-Luca-

  I woke up gasping for air, my hand outstretched towards the sky.

  My chest heaved, my lungs burned, and for a brief, agonizing second, I swore I still felt Damian’s claw tearing through my gut. I reached down instinctively, half-way expecting to feel warm blood pooling beneath my fingers, but—nothing. No wound. No pain.

  Just smooth, perfectly normal skin.

  Huh?

  I blinked, my breath still raspy, my mind trying to catch up with my body. Something felt off.

  The air smelled different than before. It was clean, like fresh linen. Not blood, and definitely not smoke. The light was softer, bright, pouring in through a window that shouldn’t have been there.

  Slowly, I pushed myself upright. The blanket slipped off my shoulders—soft, familiar. I gripped onto it, my fingers sinking into the well-loved fabric. I knew this blanket. I recognized the faded stitching, and the way it bunched at the edges.

  I could hear my heart pounding in my ears as I finally took in my surroundings.

  I sat on a small wooden bed. A hand-carved dresser sat in the corner. A pair of too-big black boots tucked neatly by the door.

  I… I knew this room.

  I grew up in this room.

  No. No way. This couldn’t be right. The last thing I remembered—Fatalis, the fight against Damian, his claws tearing into me—this wasn’t where I was supposed to be.

  My legs trembled as I swung them over the side of the bed, my feet hitting the wooden floor with a soft thud. The room felt… much bigger than I remembered. Or maybe—maybe I was smaller.

  I held my hands up in front of me.

  Small.

  Super thin fingers. No callouses from fighting, no scars marking my knuckles. My sleeves pooled at my wrists, the fabric swallowing my hands.

  Without hesitation, I scrambled to my dresser, my heart hammering as I caught sight of the old mirror hanging above it.

  A child stared back at me. Pitch black hair. Wide red eyes. Round cheeks.

  I stumbled back, my pulse thundering in my ears. This wasn’t real. It couldn't be.

  I clutched my head, trying to steady myself, trying to force my mind through the haze of panic settling in my chest.

  A sudden knock at the door made me jump. The sound was gentle but firm, a rhythm I recognized immediately.

  I looked at the door, then the handle turned, and he stepped inside.

  My father.

  The sight of him stole the air from my lungs.

  He looked exactly like I remembered him. Tall, strong, with dark hair and warm brown eyes that always held quiet kindness. He wore his usual worn-out tunic, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, as if he’d just finished chopping wood outside. His hands were rough with years of labor, but I knew they were gentle.

  He smiled when he saw me. “Mornin, bud. You’re up early.”

  It really was my dad. It was Michael Umbra.

  A choked sound left my throat. My knees trembled, and before I even realized it, I ran to him, tackling his waist.

  He jumped back slightly in surprise, but then he let out a soft chuckle, his large hand coming to rest on the back of my head. “What’s going on? Bad dreams again?”

  I gripped his tunic tightly, my small fingers twisting into the fabric. My whole body trembled against him, and I couldn’t stop it.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “I missed you,” I croaked.

  My father stilled, his hand pausing mid-motion against my hair. “What are you talking about, kiddo?” He pulled back just enough to look at me, his brows furrowed in concern. “I never left.”

  He’s right.

  I did. I ran after he and Sacer pushed me away.

  I didn’t know how or why I was here, standing in his arms again as a kid, but I didn’t care.

  Tears burned hot trails down my cheeks as I buried my face into his torso, my breath hitching on my sobs. “I missed you,” I repeated, my voice breaking. “I- I thought-”

  I couldn’t get the words out. I didn’t even know what I was trying to say.

  My father sighed softly, and then, he wrapped both arms around me, holding me tightly against him. “Hey now,” he murmured, rubbing slow circles against my back. “It’s alright. I’m right here, Luca.”

  I clung to him, afraid that if I let go, he would disappear. Afraid that if I blinked, I would wake up and he’d be gone.

  My father held me for a while, never rushing me, but eventually his hand gave my shoulder a light squeeze. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get some food in you.”

