The iron scent of metal and faint rust lingered in the air as Lucas stepped onto the near-empty platform. It was a weekday morning, so the station was quiet—just the occasional announcement crackling over the speaker and the gentle hum of vending machines.
Lucas sat alone on one of the cold metal benches, his backpack resting beside him. The air was still, save for the occasional breeze that stirred loose pages of old newspapers on the ground. He leaned back and looked up at the grey sky.
"It really has been five years..."
The thought echoed quietly in his heart.
His fingers instinctively reached for the small locket around his neck—the one his grandfather had given him on the very day he passed. He hadn't opened it in years.
The station was still. Time seemed to slow.
And then, the memories came.
[Lucas's POV - Memory]
"Grandpaaaa!"
Little Lucas, no older than six, ran barefoot across the creaky wooden floor of the village house. His arms flailed like wings as he chased after the tall, silver-haired man moving into the study.
"Slow down, kiddo, you'll knock something over!"
"But I wanna see! You said you're doing secret stuff!"
The old man chuckled, sliding open the study door. Inside, the room was a mess—piles of books, ancient scrolls, maps pinned across walls, and strange relics resting in dusty boxes. The scent of old parchment filled the air.
Lucas's eyes widened. "Whoa…"
The old man grinned. "Welcome to the chaos, my apprentice."
"Are you a wizard, Grandpa?"
"Something like that. I'm an archaeologist."
"...That's like a treasure hunter, right!?"
His grandfather laughed. "Something like that. Except instead of gold, we hunt for stories lost to time. The truth behind legends. Things the world forgot—or maybe… things the world was never ready to remember."
Lucas's eyes sparkled. "Tell me one! Tell me a story!"
The old man leaned back, scratching his chin. "Hmm… alright. Here's one."
"Long ago, in the Valley of Echoes, there was a temple buried beneath the sands. They said it held the heart of a god—an artifact called the Echo Crystal that could let a person hear the voices of the past."
"Woooah!" Lucas gasped.
"But," the old man raised a finger, "it was guarded by more than just sand and silence. The temple had shifting walls, pressure plates, and traps built to mimic the whispers of the dead. One wrong step… and the floor would vanish beneath your feet."
Lucas's jaw dropped. "What did you do!?"
"I listened. Not with my ears—but with my instincts. The wind… the hum of the air… the pulse of the temple."
"I made it through, step by step, like a dance of death."
"And then!?"
He smiled softly. "Then I found it. Not gold. Not jewels. Just… a crystal that echoed laughter, cries, songs of the past… It was beautiful."
Little Lucas sat wide-eyed. "I wanna be like you, Grandpa! I wanna go on adventures!"
His grandfather blinked, stunned. Then slowly, he smiled—but it was different this time.
Proud. Hopeful. But... serious.
"Lucas," he said, kneeling. "Archaeology is not just fun. It's a responsibility. To protect history. To face danger and not run. To carry the truth—even if no one believes it."
Little Lucas puffed up his cheeks, furrowing his brows in a mock-serious expression.
"I know! I'm ready for it!"
It was such a funny sight—the tiny boy trying to look like a warrior.
But the old man didn't laugh.
Instead, he smiled with a warmth that could melt the coldest tomb.
"Then I'll teach you everything I know."
[Back to Present - Lucas's POV]
Lucas's lips curved into a small smile.
Those days…
His grandfather had taught him things no normal kid should know—how to move silently, how to disarm basic traps, how to read runes and dead languages, how to navigate with stars.
To others, it might've seemed insane.
But Lucas soaked it all up like a sponge.
He remembered one night his grandfather muttered under his breath:
"This kid… at this rate, even the top scientists might look like amateurs beside him one day."
A distant honk broke through his memories.
The train was arriving.
Lucas stood up slowly, the noise of screeching brakes echoing through the station as the train pulled in.
As he picked up his bag, a faint warmth pulsed against his chest from the locket—so faint he almost thought he imagined it.
He glanced down.
Still closed. Still silent.
But for a second, it felt like something old had stirred. Like something was… waiting.
He walked toward the train doors, the weight of nostalgia heavy on his shoulders—but so was the sense of something rising.
Something hidden.
Something calling to him.
He stepped into the train.
Not just toward the village.
But toward something he could no longer ignore.