portrait, crest & secret

Author's pov

The monster lay still, its grotesque form a testament to Leo's grueling battle. Exhaustion weighed heavy on his limbs, but a different kind of sensation began to stir within him. He stood in the basement, a vast cavern overflowing with glittering gold coins, shimmering jewels, and ancient artifacts. A treasure trove, all his. The knowledge settled deep in his bones: this was his, forever. He could take anything, at any time, from anywhere.

His eyes fell upon the worn leather scroll he clutched. Suddenly, it levitated from his grasp, shimmering with an ethereal glow. It drifted across the room, a silent, guided entity, towards the small, unassuming drawer where he usually kept it. With a soft click, the drawer opened on its own, the scroll gracefully slid inside, and then, just as mysteriously, the drawer closed. Leo's jaw dropped. His exhaustion momentarily forgotten, replaced by a surge of pure bewilderment.

The magic wasn't done. A faint hum vibrated in the air as his other rewards, the monster's rare drops, the glittering gems he'd collected, floated from his pockets and converged into a small, nondescript pouch that materialized seemingly out of thin air. It settled gently at his side. Then, a cool sensation spread across his skin. The dried monster blood flaked away from his body, his clothes, once ragged and stained, became spotlessly clean, as if freshly laundered. The grime and sweat vanished, leaving him feeling remarkably fresh. The sheer strangeness of it all, combined with the crushing weight of his earlier exertion, finally caught up to him. He swayed, his eyelids heavy, and without a moment's more thought for the impossible magic swirling around him, Leo collapsed onto his bed, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But the magic, it seemed, was determined to see its tasks through. A soft, invisible force pulled a thick comforter over Leo's slumbering form, tucking him in. The scattered items in his room, the discarded armor and weapons, silently arranged themselves, returning his space to its usual tidy state. Finally, with a whisper of unseen energy, the lights dimmed and then extinguished, plunging the room into a peaceful darkness.

As Leo slept, deeply and without a care, a flicker of an image invaded his mind. It wasn't quite a dream, more like a fragment of memory, vivid and unsettling. He saw the very basement he had just conquered, the scene of his fierce battle. The monstrous shadow, the gleam of his sword—it all appeared for a fleeting moment. Then, the glimpse appeared again, stronger this time, almost insisting on being seen. He stirred, a restless shift in his sleep.

This time, the image solidified. He saw it. He saw what his subconscious was desperately trying to force him to remember. In the cavern, among the heaps of gold coins, nestled in a hidden case, there was a painting. It had been there, buried, obscured by the glittering hoard. He remembered moving a few coins, catching just a glimpse, too tired to care. The scroll had pulled him back then, interrupting his half-hearted exploration.

The painting depicted a prince. He had jet-black hair, flowing and regal, much like Leo's own. His clothes were rich and intricate, adorned with gleaming jewels that caught the light even in the dream. And then, the face. The face was Leo's. An older, more refined version, perhaps, but undeniably his. The same strong jawline, the same piercing eyes, the same subtle curve of the lips. The shock of it jolted him awake. He bolted upright in bed, panting, sweat beading on his forehead despite the coolness of the room.

His sleep had been abruptly shattered by the sheer impossibility of what he had seen. A simple, poor boy like him, an orphaned commoner, looking exactly like a prince in an ancient portrait. It shook him to his very core. «How's this possible? It can't be? How could I be there or it must be my exhaustion?» He tried to rationalize it away, dismissing it as a hallucination brought on by fatigue. He stumbled to the small pitcher on his nightstand, poured out the cool water, and chugged the entire jar, desperate to wash away the unsettling image. With a weary sigh, he fell back asleep, the image of the princely Leo still lingering at the edges of his mind.

The next morning, the comforting aroma of freshly cooked breakfast wafted from the kitchen, a familiar scent that usually stirred Leo's appetite. But today, the lingering exhaustion from his heroic, albeit bizarre, night made him push away the thought of food. He skipped breakfast, as he often did after his monster-slaying excursions, even though his mother, despite her frail health, always made sure to prepare him a hot, nourishing meal. Her unwavering dedication, even when she was feeling unwell, was a constant source of quiet guilt and immense gratitude for Leo.

As usual, he joined his mother for lunch. The clinking of cutlery was the only sound as they began to eat. Leo, feeling a pang of concern for her, broke the silence.

"Mother, are you feeling well? Why do you bother with yourself by cooking? Just take a rest," he urged, his voice soft with worry.

His mother, a woman with a gentle smile and tired eyes, waved away his concern. "It's nothing, son. I can do this much for you, who's working hard to take care of me. Yes, I'm feeling a bit better after taking medicine," she completed, her voice raspy but warm.

There was a pause, filled only by the quiet sounds of their meal. Then, Leo, unable to shake the peculiar dream—or rather, the vivid memory—from his mind, decided to share it. He carefully framed it as a dream, not wanting to alarm her with the truth of his nocturnal adventures.

