The First Breath of Lucas

The sterile glare of the operating room lights flickered above Emma, casting harsh shadows on the sweat-drenched sheets beneath her. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a battle against the searing pain that gripped her body.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled the air, a relentless reminder of the fragile line between life and death.

Noah, the lead surgeon, stood at her side, his gloved hands steady as he monitored the instruments. His voice was calm but firm, cutting through the tension. "Emma, you're doing great. Just a little more."

James and Ava hovered near the door, their faces pale with worry. James clenched his fists, his knuckles white, while Ava bit her lip, her eyes darting between Emma and the monitors. "Is she going to be okay?" James whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the machines. Ava placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "She's strong, James. She'll make it."

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the room was filled with the sharp, piercing cry of a newborn. Noah carefully cradled the baby, his face breaking into a rare smile. "Congratulations, it's a boy."

James stepped forward, his hands trembling as he took the tiny bundle from Noah. He stared down at the infant, his heart swelling with a mix of relief and wonder. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the baby's forehead. "Welcome to the world, little one."

Owen, who had been standing quietly in the corner, approached hesitantly. He reached out a hand, his fingers brushing against the baby's tiny fist.

To everyone's surprise, the infant grasped Owen's finger tightly. Ava's eyes widened in shock, while James simply gave Owen a quiet, knowing look. The tension that had always simmered between them seemed to dissolve in that moment, replaced by an unspoken understanding.

Emma, exhausted but radiant, lay back against the pillows as James brought the baby to her side. She gazed at the infant with a mixture of awe and love, her voice soft but filled with emotion. "What do you want to name him?"

James wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his own voice steady and warm. "How about Lucas?" Emma smiled, leaning into his embrace. "Lucas," she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue like a promise. In that moment, the future stretched out before them, filled with endless possibilities.

The flickering neon light from the antique chandelier cast eerie shadows on the walls of the Lee family's grand hall. Emma sat on the edge of the velvet couch, her eyes never leaving Lucas as he toddled across the room, his tiny feet padding softly on the polished wooden floor. Just a couple of months ago, he could barely crawl, and now he was running with the agility of a child twice his age.

"Lucas, slow down!" Emma called out, her voice tinged with both pride and worry.

The boy giggled, his golden curls bouncing as he darted toward the fireplace. His hand brushed against the edge of an old silver sword mounted on the wall, a family heirloom.

A sharp gasp escaped Emma's lips as she saw the blade slice his palm. But before she could rush to him, the wound began to heal—right before her eyes. The skin stitched itself together, leaving no trace of the cut.

"Did you see that?" Emma whispered, her voice trembling as she turned to her husband, James , who had just entered the room.

James's eyes widened. "He's… immune to silver?"

Emma nodded, her mind racing. "This changes everything. If the family finds out—"

"They already have," a deep voice interrupted. The Lee family elder, James, stepped into the room, his cane tapping rhythmically against the floor. His piercing gaze locked onto Lucas. "The boy is the new prophecy core. He's the one we've been waiting for."

Emma's heart sank. "What does that even mean? He's just a child!"

"It means," James said gravely, "that he's the key to our survival—and our greatest vulnerability. The Thomas family will stop at nothing to get their hands on him."

As if on cue, a loud crash echoed from the front yard. James rushed to the window, his jaw tightening. "They're here. Henry's old pack. They've come for him."

Emma scooped Lucas into her arms, her resolve hardening. "Over my dead body."

James turned to her, his eyes fierce. "Let's make sure it doesn't come to that. We need to get him out of here—now."

The flickering neon light outside illuminated the chaos as figures began to emerge from the shadows, their eyes glowing with predatory intent. Emma clutched Lucas tighter, her mind racing with one thought: We'll fight. For him.