Luca walked alone through the dark, quiet path. Then, he saw a faint light in the distance.
Curious, he made his way toward it.
As he got closer, he found a small house, warm light glowing from its windows. Joyful laughter drifted out.
In front of the house, a man was playing with a child, no older than three or four. The man lifted the boy high and caught him again, making the child laugh wildly.
Luca stopped.
Then a voice came from the doorway. A woman stepped out, smiling. Her light and familiar voice rang out.
"Are you two done playing? It's time to eat."
Luca's breath caught in his chest.
It was Rhea.
She looked younger. The boy ran to her, arms raised. "Mom! Up, up!"
Rhea bent down with a grin and lifted him into her arms. "Tell me, who do you love more, me or your dad?" she asked teasingly.
The boy looked between his parents, thinking hard.
"Mom. I like Mom more."
The man laughed. "Ah, my son doesn't love me."
The boy's eyes went wide. "No, no! I like Dad too!"
Both parents laughed, and the boy, Luca, laughed with them, not really understanding, just happy to see them happy.
The scene faded.
Luca stood still, his arm halfway out like he could grab it before it disappeared. His fingers curled slowly into a fist, then dropped.
A tear rolled down his cheek.
The world around him shifted again.
He was standing in front of the same house. The trees nearby had grown taller. The light was dimmer.
His father, Gregory, stepped out. He looked older. There were lines on his face, and his hair had gone gray around the edges.
He saw Luca and smiled.
"You're home," Gregory said. "How was your day?"
Luca didn't answer. He took a step back.
Gregory's smile faded. His face filled with confusion.
"I wish you were real," Luca said softly.
His voice cracked.
And the wind picked up.
The scene around Luca went dark again.
He stood still, breathing slowly, forcing the emotions back down. His fists were clenched.
A dark, cold presence crept closer.
From the shadows, the figure emerged, thin, twisted, with skin like burnt wax. Its face was half-melted, the features sagging like melted clay. Its hollow eyes locked onto Luca.
Luca let out a slow breath and shifted his stance slightly, adjusting the grip on his sword.
Then, flatly, "You might want to brush what's left of your teeth. I could smell your breath way before I saw you."
The figure didn't answer.
Luca's expression hardened. "Showing me my father? That was low."
The figure tilted its head. Watching him silently.
Luca felt the tension in the air, like the space around them was shrinking. But he held steady, eyes scanning the figure's movements.
Then came the sound, a cracked, broken laugh. It scraped through the silence like metal on stone. Its mouth didn't move, but a voice echoed inside Luca's head.
"Special… You… special…"
Luca raised an eyebrow. "All that drama, and that's what you came up with? Come on. At least try to finish a sentence."
That did it.
The figure lunged, as fast as the wind.
Luca moved.
His Luminite sword flashed through the dark. Steel met shadow with a hiss.
A hand, long, blackened, clawed, hit the ground beside him.
The figure reeled back.
Luca stepped forward once, then stopped. He didn't chase.
"That's a warning," he said.
The figure let out a low, hoarse laugh. Its severed hand turned into black smoke and vanished.
A second later, the hand reappeared and reconnected, as if it had never been cut off.
Luca narrowed his eyes.
He didn't show it, but the sight rattled him.
"You can do that?" he said, keeping his tone even. "Not bad. Want to tell me how that works?"
The figure said nothing.
Instead, it lunged again.
Luca reacted fast. This time, he aimed lower. His blade swept through both legs, cutting clean.
The figure dropped to the ground, limp and twisted.
But again, the dark smoke returned. Its legs reformed, good as new.
Luca dashed forward before it could stand.
With one strong swing, he went for the neck.
The head flew off, hit the ground, and rolled a short distance. It landed sideways.
The severed head seemed like it was looking at him.
The smoke coiled faintly where the neck had been. Luca didn't look away. His hand tightened on the hilt.
Then, suddenly, the figure moved.
Its clawed hand swiped at him. The nails barely missed his chest, but caught his outer fabric. The fabric tore with a sharp sound.
Luca jumped back, steadying his breath.
He looked at the tear, then back at the head, still watching him from the ground.
"Alright," Luca muttered, "Let's see if you've got a limit."