The family spends the rest of the winter day by the fire, his parents watching TV, curled up on the sofa, and himself in his favourite chair with a book in hand. Three books and who knows how many episodes later, the dimming of the sun announces the end of the day, and the birds sing their evening song.
His dad is already snoring, doubtlessly exhausted from his work on the farm. His mom gingerly wraps a blanket around him and gestures for Callen to follow her quietly.
They go to the master bedroom, and she shuts the door. Complex magic circles surround her, revealing a hidden compartment on the old wooden flooring. Almost reverent, she opens it to reveal an ornate box that glows in enchantments.
Callen watches in wonder as she opens the box, revealing a beautifully decorated scabbard. It is black with gold inlays that gleam in the dimly lit room, and blueish-glowing runic arrays cover every inch of it. The tip is one giant ruby faceted to perfection.
The scabbard floats of its own accord, and his mother gives him a severe look. She was never serious.
"This belonged to your grandfather." her voice comes out in a hushed whisper. "It is our legacy, and your birthright. Take it"
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He knew that enchanted items cost a fortune. The pulsing runes on the scabbard and the lavish materials are his clue that this was no ordinary item. It will probably cost more than the nearby city. He wanted to argue, but a look shut that down before it began.
He took deliberate steps towards the floating artefact and reached out with his left hand. As soon as he touched it, he felt a magic current invade his body. Ancient. Powerful. Judging.
A blade of wind materialised. Callen could feel the air's displacement and hear the vibrating blade's powerful hum. It felt deadly, and he was sure no material in the house would stand a chance against it. Save, perhaps, the newly revealed box the scabbard came in.
The blade floated silently next to its sheath for a moment and was sunk to the hilt in his chest in the next. Blood quickly spread on his shirt, and his mind finally caught up to what had happened. A pain the likes of which he has never felt emanated from his chest, his lips opened for a scream that never came. Looking at his mother in panic, he found cold, hardened eyes gazing at him. A golden oak tree materialised in the air, and a matching symbol shone inside the ruby on the sheath.
Before he could collapse into shock, the blade and the scabbard winked out of existence. He looked down at his wound, healing at a rate visible to the naked eye. The blood, which had dripped onto the floor, floated back to the injury, individual drips reversing their course and seemingly breaking the laws of causality.
The pain was gone before long, and to his utter disbelief, the injury was gone entirely. The only evidence of its existence is the tear on his shirt. Before he could voice out his utter disbelief and confusion, for Devils can't heal, he collapsed to his knees, all his energy spent.
He was soon wrapped in the arms of his mother. He had never seen her so distraught. She kept uttering soothing words, and the last image before he lost consciousness was the tear-stricken face of his mother.
"I am so proud of you Callen."