The walk back home was quiet.
Lucian's small hand clutched his mother's fingers as they wove through the crowd spilling out from the church plaza. Laughter and cheers rang in the air, other children proudly boasting of their new classes—Warrior, Knight, Elemental Mage. Parents embraced their children with tears of relief, already envisioning brighter futures.
But for Lucian, there was only silence.
His mother, Selena, kept a gentle smile fixed on her face, but her grip was tighter than usual. He knew she was worried. He knew she had heard the whispers. Trash class. Useless. A pity for Darius' son.
Lucian didn't care. Deep inside, he felt something no one else could see—the warmth of the goddess's blessing, the strange power awakening within him.
When they reached their modest stone house at the edge of town, the door opened before they could knock. His father stood there.
Eldric Darius. Commander in the Royal Army, younger brother to Baron Edric, and once an adventurer of some renown. Broad-shouldered and proud, his uniform gleamed even off duty. Today, however, there was no pride in his eyes.
Only disappointment.
"So," Eldric's voice was heavy, sharp as steel. "My son has awakened."
Selena tried to soften the moment. "He has, dear. A mage. Rare affinity, even."
But Eldric's gaze narrowed as if he already knew. "…Psychic Mage, wasn't it?"
Lucian froze. His father's tone wasn't cruel, but it cut deeper than any insult. Not rage. Not concern. Just cold dismissal.
"A useless path," Eldric muttered, turning away. "Better he'd been born a farmer's son than carry my name with a trash class."
The words struck harder than Lucian expected. For a moment, the boy's chest ached. But then… it passed. His lips curved faintly. Let him think that. I'll show him. I'll show all of them.
---
That night, after a meal eaten in strained silence, Lucian lay in bed. The moonlight painted his small room in silver. He couldn't sleep.
His heart thudded with excitement. Psychic Sense… The skill glimmered in his mind like a newborn flame. He couldn't resist.
Closing his eyes, he reached inward. Mana stirred sluggishly—unfamiliar yet thrilling. He pushed it into the skill.
The world unfolded.
Suddenly, he felt everything. The rough wood of his desk. The fluttering wings of a moth against the windowpane. The faint warmth of embers dying in the kitchen stove.
It was… beautiful. A whole new sense of reality.
Then he pushed farther.
His awareness stretched beyond the walls, sweeping across the house. When he touched upon his parents' room—he wished he hadn't.
There, a sharp disturbance. Harsh voices. His father's. His mother's. Then—the sound of flesh striking flesh.
Lucian's breathing grew heavier as he pushed his awareness farther. His Psychic Sense trembled, raw and unstable, as though the world itself resisted his attempt to peer deeper. But he wouldn't stop. He needed to know.
It felt as if invisible threads were tearing at the edges of his mind. A stabbing pain split his skull, and his vision flashed white. Yet in that agony, something clicked—like a locked door breaking open.
For a fleeting second, clarity surged through him.
The darkness dissolved, replaced by an image sharper than sight itself. He saw into the chamber across the hall, not with eyes but with that newborn sense. His father's towering frame loomed, his voice a whip of venom. His mother knelt before him, delicate features twisted in grief.
Then came the sound—so vivid it was as though Lucian's own cheek had been struck. The crack of flesh meeting flesh. His father's hand, his mother's face, the bruise blooming purple even as tears slid down her pale skin.
Lucian's chest seized. Rage and sorrow twisted together until it felt as if his soul itself was on fire. He wanted to scream, to run, to tear down the wall between them. But all he could do was cling to the trembling thread of his psychic sight.
The strain grew unbearable. His head throbbed as if spikes were being driven into it, his veins burning with mana forced beyond their capacity. Still, he refused to let go. No. I have to see. I have to remember. I won't let this fade.
Lucian's heart pounded. His vision blurred red though his eyes were still shut. He hit her? He dares—?
The boy's fists clenched in his sheets. Hatred welled inside him, black and suffocating. He swore in his heart, silently and fiercely: I will make him pay. One day, I will make him regret every bruise, every word, every look he gave her.
But his power was new, unstable. Rage drove him to overextend, pushing his sense farther, sharper. Mana bled from him in torrents, far beyond his control.
His chest constricted. His vision spun.
Then—nothing.
Lucian collapsed onto the bed, unconscious. His small body looked peaceful, but his veins pulsed faintly with a dim blue glow. His mana circuits screamed in protest, dangerously close to collapse.
---
The door creaked softly. Selena stepped inside, carrying a candle. It was her nightly habit—checking on her son, tucking his blanket, kissing his forehead.
But tonight, her heart lurched.
The candlelight revealed sweat plastered on Lucian's brow. His breathing was ragged, shallow. A faint shimmer of mana leaked from his skin like mist.
"Lucian…?"
Panic clutched her chest. She rushed to his side, brushing damp hair from his face. His pulse was weak, his mana dangerously drained.
Selena's lips trembled. She recognized the signs—mana exhaustion, and in a child barely awakened, it could mean permanent damage.
Without hesitation, she placed both hands over him. A soft green glow spread from her palms—healing light, the remnants of her days as a support mage.
"Stay with me, my little one," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "You can't fall now… not when your true journey has only begun."