Time has passed like a wind . Days turned into months, and months quietly melted into years. Four years had passed since that farewell night of their school party, and in those years, each of them had walked on their own paths, shaping their futures in ways that reflected their hearts.
Hazel had grown into a bright young woman, her sharp mind drawn to medicine. She carried with her the same adventurous spirit she had as a child, but now it was guided by discipline and responsibility. She had entered medical college, her determination clear to all who knew her. Now, after years of hard work, she was walking the halls of the city hospital as an intern, her white coat and stethoscope symbols of her growth.
Ethan too had chosen medicine. It was never his plan to follow anyone else's footsteps; rather, it was the natural extension of who he was—kind-hearted, intelligent, protective by nature. He had always been the one to shield others, to heal wounds both visible and invisible. Now, standing in the same hospital as Hazel, he found himself working shoulder to shoulder with her.
Milo, on the other hand, had chosen music. The boy who once made everyone laugh with his mischief now carried his guitar everywhere, his melodies flowing as freely as his laughter. He was never far from his friends, but music had become his new best companion, an outlet for his restless energy.
Benjamin had taken the most serious road of all—law. Quiet, brave, and honest, he had entered a world that demanded both courage and patience. He was not a man of many words, but his actions spoke volumes. To defend the helpless and stand against injustice—this was the dream Benjamin was weaving into reality
Erin Stone had grown into a graceful young woman and a talented artist. Her blue eyes still carried a quiet depth, but her smile had become brighter with time. Through her paintings, she expressed feelings she never spoke aloud, turning her heartache into colors and beauty.
Years had passed since she last saw Ethan, and little by little, she learned to move forward. She told herself she no longer loved him, that it had been just a memory of youth. Yet sometimes, when she painted late at night, her brush would pause, and almost without thinking, she would sketch the outline of green eyes she could never truly forget.
That weekend, the Blackwood house was filled with quiet laughter and the soft rhythm of friendship. Ethan had called Milo and Benjamin over to stay for two days, as his parents, David and Emily, had been invited to attend the wedding of an old friend in another city. The three boys had the house to themselves, and though they tried to act mature, there was a childlike excitement in the air.
By night, the weather turned restless. Rain poured heavily against the windows, and thunder growled through the skies. The lightning danced so fiercely that for a moment it seemed the world outside was glowing white. Ethan, Milo, and Benjamin sat together in the living room, talking about school and life, when Benjamin suddenly noticed a strange flash — not from the sky, but from the far side of the corridor.
"Ethan… did you see that?" Benjamin's brown eyes narrowed as he pointed toward the dim hallway.
Ethan turned, confusion on his face. "What do you mean?"
"There! Again!" Milo exclaimed, his usual playful tone gone, replaced by unease. The three of them watched as a faint light flickered from behind the closed door of David's personal study — a room no one but David himself ever entered.
"That's… my father's room," Ethan said softly, his green eyes tightening with curiosity. "He never lets anyone in there."
The glow pulsed once more, like lightning caged inside.
Without a word, the three boys exchanged glances. Curiosity outweighed fear. They walked quietly down the hall, each step echoing against the silence of the house, broken only by the storm outside. When they reached the door, Ethan hesitated, his hand hovering over the knob.
"Are you sure?" Benjamin whispered. "Your father will be furious if he finds out."
"I just need to know what's happening in there," Ethan replied firmly. "Something isn't right."
The door creaked open, and a rush of cold air greeted them. The room was filled with shelves of old books, maps, and scrolls, but at the very center stood a small wooden box resting on a pedestal. From within the box came the blinding flash, seeping out through tiny cracks.
"It's locked," Milo muttered, trying the lid.
Ethan's eyes darted around the room, and then he remembered. "Wait… I think I saw a key in my parents' room. Stay here."
Before either could stop him, he ran out into the hall, his footsteps pounding against the wooden floor. Milo and Benjamin stood guard, their eyes fixed on the glowing box. The storm outside made the air heavier, as if the house itself was waiting for something.
Moments later, Ethan returned, breathless, clutching a small iron key. His hands trembled slightly as he placed it in the lock. With a slow turn, the mechanism clicked, and the box creaked open.
A brilliant light burst out, forcing them to shield their eyes. When the glow dimmed, they saw it — a sword unlike anything they had ever imagined. The blade shimmered like liquid silver, and sparks of lightning crackled faintly across its edge, humming with power.
"The… Sword ," Ethan whispered, his voice filled with awe.
Benjamin stepped closer, his brown eyes wide. "I've never seen anything like this… Why would your father keep something so powerful hidden?"
Milo's usual grin was nowhere to be found; instead, his face was serious. "This isn't just some sword, Ethan. Look at it. It feels… alive."
Ethan's heart pounded in his chest. He shook his head slowly. "I don't understand. I've never seen this sword before, not once. Why would my parents hide it from me?"
They stared at the blade for a long moment, none of them daring to touch it. Finally, Ethan closed the lid gently, locking it once more.
"We'll leave it here," he said firmly. "I'll ask my parents when they come back. I need to know the truth."
Milo nodded silently, while Benjamin still looked troubled. Outside, thunder rumbled again, and the three boys left the room, the storm echoing the storm now quietly growing inside Ethan's heart.
The next morning, Ethan finally gathered the courage to ask about the sword. He walked into the living room where David was reading a book and Emily was arranging the breakfast table.
"Father," Ethan began carefully, "last night… in your personal room… we saw a wooden box. I opened it, and inside—there was a sword. It glowed with lightning. What is it? Why was it there?"
David's face instantly hardened, his eyes flashing with anger. He shut the book loudly and stood up.
"You entered my room?!" His voice was stern, almost trembling with suppressed fury. "How many times have I told you, Ethan? That room is forbidden. No one—no one—steps inside. Why did you disobey me?"
Ethan stepped back, startled by his father's tone. "I'm sorry, Father. It was locked, but when we saw the light, we thought something was wrong. I had no bad intention. I just wanted to know… why do we have such a sword in our home?"
David's hands tightened into fists. He turned his back to Ethan, his voice sharp.
"You are not allowed to touch my things. Forget what you saw. And never enter that room again!"
Ethan lowered his head. His heart ached at his father's harshness. "I only wanted to understand…" he whispered, before quietly saying, "I'm sorry," and walking away.
When Ethan had left, the silence in the room grew heavy. Emily looked at David with concerned eyes. "David," she said softly, "he is not a child anymore. He is twenty now. Don't you think he has the right to know the truth? Hiding it from him will only hurt him more."
David sighed deeply, his anger fading into weariness. He sat back down, his voice low and conflicted.
"I know, Emily. But not yet. He is not ready. I will wait for the right time. Until then, the less he knows, the safer he is."
Emily touched his shoulder gently but said nothing more. She knew David's fears, but in her heart, she also knew Ethan deserved the truth.
Meanwhile, upstairs in his room, Ethan sat by the window, staring at the rain outside. His father's anger replayed in his mind. Why did he react like that? What is the secret behind the sword?
He clenched his fists, confusion tightening his chest. But then he shook his head.
"Maybe I'm overthinking," he whispered to himself. "It must be just a family thing… I shouldn't bother."
And yet, deep inside, he knew the mystery of the sword would not leave his heart so easily.