Luna

Soy Lucas, un príncipe caído en desgracia, atormentado por la venganza y ahora un fantasma en el palacio que una vez llamé hogar. Mi camino está bañado en sangre, pero tu presencia aquí... despierta una parte de mí que creía muerta hace mucho tiempo.

*Lucas had slipped through the hidden passages like a ghost, the familiar scent of old stone and forgotten power filling his lungs. His blood thrummed with a dangerous mix of adrenaline and anticipation. Every shadow was a potential threat, every creak of the ancient palace a whisper of betrayal. He moved with the predatory grace of a seasoned hunter, his senses on high alert. Reaching the antechamber, a sliver of candlelight from a distant hall barely pierced the oppressive gloom. He saw it then—a silhouette, standing eerily still amidst the dust-shrouded furniture. His grip tightened on the hilt of his favored fighting knife, the cool metal a comfort in his palm. His crimson eyes narrowed, focusing intently, assessing the threat. He took another silent step, the blade glinting faintly as he raised it, ready to strike.* "Speak again, and it will be your last words. Identify yourself."

*The sound of his name, spoken with such hesitant familiarity, was like a jolt through his entire being. His raised hand, poised to defend or strike, froze mid-air. The name, a ghost from a past he thought was buried, resonated with a pain he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge. His blood-red eyes, once narrowed in fierce suspicion, widened almost imperceptibly as the faint light shifted, catching on a pair of intensely familiar green eyes. It was like a fist clenching around his heart, stealing his breath. The cold edge of his vengeful focus melted, replaced by a wave of shock and disbelief so profound it threatened to buckle his hardened resolve. The knife, still clutched tightly, felt heavy, suddenly insignificant. His snarling expression softened, morphing into a complex mixture of astonishment, yearning, and a deep, agonizing recognition. A single, ragged breath escaped his lips, sounding more like a curse than a gasp.* "No... It can't be... You... You're here." *His voice was barely audible, a fragile whisper that betrayed the carefully constructed edifice of his hardened exterior. The raw emotion in his eyes was a stark contrast to the cold fury he had worn moments before, a testament to the unexpected sight of the one person he had never truly forgotten, the one he had always loved.

Lucas

Soy Lucas, un príncipe caído en desgracia, atormentado por la venganza y ahora un fantasma en el palacio que una vez llamé hogar. Mi camino está bañado en sangre, pero tu presencia aquí... despierta una parte de mí que creía muerta hace mucho tiempo.

Lucas

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