"By the way, Mother, I had a very unique and different dream, and it's still on my mind," he informed her, trying to sound casual.

His mother immediately looked up, her brow furrowing with concern. «What's that, Leo? Are you scared? Was it a horror one?» she questioned, her voice laced with anxiety.

Leo was fifteen, almost a man, but to his mother, he was still her child. She always assumed the worst, her maternal instincts kicking in at the slightest hint of distress. He knew she'd imagine him cowering from some ghostly apparition.

"No, no, Mother, it was not horror or haunting. It's just that it's a bit different, which doesn't make any sense," he reassured her, trying to calm her growing panic.

His mother, seeing his calm demeanor, relaxed slightly, a hint of amusement replacing her concern. "That's surprising. What exactly did you see in the dream that doesn't make sense?" she asked, intrigued.

Leo leaned forward, eager to describe the perplexing image. "It's just that I saw a portrait of myself, looking like a prince, wearing expensive clothes, jewels, and the cloth had a crest on it," he explained, carefully omitting the context of the monster's basement and the buried treasure.

«Ha... Ha... Ha...» His mother burst into a fit of laughter, a rare, joyous sound that momentarily lifted Leo's spirits.

"You are my prince, Leo, my real prince. So maybe you have just dreamt about yourself, how you would look in expensive clothes," she said, still smiling, her eyes twinkling with motherly affection.

"No, Mother, it's the crest which doesn't make any sense. We never saw any Royal Family, but wait, let me show you the design," he insisted, a determined glint in his eye. He reached for the glass of water on the table, dipped his index finger in, and began to draw the crest design on the dusty floor, tracing the intricate lines and curves.

"See, it looked like this," he said, adding the final stroke.

The mother, who had been smiling just a moment before, suddenly went silent. Her laughter died in her throat, replaced by a horrifying stillness. Her gaze fixed on the crude drawing on the floor, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and shock. Her face, usually warm and soft, went deathly pale, all color draining from her cheeks. Her hands, which had been resting calmly on the table, began to tremble visibly.

«No, it's nothing. It's just a dream, forget it, Leo!» she shouted loudly, her voice cracking with an unfamiliar intensity. Without another word, she grabbed the glass of water and, with a swift, almost violent movement, poured its contents over the crest drawing, meticulously erasing every trace of the symbol. Then, she abruptly got up from the table, almost overturning her chair.

"Finish your lunch, I'm done. I'm going back to my room. Keep the dishes; I'll do it later. I'll rest now," she declared, her voice strained and uncharacteristically cold. With that, she practically fled the kitchen, her footsteps hurrying down the small hallway. A moment later, the distinct click of her bedroom door locking from the inside echoed through the small house, leaving Leo utterly alone in the stunned silence.

Leo was shocked into immobility by his mother's sudden and extreme behavior. She had barely eaten anything, and then she had suddenly erupted in anger and retreated to her room. Her violent act of pouring water on the crest drawing, her shaking hands, her pale face—it all made no sense to him. He had never seen her behave like this before. The usual calm, gentle demeanor had vanished, replaced by a raw, desperate panic. He sat there, his own fork suspended halfway to his mouth, utterly bewildered.

Meanwhile, behind her locked door, Leo's mother was hunched on the floor, her back pressed against the wood. Her entire body was trembling violently, and deep, shuddering breaths wracked her small frame. Her eyes were squeezed shut, as if trying to banish the image of the crest. A single, silent tear traced a path down her pale cheek, carrying with it years of unspoken fear and a secret she had guarded with her life.

What's the secret? The crest is clearly a symbol of immense significance, one that deeply frightens Leo's mother. It suggests a hidden past, a connection to royalty or a powerful lineage that she has deliberately concealed.

Who's Leo? He is far more than the "normal, poor person" he believes himself to be. The identical portrait strongly implies he is a lost prince, or at the very least, directly descended from the royal figure depicted.

Why did his mother behave like that? Is she hiding any truth? Absolutely. Her extreme reaction—the fear, the shouting, the immediate destruction of the crest, and her sudden retreat—are all indicators of a profound secret. She is desperate to keep Leo from discovering his true identity, likely out of fear for his safety, or perhaps to protect him from a dangerous history associated with that crest.

Will Leo find anything about it? The seed has been planted. The dream (which was no dream) and his mother's panicked reaction have ignited a deep curiosity within him. He will undoubtedly be compelled to seek answers, and the treasure basement, with its hidden painting, holds the key to his past. His journey of self-discovery has just begun, and it promises to be fraught with danger and revelations.

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Sneak Peek

She took out a chain from the small wooden box. A tear fell from her eye, tracing a path down her weathered cheek, each drop a silent testament to a hidden sorrow. Meanwhile, Leo, burdened by a growing unease, was once again swallowed by the darkness of demon and monster hunting, his mother's health having fully deteriorated in his absence. Secrets will unveil in the next chapters. Stay tuned for the shocking truths that lie beneath years of silence.