The Farewell


    The soft morning light streamed through the white kitchen curtains, dancing upon the wood of the table. Lucas watched as Clara stacked her colorful blocks, her tongue slightly pressed against the corner of her mouth as she tried to balance the final piece of her makeshift little city.


    "Daddy, look!" Clara exclaimed, holding a trembling tower, her eyes shining with pride.


    Lucas smiled, observing every detail with a tender gaze:


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


    Clara let out an enchanting laugh and returned to concentrating on her construction. In his heart, Lucas captured that perfect moment: the golden strands of her hair illuminated by the sun, the tiny fingers that carefully moved the blocks, and the smile that made the world seem like a bearable place.


    Yet, at that very moment, a thought cut through the instant like a cold blade:


    "How many more of these moments will I have?"


    Despite Clara’s slow progress, every little victory was celebrated with enthusiasm, even as the illness that afflicted her reminded them of the fleeting nature of time. Lucas knew he would do anything to ensure his daughter’s happiness.


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


    "Are empires being built so early?" she teased, stepping closer to kiss Clara''s forehead.


    "I built a castle!" replied Clara, her eyes sparkling with joy.


    "It''s wonderful, my love." Lara caressed the girl''s hair and looked at Lucas: "Are you alright?"


    Lucas hesitated for a brief moment before nodding:


    "Yes. I''m just savoring the moment."


    Lara, who knew Lucas''s heart well, did not press further.


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


    Lara’s look mixed understanding with concern.


    "Try not to overdo it. You deserve a break, too."


    But before Lucas could respond, the atmosphere changed abruptly. The warmth of the kitchen vanished, replaced by a dense pressure, as if the very air were bending around them. A deep, ominous hum began reverberating in his bones.


    Lucas grabbed the edge of the table as the floor seemed to dissolve beneath his feet, and his instinct screamed that something was terribly wrong.


    "Clara!" His voice burst out instinctively, but was swallowed by the growing roar of that distortion.


    Lara turned, her eyes wide with horror.


    "Lucas, what is happening?!"


    Before any answer could come, the world collapsed. The sound of Clara''s laughter was lost in a distant echo. And then... only silence.


    <hr>


    The Summoning


    Cold struck Lucas before he could even process what had happened. The weight of gravity returned suddenly, hurling him violently to the ground. His body burned in protest, and his head spun amid the chaos.


    When his eyes adjusted to the dazzling light, Lucas realized he was kneeling in the center of an immense hall, whose walls of gleaming gold and marble contrasted with the oppressive atmosphere. Dozens of figures surrounded him – tense faces, fixed stares – and then, applause erupted.


    But there was no place for applause; only fear hung in the air.


    A long-bearded, white-haired man stepped forward and, with reverence, bowed before Lucas:


    "Oh, great hero..."


    Lucas could barely hear, staggering to his feet as his chest heaved rapidly.


    "This cannot be happening..."


    A young noble approached and spoke:


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    "You have been summoned through an ancient ritual. Our world is on the brink of destruction and—"


    "No." Lucas interrupted sharply, silencing the hall.


    He clenched his fists tightly.


    "This is a mistake. I am not a hero. I did not ask for this."


    The old man, his voice trembling, replied:


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


    "I don''t care!" Lucas’s voice echoed through the hall as he advanced, causing the guards around him to stiffen.


    "You ripped me away from my family. I have to go back! Now!"


    The looks exchanged were full of uncertainty and fear. A chill ran down Lucas''s spine.


    "You can''t send me back... can you?" His voice came out hoarse.


    The king, tilting his head slightly, declared:


    "The ritual is irreversible. You belong to this world now."


    Something inside Lucas shattered. His anger grew like an uncontrollable storm.


    "You kidnapped me! You took me from my daughter! And you expect me to fight for you?!"


    Taking a step forward, Lucas reaffirmed:


    "I am not your hero. I will not fight for this world."


    With an imposing posture, the king finally rose and declared:


    "Then you are nothing but a coward."


    Lucas gritted his teeth in response:


    "Coward?! I owe nothing to this world! I just want to go home!"


    The king maintained his cold expression.


    "If you refuse to fight for us... then you are of no use."


    Raising his hand, he ordered:


    "Arrest him."


    The guards, like shadows, advanced. Lucas tried to resist, but was subdued by force.


    "Damn you all! I am not your enemy!" he shouted, while the king''s icy gaze watched him.