  I hesitated, my grip tightening before I forced myself to let go. My legs felt unsteady when I finally stepped back, like I was having to remind myself how to stand on my own.

  “There we go,” he gave me a gentle smile, reaching down to ruffle my hair.

  I took a shaky breath, wiped my face with my sleeve, and trailed after him.

  The moment we stepped into the main room, the familiar scent of something warm and savory hit me, wrapping around me like a blanket. The wooden table in the center of the room was already set with bowls of stew.

  And sitting at that table, nose buried deep in a book, was Sacer.

  He was hunched over the pages, his white hair falling into his eyes as he read, completely enthralled. A piece of bread sat untouched on his napkin, long forgotten in favor of whatever story he was lost in.

  For a moment, I just stared at my brother. He was younger. Smaller. Just a boy. Like I was.

  I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came. My father let out a good-natured sigh and walked over, plucking the book right out of Sacer’s hands.

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  Sacer scowled up at him. “Hey—!”

  “Finish eating,” my father said, setting the book down on the table. “Then you can go back to living in whatever world you’re stuck in.”

  Sacer grumbled under his breath, grabbing his bread and taking a bite with all the enthusiasm of someone suffering heartbreak.

  My father turned to me, nodding toward the empty seat beside my brother.

  I hesitated, but my feet carried me forward before I could think too much about it. I slid into the chair, the wood creaking slightly beneath me.

  My father sat across from us, already dipping his bread into the stew. “I was up early making all this, so you two better eat every bite.”

  Sacer made a vague noise of agreement, already flipping his book open again with one hand while the other lazily reached for more food.

  I stared at my food. Everything felt so real. The sounds. The smells. The soft scratch of Sacer’s pages turning. But I remembered something else. I remembered blood. Fire. Pain.

  I remembered Damian’s claws cutting me open-

  I squeezed my eyes shut, my breathing quickening.

  “Luca?” My father spoke up.

  My head snapped up. He was looking at me, concern flickering in his brown eyes. Sacer had even glanced up from his book, watching me with furrowed brows. I licked my lips, my throat suddenly dry.

  “...It’s nothing,” I mumbled. Even though my hands were shaking, I picked up my spoon and took a bite. I forced myself to chew, it tasted good, but it didn’t sit right.

  Sacer, lost in his book again, barely looked up as he grabbed another piece of bread. My father, though, continued watching me, his sharp eyes tracking each movement, as if he was studying me.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” he said, placing a spoonful in his mouth. “You okay?”

  I forced a nod. “Yeah. Just, uh… just tired.”

  He hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push. Instead, he turned his attention to Sacer. “You gonna do anything today other than reading?”

  “I’m busy.”

  “With what?”

  “Learning.”

  My father chuckled. “You’d learn a lot more if you got your nose out of books every once in a while.”

  Sacer just made a noise and flipped a page.

  I probably would have laughed at their banter if I didn’t feel like something was crawling all over me.

  “Luca.”

  I jumped slightly, looking up at my father.

  His voice was calm, casual even, as he asked, “How are you coping with it?”

  I blinked. “Coping with what?”

  “The killing.”

  I dropped my spoon on the table. My stomach twisted. “I—I don’t—”

  “You’ve taken lives, Luca.” His voice remained eerily steady, like this was just any old conversation between us. “I know you, son. You wouldn’t let something like that sit easily on your mind.” He said.”You did what you had to do, but it still replays in your head, doesn’t it?”

  I stared at him, my heart racing. Yes. yes, it did. Every face, every body, every scream. I remembered them all. I remembered what it felt like to lose control to Damon. To burn people alive. To hear them beg for mercy, only for my flames to consume them anyway.

  I gripped the edge of the table, my knuckles white. “Why are you asking me this?”

  “Because it matters.”

  Sacer shut his book with a thud. I turned to him, he looked… disappointed?

  “You never said sorry,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  Sacer leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. “You killed people, Luca. You burned an entire village to the ground. And you haven’t said sorry once.”

  “That's not fair,” I forced out. “You know what happened. You know I tried to stop Damon.”

