Morning light filtered through the thin curtains of Lucas's room, painting soft golden lines across the walls. A faint breeze from the cracked window stirred the final page of a calendar—its corner fluttering like a heartbeat.
Lucas opened his eyes slowly, lying still as silence weighed the room. No alarms. No rush. No noise but the whisper of wind. Only a feeling—heavy and wordless—settled deep in his chest.
He sat up, rubbed the back of his neck, and turned toward the wall.
There it was.
The countdown.
One last page.
He stood, walked over, and with a quiet breath, tore it free.
"…It's time," he murmured.
"I've kept my promise, Grandpa."
No smile. No tears.
But his voice trembled—just enough to betray the storm beneath his calm.
After washing up, Lucas stepped into the hallway. The familiar scent of toast and coffee drifted from the kitchen. His mother stood at the counter fixing sandwiches, while his father adjusted his tie in the mirror by the front door.
"Morning," Lucas said, his voice calm.
Both parents looked up—and paused.
"Lucas?" his mom blinked. "Why aren't you dressed for school?"
She took a step forward, the beginnings of a frown creasing her brow.
But before she could say more, Gerald raised a hand. His gaze, usually warm and easy, had turned sharp.
"Lucas. What's going on?" he asked—not angry, but attentive.
Lucas hesitated. Then, in a quiet voice:
"Today marks five years since Grandpa passed."
The words landed like a stone in still water.
The room stilled.
Marissa slowly set the butter knife down. Gerald's hands lowered to his sides. For a few heartbeats, no one moved.
They all remembered.
Five years ago, Lucas had been a wildfire—bright, curious, unstoppable. He'd clung to his grandfather like a shadow, soaking up every story about ancient myths, lost languages, and forgotten civilizations. The old man had been more than family—he'd been Lucas's entire world.
Then he was gone.
And Lucas… dimmed.
He smiled less. Spoke less. Dreamed less.
Even now, the echoes of that loss still lingered in the corners of his eyes.
His mother stepped forward, gently brushing his hair back as she cupped his cheek.
"Oh, sweetie… you should've told us. You must've been carrying this all night."
Lucas gave a small nod.
Gerald moved closer and placed a hand on his shoulder—firm and warm. "Take a couple of days off. We'll call the school. Just take care of yourself, alright?"
Marissa grabbed her purse and pulled out some folded bills. "Here. Order something nice. Or get some air. Whatever you need."
Lucas took the money with a quiet, grateful nod.
But then he hesitated.
"Actually… there's something else."
They looked at him again.
"I want to visit Grandpa's house. The one in the village."
Silence returned. This time heavier. Older.
Marissa's eyes widened. "The old place? Lucas, you haven't mentioned it in five years…"
"I know," he said softly, cutting her off. "But I need to go. Now."
Gerald exchanged a glance with her. "Are you sure?" he asked, voice low. "It's been so long. You've never wanted to go back."
"I've waited long enough," Lucas replied.
They could see it in his eyes—something unshakable.
Lucas never asked for much. He never made demands, never raised his voice. When he did ask for something…
They listened.
"…Alright," Gerald said at last. "You can go."
"Just be careful," Marissa added gently. "It's still dusty and probably full of spiders. We haven't touched that place in years."
"I'll be fine," Lucas said. A faint smile tugged at his lips—not quite joy, but something close.
"Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad."
He turned and walked back to his room to pack. Just a small bag. Just a short trip.
But neither of them noticed the quiet spark in his eyes.
They didn't know that their son stood at the edge of something vast—something ancient.
That when he stepped into that old house…
The ordinary world would begin to fade.
And the legend… would begin to rise.