Chapter 14: Three Months
Half a month passed quickly.
Lukas had now reached three months of life in this new world.
Time, which during the first days had seemed to drag like honey on a cold day, now flowed with surprising speed.
Those weeks became a silent whirlwind of discoveries, tests, and adaptations.
Clavor and Aurora conducted more discreet "strength tests" with their son.
Always during controlled moments, when the other children were distracted or asleep, and always indoors, far from the curious eyes of servants or occasional visitors.
Simple objects, pieces of wood of varying densities, resistant fabrics woven in multiple layers, and small pieces of metal with different thicknesses were handed to Lukas one after another.
Every time, the result was the same.
Easy, almost casual destruction.
Pine wood snapped like a biscuit.
Oak resisted for one second longer before splintering.
Thick linen cloth tore apart with the slightest pull.
Treated leather, which required special knives to cut, fell apart between his tiny fingers like soaked paper.
Even a small iron blade, which Clavor tested during a moment of boldness, bent under the pressure of Lukas’s hands as though it were made of soft lead.
The strength flowing through his tiny body was disproportionate, almost absurd.
It did not come from muscles, he barely possessed enough muscle mass to speak of, being a three-month-old baby, but from something deeper.
Perhaps it was that energy he had felt during the connection with Tilbo.
Perhaps it was some kind of innate gift sleeping within his blood.
’Whatever it is,’ he thought after bending the third metal object of that week.
’It’s useful. But it’s also dangerous.’
As a precaution, his parents established strict rules.
"Do not get too close to Lukas without warning us first," Clavor told Asmon and Judite one evening after dinner, gathering the two in the living room.
His voice was deep and serious, the same tone he used when giving orders on the battlefield.
"We still don’t fully know how to control his strength. He could hurt you by accident. By squeezing your hand. Hugging you. Even by holding your finger too tightly."
Asmon, at fifteen years old and already possessing an understanding of the world beyond childhood, frowned in confusion.
He had seen his younger brother break objects, yes.
He had seen wood splinter and metal bend.
But it was difficult to associate that destructive strength with the small, fragile baby who spent most of his time nursing and sleeping in their mother’s arms.
"But Father..." he began hesitantly.
"He’s so small. How can he..."
"He can," Clavor interrupted firmly.
"And he will. Until we learn how to control this, you will keep your distance. Do not touch him unless your mother or I are nearby. Understood?"
Asmon swallowed hard and nodded.
’He’s definitely going to become a legendary swordsman,’ Asmon thought as he returned to his room that night.
’A prodigy. Someone who will place the Dmond name into the history books.’
He felt no jealousy.
Only growing admiration mixed with the determination to become strong enough to stand beside his brother when he eventually shined.
Judite, only four years old, reacted in a completely different way.
At first, when her parents explained that Lukas possessed "special strength" and that she needed to be careful, the little girl laughed loudly.
She thought it was a joke.
A baby? Strong?
Impossible.
"Okay, Mommy, I’ll be careful," she said with a mischievous smile that made it clear she did not believe a single word.
It took a practical demonstration.
Clavor placed a small piece of solid wood into Lukas’s hand and told him to squeeze.
The wood split into three pieces with a dry crack.
Judite’s eyes widened.
Clavor repeated the test with a metal object.
An ordinary soup spoon from the mansion’s kitchen.
Lukas grabbed it with one tiny hand and squeezed.
The metal groaned and bent as though it were modeling clay.
Judite’s eyes widened even further, if that was even possible.
"My little brother is the strongest in the world!" she shouted, jumping in place while her brown hair flew in every direction.
"He can break everything! He’s a tiny giant! A little giant!"
Aurora and Clavor exchanged exhausted glances.
The following days became a battle to keep Judite quiet.
The girl simply could not contain her excitement.
Whenever she saw anyone, a servant, a visitor, or even the birds in the garden, she immediately started telling them.
"Do you know my little brother? Lukas? He’s super strong! He broke an iron spoon! With his hand!"
"Judite, remember what we agreed on," Aurora would interrupt, pulling her daughter aside.
"It’s not time to tell everyone yet. Lukas is still very small. We don’t want him attracting attention too early. Understood?"
Judite would pout, but eventually nod.
"Okay, Mommy..."
Yet her eyes continued shining with the excitement of holding a secret, as though she possessed the greatest story in the world and could barely wait to share it.
Meanwhile, taking advantage of the quiet moments when Judite was playing in the garden, Asmon was training with Clavor, and Aurora was occupied with the mansion’s duties, Lukas dedicated himself to a silent yet crucial mission.
’Learning how to control my strength.’
He started with small and fragile objects.
A bird feather he found near the window.
A flower petal Judite had left on top of the crib.
A droplet of water balanced on the tip of his finger.
’Gentle touch. Very gentle.’
He discovered that if he concentrated, if he consciously thought "less strength" before each movement, he could control the pressure in his fingers.
It was not perfect.
He still accidentally broke some wooden toys Judite gave him, and once he tore a cloth diaper while trying to hold it too firmly.
But he was improving.
Little by little, sitting, rolling over, and even crawling short distances across the bedroom floor became possible.
He was still clumsy, the body of a three-month-old baby was not designed for efficient movement, but determination spoke louder.
’One day at a time,’ he thought, panting after managing to drag himself nearly a meter.
’Soon, I’ll be running around.’
And Tilbo had returned.
The small black ant reappeared a few days after Lukas’s first public display of strength.
No one knew where it came from or how it entered the room, the windows were always closed at night.
But Tilbo appeared.
Always in the afternoons, when sunlight streamed through the curtains in long golden beams and the room became quiet, with Aurora dozing in the rocking chair nearby.
The ant climbed the legs of the crib, now reinforced with metal strips after the incident with the cracked wood, and walked onto Lukas’s chest, where it remained.
Lukas watched it with a curiosity that never faded.
Its antennae twitched.
Its front legs scratched against each other.
Its abdomen rose and fell with the tiny breathing of the insect.
Sometimes it ate peacefully atop Lukas’s chest or stomach, its mandibles grinding food into tiny pieces.
Other times, it simply stayed there motionless, as though resting or merely enjoying the company.
Lukas could not communicate with it verbally.
He did not know whether it understood him.
He did not know whether the connection he had felt on the day he named it still existed or whether it had only been a unique and fleeting moment.
But he felt something.
A comforting stillness whenever it was nearby.
A sting of concern whenever it failed to appear.
A silent relief whenever it returned.
To Lukas, Tilbo was his first and most loyal friend in this world.
’You don’t speak,’ he thought while watching it walk across his index finger.
’But you’re always here. That’s already more than I had in my previous life.’
Three full months.
