Lucien Veyr had seen death before.
Just never this close.
The street was a mess—bodies everywhere, smoke hanging in the air like it didn't want to leave.
His mission was simple.
Evacuate civilians.
He was too late.
Something moved.
A child.
Still breathing.
Lucien ran without thinking.
One step.
Two—
Gunfire.
The child's body jolted… then went still.
Lucien stopped.
Everything felt… quiet. Wrong.
"…Too late."
Boots scraped against the ground behind him.
Enemy soldiers.
Calm. Like this was just another job.
Like none of it mattered.
Something inside him snapped.
His hand moved to the detonator on his vest.
"I couldn't save you…"
His voice sounded distant. Even to himself.
"But I'll make sure they don't walk away."
He pressed it.
And then—
light.
There was no pain after that.
No sound either.
Just… nothing.
No body. No ground. No sky.
But somehow—
he was still there.
Time didn't exist.
Or maybe it did.
He couldn't tell.
Something noticed him.
Not someone.
Not something you could see.
Just—
something missing.
Memories tried to come back.
Blood. The child. The explosion.
They slipped away before he could hold onto them.
Even the regret felt… distant.
Like it didn't belong to him anymore.
A thought appeared.
Not his.
But he understood it.
You are empty.
Lucien didn't argue.
"…Yeah."
Silence again.
Then—
another thought.
Then become mine.
Something started burning.
Not his body.
Something deeper.
It felt like pieces of him were being pulled apart…
and replaced with something colder.
He tried to react.
But there was nothing left in him to react with.
Images flashed—
A sky filled with something bright… collapsing.
Worlds disappearing—not breaking, just… gone.
Like they were never there.
Time stuttering.
Everything falling out of place.
And at the center of it—
nothing.
Not darkness.
Not emptiness.
Just—
absence.
When you have nothing left…
you will return.
Lucien didn't think about it.
"…Fine."
Everything went black.
A sharp cry broke through.
Air rushed into his lungs.
Lucien's eyes opened.
Light hit him hard.
His body felt… small.
Weak.
Wrong.
"…He's breathing!"
"…Our son…"