The train rumbled beneath him, steady and unrelenting, carrying Lucas through fields blurred by motion and time. He sat by the window, chin resting against the cold glass, watching the city he once called home vanish behind him.
The buildings melted into grey silhouettes. The streets he knew faded into shadows.
He hadn't been back in five years.
Not since that day.
And as the world outside rolled by, memory opened its quiet door.
[Five Years Ago – Lucas, age 13]
He was thirteen the last time he saw his grandfather alive.
When he arrived that day, he expected the same warm smile, the same firm yet playful ruffle of his hair—but what he saw left a cold weight in his chest.
The man who had once lifted him onto his shoulders with ease, the man who had climbed mountains and crossed jungles… looked small now. Frail. Fragile.
Yet, when their eyes met, there was still fire behind those tired lids.
"Come here, boy," his grandfather had said, his voice cracked but warm. "Help an old man to his throne."
Lucas rushed forward and took his hand—cold and calloused, but still strong in its own way—and helped him to his favorite chair in the study.
The room hadn't changed. Maps lined the walls. Ancient books piled in every corner. Artifacts gathered from across the world lay in dusty boxes. It was a room full of stories, adventures, and secrets. It was the world Lucas adored.
His grandfather said nothing for nearly two hours.
He just stared around the room, eyes distant—reliving a life full of danger and wonder. And Lucas… he didn't say a word. He stood beside him in complete silence, waiting. Most kids his age would fidget, complain, or pull out a phone. But Lucas had been trained differently. He had learned patience, awareness… stillness.
Eventually, the old man spoke.
"When your father was a boy, I tried to teach him all of this. The languages, the traps, the old magic of forgotten places… but he had no heart for it. He chose his own path, and I respected that. I had given up hope of finding someone who would carry on my work."
He paused, then turned his head slowly, his eyes now focused on Lucas.
"Then you were born," he said softly. "And I knew. From the first time you touched a book instead of a toy… from the way your eyes lit up when I spoke about ancient ruins… I knew my prayers had been answered."
Lucas blinked, his heart thumping. He'd never heard his grandfather speak this way.
"You have a memory sharper than steel. A heart steady like your grandmother's. You know… I never told you about her, did I?"
Lucas's breath caught. "Grandmother?"
His grandfather nodded slowly. "She was strong. Smart. Deadly, even. I met her when she was wounded on one of my expeditions. She was an assassin—a real one. Cold, calculated, silent… yet her eyes had warmth. When I healed her, we grew close. Fell in love. She chose me… and we had your father."
A faint smile formed on his lips. "But your father… he was different. He didn't inherit either of us. We chose to let him live a quiet life. But your grandmother… she died when your father was barely three. An old wound from her assassin days reopened. Took her away before I could save her."
Lucas stared, stunned. The pieces were falling into place—the strange fighting techniques, the silent steps, the survival training that no one else seemed to understand.
They weren't random skills.
They were hers.
And his grandfather had passed them down… to him.
Suddenly, the old man's expression turned heavy.
"Lucas," he said quietly. "I don't have long left."
The words hit him like ice water.
"What…?" Lucas whispered.
His grandfather raised a hand. "Don't ask how. Some things are better left to time."
He reached into the drawer beside him and pulled out a single item.
A locket—old, warm with time, worn smooth by years of touch.
"This is yours now," he said. "And I need one promise."
Lucas took it, his hands trembling.
"When I die… you will not return to this house for five years. No matter what. Do you understand? Give me your word."
"W-Why…?" Lucas asked, voice cracking, tears already rising.
The old man looked at him—proud, sad, and smiling all at once.
"Because if you come before then… the answers you seek will not be ready."
Lucas lowered his head, tears falling silently.
But he nodded.
"I promise."
As he turned to leave, his grandfather's voice stopped him one last time.
"Thank you, Lucas… and please… forgive your old grandpa."
He froze.
He wanted to turn back. Just once. To look. To hug him.
But a promise was a promise.
He didn't look back.
[A Week Later]
The letter came in the mail.
Simple. Cold. Final.
His grandfather was gone.
His mother gasped. His father stood in stunned silence. They rushed to prepare.
But Lucas… didn't move.
"Lucas," his father said, kneeling beside him.
"Come with us. Say goodbye."
Lucas sat on the living room floor, his gaze empty. Distant.
"Lucas?"
When his father touched his shoulder, he recoiled slightly. And when he looked into his son's eyes, he saw something that shattered him.
There was nothing there.
No spark. No light.
Just grief wrapped in silence.
"I'm alright," Lucas said quietly. "Go… take care of Grandpa."
Then he turned and walked to his room.
They called after him. Again and again.
He didn't answer.
The door closed.
And for a week, it didn't open.
No one saw him cry. No one heard a sound. The food they left at the door remained untouched for days.
When he finally stepped out… he wasn't the same boy who went in.
Something had changed.
The world could see it in his eyes.
[Now – Present Day, Train Cabin]
Lucas pulled the old locket from his pocket, running his fingers across its faded edges.
Five years.
He had counted every day.
Now… he was going back.
To the study.
To the silence.
To the promise.
And maybe… to the truth.
He didn't know what he would find. But as the sun dipped low and shadows stretched across the countryside…
Lucas closed his eyes and whispered, "I'm coming back, Grandpa."
And for the first time in five years…
He was ready.