Lucian's POV.Darkness swallows me whole.I drift in the space between life and death, consciousness and oblivion, but even here—where pain should have dulled and time should have stopped—the memory finds me.The dream begins in shadows, the kind that draped the corners of my childhood home like cobwebs. The scent of pine needles, smoke, and old books lingers in the air. I know this day. Know it too well.I was standing in the doorway of my father’s room. The man who had raised me—strong, proud, stubborn to a fault—lay in bed, his face pale, his breathing labored. The illness had stolen so much of him already, but his eyes were still sharp. Still full of something I didn’t yet understand: guilt.“Dad?” I said, my voice tight. “You said you needed to talk to me.”My father nodded slowly and patted the edge of the bed. I approached, hesitated, then sat. My father’s hand, rough and familiar, gripped my own.“I should have told you sooner,” the old man rasped. “I didn’t want it to come to
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