The soft morning light filtered into Maeve’s workshop, casting a warm glow over the tools and half-finished projects scattered across the tables. Luther, now just tall enough to peer over the workbench, stood on a little stool that Maeve had crafted just for him. His eyes sparkled as he scanned the various gears, wheels, and tiny springs that lay in small, organized piles.

Maeve glanced over at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “See anything interesting, little inventor?” she asked, watching as Luther reached out, his fingers pausing over a smooth, round wheel.

He looked up at her, his expression thoughtful. “Mama,” he murmured, his words still sweet with the lisp of early childhood, “can I make... something?”

Maeve’s heart swelled with pride and affection. She nodded, gesturing to a small pile of scrap parts she’d gathered just for him. “Of course you can,” she replied. “Here, let’s start with something simple. What would you like to make?”

Luther looked down at the bits and pieces, his tiny brow furrowed in concentration as he considered the possibilities. His eyes lit up when he spotted a pair of small wooden wheels, and he picked them up carefully, holding them out to his mother. “A carriage!” he declared, the word bouncing with excitement.

Maeve laughed softly, delighted by his enthusiasm. “A carriage it is,” she said. She placed a few more simple parts in front of him—a small wooden block for the body, a thin dowel that could serve as an axle, and some bits of metal wire to hold everything together.

Luther set to work, his little hands surprisingly steady as he pieced the parts together. Maeve showed him how to line up the wheels with the axle, her hands guiding his as he pressed the wheels into place. When they finally clicked into position, he let out a squeal of delight, watching as the carriage’s wheels spun freely.

Next, he fastened the wooden block on top of the axle, securing it with some wire in a way that was just a bit clumsy, yet perfectly functional. He worked with a level of focus that was rare for someone his age, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration as he twisted the final piece of wire around the axle to hold everything in place.

Maeve watched, fascinated, as he held up his tiny creation, a gleam of pride in his wide eyes. “Look, Mama!” he said, his voice bright with excitement. He placed the little carriage on the workbench, nudging it forward to test the wheels. It rolled smoothly across the surface, wobbling slightly but holding together.

She clapped her hands, her heart brimming with pride. “It’s wonderful, Luther! You’ve made a real carriage,” she said, kneeling down beside him to admire his work. “And on your own, too! You really are my little inventor.”

Luther beamed, his cheeks flushed with happiness. He pushed the carriage along the table again, watching it roll with a look of pure delight. Maeve couldn’t help but laugh, touched by his joy and amazed by his natural instinct for creation.

She reached into a nearby drawer and pulled out a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. Unwrapping it, she revealed a tiny, leather-bound pouch with miniature tools—a small screwdriver, a pair of pliers, and a few other safe, simple tools that she’d chosen just for him.

“This,” she said, holding out the pouch, “is for you, Luther. Every inventor needs their own tools.”

Luther’s eyes went round with wonder as he reached out, touching the soft leather with reverence. He opened the pouch carefully, examining each tool with wide-eyed awe, as though they were precious treasures. He looked up at Maeve, his expression full of gratitude. “Thank you, Mama.”

Maeve ruffled his hair, her voice warm. “You’re very welcome. I can’t wait to see what you make next.”

As Luther continued to play with his tiny carriage, Maeve stood back, feeling a mixture of pride and quiet awe. She knew that this was only the beginning—her son’s first steps into the world of invention. Watching him, she felt a deep certainty that he was destined to create wonders she could only dream of.

And for the rest of the morning, the workshop was filled with the soft hum of tools, the gentle creak of wheels, and the joyful laughter of a young inventor discovering his path.

The afternoon sun cast a warm, golden light over the fields, stretching long shadows across the soft, waving grass. Jiro walked slowly, his steps measured, with young Luther toddling beside him. The air was filled with the quiet hum of life—rustling leaves, the distant call of a bird, and the soft, rhythmic pulse that seemed to echo just beneath the sounds of the world.

They reached a small clearing, a peaceful spot where Jiro often practiced his cultivation forms. Kneeling, Jiro motioned for Luther to sit beside him on the ground. “Today,” he began softly, “I want you to try to feel something special. Something that’s all around us.”

Luther gazed up at his father, eyes wide and curious. Jiro took his son’s small hand and pressed it gently against the earth. “Close your eyes, little one,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “Listen with more than your ears. Feel with more than just your fingers.”

Obediently, Luther squeezed his eyes shut, his small face scrunched in concentration. At first, there was only the coolness of the soil beneath his hand, a familiar texture. But as he focused, he began to sense something else—a faint, gentle hum that seemed to rise from the earth itself. It was almost like a heartbeat, pulsing softly, a warmth that spread through his palm and up his arm, filling him with a quiet, calm energy.

Jiro watched as Luther’s face softened, a look of wonder settling over him. “What you feel,” Jiro whispered, “is the energy that flows through all things. It’s part of the earth, part of the air, part of every tree and blade of grass. This energy is life itself.”

