Lucien returned home with his mind brimming with the new information his sister had shared. The idea that their father, long gone but never forgotten, had possessed knowledge of reading and writing made Lucien wonder what other insights their father might have left behind. He stepped into the small, cramped space they called home and found his sister quietly seated near their mother, her face illuminated by a lone, flickering bulb that cast warm shadows across the room.
After a moment, he asked, "Lara, you know when you told me about ether and maguscraft—where'd you learn all that?"
Lara glanced up, surprised. She paused, then gave a soft, reminiscent smile. "Dad taught me some of it when I was little. He used to read to me…all sorts of things." She pointed to a small chest wedged in the corner, half-hidden by blankets and old scraps of fabric. "There are some books he kept. They meant a lot to him, so I didn't throw them out, even after he was gone."
Without a word, Lucien walked over and knelt beside the old chest. He carefully removed the few items piled on top and lifted the lid, revealing an assortment of worn, dusty books inside. The covers were scuffed, and the pages yellowed, but as he gently picked one up, he felt a surge of wonder—these were pieces of his father's life, traces of the man's mind and passions.
For now, he placed the books under his bed, saving the moment for later. Something else needed his attention. He turned to his mother, who lay quietly in her makeshift bed, her gaze distant as she looked out the small window at the dim world beyond.
Since their father's passing, she'd grown more withdrawn, worn down from years of relentless hardship. She often tried to hide her pain, but the signs were there. The sallow complexion, the lackluster eyes, the brittle way she spoke, all told of her daily struggle to hold on.
Lucien noticed the untouched food on the table nearby. He had a plan to try and make something more appetizing for her tonight. In their world, a hearty meal was rare, a small luxury often sacrificed in the hive city's endless cycle of survival. But he was determined to give her a meal that would lift her spirits, if only a little.
He moved into their cramped kitchen area, rummaging through what little they had. He found a few syntax bars, a substitute for real food that was often their only choice. He crushed a couple of bars and boiled them until they formed a thick gruel, stirring carefully. Next, he took a small portion of the meat his sister had managed to scrounge up that day—a rare find, and something they'd saved especially for his mother. Carefully, he sliced thin strips and seasoned them with a sprinkle of blue mineral dust they used as a substitute for salt, roasting them until they were just cooked through.
When the food was ready, he plated it and brought it over to his mother, who looked over in mild surprise as he placed the modest meal on the table by her bedside.
"Here, Ma. Figured you could use something with a bit of flavor tonight."
She gave him a weak smile, her hand reaching out to pat his cheek before pulling back, ashamed. "Thank you, Lucien," she whispered, her voice soft and grateful. "I'm sorry I can't do more for you and your sister…a useless mother…"
Lucien shook his head, hushing her softly. "Please, Ma, don't think like that. You're doing your best. That's enough for us." He stayed beside her as she took slow bites, savoring each one. There was something profoundly calming about sitting with her like this, being able to share a quiet moment.
To cheer her up, he launched into a stream of thoughts, filling her in on his latest explorations and discoveries, from the pacer he'd taken apart to the mysterious components he'd found within it. He mentioned his plan to teach himself to read and write, the hope that understanding maguscraft could open up new opportunities.
She listened patiently, her face lighting up with each word. For once, her gaze didn't seem as burdened; instead, she seemed content just to watch her son speak, his enthusiasm lifting the weight on her spirit.
As the night deepened, Lucien finally left her side and returned to his small corner of the room, his mind brimming with plans. The stack of books he'd retrieved from his father's chest lay waiting for him under the bed. With a determined smile, he pulled them out and selected one with a cover that hinted at biological studies—it appeared to be about the anatomy and biology of their race.
He opened the cover, fingers trailing over the page as he peered at the letters, each one an unfamiliar curve, line, or angle. They didn't resemble any script he'd seen before. He tried to piece together the first line, sounding out letters in a low murmur, struggling to make sense of it.
The hours ticked by as he poured over each word. He traced the lines, guessed meanings, even cross-referenced with a few sketches that littered the pages. Every now and then, he thought he was onto something, but his guesses crumbled as the next phrase made no sense.
Frustrated, he sat back, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't expected this to be so difficult, but he reminded himself that learning this language would take time. He was no longer the experienced, sharp-witted pilot he had once been; his mind felt like that of a child, still growing, adapting. But the determination to succeed was there, unwavering and fierce.
Closing the book, he allowed himself a moment to let his thoughts settle. For now, all he had was a vague sense of hope, a motivation driven by the dream of one day understanding this strange maguscraft. He couldn't shake the memory of his mother's smile earlier, or his sister's laughter as he'd stumbled over his words when discussing maguscraft with her. This feeling—the warmth of family, the chance to create a life with them—filled a space inside him he hadn't realized was empty, after fighting in countless tours during the war in his planet
Finally, he lay down, his mind racing through fragments of ideas and lingering questions. He didn't know if he would ever fully comprehend the intricacies of maguscraft.