WebNovels

Chapter 3 - Will to Learn

The sun at noon poured in through the windows of the kitchen, dust motes sticking in its golden light, swirling indolently above the creaky wooden floor. Ivy placed a steaming loaf of bread on the table, its scent blended with the faintest smell of herbs from the windowsill. Dave sat at the table, rolled-up sleeves, forearms retaining the faint tang of the training yard... sweat, dust, and leather.

"Honey," Ivy said, sliding the knife along the crust, "Lucian is six today. We should do something special for him, don't you think?"

Dave ripped a piece of bread and chewed considerately. "Where's he hiding?"

"Up in his room," she said, shaking her head with good-natured exasperation. "Reading again. That boy… he's stuck to those books like they're a Treasure map to the world. Sometimes I get the feeling he doesn't even see the sun anymore."

Dave laughed, a deep rumble that vibrated his chest. "Not the worst thing a kid could be addicted to."

Ivy rolled her eyes. "You didn't notice him in town the other day. We walked by the library, and he just stopped. Gazed at it like it was a dragon that protected gold. Almost slipped out of my grasp to enter." 

Dave chuckled. "Our kid's a genius, then. Crawled before the neighbor boy could even sit straight up, talking like a miniature philosopher, and now..." he gestured vaguely in the direction of the stairs, " bookworm mastermind.

Ivy's lips lifted in a loving smile. "One day when he just started Crawling, I caught him in the study attempting to climb the chair to reach a book. He… fell."

Dave's stance tensed. "Fell?"

"Before you worry," she said, sparkling-eyed, "I patched him up before he even cried. You should have seen it... his face, Dave. That glint in his eyes… wonder, curiosity… I almost melted on the spot.

Dave leaned across the table, running a hand over hers. "He's the best. Just like his daddy."

Ivy raised an eyebrow, teasing now. "Nope. Calm, thoughtful… definitely my genes. You? All fight, fight, fight."

"Discipline," Dave corrected, smiling. "And skill."

She snorted. "Mm-hm. Skill at swinging hard metal around, perhaps. The brain? All him... oh, wait, that's me."

"And the biceps?" he countered, flexing slightly, pretend-serious.

"Mind," she replied without pausing.

"Strength," he fired back, grinning.

"Mind!"

"Strength!"

They bantered, playful and affectionate, a beat they had mastered over years, neither really willing to concede.

Then...

BOOM!!!!

The kitchen walls shook, a low, thudding rumble that made the plates shiver on the shelf. Dave's eyes flicked toward the window, fingers contracting around the bread. Ivy stiffened, knife part way through the loaf, eyes wide.

The floor creaked beneath their feet. Cups clanked on the shelves, and the distant tinkle of silverware sang through the kitchen. Dave's head jerked toward the stairs, each muscle tensed, the soldier in him alive in a flash. 

"Ivy," he yelled, voice low and snapping, "where's Lucian?" 

Her eyes opened wide, pupils dilating. "In his room!"

Another shiver coursed through the house, dislodging dust from the beams in the ceiling. Plates quivered on the lip of the shelves, poised to shatter. A hollow, deep crack ripped through the air like a whip. 

"This isn't. an earthquake," Ivy whispered, her hand jerking to her lips. Her eyes darted upward, terror and wonder deep in their centers. "It's... Lucian.

No time for words. Dave pounded up the stairs, boots pounding against the steps, two at a time. Ivy was behind him, skirts cracking sharply against her thighs, hair streaming as she ran.

On the landing, the noise hit them full on.. a low, vibrating hum that caused the walls to shake and the floor to throb beneath their feet.

Dave burst open the door.

A furious gust of wind and churning dust attacked them. The wall opposite was destroyed, blown out in shattered fragments of wood and shattered stone. Sunlight poured through the ruins, sparkling airborne particles like a hurricane of diamonds. Smoke wandered through the twisted beams overhead.

And there, amidst the mess…

Lucian floated. Legs crossed, small frame poised in perfect meditation. White, glimmering light coiled and spilled from him, twisting and stretching like liquid starlight, drifting lazily, yet with an undeniable power.

Dave's throat went dry. "You've… got to be kidding me. He's only six."

Ivy's hands darted to her mouth, knuckles turning white as tears welled up in her eyes. She stepped forward hesitantly, then stood still, as if even breathing too close would shatter whatever delicate miracle... or catastrophe... was happening.