    "Not yet."


    Turning to the nobles, the king continued:


    "If he cannot be our hero... let him learn his place as a prisoner."


    Once again, he commanded:


    "Seize him."


    The guards moved with ferocity. The first blow to his stomach stole his breath; soon after, a knee to the face and a strike to his ribs brought him down. Lucas fell, spitting blood onto the golden marble, and his last sight was the cold face of the king before everything plunged into darkness.


    <hr>


    The Prison


    The smell of dampness and decay invaded Lucas’s nostrils as he woke. Heavy chains weighed on his wrists and ankles, and the cell – cold, dark, and filthy – was made of moss-covered stone walls stained with dried blood.


    Footsteps echoed outside, and the sound of the gate creaking resounded as a gruff voice broke the silence:


    "The king said we must break him."


    Before Lucas could react, the first punch tore at his lip. Then, a second blow split his cheek. And the third… was just the beginning.


    <hr>


    Pain


    The days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, as time became something indefinite. Daily, the guards came, laughing and inflicting pain upon him. Blows, cuts, burns… they tested the limits of the human body.


    But Lucas did not die. Even when his body begged for surrender, even as his bones shattered under the weight of the blows and his skin burned with the flames of the blades, he endured – for one single reason: Clara, his daughter, his little princess. He clung to every memory of her, like a castaway clings to hope in a stormy sea.


    Time had become a blur. The voices of the guards sounded like distant laughter in his mind, and gradually, the panic of forgetting Clara began to erode his will. At times, he awoke unsure if it was a new day or if he was still trapped in the same hell.


    Amid this torture, the guards deprived him of water until his own saliva turned thick and sticky. On other occasions, they laughed and pretended to feed him, only to shatter his hope once more. Once, they threw a piece of bread on the floor; Lucas hesitated before picking it up, but soon a guard stepped on his hand, breaking his fingers with a sharp snap. They laughed for hours.


    In the sixth month, one of the guards, in a tone of false hope, whispered:


    "The king is reconsidering, you know?"


    While cutting a piece of bread before Lucas, the guard added:


    "He might even let you go out. Perhaps you might even see your daughter again."


    Lucas raised his eyes, his breathing weak:


    "If you kneel and beg."


    For a brief moment, Lucas almost gave in. But before he could utter a single word, the guard broke another one of his fingers, making him scream:


    "I''m just kidding. The king said he will never let you go."


    The cruel laughter of the guards filled the cell, while darkness became Lucas''s only companion. His body, once strong, was now a bag of bones covered in scars, and decay permeated every inch of his skin.


    As the months passed, something began to change. The blows started to hurt less. His skin still tore, his bones still broke, but the pain seemed to slowly dissipate. Deep within him, Lucas felt something crawling… something that was waiting.


    In the dim light of the cell, he realized he was not alone.


    In the corner, something moved. A dripping sound, as if the very shadow were leaking from the ceiling, caught his attention. Lucas tried to ignore it, attributing it to hunger, fever, and pain – just another delirium. However, a soft voice echoed:


    "Do you still remember her voice, Lucas?"


    The shadow, moving like living mist, drew closer slowly.


    "Your daughter. Clara."


    In a hoarse voice, Lucas murmured:


    "Of course I remember..."


    "Are you sure?"


    Lucas''s chest tightened. The shadow laughed, urging him:


    "Describe her face to me."


    Lucas opened his mouth, but the memory seemed to fade away. He desperately sought her eyes, her smile, the contagious sound of her laughter. Panic invaded his being, for why was something so precious becoming so difficult to recall?


    "I felt every blow. Every tear. Every broken bone." Lucas swallowed hard. "Why do you still resist?"


    He trembled as he admitted:


    "They ripped away your dignity. They spat on your name. They laughed at your suffering."


    The shadow drew nearer, flowing like smoke:


    "But I can give you something that time will never steal… something beyond pain, beyond humiliation."


    Stopping right in front of him, with an enigmatic glow, the shadow continued:


    "I can give you the right to retaliate."


    "You just need to say yes."


    For an instant, the image of Clara flooded his mind: her small fingers holding his hand, her sweet smile – but something was wrong. The girl''s skin was pale, her eyes dull… she was dying, because Lucas was not there to protect her.


    The shadow repeated softly:


    "You just need to say yes..."


    Lucas closed his eyes, as what remained of his identity unraveled in that moment.


    "Yes."