Half a month passed quickly.
Lukas had now reached three months of life in this new world.
Ti, which during the first days had seed to drag like honey on a cold day, now flowed with surprising speed.
Those weeks beca a silent whirlwind of discoveries, tests, and adaptations.
Clavor and Aurora conducted more discreet "strength tests" with their son.
Always during controlled monts, 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 tal with different thicknesses were handed to Lukas one after another.
Every ti, the result was the sa.
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 mont 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 co from muscles, he barely possessed enough muscle mass to speak of, being a three-month-old baby, but from sothing deeper.
Perhaps it was that energy he had felt during the connection with Tilbo.
Perhaps it was so kind of innate gift sleeping within his blood.
’Whatever it is,’ he thought after bending the third tal 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 sa 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 tal bend.
But it was difficult to associate that destructive strength with the small, fragile baby who spent most of his ti 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 beco a legendary swordsman,’ Asmon thought as he returned to his room that night.
’A prodigy. Soone who will place the Dmond na into the history books.’
He felt no jealousy.
Only growing admiration mixed with the determination to beco 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 tal object.
An ordinary soup spoon from the mansion’s kitchen.
Lukas grabbed it with one tiny hand and squeezed.
The tal 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 beca a battle to keep Judite quiet.
The girl simply could not contain her excitent.
Whenever she saw anyone, a servant, a visitor, or even the birds in the garden, she imdiately started telling them.
"Do you know my little brother? Lukas? He’s super strong! He broke an iron spoon! With his hand!"
"Judite, rember what we agreed on," Aurora would interrupt, pulling her daughter aside.
"It’s not ti 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 excitent of holding a secret, as though she possessed the greatest story in the world and could barely wait to share it.
anwhile, taking advantage of the quiet monts 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 movent, he could control the pressure in his fingers.
It was not perfect.
He still accidentally broke so 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 beca possible.
He was still clumsy, the body of a three-month-old baby was not designed for efficient movent, but determination spoke louder.
’One day at a ti,’ he thought, panting after managing to drag himself nearly a ter.
’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 ca from or how it entered the room, the windows were always closed at night.
But Tilbo appeared.
Always in the afternoons, when sunlight stread through the curtains in long golden beams and the room beca quiet, with Aurora dozing in the rocking chair nearby.
The ant climbed the legs of the crib, now reinforced with tal 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 abdon rose and fell with the tiny breathing of the insect.
Sotis it ate peacefully atop Lukas’s chest or stomach, its mandibles grinding food into tiny pieces.
Other tis, it simply stayed there motionless, as though resting or rely 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 nad it still existed or whether it had only been a unique and fleeting mont.
But he felt sothing.
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.
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