The clouds were torn apart by a single ray of sunlight, falling upon the man who had found his past—yet still denied half of it. The light felt cruel, as if mocking him, laying bare the years he spent pretending this place didn't exist.
From the tall, carved doors of his childhood home, a crowd began to spill out—faces painted with worry, relief, and disbelief. Children clung to their mothers; older men stood stiff, afraid the moment might vanish if they breathed too loud.
He knew them all.
But he didn't.
And then—Reggie. His eldest brother. Taller now, broader in the shoulders, his voice steady even in silence. A woman stood beside him—his wife, perhaps. The years had given Reggie weight, not in flesh but in presence. He hadn't changed much… and yet he was completely different.
Then came Rowen, the second-born. The one who always carried warmth in his eyes but fire in his words. He had been the heart of the house once—always defending, always arguing. Even now, his gaze flickered between disbelief and something softer—recognition, maybe.
Behind him was Lex, the youngest. Barely recognizable, but the same restless energy burned in his stance.
And then—her.
The woman who never stopped praying. Twelve years of hope folded into each breath she took, her rosary beads worn thin, her faith nearly broken.
He had dreamed of this moment and dreaded it all the same.
A voice cracked by time whispered through him.
"That's Mother."
The word felt heavy, foreign. He almost didn't recognize it anymore.
"I've seen men deal with tsunamis with less fear, kid," murmured the voice in his head.
He scoffed. "A fucking tsunami's what got me in this situation, so shut up."
The air trembled. Even the sunlight seemed to falter, as if it knew it didn't belong here.
From the crowd, she broke away.
The woman who once stood as his whole world now rushed forward—her face aged, yes, but gracefully so. Every wrinkle was a story of waiting, every line a scar carved by twelve years of hope and heartbreak.
Her eyes—God, those eyes—still carried that same fire. The same mix of sorrow and joy, fear and disbelief, welded together into an emotion no word could name.
Her stride was unsure, trembling between faith and denial. She shouldn't have recognized him—too much had changed. The years, the weight, the eyes that no longer looked like his own.
But a mother always knows.
Even through the ruin of time, she saw her boy.
Upon recognizing her, her steps grew faster—
but his faltered.
His leg stumbled back, breath caught halfway to a word he couldn't form. His eyes shook, wide and lost. Fear was etched deep into his heart.
"Calm down, kid," the voice murmured. "Just… calm down."
But he couldn't.
The woman closed in, arms trembling yet determined. He stepped back again, panic clawing through his chest. The crowd murmured, but the world around him stayed silent.
Then she ran.
A desperate, breaking dash—arms stretched forward, reaching for what was once lost.
And something inside him snapped.
Not the cursed instinct. Not the voice.
Something human. Something small and childlike that remembered warmth.
His body moved before thought.
He rushed forward—colliding into her embrace.
For the first time in twelve years, he felt home.
His voice cracked through the silence, soft but sharp enough to pierce her heart.
"I'm back, Mom."
He felt it—the faint warmth spreading through his shoulder. Moisture. His mother's tears soaking into the fabric of his coat.
He stood still. Didn't cry back.
He had no tears left to give.
Her sobs came in waves—years of grief flooding out at once, muffled against his chest. The sound made something deep inside him ache, but he stayed still, his hand resting awkwardly on her back like he was trying to remember how to be her son.
Behind them came footsteps.
Reggie stood first—jaw tight, eyes wet but refusing to let a tear fall. He looked at his brother as though he was seeing a ghost that dared to come back breathing.
Beside him was Rowen, calm and collected even now, though his voice trembled with emotion he couldn't name. And Lex—the youngest—didn't move. Just stared.
The stories, the whispers, the fragments of a legend he'd grown up hearing—they were all him. Lucien. The brother he'd never met. The name everyone spoke in the same breath as "if only."
He hated that name once. Hated how it hung over him like a shadow.
Reggie and Rowen—both names that sounded strong, unified.
And him—Lex.
Always the odd one out. Always the reminder that Lucien was missing.
He clenched his fists.
Because now that shadow was standing right there—alive, real, and silent.