Luther nodded, though he didn’t yet have the words to describe what he felt. He could sense the energy in the soil, almost like tiny threads woven together, connecting each particle in a silent, living web. The sensation was faint but undeniable, a gentle warmth that felt both familiar and strange. It seemed to flow through his fingers, stretching out beyond him, joining with the grass, the stones, and the roots hidden deep beneath the earth.

As he sat there, Luther began to feel the energy in the air as well, though it was more subtle—a soft vibration that danced lightly around him, like a gentle breeze brushing his skin. The energy in the air was quieter than the earth’s, lighter, as if it were drifting through the open space around him, forming an invisible network that connected everything under the sky.

“Spiritual energy,” Jiro continued, “is the essence of all life. In the trees and grass, in the stones and rivers, in you and in me—it flows through all things, binding us together. It can be strong in living things, like plants and animals, but you can find it even in simple stones or metal, though it may feel faint.”

Luther opened his eyes, his gaze drifting over the field with a newfound sense of wonder. He reached out, brushing his fingers over a nearby plant, feeling a slight warmth where his skin met the leaves, almost like a gentle greeting. The plant’s energy felt different from the earth’s, softer and more vibrant, as if it pulsed with its own quiet life. He didn’t fully understand it, but he could feel the connection, the quiet exchange of energy that passed between him, the plant, and the ground beneath it.

Jiro placed a hand on Luther’s shoulder, grounding him. “One day, with practice, you’ll learn how to cultivate this energy, to guide it, even shape it. But for now, it’s enough just to feel it and to know that it’s always here, part of you and part of everything around you.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Luther nodded slowly, his young mind absorbing the experience in a way that was beyond words. The world felt bigger, richer, like there were layers he hadn’t noticed before. The soft hum of life, the quiet flow of energy—it was everywhere, and he felt as though he were just beginning to understand its gentle, constant presence.

They sat together in silence, father and son, each connected to the vast web of life that pulsed around them. And in that quiet, Luther felt a sense of peace, a knowing that, even when he was alone, he would always be part of this web, woven into the fabric of the world itself.

The experience left a quiet warmth in his heart, a seed planted deep within him that would one day guide him as he walked his path—a seed that, like the spiritual energy itself, would grow silently, strengthening his bond with the world and those around him.

Evening had fallen, casting the village in shades of soft blue and gray as the last light faded from the sky. Inside the Elarnia home, the air was warm and filled with the comforting smell of simmering herbs. Luther was seated on the floor, engrossed in his tiny carriage, when the front door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside.

“Foster!” Maeve called cheerfully, looking up from her workbench with a welcoming smile. Luther’s face lit up as he saw the tall, wiry figure of his mother’s friend, who always seemed to carry a bit of the workshop’s energy with him, along with faint smudges of soot on his cheeks and hands.

The room felt warm, the kind of warmth that made Luther feel safe and drowsy, like he could curl up right there on the floor and listen to his mother and Foster talk forever. But then Foster reached into a small leather pouch, and Luther’s attention sharpened, curiosity tugging him awake. Out of the pouch, Foster carefully lifted a small, gleaming pendant that caught the light in ways that made Luther’s eyes go wide.

Foster knelt, holding it out to him. “This is for you, little inventor,” he said, his voice warm and gentle, as though he were sharing a secret.

Luther’s small fingers reached out, hesitant, then brushed the pendant’s surface. It felt smooth and warm to the touch, almost like it was alive. He took it carefully, cupping it in his hands, and stared down at it, his face inches away as he took in every detail. The pendant was a circle, small enough to fit in his palm, but with layers that seemed to shift and move just beneath its surface. It wasn’t flat like other pendants he’d seen. This one had depth, tiny pieces that made up a whole—a puzzle, like the ones his mother sometimes gave him, but far more intricate.

He turned it slowly, watching as a small outer ring moved under his fingers, rotating just a little, and then click. The sound was so quiet, but it sent a thrill up his spine. The tiny gears inside it started moving, one by one, in a slow, smooth dance. Each movement seemed to unlock something in the next, clicking together with the same satisfying rhythm as his mother’s machines. He could almost feel a heartbeat in it, a soft, pulsing hum that made him think of his father’s stories of life energy.

Luther let his finger trace the tiny symbols carved along the edge of the pendant’s frame. He didn’t recognize them, but something about them felt familiar. His fingertip tingled slightly as he traced over one of the marks, a looping shape that reminded him of a leaf, delicate but steady, like the plants that grew outside where his father trained. He didn’t know why, but it made him feel calm, like the feeling of grass under his hands.

He felt as though the pendant was trying to tell him something—a secret it held, wrapped in the tiny gears and symbols. The metal, though cool to the touch, carried a warmth that he felt deeper, like the warmth in his chest when his parents praised him. It felt… alive, somehow, as if it had been made to carry not just metal but something softer and invisible, something that breathed.

“Do you feel it, Luther?” Foster’s voice was low, and it almost startled him, like waking from a dream.

Luther looked up, his eyes bright, and nodded. “It’s like… like it’s breathing,” he whispered, clutching the pendant a little closer to his chest, feeling its comforting weight against his heart.

