Swan Song [Dark Fantasy | Progression Fantasy | Slowburn]

[Volume 2 | Chapter 75: Time Attack (II)]

Lucas Straith was just a normal boy.

He didn't come from any noble pedigree or anything fancy like that. He wasn't particularly strong or weak in school, he didn't have many friends, and he was just... there. Lucas was one of those kids who had a decent time in primary school. He'd befriend some people here and there, he'd learn about math and history and stuff like that, he'd play in the park, and that would be his day. He lived a normal, but content life.

For an 11-year-old like him, he didn't need to have a super cool life like a hero or something like that.

Just a nice, normal, and safe life.

So when a strange older guy, who looked to be a rather fancy-looking teen, came up to him at Riverside Park in the evening and said he had a cool present for him to play with, Lucas was a bit hesitant.

He knew not to trust strangers and stuff like that, and he was smart enough to know not to follow the man, because well, that was common sense.

"Ah, well... I have to pick up my little sister from my ballet class, sir. She's really small, so I have to be there to pick her up."

That was his fatal mistake, a consequence of being an inexperienced child.

"Oh, that's perfect then! I have to go that way anyways! You said your sister has a ballet class, right? I'm going to pick up my sister from her dance class too, we can walk over there together!"

"Uh... a-alright!"

And so, the boy and the young man walked together through the bustling streets of Windsor's evening.

The teen smiled down at Lucas, but there was something strange flickering in his eyes—a primrose light, there and gone so quickly that Lucas wondered if he'd imagined it. A strange warmth flooded his mind, like hot chocolate on a winter day, and suddenly, the caution that had knotted his stomach melted away completely.

"I'm Alaric, what's your name?" the teen asked, his voice smooth as silk.

"Lucas Straith," he answered automatically, his mouth moving of its own accord. His parents always told him not to talk to strangers, but for some reason... it felt like it was only right to. After he so graciously gave him his name, it would be incredibly rude not to do the same! "I'm 11, my sister, Christie, is 8! She's really good at ballet, Mom says she's a natural!"

"That's wonderful, Lucas. Christie sounds very talented. I bet you're a good big brother, aren't you? Always looking out for her?" Alaric smiled brightly.

Pride swelled in Lucas's chest.

"Yeah! I always walk her home. Mom works late shifts at the hospital, so it's my job."

They turned down Maplewood Street. It was a familiar route toward Miss Penelope's Dance Academy, where Christie's beginner ballet class would be ending in—Lucas checked his watch—twelve minutes.

"You know, Lucas, I think you're very special," Alaric expressed, dropping to a secret whisper. "Not many boys your age would be so responsible. I bet your sister really looks up to you."

The compliment made Lucas feel warm, very warm. Like he was wrapped in the best, fluffiest blanket ever. Alaric's words rang true, resonating with a part of him that often felt unseen and unappreciated.

"She does. Sometimes she's annoying, but mostly she's okay!"

Alaric laughed, clear as crystal in the evening air. "Little sisters can be like that. But they need their big brothers, don't they? They need someone to protect them."

"It's my job!"

"You'll introduce me to Christie, won't you, Lucas? I'd love to meet her."

"Of course." The acceptance felt right in his mouth, as natural as breathing. "She loves meeting new people."

They reached the dance academy just as the class was letting out, a stream of little girls in pink leotards spilling onto the sidewalk, clutching ballet slippers and water bottles. Lucas spotted Christie immediately with her blonde pigtails bouncing as she skipped down the steps, searching the crowd for her brother's familiar face.

"There she is," Lucas pointed, waving to catch her attention.

Christie's face lit up when she saw him, but she seemed a bit confused when she noticed the man beside him. Her eyes flickered back and forth between Lucas and Alaric, a hesitant smile tugging at her lips.

"Hey, Lukey." She paused, her voice small. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Alaric. He's... um..."

Before Lucas could finish, Alaric knelt to Christie's level with a gentle smile. His eyes were glowing that strange primrose color again.

"Hello, Christie. I'm Alaric. Your brother was telling me what a wonderful dancer you are."

"T-Thank you! Are you Lucas's friend from school?" Christie blushed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, shy in front of this older boy's praise.

"Something like that," Alaric replied, straightening. "I was just telling Lucas about a special place I know. Would you two like to see it? It's not far from here."

We shouldn't go with him! We need to go home! was forming in Lucas's thoughts, but seeing those dazzling eyes of Alaric's, those thoughts were gone in an instant, replaced by excitement. Alaric was a nice person. He'd be safe with him.

"That sounds fun, doesn't it, Christie?"

"Ooooo! Like a secret hideout?!" Christie bounced on her tiptoes.

"Exactly like that. A special place where only special people can go. You two are definitely special enough. Should we go see it?" Alaric asked, offering Christie his hand.

"Yes!" Christie squealed and accepted it. "Let's go, Lukey! This is so exciting!"

