A Spark In The Shadow

CHAPTER - THREE

Lunchtime was a burst of noise and movement. Children poured out of the classroom, rushing to a grassy yard behind the school. They pulled out small bundles wrapped in cloth, showing bread, cheese, and sometimes a shiny, red apple. Duskiel had nothing. He walked to the edge of the yard, leaning against the rough bark of a huge tree, watching them. His stomach growled quietly.

A girl with bright, curious blue eyes, carrying a half-eaten sandwich, walked towards him. She stopped a few feet away, holding out a piece of cheese.

"Want some?" she asked, her voice small and kind.

Duskiel hesitated. He had never been offered food before, not like this. He slowly reached out, taking the cheese. It was soft and tangy. He nodded, a small, thankful gesture. The girl smiled, a quick flash of white teeth, and went back to her friends. A tiny warmth spread in his chest, a comforting feeling.

The school routine was a slow way of learning. A loud bell rang to start the day, and another to end it. Different times for different lessons. He had to remember which books went with which lessons, how to sit still, how to raise his hand. He found himself enjoying the quiet time when Miss Anya taught them how to draw. He drew trees, very detailed, with twisting branches and tiny leaves. He drew animals he'd seen in the forest, their fur and feathers carefully drawn. His drawings were better than anyone else's. Other children would peek at his paper, their eyes wide with wonder. He felt a small, shy pride bloom inside him, a new, gentle emotion.

Writing was hard. His fingers, used to holding the Shadescore or moving over rough ground, felt clumsy holding a thin pencil. The letters seemed to dance on the page, unwilling to form straight lines. Miss Anya would gently guide his hand, showing him how to hold the pencil, how to make the loops and straight lines. He would try again and again, his forehead wrinkled in deep thought. The constant practice, the slow, patient effort, was new to him. In his forgotten past, power was instant. Here, learning was slow, step by careful step.

                                     ---

Days turned into weeks. The school became less scary, less noisy. It was just... normal. He started recognizing faces, learning names. There was Thomas, who was always laughing loudly, and Lily, who read books faster than anyone. He still didn't talk much. His words came out slow and careful, not used to daily talking. But he listened. He listened to the other children talk about their homes, their games, their families. He watched their faces, seeing their feelings, learning what a frown meant, or a happy sparkle in the eyes.

The Shadescore stayed hidden in his coat pocket. He still touched it sometimes, a habit formed from years of holding it for comfort or power. But now, its pulse was so faint he sometimes forgot it was even there. The vague, uneasy memory from the deer faded completely, buried under the growing weight of new, bright experiences. He found himself thinking less about what he didn't know, and more about what he was learning.

The new memories - the taste of warm bread, the feel of clean water, the sound of children's laughter, the smell of chalk and ink - were slowly filling his mind, pushing any lingering shadows further and further away.

In the afternoon, during a break, he saw Thomas trying to fix a broken toy wagon. Its wheel had come off. Thomas grunted, trying to force it back on, but it wouldn't fit. Duskiel walked over. He looked at the wheel, then at the wagon. He saw how the wood was broken.

He remembered how he had fixed a broken wooden toy in his hidden spot, making its rough edges smooth. He knelt down, picked up a small, smooth stone, and carefully chipped away the rough parts of the broken wood. Thomas watched, surprised. After a few moments, Duskiel fitted the wheel back on. It slid in smoothly. Thomas's eyes widened.

"Wow, Thanks!" a big grin spreading across his face.

Duskiel gave a small nod. Thomas picked up the wagon and rolled it.

"You're good at this!" he said, looking at Duskiel.

"Want to play?" Thomas asked.

Duskiel paused. Play? He had never played. He looked at Thomas's eager face. He looked at the bright sun shining on the grass. He looked at the perfectly fixed wagon. He nodded.

"Yes," he said, his voice soft, but clear.

He had found a place, a routine, and now, perhaps, a friend. And with each shared laugh, each successfully finished lesson, each small act of connection, the human boy inside him bloomed brighter.

As the school bell rang for dismissal that day, Duskiel walked out with Thomas, feeling light. The world felt good. He felt good. He was just a normal boy, with normal friends, going to a normal school. He was finally, truly, himself.

But as they reached the edge of the village, turning onto the path that led deeper into the woods, a chilling detail caught Duskiel's eye. Just off the path, half-hidden by a fallen log, lay a small, discarded item. It was a child's toy, a simple wooden soldier, painted bright blue. But sticking out from its tiny chest were two small, dark, precise holes. And around it, on the dry leaves, was a faint, almost invisible, shimmering residue that looked like... dust. Dark dust.

Duskiel stopped still, a cold, sharp dread hitting him. He reached into his pocket. The Shadescore, which had been so quiet, now pulsed with a violent, angry hum, beating like a frantic heart against his palm.

His eyes, fixed on the toy soldier, felt a sudden, searing pain as they flickered, dangerously, to a deep, blood-red. The image of the drained deer, the chilling smell of copper and something unnatural, flooded his mind, clear as if it had happened moments ago. He had forgotten. He had pushed it away.

But it was real. And it was here.

The shadows hadn't stayed in the dark woods. They had crept into his new, bright world. And they were closer than he ever could have imagined.