Chapter 1 – The Letter
Lucas sat at the dining table in his small apartment in Breda, staring at the unopened envelope lying in front of him. Thick. Heavy. Official.
His mother had called him the day before.
"You got a letter from a German notary, Luc. Something about an inheritance. From a relative, I think."
She hadn't sounded particularly excited about it—more confused than anything. He'd picked it up from her place that afternoon and now, a day later, he still hadn't opened it.
He turned it over in his hands, reading the return address again: Notariat Krämer – Gronau, Germany. The name stirred something vague in his memory. Gronau… that was just across the border, wasn't it?
Lucas sighed, grabbed a small knife from the kitchen drawer, and sliced the envelope open. Inside were three sheets of cream-colored paper, all typed, neatly folded.
He unfolded the top page and began to read.
Dear Mr. Van Dalen,
We are writing to you on behalf of the office of notary Krämer in Gronau, Germany, regarding the estate of Mr. Egbert van Dalen, who passed away on March 14.
You have been named the sole heir to the entirety of his assets, including:
– Real estate: a plot of land and associated buildings on the outskirts of Gronau
– Operational rights to a recreational site, namely an amusement park known as "Löwenpark"
Please contact us for the transfer of ownership and collection of keys.
Lucas read the letter again. Then a third time.
An amusement park?
He leaned back in his chair, heart slowly speeding up. Egbert… That had to be his great-uncle. His father's uncle, maybe? He barely remembered him—only fragments from birthday conversations, and a few old photo albums with a thin man in suspenders who had once visited from Germany. Lucas was a kid back then. Maybe six or seven.
He rubbed his forehead. An entire park? That had to be a mistake. People didn't just inherit amusement parks.
His first instinct was to laugh, but the notary's letter looked very real.
Lucas looked around his small apartment. A fold-out sofa, IKEA shelves, a couple of plants. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this kind of news.
He stood up, walked to his desk, and pulled open the bottom drawer. Inside lay a dusty sketchbook — thick, weathered, and well-used. He flipped it open and turned past old drawings: ride layouts, themed lands, entrance plazas. Some were inspired by games like Planet Coaster or real parks like Efteling, but most were his own ideas. He hadn't touched this book in years.
He traced a sketch with his finger. A grand archway with glowing lanterns and climbing ivy. Below it, in blocky letters, was the name he had made up as a teenager: Elysion Park.
"Ridiculous," he muttered, closing the book. But his hands were trembling slightly.
That evening, Lucas visited his parents. His mother had made tea. His father was already in the kitchen doing the dishes when Lucas brought up the letter.
"A park?" his father repeated. "As in, with roller coasters and popcorn stands?"
Lucas nodded slowly. "Apparently."
His father dried his hands on a towel. "You're not actually thinking of keeping it, are you?"
"I don't know yet."
"I do," his father said, setting the towel down. "Sell it. Get it appraised and sell it. You've got your degree. You can finally build a normal career."
His mother gave him a gentler look. "Maybe just… go take a look first? To know what it is. Then decide."
Lucas stirred his tea without answering. The truth was, he didn't know what he wanted. His studies in leisure and event management hadn't exactly led to anything stable. Just short-term jobs. Side gigs. Dead ends.
But this… this was something different. It was insane, maybe. But maybe also the first real opportunity he'd ever had.
"I just want to see it," he said finally. "With my own eyes."
Later that night, he sat at his desk again. The sketchbook lay open this time, flat beneath his hands. He turned to a blank page and picked up a pencil.
He didn't plan what to draw. It just happened.
A cracked path winding through tall trees. A rickety sign with faded paint. Old fences. Silence.
Then, on the next page, a transformation.
The same scene, but different. Lanterns glowing. Moss cleaned away. Sign repainted. Fountains added. The beginning of something that could feel magical — not in a fantasy sense, but in the kind of way that made you want to stay just five minutes longer.
He wasn't an architect. Not an engineer. But this… this was something he understood. The feeling. The vision.
He looked at the page for a long time. Then he reached for his phone and searched up Löwenpark – Gronau. A few blurry photos came up: a rusty-looking entrance sign, a kiddie ride, a food stand called "Snackland."
His eyebrows furrowed. It was real.
He leaned back, exhaled slowly, and whispered to no one in particular, "I'm going."