Hello there.
What a wonderful day you're having! Or at least, I hope you are. If you're reading this, then we have most likely failed—our story has ended, our legend is over, and this book is the only thing left of us. A single trace, a mark in time, a reminder that we once existed within the endless flow of history.
It doesn't matter when or where this book has appeared to you. It doesn't matter how you found it, whether you stumbled upon it by chance, received it as a gift, or felt an inexplicable pull toward it while it sat on a forgotten shelf. It doesn't even matter what kind of person you are—whether you are kind or cruel, a good or a bad. The only thing that matters is that fate has led you here, to these words, to this story.
Maybe you picked it up out of curiosity. Maybe you were drawn to its mystery. Or maybe, just maybe, something deep inside you already knows—this is a story meant for you.
Whatever the case, I ask that you listen. Listen to our tale, to the echoes of our journey, to the weight of our struggles, our hardships, our legend… and, ultimately, our greatest failure.
So, I ask you—no, I beg you—to hear the last thoughts of "He Who Will Remain Till Eternity Ends."
The story of how he met them, the ones who saved him from his pain. The pair who brought light to his muddled world, who made the darkness a little less suffocating, who made the unbearable weight of existence just a little easier to carry.
The ones who saw something worth saving in him, who brought him on the adventure of this lifetime.
…Sorry, I must be rambling.
So, where should I begin? When we first met? The beginning? No… no, I know where to start. Let's begin at the true beginning. The place where our story really began... and my greatest regret.
---
Once upon a time, in a place within the infinite myriad realms—among the endless void, in a world filled with fleeting lights and shadows—there existed a realm of mortals.
Mortals.
How long has it been since I last thought of them? Such fragile, short-lived beings. So weak, so insignificant in the vast expanse of the cosmos. And yet… they were happy. Despite the hardships, despite the suffering, despite their smallness in the face of eternity, they lived. They loved. They laughed. They found meaning in things that should have been meaningless.
This realm was called Thnētós. Or, as its inhabitants called it—Earth.
Among the billions of souls that wandered this realm, there was one small, ordinary family of five.
The family consisted of a father, a mother, and their three children.
Among the mortals, there was nothing particularly extraordinary about them. They were neither rich nor poor, neither geniuses nor fools, neither exceptionally strong nor weak. And yet, they weren't quite average either—just comfortably above average in the ways that mattered. They had enough to live, enough to be happy.
And most of all, they had each other.
The father was a provider. He worked to ensure his family was taken care of, leaving in the morning and returning in the evening to the warm smiles of his children. He was a good man—flawed, as all men are, but he tried. He made mistakes, but he loved his family, and that was enough.
The mother was a strict but kind woman. She maintained their home with discipline and care, ensuring everything was in order. Each morning, she took the children to school, then went to work. When she returned, she cooked, helped them with their studies, and enforced the rules of the household.
She was both a protector and a disciplinarian. If they were hurt, she was the one who tended to them, telling them stories until they drifted into sleep. If they misbehaved, she was the one who punished them, firm yet fair.
When her children asked why she was so strict, she would always reply, "I have made mistakes—mistakes I regret even to this day. I wish someone had been there to guide me, to stop me before I went too far. Now, I am that someone for you."
Her children were too young to fully understand the weight of her words. But they listened. They learned. They forgot. And they were reminded again.
There were three of them.
Lucan. Age ten.
Lucy. Age eight.
Luke. Age six.
Lucan was the eldest, the brightest of the three. A scholar, if one could call him that. Even at such a young age, he was observant—too observant. He could read people with unnatural precision, sense their thoughts, predict their actions. His awareness of the world was far beyond what it should have been.
And yet, none of his family knew expect the youngest.
In their presence, Lucan was nothing more than a clumsy child. A fool. Someone who couldn't go more than ten minutes without doing something laughably stupid. A carefully crafted persona, designed to make him blend in—to make him normal. To make him belong such strange thoughts for a child.
Then there was Lucy. The heart of the family. She was radiant, always smiling, always bright. A child who could bring joy to anyone she met, who had no enemies, only friends. And surprisingly the most normal of them.
And finally, Luke. The youngest, the most beloved. Adored by everyone in the family, but especially by their mother, who was both the strictest and the gentlest with him.
She always told him it was because she wanted to keep him from growing spoiled, from turning into someone selfish and arrogant. But Luke didn't care—he had everything a child could ever want. A loving family, friends, and a peaceful life.
His days were simple. He went to school with Lucy, where they learned, played, and returned home. And then, every evening, he would go to his brother.
Lucan had started teaching him strange things. How to read people. How to listen for things unsaid. How to pick up on details that others overlooked.
At the time, Luke hadn't thought much of it.
But in hindsight, perhaps he should have known something was wrong.
Lucan had made him promise to never speak of their lessons to anyone. Even as a child, Luke found that strange. Why would such harmless games need to be a secret? And yet, he obeyed. He was happy to spend time with his older brother, no matter how odd their little lessons were.
One day, he finally asked.
"Why are we doing this?"
Lucan had simply smiled. "I don't know. I just feel like I have to."
And so, Luke continued to learn. The days passed. The months passed.
And then, a year later…
Everything came to a halt.