She broke from the hug, her trembling hands rising to his face.
Fingers that once wiped dirt from his cheeks now traced the edges of a man she barely recognized.
Her breath hitched. "My boy… my boy… where were you all these years?"
Her thumb brushed the scar along his jaw—the one that shouldn't exist.
"I thought you were gone. We all thought you died."
Her words were soft, but each one hit like a blade drawn from a wound that never healed.
Lucien didn't look away this time. He couldn't. The guilt was too heavy to carry, but too real to deny.
He swallowed hard. For a heartbeat, he almost said the truth—about where he'd been, what he'd done, what he'd become.
But all that came out was a whisper.
"I did, Mom. I did die."
Her eyes widened, but he gave a faint, hollow smile.
"Just didn't stay dead long enough."
Her voice trembled. "What do you mean, you did die?"
Lucien forced a faint smile. "Oh, don't worry, Mom."
He stepped back, keeping her from seeing the truth behind his calm.
"It's nothing."
Silence stretched between them, fragile as glass. The crowd still watched, heavy with unspoken questions.
He exhaled and tried to sound casual. "I'm starving."
Her breath caught again, but this time it was a laugh—wet and broken, but a laugh nonetheless. She wiped her tears, still trembling.
"You haven't changed at all," she whispered.
Lucien smiled faintly, but the voice murmured,
"If only she knew…"
Lucien's jaw tightened. The whispers didn't stop.
"You gonna tell them? Or keep pretending?"
He muttered, "Shut up. Not now."
No one heard him. Or maybe they chose not to.
Relatives crowded around—hugging, crying, whispering questions.
"Where were you all this time?"
"You look so different."
"Thank the heavens he's alive."
Lucien forced a polite smile. Every touch burned, every word felt heavy.
Then came Reggie's voice—hard, trembling.
"The fuck happened, Lucien? We buried you."
The room fell silent.
"We buried an empty casket. Mom spent years mourning you. Even now, she still tears up when someone says your name."
Lucien's throat tightened. Before he could answer, Rowen stepped in, calm and steady.
"Leave it, Reg. He's back now. That's all that matters."
Reggie looked away, jaw locked. Lucien whispered,
"Yeah… I'm back."
In his mind, the voice chuckled.
"Not for long."
Reggie moved first, then Rowen. Lucien stood frozen, unsure whether to step forward or stay. Then Reggie's hand pressed against his shoulder. Rowen joined in. The three of them pulled into a rough, quiet embrace.
It was awkward. Heavy. Real.
No one cried.
Not because they didn't feel it—because they wouldn't break.
Not in front of him.
Lucien didn't cry either.
He'd forgotten how.
They stood there in silence—three brothers holding years of distance between them.
Finally, Lucien exhaled. "We're missing a person."
Rowen smiled faintly. "Yeah… our little boy."
Their gazes drifted toward Lex, standing by the doorway. Frozen. Wide-eyed.
Lucien tilted his head, smirking. "Come on in, brat. I've got a lot of bullying to catch up on."
Deep within, the voice stirred again.
He means it, genuinely. Guess there's still a spark of warmth left in him. What a waste.
Lex's eyes shimmered. Then he broke—rushing past them into the house, tears falling freely.
Rowen called after him, but Lucien raised a hand.
"It's fine. He's a kid. It's a lot for him to take in."
Calm returned. Reggie crossed his arms. Rowen watched the door. Lucien smiled faintly.
Then his stomach growled.
Reggie blinked. Rowen snorted.
"Guess I wasn't kidding about being starving," Lucien said.
Reggie shook his head. "Twelve years gone and still the same appetite."
Lucien grinned. "Some habits don't die."
Somewhere deep inside, the voice murmured,
No. They just learn to hide.
Dinner stretched on with scattered conversation and the soft clinking of cutlery.
Reggie sat at the head of the table, quiet authority radiating from him.
Rowen did most of the talking, filling Lucien in on what he'd missed—the people, the town, the little things time forgot.
Lucien listened, half-smiling. The warmth of the room washed over him like a memory he didn't know he still had.