  “But it still happened.” My father stated, his voice steady.

  I pushed back my chair, standing so fast it scraped against the floor and fell backwards. “Why are you saying this?” My chest heaved with each breath. “You- you’re supposed to understand. You’re supposed to—”

  “Understand what?” Sacer interrupted. His eyes locked onto mine, sharp and cold. “That it wasn’t your fault? Because it was, Luca.”

  “That's not true.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

  “You’re a monster,” my father said simply.

  I took a shaky step back. Then another. Then—I ran. I shoved away from the table and bolted for the door. It flew open with a bang, and I stumbled outside, only to be met with hell.

  Black flames enveloped everything around me. Buildings stood charred and crumbling. The air was thick with the stench of burning flesh. And bodies…

  So many bodies. They were strewn across the ground, burned beyond recognition. My chest ached.

  Sitting atop a throne of corpses, draped in tattered black, was me.

  Not the kid I was right now. Not the young man who was starting to move on.

  But the me from Draemoor.

  He was covered in soot and dried blood. His red eyes burned like embers, and his lips curled into something that resembled a frown.

  “Hello, Luca,” he said.

  I couldn’t move. I could only stare. This... this was me. This was who the people in Draemoor saw as they died.

  The Demon King.

  “No,” I whispered.

  He tilted his head. “No?”

  “This isn’t me. I- I didn’t want this!”

  “But it still happened.”

  I swallowed, my hands trembling at my sides. “I’m not like you.”

  He chuckled softly. “You keep saying that.”

  “I—” I hesitated. “I tried. I tried to stop him.”

  “And yet, here we are.”

  The flames crackled around us. The corpses beneath him shifted, as if still writhing in their last moments.

  “I hate you,” I whispered.

  “Then you hate yourself.”

  I shook my head violently, stepping back. “No. No. NO! You let it happen.” My voice cracked, my throat burning. “You could have stopped him!”

  His expression shifted, a bit more solemn. “Could I have?”

  I clenched my fists. “Yes! You were strong enough! If you had just fought harder—if you hadn’t let him take over—none of this would have happened! Draemoor would still be standing! People wouldn’t have died! You! Could have! Stopped it!”

  The other Luca didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. He just sat there, watching me. Then, finally, he sighed. “You really think that, huh?”

  “Of course I do!” I cried out, my chest aching. “You could have fought harder! But you gave up! You let him win!”

  He finally stood and descended from his throne, his boots crunching over the ash and bones. “You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered.

  I stiffened as he came close. His frown had completely vanished. He looked exhausted. “You think I let him take over?” His voice was quieter now. “Like I just gave in? Like I wanted it to happen?”

  “You didn’t stop it,” I shot back.

  “I couldn’t stop it,” he snapped.

  Other-Luca exhaled, shaking his head. “You act like I had a choice. Like I wasn’t fighting with every last fiber of my being. Do you think I wanted to slaughter those people? To watch through my own eyes as Damon used my body like a puppet?” His voice wavered for the first time. “I fought, Luca. I fought until I couldn’t anymore. And I lost.”

  “But you were strong enough—”

  “Were we?” He cut me off. “Do you really believe that?”

  I hesitated.

  “You blame me,” Other-Luca said, his voice softer. “And I get it. I do. But you’re just screaming at a reflection and hoping it’ll change something.”

  I took another step back.

  “You can hate me all you want,” he continued. “Blame me. Curse me. But it won’t bring them back.”

  The flames crackled. The throne behind him crumbled further, breaking apart into nothing but soot.

  I hated him.

  I hated him.

  No.

  I am him. I hated myself.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, my whole body trembling. “I don’t know how to move forward.”

  He was silent for a moment, then, “you do.”

  The flames flickered, shrinking, growing quieter. For the first time in what felt like forever...

  The fire died. My mind was quiet. Calm.

  Other-Luca exhaled, a soft smile meeting his lips as he faded into nothingness. “It’s time to be better.”

  The words settled deep into my chest. I took a shaky breath…

  And woke up.