Under the death...
---
In that moment when Luka realized it wasn't just a dream—
it was a massacre.
Three years ago…
That place where regret and pain hid beneath the rubble of memories—
Luka opened his eyes in a dark spot.
He couldn't see or feel anything.
This was life.
Luka was born into a family of the high class.
His mother, Valia, was one of the noblest and most beautiful women, captivating in her elegance.
But the moment she became pregnant with that thing, everything changed.
Illness and exhaustion consumed her during the pregnancy.
Luka lived his childhood within the family—
but not as one of them.
He was a slave among them, not a son of their blood and flesh.
He was shunned, carrying with him the guilt of merely existing.
The guilt of killing his mother—an idea planted deeply by his clan.
For eight long years, he lived in regret and abuse,
even from his father and siblings…
until that day came.
The day that changed everything.
Early in the morning, his grandmother, Kathalia, came rushing in,
as usual, bringing her rage to unleash on Luka—
her grandson, whom she had never once acknowledged as her own.
"Why? Why? Why did you die, my dearest daughter, and leave me with this thing?!"
Luka looked at his grandmother Kathalia with empty eyes,
used to her words that tore at his heart day after day.
He knew the answer she wanted,
but it was never his answer.
He was just a child—
but in their eyes, he had been born a criminal.
Just a thing.
A curse that entered this noble family the moment he was born.
She came closer with heavy steps,
her trembling hands trying to grab him—
as if she wanted to strangle him,
to erase the existence that was never welcomed.
Her burning tears fell on his face,
but they weren't tears of love.
They were tears of rage and disgust.
"You're the reason she died…
If only you weren't born,
if only you didn't exist,
I wouldn't have lost her!"
She screamed with a shaking voice and grabbed his clothes tightly—
as if she truly wanted to kill him,
to throw him into a pit and be done with him forever.
But Luka no longer cried.
He no longer felt fear as he once did.
Pain was his companion,
darkness his shelter.
He had nothing left to lose.
In that moment,
as his small body was pushed back,
as he felt her burning breath on his face,
he didn't think of defending himself…
He thought of something else.
---
"What if… I really just disappeared?"
---
That was the moment when everything began to change.
On that cold morning,
the grand palace was bustling with life,
but to Luka…
it was nothing more than a grave filled with noise.
He stood there,
in a secluded corner of the back kitchen,
his pale eyes watching the steam rising from the luxurious dishes,
the aroma of food that was never meant for him.
He held a silver tray,
his small fingers curled around its cold edges,
but his voice remained silent—
as always.
"Move it!"
The sharp voice came from one of the chefs.
Luka rushed forward before he could be struck again like last time.
He walked through the gold-lined halls,
his eyes never daring to rise above the level of his feet,
until he reached the main dining hall.
There, where the lights were bright
and the floors reflected the elegance of the seated nobles,
he paused for a brief moment before moving to serve the food to his family.
"You're late again, you scum."
The voice belonged to his older brother, Marcus,
who never missed a chance to remind him of his place.
Luka didn't respond.
He simply bowed slightly, as he'd been taught.
But that was never enough.
"Didn't you hear me? Don't you have a tongue?
Or did your mother take it with her when she died?"
A cold laugh echoed through the hall.
No one objected.
Even their father, seated at the table with them,
showed no reaction.
Luka knew answering wouldn't change anything.
So, he stayed silent.
But he wasn't prepared for what happened next.
Suddenly, without warning,
Marcus reached out and grabbed his head,
shoving it violently into the food,
scalding heat burning his skin.
Yet Luka didn't scream.
Pain was an old friend—
it didn't shake him anymore.
Laughter echoed through the hall.
"Look at him!
Even pain doesn't make him react anymore.
Just a loyal dog—just like he should be."
Marcus stepped back,
leaving Luka to fall to his knees.
His breath was slow as he raised his food-covered face.
He looked at them all…
His family—who were never truly family.
The walls that had witnessed everything in silence.
Then, for the first time in a long while,
he spoke.
His voice was low—
but strong enough to silence the room.
"One day… I'll make you swallow every word you've ever said."
Marcus stopped laughing.
Even their father raised an eyebrow—
as if seeing something new.
But Luka didn't wait for their reactions.
He calmly stood up,
picked up the silver tray that had fallen,
and returned to his usual place in the kitchen…
Where the shadows were more merciful than the light.
As Luka returned to his corner,
everything around him kept moving.
But inside…
there was only stillness.
His fingers touched the cold tray.
His face still burned from the food's heat,
but he didn't bother to wipe it away.
Pain didn't faze him anymore—
it wasn't even worth noticing.
The moment his steps retreated from the table,
Marcus was back to his usual laughter,
as if nothing had happened—
as if crushing Luka was a natural part of his day.
The moment Luka lowered his head,
his breathing steady,
eyes half-closed as he sat in his usual corner—
no one cared that he was there.
The moment he merged into the shadows,
Luka realized one thing…
This place was never his home.
These people were never his family.
The last laugh faded from the hall,
and silence took over for a brief second.
No one knew that the few words Luka had spoken just moments ago…
were the beginning of the end.
---