The year slipped by like a haze, each day blurring into the next as Lucien's world closed in around him. His mother grew frailer, her already pale skin turning ghostly as her energy drained away with each passing month. Lucien's days were marked by feverish study, with Mar at his side. They devoured every text he had gathered, with Lucien reading aloud to Mar, who quickly picked up both letters and words, her quiet curiosity fueling his focus. Together, they'd pour over anatomy diagrams, chemical compounds, and equations late into the night, determined to understand anything that might explain or reverse his mother's failing health.
Through these texts, Lucien learned their race, Solarians, had a biology far removed from humanity, though surprisingly similar in certain ways. They had a gland at their throat, likely an evolutionary vestige once meant to scare off predators, now rendered useless with time, nothing more than a silent witness to a dangerous past. More fascinating, however, was the stone-like organ near the heart—an ethereal construct that pulsed faintly, something so intricately bound to their ability to control ether, or "magia," as it was called. Lucien pored over descriptions, diagrams, and chemical analyses that hinted at the function of this heartstone, with its purpose still shrouded in mystery despite countless pages of speculation.
To Lucien, the discovery of the heartstone represented hope. It was a piece of the puzzle, a possible answer. If magia could flow through their bodies like energy, perhaps he could find a way to boost its potency or tap into it in some way that might help his mother heal. This small spark of hope drove him deeper into his studies, fueling him as the flicker of life in his mother faded.
On one particularly cold night, Lucien sat in the small kitchen space, carefully chopping up the few ingredients he and Lara had managed to scrape together from the city's market. He crushed up the soft Syntax bars, boiling them down into a thick, bitter broth. It was a simple meal, unremarkable, but Lucien handled each step of the preparation with care. He sliced thin strips of meat, roasting them over the small heat source and seasoning them with a pinch of blue dust they'd found—it was all he could manage with the limited ingredients they had.
As he brought the meal to his mother, he couldn't ignore the sharp pang that hit him when he saw her lying there, motionless save for her shallow breathing. She gazed out the window, a wistful expression on her face as her once-lively eyes stared into the shadows.
"Mom," Lucien said softly, setting the plate on a nearby table. He knelt beside her, catching her side profile in the dim glow of their home. She slowly turned, her gaze focusing on him with evident effort, and offered a weak smile.
"Thank you, Lucien," she whispered, her voice a mere shadow of its former self. "You've become such a good young man, caring for all of us. I'm sorry… for being such a burden."
"Don't talk like that, Mom," he replied, his voice steady yet tender. He reached out, clasping her hand in his. "You're not a burden. And you've done more for us than we could ever repay. Please, just focus on getting better."
She smiled faintly, resting her head back as she listened to him talk about his discoveries, his dreams, his plans to learn more about this strange and complex world they lived in. As he spoke, her gaze softened, her smile widening slightly, as if she took comfort in his determination. In that moment, Lucien felt that maybe, just maybe, she'd hold on a little longer.
But the fragile moment soon faded.
Within weeks, her strength had waned completely. One cold, somber morning, she passed away, her hand slipping from his as he sat by her bedside, numb to the tears that refused to come. The experience and wisdom of his previous life dulled the pain, but in his heart, a sharp pang echoed—a hollow emptiness that whispered she was gone.
The funeral came and went in an equally numb daze. His mother's body was burned in a solemn ceremony, her ashes collected into an alloy container, a simple keepsake that Lara placed in their small home with reverent care. The people of the hive city paid their respects, offering murmured condolences. Among them was a tall man with a sharp jawline who had been persistently trying to win Lara's favor. Even now, he showed up, offering his condolences with an almost sympathetic charm. Lucien watched him with narrowed eyes, uncertain of his intentions, but Lara simply accepted the man's words with a polite nod, lost in her own thoughts.
Later that night, with the house quiet, Lucien sat alone, his gaze fixed on the alloy container that held his mother's ashes. A promise formed within him, one he whispered into the stillness of the room. He vowed that he would learn all there was to know about magia and maguscraft. It was knowledge that could no longer elude him, not if he wanted to honor his mother's memory.
As Lucien sat there, his determination growing, Mar entered the room. She approached him with quiet steps, her gaze somber as she offered her condolences.
"I… I'm sorry about your mother," she murmured, her voice as soft as a breath.
Lucien managed a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thank you, Mar."
For a moment, they sat in silence, and then Mar did something she rarely did. She reached out, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. It was a small, gentle gesture, but Lucien appreciated it. Mar had always been a quiet presence, someone who seemed to understand the weight of his thoughts without needing him to say a word.
In that moment, he felt the weight of his mother's memory settle within him, like a spark waiting to ignite something larger.