this world without a sense of meaning. I didn't know why I was here, but there was one thing that I was certain of: my life was good way back then. It was simple. It was easy. My mother, Marella Kaelric, loved me. She was soft, and warm, and she had a striking beauty. Everything that she touched seemed to come to life. My father, Darian Kaelric, was tough, yet kind. He taught me the virtues of discipline, survival, and responsibility.
One day, I happened upon a stack of books and I asked my mother if I could read them. She replied, "You can, Lucen," but I could tell that she was reluctant after all, I was just a child. Most children were bored by books. Not me. I always loved books. They were beautiful. Quiet. Calm. Books were a place that I could step into, and never be sorry.
My father had only just come home from work. When he saw I was reading, he asked my mother, "Do kids read like that?"
She smiled. "I think it's interesting. Even at his age... he could be a genius or a gift. We will see what the future holds. The future is always unknown."
"Did you know he's been reading the last three hours?
The look on my father's face was priceless. "What?"
I smiled back at my father and gave him a thumbs up.
I spotted my father with an object in his right hand. "Father, what is that?" I asked.
He smiled. "This is for you."
He handed me a small plastic toy. It was cheap, but to me, it felt like it was worth thousands.
"It is already night," my father said. "Let's eat."
My mother nodded. "Yes, let's."
We gathered around the table. We laughed and ate together. While it was simple, it was perfect. After the meal, I felt full. I crawled into bed.
I laid in my bed; my parents were sleeping. I looked at the toy in my hand until quietly a thought appeared in my head. "Why am I here?
3 year passed
One day, my father took me into the woods. He stopped under a big oak. He looked to the ground. He did not look at me.
"Your mother is expecting," he said.
Joy rose up in me. I smiled. He did not smile. His hands shook.
"Why aren't you happy?" I said.
He swallowed. "Your mom is sick. These matters could kill her."
My world went white. I grabbed on his collar and felt his heart beating, "No," I croaked. "This cannot be, it is not true."
He did not answer. I could see the lines in his face at that moment. His voice broke as he spoke, "You're fourteen. You cannot do anything. This is not a game."
I pulled away, tears ran down my face. "I will find a cure," I said. I had to trudge my voice forward, but my hands shook. "I promise. On my life, I will cure her."
My father looked at me now. He asked one word. "How?"
I spent days in the woods looking for leaves and roots which my books indicated might help. Some made her worse. Some made her better. I learned quickly: nothing was simple. Every failure burned me but I wouldn't stop.
Sorin, my best friend since we were kids, followed me ever where. "You can't do it alone, Lucen," he said one afternoon when he crouched down beside me to see me shred a handful of bitter leaves.
"I have to," I said. "I made a vow, I will save her."
He looked at me, worry in his eyes, shrugged. "Then I'll help. If it doesn't work, you can do it alone."
I felt a flicker of hope. Together, we tried every combination and made poultices, tried plants I had never seen before, and documented every reaction. Some failed, and she was in pain, and I would have to hold back rage and scream. But Sorin remained quiet and sure, reminding me that everything mattered, everything, even the failures.
By nightfall, when I returned home, I was exhausted, my hands were stained with my mother's plants and leaves, and dark brown soil under my fingernails. I looked at my mother's frail form and I would whisper to her, "I will find a way, mother, I will not fail you." Then Sorin would start across the yard to meet me, and I would look back at the fire before we stepped outside, and Sorin would give me the head nod.
Darian Kaelric perspective
I observed my son from the threshold, his small hands shaking as he crumbled the herbs. I thought about intervening, about stopping him, about saying it was senseless. But I didn't. How could I? He was all fight – more fight than anyone I'd ever known.
Marella lay sick in our home, short of breath. I could feel the weight of every heartbeat she had, and each one reminded me that life is tenuous, that this child of mine could not change the world.
I remembered my own father, the lessons I was given about composure, about survival. I wondered if I could share some of that with Lucen. Could I teach him to be strong without crushing his hope?
He glanced up at me, with fire in his eyes, and declared that he would save her. My heart ached, and I couldn't look at him. How could you explain to a c
hild that there are some things even those with the greatest fortitude cannot change?