread through his limbs. But he didn't collapse. Not yet.
He turned to the women. "You're safe now," he said, voice barely a whisper.
They stared at him in disbelief.
"A child…" one of them breathed.
Lucian knelt and began cutting the ropes.
By the time he led the women out of the clearing, the sun was beginning to rise higher in the sky. Birds sang as if nothing had happened. The snow was dotted with ash and footprints.
Selia found him hours later, half-collapsed near the edge of the woods.
"What did you do?" she asked, voice low, sharp.
Lucian didn't answer immediately. He looked up at her, eyes shadowed.
"They were hurting people," he said. "So I stopped them."
Selia crouched beside him, brushing a cut from his cheek.
"You're five," she whispered. "You shouldn't have done what you did. You could've died."
Lucian met her gaze. "If I didn't, they would've."
She exhaled slowly. "Come. Let's get you home. We'll talk after you've slept."
And as she lifted him into her arms, Lucian's head fell against her shoulder, heart still racing with the echo of lightning.
He wasn't sure what he had become in that clearing.
But he knew this: he could never go back to being just a child again.
Not after what he had seen.
Not after what he had done.