Then Rowen leaned back, a teasing glint in his eyes.
"Remember that girl you used to play with? The neighbor's kid—the doctor's daughter?"
Lucien looked up, confused but smiling. "Hmm?"
"She's all grown up now," Rowen continued. "Doctor herself, I heard. Can't remember her name though… i think it was Dr. Ame—"
"CLANK"
The sound of metal hitting marble split the air.
Lucien's fork slipped from his hand, ringing through the silence.
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Then instinct took over.
He moved instantly—muscles tensing, eyes narrowing, the soft human calm gone in an instant. His hand gripped the fork again, body lowering as if ready to kill. Every line of him screamed survival. The aura that once slept beneath his skin surged awake.
The others saw it—the flicker of something feral before it vanished.
And then the door opened.
A man stood there—tall, weary, his coat perfectly pressed, eyes trembling behind tired lids. His face older, but unmistakable.
His father.
Lucien's entire body trembled. For the first time, real emotion broke through.
"Dad."
The word left his mouth like a prayer. He stepped forward—once, twice—then ran. He collided into his father's embrace. The fork clattered to the floor again.
For a moment, his father stood stiff, disbelieving. Then his hands rose, trembling, resting on Lucien's back.
"Lucien?"
Lucien buried his face in his father's shoulder. "Yeah, Dad… it's me."
His father exhaled, voice breaking. "You… you came back."
Lucien smiled faintly. "Told you I was stubborn."
The man couldn't speak. He only nodded and patted his son's shoulder—a small gesture that said everything.
The others return to their seats, trying to act as if dinner isn't suddenly brighter, louder. The family slowly picks up where they left off — questions floating around, though none that truly matter.
Lucien eats quietly, watching them all. His father's posture still rigid but softer now, his mother's eyes red from tears, Reggie handling the room like the eldest always does, Rowen making sure everything runs smoothly, Lex already half asleep against the table.
No one asks.
Not where he's been.
Not what happened.
Not why he didn't come back sooner.
He wonders why.
Do they already know?
Or do they simply not want to hear the truth?
He leaves it alone. If they ever do ask, he'll improvise — he's good at that.
By the time the guests arrive — uncles, cousins, family friends — the house is alive again. The Luciens, known for their influence and legacy, had always drawn people like moths to a flame. Everyone wants to see the "lost son" who came back.
Lucien plays the part perfectly — smiling, shaking hands, exchanging small talk, giving the same polite answer to every question:
"It's a long story. Maybe someday."
Later, when the house grew quiet, Lucien slipped out to the balcony. The moonlight bathed the railings in silver. He sighed.
"You've been awfully quiet."
The voice answered, calm and amused.
"I didn't want to intervene. You had it under control."
Lucien's tone hardened.
"No. When Dad opened that door—I could've ruined everything. The iron pistons of the lock latched out of their chambers it sounded like someone cocking a gun. Luckily I switched just in time. It could've ruined everything."
The voice hummed.
"Or maybe they noticed—and they're pretending they didn't. For now, just… be happy."
Lucien didn't reply. He exhaled.
"Lucien?"
Reggie's voice came from the doorway.
"Yeah, coming," Lucien said, straightening.
Reggie gestured. "I've got somebody you need to meet."
Lucien smirked. "I was waiting to see when you'd introduce your family."
They entered a softly lit room. Reggie's wife smiled warmly.
"Lucien," Reggie said, "this is my wife—Elaine. We've been married four years. Two kids—Ryan and May."
Lucien grinned, reaching out a hand. "Nice to meet you, Elaine. First of all—I don't do sisters-in-law. You're my sister now. Okay? Got it?"
Elaine laughed. "Got it. I'll remember that."
They chatted for a bit, warmth filling the air.
Then Reggie led him down the hall to the game room, where his parents and Elaine waited.
Lucien glanced around. "What about Lex?"
"He's asleep," his mother said gently. "Poor boy was exhausted."
Lucien nodded—relieved, yet uneasy.
And then, deep inside, the voice stirred again.
"Well, brat… we can't put it off any longer. Get ready to lie through your teeth."