The Road Before Me

The sun was just rising.

Gold spilling over the hills. The wind light, but biting.

The kind of morning that makes everything feel still. Like the world is holding its breath.

So was I.

My bag was packed. Sword at my side. The white stone she gave me tucked safely in the outer pocket, warm against my ribs like it still remembered her hand.

I stood just beyond the doorway.

Once I crossed that line, I wouldn’t be a boy anymore.

My father was already outside, arms folded, watching the sky like it might change its mind.

My mother stood in the kitchen doorway, clutching a cloth in her hands she wasn’t using for anything.

No one said a word.

Because if they did, it might break.

I turned back once more.

Not because I forgot something.

But because I couldn’t move.

My feet felt heavy. Like the weight of the entire house—the years, the memories, the lullabies and bruises and laughter—was holding my ankles.

My mother stepped forward.

Not all at once.

Like each step was fighting her too.

Then, without a word, she pulled me into a hug.

Not gentle.

Not polite.

Tight. Fierce.

Her fingers gripped my back like she could hold me here if she just tried hard enough.

And I let her.

Because I needed it, too.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, voice trembling.

She pulled back just enough to look at me, then reached into the folds of her robe.

Her hands shook. Not much. Just enough for me to notice.

Her eyes were glassy, shining with tears she hadn’t let fall.

She blinked them away—quick, like she didn’t want me to see.

Then she placed something in my palm.

A charm—woven from sky-blue thread, a smooth pebble sewn into the center, and wrapped in a loop of faint silver.

Simple.

But warm.

I felt a soft pulse of magic inside it—like wind catching breath.

“Keep this close,” she said, her voice low. “It won’t stop a blade or a spell. But if danger comes too fast, it’ll push it back. Just enough for you to breathe.”

She smiled through it.

“It’s small magic. But sometimes… a heartbeat is all you need.”

I clutched it gently, and for a second, I couldn’t speak.

Then came my father.

And in his hands—

He held a sword.

Not wood.

Steel.

Polished. Measured. Balanced.

The hilt was simple, the grip wrapped in leather worn from his own hand.

He held it out, flat across his palms.

“This blade’s not new,” he said. “And it’s not perfect. But it’s held me through worse than you’ll see for a while.”

I stared at it.

He pressed it into my hands.

“This sword… is yours now. And so are the choices you make with it.”

The weight settled in my arms—familiar and foreign all at once.

I looked up.

My father met my eyes and added quietly, “Make it mean something.”

I swallowed hard.

Managed a breath.

And finally forced the words out:

“I’ll come back.”

I turned.

One step.

Two.

Then paused.

Not because I doubted.

But because I knew—once I started walking, I wouldn’t stop.

And the boy they raised would begin to become something more.

I didn’t look back again.

I didn’t need to.

They were part of me now.

In every flame. Every step. Every spell cast in the dark.

In the charm pressed to my chest.

And the sword at my side.

Wherever I went…

They’d still be walking beside me.