Foster’s face broke into a soft smile. “You’re not far off,” he said, his eyes shining with a proud warmth. “This pendant holds more than just its pieces. There’s a bit of energy in there, something quiet and alive, connecting each part. Just like you and your family, and just like everything around us.”

Luther didn’t fully understand, but he nodded, holding the pendant tightly. He turned it again, feeling the gears respond to his touch, each tiny movement smooth and eager. It was like the pendant knew what he wanted it to do, almost like it was listening to him. He ran his thumb along its edges again, where he found a small ridge that felt rougher than the rest. As he pressed it, he discovered another layer—a tiny inner disc with a leaf symbol engraved into the metal, barely visible but unmistakable. The sight of it made him smile, the shape somehow filling him with warmth.

This pendant, with its layers and secrets, felt like a whole world in his hands. And as he held it, he felt connected to something much bigger—something he couldn’t name but could sense all around him, like the gentle breath of the earth under his feet.

Foster’s voice broke through his reverie. “That’s for you to keep, Luther. Take good care of it, and it will remind you that everything, even the smallest gear, has its place. Just like you.”

Luther nodded, tucking the pendant close to his chest, its quiet pulse echoing his own heartbeat. It was more than a gift; it felt like a friend, one that would stay with him, whispering its quiet secrets and waiting patiently for him to discover them, one by one.

The stars had begun to blink softly in the night sky as Maeve and Jiro prepared Luther for bed. His eyes were heavy, barely open, after a day brimming with wonder and new experiences. Maeve brushed a gentle hand over his hair as he lay curled under the blanket, the tiny pendant still clutched in his hand, nestled close to his heart.

“Goodnight, little inventor,” she whispered, a soft smile on her lips. She tucked the blanket up to his chin, brushing her fingers gently along his cheek as he drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Jiro stood quietly nearby, watching with a warm gaze as Maeve adjusted the blanket one last time. They lingered by the door for a moment, as if unwilling to leave, both marveling at the peaceful expression on their son’s face. The day had been a big one for him—his first invention, the feel of spiritual energy in the earth, and now the tiny pendant resting in his hand.

They stepped quietly into the main room, closing the door behind them. Maeve leaned against the wall, letting out a soft sigh, her face thoughtful as she glanced back toward the door. “He’s so young,” she murmured, a trace of awe in her voice. “But already, he’s… well, he’s more than I ever imagined he could be.”

Jiro nodded, his gaze steady but softened with the warmth he felt for his son. “He’s a remarkable child,” he replied, his voice low. “It’s as though he understands more than he lets on, as if he can feel the heart of things, even when he doesn’t fully understand them.”

Maeve’s eyes glinted with quiet pride. “I see so much of you in him, Jiro. The way he feels the world around him—it’s as if he’s connected to something deeper, something... ancient. And at the same time,” she added, a soft chuckle escaping her lips, “he has that same spark I had as a child. The fascination with pieces and how they fit together.”

Jiro’s hand rested gently on her shoulder, and he gave her a nod of agreement. “He does have your curiosity,” he admitted, his lips curving in a faint smile. “And your skill. But you’re right—he’s different. He has a way of noticing the smallest details, of seeing things that even we might overlook. That, I think, is what sets him apart.”

Maeve sighed, her gaze dropping to her hands as she traced a finger over her palm, lost in thought. “Sometimes, I worry about him,” she said, her voice just a whisper. “If he chooses both paths someday—if he becomes a Paragon—it won’t be an easy life. That choice comes with responsibilities, with… sacrifice.”

Jiro’s face softened, and he pulled her into a gentle embrace, his arms steady and reassuring. “It will be his choice, Maeve,” he said quietly. “And whatever he decides, we’ll support him. But I believe that whatever path he walks, he’ll bring something special to it. He has a spirit that feels both strong and gentle, like the steady flow of a river. I think he’s destined to bring both parts of our worlds together, in ways we can’t yet imagine.”

Maeve rested her head against Jiro’s shoulder, a bittersweet smile crossing her lips. “You’re right,” she murmured. “He already brings them together in his own way. Today, watching him explore your world, seeing his joy as he made his first little creation—it’s as if he belongs to both paths, even now.”

They stood in silence for a moment, each lost in their thoughts, contemplating the quiet mystery that was their son. Luther’s life would be full of choices, of paths they couldn’t walk for him, and all they could do was offer him their love, their guidance, and the freedom to find his own way.

After a while, they moved toward the window, looking out over the village, where some lanterns still glowed faintly in the distance. Jiro took Maeve’s hand, squeezing it gently, and they both gazed up at the stars, feeling the peaceful hum of the night settle over them.

“We’ll give him everything we can,” Maeve whispered, her voice filled with quiet determination. “We’ll teach him, we’ll nurture him, and… we’ll help him understand. But the rest…” She trailed off, a soft sigh escaping her.

“The rest will be his,” Jiro finished for her, his voice steady and certain. “And that is how it should be.”

Together, they watched the stars in silence, each silently vowing to do all they could to prepare Luther for whatever lay ahead, knowing that he would be the one to shape his own destiny.