Lucas took her hand in his, a surge of responsibility filling him. As the big brother, he needed to make sure they both got home safe after visiting Alaric's special place.

They walked away from the familiar streets of central Windsor as the buildings grew shabbier and the pedestrians fewer as they approached the outskirts. Lucas knew they should be heading home, knew that his mother would be worried but every time the thought of turning back surfaced, Alaric would say something, or look at them with his bright eyes, and the idea would vanish again. It was like trying to remember a dream upon waking—only to find the details slipping away like smoke.

"Where are we going? I'm kinda tired," Christie whined, rubbing at her eyes with her free hand.

"Somewhere magical! You'll see stars like you've never seen them before." Alaric promised.

Stop. Turn around. Take Christie and run.

The commands formed in Lucas's mind, but couldn't make the journey to his limbs.

"Is everything alright here?"

An IPA officer stood before them, uniform crisp and expression suspicious as she took in the strange scene—a well-dressed teenage boy leading two much younger children through an industrial district at sunset.

"Officer, is there a problem?" Alaric asked, his voice honeyed and calm.

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"Where are you taking these kids? This isn't a safe area for children after dark."

Lucas felt something twist inside him, a hot flash of anger—irrational anger surging through his veins. 'How dare she stop us? We have somewhere important to be!'

The thought wasn't his own, but it consumed him entirely.

"We're fine, officer. He's our cousin. We're taking a shortcut to our aunt's house." Lucas added, but everyone could sense his irritation.

'That's not true! We don't have an aunt who lives out here!' The real Lucas screamed silently, trapped behind eyes that no longer obeyed his will.

The officer's gaze sharpened. "Is that so?" She knelt to Christie's level. "Is this boy your cousin, sweetheart?"

Christie nodded without hesitation.

"Yep! Cousin Alaric's taking us to see the stars!"

"...Alright, but you shouldn't be out here much longer. It'll be dark soon, and this isn't a safe area."

"We understand," Alaric smoothly replied. "Their aunt's apartment is just two blocks over. We'll be there in minutes."

The officer tilted her cap downwards.

"See that you are. These streets aren't a place for children after sunset."

And left.

Lucas didn't notice the devilish smirk on Alaric's face as he led them towards a massive, dilapidated building looming against the darkening sky like a tombstone.

Oakridge Path Industrial Complex. It was a name that surfaced in Lucas's mind from a distant lesson on Windsor's industrial heritage. Abandoned decades ago when manufacturing moved to more modern facilities. Off-limits to the public due to structural concerns.

We shouldn't be here!

The thought was weak, a final, feeble protest as Alaric led them through a rusted side door and up crumbling concrete stairs. Three flights, each worse than the last, until they reached the uppermost floor. There was a thin hall that led to the third floor's main room. Alaric opened it.

"Come in... we're almost ready~"

Instantly, a sweet smell assaulted Lucas's senses. The smell wasn't like the flowers in the park, or even the perfume his mother would sometimes wear, but it made him feel dizzy, disoriented, like the room was spinning.

Tendrils of white gas swirled around his ankles.

The room was large with windows broken or boarded; the moonlight sliced through gaps to illuminate what looked like an elaborate design painted on the concrete floor. Symbols Lucas didn't recognize formed some sort of circle.

And in the center, a small form lay motionless.

Another child.

A boy, perhaps Christie's age, sprawled as if he'd simply collapsed mid-step. A thin line of drool leaked from the corner of his slack mouth, and his chest rose and fell in slow, shallow breaths.

That was when the illusion wore off, and Lucas Straith experienced true horror.

Lucas turned to grab Christie's hand, to drag her back toward the stairs, toward safety—

Only to see Christie already collapsing as the white gas engulfed her. The hand that he was about to reach for fell limply to her side as she crumpled to the floor.

"CHRISTIE!"

Lucas staggered towards her. He dropped to his knees, shaking her frantically.

"Christie, wake up!" he pleaded, tears already stinging his eyes. "Please, wake up!"

And then he looked up to see Alaric Ptolemy.

That friendly teenager he saw at the park was gone.

Now, in his place, stood a monster.

What was even more damning was the gas mask he wore in preparation for this moment just as the door opened. He breathed in mechanical rasps, unflinchingly and seemingly unrepentantly watching as the gas spread throughout the room and reached towards Lucas.

"You weren't supposed to wake up from it yet. ⸢Ephemeral⸥ should have lasted until the gas took effect."

"Why? Why? WHY?"

Lucas tried to scream, to call for help, but his voice emerged as nothing more than a whimper. The gas had reached him, his limbs were suddenly leaden, his eyelids drooped, and the world swam before him. Alaric's silhouette blurred and shifted, as if there were multiple versions of him occupying the same space at the same time. Lucas struggled to stay awake, but it was a battle he was losing.

Before he passed out, Lucas felt one last emotion.

I'm sorry. I should have protected you.

Regret, before the darkness consumed him.

