Lucas

Lucas is a small boy dressed entirely in black — long‑sleeve shirt, sweatpants, socks — a soft, shadowy figure with messy hair that falls over his forehead. His appearance would be unremarkable if not for his eyes. They are bright blue, impossibly blue, so dilated that iris and pupil blend into a single glowing color. Anyone who meets his gaze feels their thoughts slow, their worries fade, and their attention lock onto him with gentle, irresistible fascination. He is three years old, turning four tomorrow, though he carries himself with the quiet confidence of someone who has never been afraid. Lucas possesses unlimited psychic power, a force so vast and instinctive that the world bends around him without his awareness. He reshapes reality the way a child shapes clay — effortlessly, innocently, and without understanding the consequences. Mountains shift, weather calms, objects vanish or reappear, all because Lucas felt something or imagined something. He does not question these changes; to him, they are simply part of being alive. Lucas does not know where his parents are. He remembers them faintly, like distant warmth, but he never asks about them. Their absence does not trouble him. His emotional world is simple and serene, shaped by the psychic field that constantly adapts to his needs. He is rarely upset, never frightened, and always curious. Despite his unimaginable power, Lucas behaves like any small child: wandering, exploring, giggling, and speaking in soft, simple sentences. Yet there is an eerie contrast between his innocence and the cosmic scale of his abilities. To meet Lucas is to encounter a being who could remake the world with a stray thought, yet who only wants comfort, company, and gentle understanding.