The soft morning light filtered through the white kitchen curtains, dancing across the wooden table. Lucas watched as Clara stacked her colorful blocks, her tongue pressed against the corner of her mouth in deep concentration as she carefully balanced the last piece of her makeshift city.

  "Papa, look!" she exclaimed, holding up a wobbly tower, her eyes shining with pride.

  Lucas smiled. "It's a magnificent castle, princess."

  She giggled, satisfied, and returned to her construction. Lucas absorbed the moment, memorizing every detail: the golden strands of her hair under the morning sun, the way her tiny fingers moved the blocks with precision, the way her smile made the world bearable.

  And then, a thought sliced through the moment like a cold blade.

  How many more of these moments will I have?

  Clara’s progress was slow. The illness she carried made every little victory worth celebrating, but it was also a reminder that time was not on her side. Lucas knew he would do anything to secure his daughter’s happiness.

  Anything.

  The kitchen door creaked softly, and Lara, wrapped in a comfortable robe, entered with a serene smile.

  "Already building empires so early?" she teased, leaning down to kiss their daughter’s forehead.

  Clara looked up. "I made a castle!"

  "It's wonderful, my love." Lara gently stroked her hair before turning to Lucas. "Are you okay?"

  Lucas hesitated for a second before nodding. "Yeah. Just… enjoying the moment."

  She knew him too well to believe that, but she didn’t press.

  "I need to go out today," he said, taking a sip of his still-warm coffee.

  Lara watched him with a look that held both understanding and concern. "Try not to overwork yourself. You deserve a break too."

  Lucas smiled, but before he could answer, the air shifted.

  The warmth of the kitchen vanished, replaced by a dense pressure, as if the air itself was folding around him. A deep hum reverberated in his bones.

  Lucas gripped the edge of the table as the ground seemed to dissolve beneath his feet.

  Instinct screamed inside him.

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  Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  "Clara!" His voice was instinctual, cut off by the growing roar of distortion.

  Lara turned, her eyes wide. "Lucas, what’s happening?"

  The answer never came.

  The cold hit Lucas before he could process anything.

  The weight of gravity returned suddenly, slamming him onto the floor with force. His body burned in protest, and his head spun.

  He blinked against the blinding light, and as his vision focused, he found himself kneeling in the center of a vast hall, lined with gleaming gold and marble.

  Dozens of figures surrounded him. Tense faces. Eyes fixed on him.

  Then, applause erupted.

  But something was wrong.

  There was no joy.

  Only fear.

  A long-bearded man stepped forward, lowering himself in reverence.

  "Oh, great hero…" His voice was laced with reverence, but there was a subtle tremor beneath it.

  Lucas barely heard him. He staggered to his feet, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

  This can’t be happening.

  A young noble approached. "You were summoned through an ancient ritual. Our world is on the brink of destruction, and—"

  "No."

  The hall fell silent.

  Lucas clenched his fists. "This is a mistake. I’m not a hero. I didn’t ask for this."

  The old man swallowed hard. "Our kingdom is doomed without your help. Please understand. The Demon King threatens—"

  "I don’t care!" Lucas’s voice thundered through the hall. He took a step forward, and the guards tensed. "You ripped me away from my family. I need to go back! Now!"

  Silence.

  He watched the exchanged glances between the nobles, the nervous whispers.

  They can’t.

  A cold realization settled over him.

  "You… you can’t send me back, can you?" His voice came out hoarse.

  No one answered.

  Something inside him cracked.

  A heat ignited in his chest—different from anything he had ever felt before.

  A dense, pulsing energy. A hunger.

  His breathing grew erratic.

  "I need to get back to my daughter…"

  The king, still kneeling, lifted his gaze. His expression was calculated. "You have no choice."

  Lucas felt the pressure intensify. His body trembled. His vision darkened for a moment, and then—

  The impact sent the surrounding soldiers flying like ragdolls. Marble columns cracked. The hall trembled.

  Lucas gasped for breath. He looked down at his hands, where black energy pulsed like living smoke.

  What… is this?

  The guards recovered quickly, advancing.

  Lucas stepped back.

  He didn’t want to fight. He just wanted to go home. But they weren’t going to let him.

  A blade glinted in the air. His instincts reacted before his mind could process.

  The energy around him condensed. Something twisted inside him.

  The guard didn’t even have time to scream.

  His body exploded backward in a blur of blood and twisted metal.

  Lucas stood frozen. His breath heavy.

  Did I… do that?

  The others hesitated. The king watched with an unreadable expression.

  Lucas felt the world spin around him. The fury burned, but there was something else—something insidious.

  A voice, distant, whispering in the back of his mind.

  "Keep going."

  He gritted his teeth, breath ragged. He didn’t want this.

  But with every passing second, the feeling grew. The urge. The hunger.

  He looked around. The castle. The nobles. The king.

  They took everything from him.

  "Then take everything from them."

  Lucas took a deep breath. His gaze darkened.

  If he couldn’t return…

  …then he would make them pay.