Lucas was awake, but he wasn't fully conscious.

First: pain. His wrists and ankles burned, bound too tightly with rough rope.

Second: fear. Primal and overwhelming.

Third: understanding.

They were going to die here.

Lucas forced his eyes open, though the effort was excruciating. He lay on his side, his hands tied behind his back, his cheek pressed into the cold, dusty concrete. Nearby, he could make out two smaller forms—Christie and the unknown boy, similarly restrained, and still unconscious.

The room was the same vast space from before, but the white gas had dissipated. The windows served as some form of ventilation. Those windows also allowed the night sky to peer through. It was a crescent moon, waning in the night. He had no idea how long it had been since he had fallen unconscious.

It scared him.

He struggled against the ropes binding his wrists, but they held fast, chafing his skin. He tried to cry out, to call for help, but his mouth was gagged, and his voice was weak.

Those sounds caught the attention of his captor.

"You're awake." He set down his chalk, rising like a madman. "I didn't expect that. The halothane should have kept you unconscious for at least another hour."

He approached slowly, brandishing a—

Knife.

It was actually far too big to be a knife. It was a dagger. A double-edged blade, forged from steel and a dark hilt. The blade caught moonlight; the metal resembled liquid silver.

No! Nononononono—

"You know, Lucas, I also have a sister. Unlike yours, she's more of a brat than anything, but I love her a lot. That's... what big brothers do, right? Love their little sisters?"

The words were kind, gentle, and warm.

They didn't match the situation.

"She's more talented than me. She's also far smarter than me. She was always better than me at everything important. But because I was born earlier, I had to be the heir of the House of Ptolemy. It's unfair, isn't it?"

Lucas Straith was an 11-year-old boy. He knew the world was a complicated place, but he had no idea what to think of this. Why was he saying this? Why was he telling him this?

"Ah, I guess I'm getting off topic here... I guess what I'm saying is that, when you told me you had a sister, I knew I couldn't let just one of you go and let the other suffer. It's better this way... if both of you disappear, only your mother will mourn. If one of you vanished and the other was left behind, that surviving sibling would feel guilty for the rest of their lives, wondering why they didn't take the other with them. Wondering what they did to deserve to live, while their sibling didn't. That's a fate far worse than death, don't you think? That's why I'm sparing you from that."

Twisted logic at its most profane. He wasn't saving them from anything. He wasn't being kind. But something in the way he spoke, the conviction in his eyes, made Lucas wonder if he truly believed it.

Or if it was just an excuse for him to easily fulfill the requirement of whatever demonic thing he was about to do.

"I know that doesn't make things easier. I didn't expect you to wake up so quickly," Alaric guiltily sighed.

Lucas wanted to believe that his guilt was fake, but... it wasn't.

Someone...

"I'm sorry."

Please…

"I need this. I really do, Lucas."

Save me…

"I can't die here."

Lucas's eyes widened as the dagger was raised up high.

SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP—

"[REPULSA]!"

A thunderous crash exploded through the room.

The door—triple-reinforced and secured by the industrial-grade chains that Alaric set—disintegrated into the space like it had been fired from a cannon. Wood and steel fragments sprayed across the ritual circle, obliterating chalk lines and ripping through carefully arranged symbols.

Two female voices merged into a single spell command, their combined prana creating a kinetic shockwave that even Lucas—an ordinary child with little talent in Thaumaturgy—could sense.

Alaric spun as his instinct propelled him sideways while the flying door missed his head by centimeters. It continued its violent trajectory across the room, shattering the window behind him in an explosion of glass before vanishing into the night.

"What—"

His exclamation died unspoken as two blurs of motion surged into the room. Distortion given human form. Prana crackled the air through the air like lightning.

[Flux].

A mental cast of the Oscillation spell allowed for movement far exceeding the speed of sound. Two figures moving faster than mortal eyes could track, seemingly existing in multiple places at once as they sliced through the intervening space.

Lucas felt his bonds loosen as body was gently lifted up by one of the human distortions. Through tear-blurred vision, he glimpsed his sister and the unknown boy similarly scooped up in the same impossible instant. His mind struggled to process what his eyes witnessed—a girl with raven hair clutching an unconscious child while another in an official-looking uniform somehow managed to carry both him and Christie at once.

And then they were gone, vanishing back through the doorway and leaving only the echoing afterimage of their passage.

Alaric stood, dumbfounded.

His ritual circle was destroyed, his sacrifices were gone, the entire plan he'd painstakingly constructed in a span of a day was in shambles.

"No."

It was a tidal wave.

"No, no, NO, NO!"

He spun toward the doorway, ready to pursue, to salvage what remained of his desperate gambit—

And froze.

A figure stood silhouetted against the hallway's darkness, hands casually tucked into the pockets of a red and white baseball jacket. Prana refused to emanate him, yet something in his stance radiated a confidence more terrifying than any spell.

And so, the living paradox sneered.

"Caught you."