Luca arrived at his home, a small but lovingly tended cottage at the edge of Eldermoor. The familiar scent of home, the smoke from his mother's cooking filled the air.
As he stepped inside, he saw his mother, Rhea, stirring a pot over the fire. Her face lit up the moment she spotted him, and she rushed over, wrapping him in a warm, tight embrace.
"Oh, Luca! You're home!" she said, her voice trembling with emotion as tears welled up in her eyes. She held him close, as if to make up for all the time he'd been away. "I've missed you so much."
Luca hugged her back, smiling up at her. "I missed you too, Mother," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
After a moment, she released him and brushed a tear from her cheek, her face brimming with pride. "Tell me, my love, how has the training been? Have you had a hard time in Silverdeep? I worried so much."
He shook his head, smiling. "It's been... good, Mother. Hard work, but I like it. They're training us to be strong. I've even joined the Drakemore family as one of their servants."
Rhea's eyes widened. "The Drakemores? Oh, Luca, that's wonderful! I'm so proud of you."
Luca reached into his pocket, pulling out the small velvet pouch from the Trinket Trove. He handed it to her with a shy smile. "I bought something for you… with my pay."
Her hands trembled as she opened the pouch, revealing the delicate silver locket. Her breath caught as she admired the intricate floral design. "Oh, Luca, it's beautiful," she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes once more. "You thought of me while you were away?"
"Every day," he said softly, his face beaming with pride.
Rhea hugged him again, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, my dear. I'll treasure this always."
That evening, she cooked him a feast, a delicious spread of roasted vegetables, fresh bread, and a rich stew made from local herbs and spices, the flavours of home. They ate together, laughing and sharing stories, the warmth of her love filling him up far more than the food itself.
The next two days passed quickly. Luca helped his mother with her daily tasks, tending to the garden, fetching water, and chopping wood. Each chore, though simple, made him feel closer to her, and he was grateful for every moment they shared.
But soon, it was time for him to return to Silverdeep. They stood by the edge of the village as she handed him a small pouch of coins, her face serious.
"Take this, Luca. It's not much, but it's what I've saved. Just in case you need anything in the city."
He shook his head, gently pushing her hand back. "No, Mother. You keep it. You've done enough."
But she insisted, pressing the pouch into his hand. "Please, Luca. I want to know that you're taken care of. Let me do this for you."
Unable to refuse her, he accepted the money with a reluctant smile. Then, he embraced her tightly, feeling her warmth and her strength as she whispered, "Take care of yourself, my love."
With one last look back, he turned and joined the other children on the path back to Silverdeep. As they walked, the memories of home lingered with him, filling him with a sense of purpose and a renewed determination to make his mother proud.
*****
Two months slipped by with the familiar rhythm of strength training, but one morning, the children arrived at the training ground to find wooden swords and spears lined up neatly, glinting in the sunlight. Excitement rippled through the group finally, the day had come to wield weapons.
The instructor strode onto the field, his sharp eyes sweeping over them. "Today marks a new stage in your training," he announced, a faint smile tugging at his usually stern face. "You'll be learning the basics of wielding a spear in the morning and the sword in the evening. But remember these are not toys. They are tools of discipline and skill. Disrespect them, and you'll regret it."
Luca's heart raced as he picked up a wooden spear, the weight unfamiliar yet thrilling. The instructor stepped behind him, adjusting his grip. "Hold it firmly, but stay relaxed. A spear is about precision, not brute force. Let the weapon guide your movement." He demonstrated, moving in a smooth, controlled arc.
Luca nodded, mimicking the instructor's movement, feeling a surge of pride each time he improved. In the evening, when it was time for sword practice, he could hardly contain his excitement. The instructor instructed them on basic footwork and how to grip the sword. "Balance and stance are your foundation," he said, demonstrating. "Strength without control is pointless."
After their evening practice, Luca lingered on the training ground, his fingers curling around the wooden sword's hilt. A few other children stayed back too, equally captivated by the weapon's allure. He practiced again and again, honing each movement until it became instinctual.
As the days went on, Luca's enthusiasm never waned. He spent his spare moments with the sword, practicing tirelessly.
After several days of intense practice, the instructor decided the children were ready to begin sparring with each other, not in true combat but in careful, controlled exercises to test their form and reactions. "Today," he announced, "you'll put what you've learned to use. Pair up, and remember, this is practice, not a contest. Focus on technique."
Luca's heart pounded as he gripped his wooden sword, a familiar, comforting weight in his hands after countless hours of training. He paired with another boy his age, and they took their positions, waiting for the instructor's signal.
The instructor paced between the pairs, watching closely, and paused by Luca, studying his stance with a keen eye. As Luca moved through the motions, the instructor nodded approvingly. "You've been practicing more than required, haven't you?" he remarked.
"Yes, sir," Luca replied, concentrating on his movements as his opponent attempted a lunge. With a swift sidestep, he countered, keeping his form steady and balanced.
"Well done," the instructor said, watching him closely. "Your movements are confident. Just remember, the sword is as much about timing as it is about force. Don't get ahead of yourself."
Throughout the session, Luca held his ground, his extra practice paying off. His footwork was precise, his reactions sharp, and his control evident.
As the instructor moved on to correct other children, Luca couldn't help but feel a rush of satisfaction. He had worked hard for this moment, and his dedication was showing. By the end of the day, whispers circulated among the children that Luca was one of the most skilled among them.
At the age of twelve, Luca's training had transformed him. Taller and stronger, he had become one of the most skilled swordsmen among the group.
Today was a mock battle, and as he took his place on the training grounds, his opponent eyed him with both respect and determination.
They both bowed, and the instructor signalled them to begin. Luca moved swiftly, his footwork precise, his focus unwavering. He swung his sword in a controlled, powerful arc, catching his opponent off-guard. With a single decisive movement, his opponent's sword snapped under the force, the wooden blade shattering in his hand.
The other children watched with admiration rather than disappointment. By now, they all knew Luca's skill; his affinity with the sword had set him apart.
Despite his broken blade, his opponent managed a respectful nod. "You're always one step ahead, Luca," he said with a grin, unbothered by the loss. Luca returned the nod, a small smile of his own crossing his face.