The Farewell

The morning light slipped through the fluttering curtains of the kitchen, staining the wooden table with golden hues.Clara sat on the floor, stacking colorful blocks with almost sacred concentration. Her tongue slightly stuck out, her eyes half-closed, as if each movement was a matter of life or death.

"Daddy, look!" she said, showing off a trembling tower.

Lucas smiled. A full smile. The kind of smile a man wears when he doesn't know when he'll see another moment like that.

"That's more than a castle. It's an entire kingdom."

She laughed, and for a second, time seemed to stop.Lucas etched every detail into his mind: Clara's golden hair illuminated by the sun, her tiny fingers, the sound of her laughter making the entire world seem forgivable.

But peace is treacherous.

A doubt whispered inside him, the kind that arrives uninvited:How many moments like this do I have left?

Clara had a rare disease.The kind that turned every simple accomplishment into a miracle.And he knew: he would do anything for that smile.

The door creaked.

Lara entered, wearing her fluffy robe and a smile that tried to hide her exhaustion. She brushed her hair back and kissed her daughter's forehead.

"Already building empires this early?" she teased.

"I made a castle!" Clara answered, pride spilling from her voice.

"It's beautiful, my love."

Lara looked at Lucas. A silent, knowing look.

"Everything okay?"

Lucas took a while to answer. The coffee was cooling in his cup. His mind was far away.

"Just trying to enjoy it while I can."

She simply nodded. She knew that kind of silence well.

"I need to go out today."

"Don't forget to take care of yourself too."

But he didn't have time to respond.

The air grew heavy, as if something invisible pushed everything to the ground.

The warmth of the kitchen vanished.

A deep hum, like the universe choking on itself, reverberated through Lucas's bones. He clung to the table, his eyes searching for Clara.

"Clara!"

His voice was swallowed by a muffled roar, like screaming underwater.

Lara turned, panicked.

"Lucas, what's happ—"

And then, everything broke.

Clara's laughter became an echo.

Then, nothing.

The Summoning

Lucas crashed onto the cold ground like a bag of bones.

Pain came first. Then light.

He staggered to his feet.An immense hall stretched around him, covered in gold, marble—and eyes.

Dozens of strangers stared at him. Silence disguised as respect.An old man stepped forward, long beard, trembling hands:

"Oh, great hero..."

Lucas almost laughed. His body still ached like he had been thrown off a building.

"This must be a nightmare."

Another man, younger and finely dressed, approached:

"Our world is collapsing. We were forced to summon a hero to face the Demon Ki—"

"No." Lucas cut him off.His voice was more anger than reason."This is a mistake."

He stood up, scanning the hall.No Clara.No Lara.No meaning.

"I didn't ask for this."

The old man insisted:

"Without your help, we are doomed."

Lucas stepped forward.His face twisted by pain and fury.

"You ripped me away from my daughter! I need to go back!"

Silence. Only the sound of breathing and the pounding in his chest.

"You can't send me back, can you?"

The king finally spoke:

"The ritual is irreversible."

Something broke inside Lucas.

"You kidnapped me. Took me from her... and now you want me to fight for this place?"

The king rose.Cold, like a judge about to pass sentence:

"If you refuse to fight... you are useful only as a prisoner."

Lucas shouted:

"I am NOT your hero!"

The order came with a simple gesture:

"Seize him."

He tried to resist.The guards didn't hesitate.Blows. Kicks. A knee to the stomach. Blood.

And before consciousness abandoned him, he saw the king's empty face.

The Prison

The first thing he felt was the stench.Urine. Mold. Old blood.

Chains.

The cold.

And then the voice:

"The king wants you broken."

There was no time to think.

The first punch split his lip.The second, his cheek.The third... not even worth counting.

Pain

Time lost its name.There was no day or night.Only pain.

Blows. Hunger. Thirst.More pain.

But Lucas didn't die.

Not because he was strong.But because he still remembered her.

Clara.

Every memory, a point of light.A whisper amid the madness.

But memory is treacherous.Little by little, her face faded.Her eyes, her smile... everything blurred.

It was like sinking.

They threw a piece of bread on the floor. Lucas hesitated for a second. And that was enough.

A dry crack.Absurd pain.One of the guards stomped with full force on his hand.

His finger broke like a winter branch.

They laughed.A dirty laugh, the kind from people who had forgotten how to be human.

"Want more?" one of them said, tossing another piece."But now you have to beg like a dog."

Lucas didn't answer.So another crack.

That was it. A game.Every gesture of dignity punished.Every silence a challenge.

By the sixth month, torture became routine.But that night, a guard crouched and said:

"The king's thinking of letting you go, you know? Maybe... if you kneel, if you beg..."

Lucas lifted his eyes, weak, but firm.

"...maybe you'll see your daughter again."

And then, without waiting for a reply, the guard broke another of his fingers.

"Just kidding. The king said you're going to rot here."

More laughter.More scorn.More pain.

And still, Lucas didn't break.

But something inside him... changed.

The beatings began to hurt less.His body no longer protested as before.It was like he was detaching from himself.

In the cell's dim light, a shadow slithered from the ceiling.A dripping sound.Something moved.

Lucas thought it was another fever hallucination.Hunger. Delirium.

But then the voice came:

"Do you still remember her voice, Lucas?"

He curled up. Tried to ignore it.

"Your daughter. Clara."

"Of course I remember..."

"Are you sure?"

He tried to speak.But her face... was fading.

The shadow came closer. Alive.

"Describe her face to me."

He couldn't.

"They ripped everything from you.But I can give you something they will never take."

The shadow took form.

"Retribution."

"Say yes."

The memory of Clara flickered, distorted. Pale. Dying.

Lucas closed his eyes.

And said:

"Yes."