The scent of old wood and burning candles.

  The faint creak of a door opening.

  For a moment, Lukas thought he had died again.

  But then came the pain. The weight on his chest. The strange weakness in his arms—as if the body wasn’t his own.

  He raised a trembling hand. Small. Thin fingers. No scars of war, no calluses of a swordsman.

  “…Young master?” whispered a familiar, hesitant voice.

  Slowly, Lukas turned his head. Old Le?ncio stood at the doorway—the same butler who, in the future, would die trying to defend Sorriso. His wrinkles were softer here. His hair, less white.

  “You are… alright?” Le?ncio asked quietly. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  For a moment, Lukas didn’t answer. Everything returned like a tidal wave.

  The Black Witch’s hall. His siblings falling one by one. Disaster Eleven laughing as it devoured everything.

  The warm touch of Morgana’s hand on his chest, begging for something she herself didn’t know how to give.

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  “I used… the last spell of the Tower. The forbidden spell that breaks death itself… and rewinds time…”

  Lukas gasped. Nausea rose in his throat. He stumbled out of bed and rushed to the mirror.

  The reflection showed a skinny boy, black hair falling over haunted eyes.

  “No…” he whispered, pressing his palm to the glass. “I… came back.”

  Behind him, Le?ncio stepped closer, worried.

  “Master Lukas…?”

  For a moment, the boy didn’t know what to say. Everything felt like delirium. A punishment.

  But then, deep within his mind, a familiar voice whispered—proud, heavy with scorn and honor:

  “I told you this was the most torturous path, brother legionary.”

  Lukas turned slowly. No one was there. But he felt the presence.

  César.

  The Enchanted. The lost Roman general of the Tower. His master… and something like a brother.

  Soon after, another voice. Softer. More dangerous. Almost sorrowful.

  “I’m here too, Lukas…”

  He closed his eyes. Saw Morgana’s pale smile. The way she cried when the world collapsed over them.

  “I…” he whispered. “I won’t repeat anything.”

  His heart pounded so hard it hurt. The weight of every mistake, every death, crushed his lungs.

  But for the first time, he felt something beyond guilt.

  A chance.

  To rewrite everything. To save those who mattered. To not die as a failure.

  “Master Lukas…” Le?ncio insisted carefully. “Shall I bring you water? Call your father…?”

  Lukas drew a deep breath. Turned slowly. And, for the first time, smiled—a small smile, heavy with rage, grief, and purpose.

  “I’m fine, Le?ncio,” he said, voice firm despite the fragile body. “I just… needed to wake up for real.”

  The old butler seemed relieved.

  “As you wish, young master…”

  When he left, Lukas looked back into the mirror.

  “Father…” he murmured. “I… swear that this time… I won’t fail.”

  The reflection trembled, as if something answered.

  And deep inside, the two presences intertwined.

  César, ever proud:

  “Then let’s begin.”

  Morgana, in a low voice:

  “And I… will stay by your side. Even if you hate me.”

  The Blood Demon had returned.

  But now, he was no longer just a demon.

  He was a man with a second chance.

  End of Chapter 1