The light flashed once, twice… then blazed, brighter than ever, thrumming through the air.

Even standing firm in reality, Dave and Ivy could feel the raw, unbridled power of what their son had just transformed into

***

The light receded. The buzzing in my ears went away, and I was left with just the wild thudding of my own heart, so loud I was half-terrified that they'd catch it.

I blinked. Slowly. Very slowly.

Through the dust and airborne splinters, I spotted them... Mom and Dad... charging toward me like the protagonists in a silly slow-motion canvas. Mom's hair was messy and blown back, cheeks bruised a rosy pink as though she'd just sprinted a mile. Dad's eyes searched me like a hawk bird, sweeping sight down every inch of my little body.

Did I… shatter myself? My thoughts ran wild. Am I… crippled? My little legs were okay, anyway. I think.

Before I could even formulate a plan on how to explain myself, Mom swooped in, arms encasing me like a living, warm blanket. I could feel her shaking... half relief, half fear. When I looked up, her eyes were shining, shiny with unshed tears. Father's eyes were doing the same, though his jaw attempted very hard to remain firm.

I finally saw the chaos around me.

The wall? Vanished. Roof? All but vanished. Sunlight streamed through the gaping hole, illuminating the dancing dust in shimmering motes, floating idly as if unaware of my close call. A breeze made its way in, caressing my face with the smell of splintered wood and pine, strangely invigorating.

I swallowed hard. My voice barely cracked, "W-what… happened?"

Mom leaned back just far enough to cradle my cheek. Her mouth spread into a smile that was half pride, half relief, and the slightest trace of "you little troublemaker."

"You… Awakened" she whispered, as if in wonder.

Dad moved closer, one hand on my shoulder, his serious face relaxed. "And… happy birthday, son. Six today."

I looked at them, blinking. "I… did it?"

They both nodded, as if silently agreeing not to remind me that I'd just blown a hole in the house.

A grin crossed my face before I could catch it. "So that means—" I tightened my little fists, puffed up chest with excitement—"I can use magic now!?"

Yes, Dad replied, and I could have sworn I detected the smallest glimmer of prankster mischief in his eyes, as if he was picturing the mayhem I'd bring next. "Yes, you can."

Mom simply laughed, a sound like sun breaking through clouds, warm and bright, skipping over wreckage. She playfully mussed my hair as she whispered, "Don't ruin the house too quickly, okay?"

I blinked at her, and then at Dad. "No promises."

Time passed differently then... beneath, yet somehow quicker, as if each day contained a lifetime within it.

Mornings were mana time. I would leap out of bed before dawn, the dim light spreading over my tiny room, and dash to the stones and radiant spheres Dad had placed on the floor. At first, they wouldn't work. Stones tottered, sparks fizzled, and light orbs dissolved into nothing but floating motes. My fists curled in frustration, arms shaking, a scowl pulling at my mouth.

Dad knelt next to me, serene as always, the slight tang of wood and sweat on his skin from his own morning practice. "Focus on the flow, not the result," he instructed, his hand floating close to mine, stimulating the soft thrum of mana. "You can't push it. Mana responds to patience, not fury."

I pouted, sticking my tongue out at the unyielding rocks. Who needed patience? I wanted results now!

Evening belonged to Mom. She sat on the floor, hair streaming around her shoulders, golden candlelight reaching out to catch the edges like flowing gold. She schooled me in shadows, flame flickers, small deceptions that danced in the room. When I did it correctly, she clapped so hard the floor vibrated. "See?" she cackled, eyes shining. "Magic isn't about power... it's about knowing."

Months went by, counted in sparks seized and small spells gone awry. My muscles strengthened, my concentration keener—but from the veranda, the world outside was whispering a harsher truth.

Dad trained with his sword. Each swing, each measured pivot, caused my chest to vibrate. The sword sliced through air as if it were animate, cutting through light and dark with fluid ease. My heart dropped with a crawling thought: however well my mana glowed, it might break. Currents change. Magic doesn't always last. And if that were to occur… I couldn't bear to think about it.

One evening, my arms throbbing from attempting to levitate a recalcitrant orb that wouldn't cooperate and stay aloft, I collapsed onto the floor, cheeks ablaze.

"Dad…" My own voice was tiny but tempestuous. "Will… will you instruct me in swordsmanship?"

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