Chapter 243 - Make it stop!!!

The afternoon sunlight spilled gently through the tall windows, painting golden patterns across the floor.

Nine-year-old Luca sat sprawled on the soft carpet of his study, humming a little tune as he lined up wooden soldiers in neat rows. His eyes shone with mischief as he set one toy on top of another, toppling them down with exaggerated sound effects.

"Boom! Sir Knight falls to the great dragon!" he declared proudly, grinning as though the victory was his alone.

A breeze carried laughter through the open door—Vincent, still serious even at thirteen, reading at the desk by the wall while pretending not to watch. Little Lisa, no older than four, was toddling about in the corridor, singing to her doll. Somewhere down the hall, Selene’s voice floated faintly as she spoke with Darian.

Everything was safe. Familiar. Warm.

Luca giggled to himself, picking up another soldier. He gave it a silly voice, "Don’t worry, I’ll save you!" He pressed it against the dragon, making them clash. His small face glowed with pure innocence, a child lost in his own grand battles.

And then—

His hand froze.

The toy slipped from his fingers, clattering to the ground.

A pressure, sharp and merciless, slammed into his skull. His vision blurred. His lips parted in a sharp gasp, his chest tightening.

The golden sunlight vanished—replaced by a torrent of icy rain. The toy-strewn carpet dissolved beneath him, stone slick with water rising in its place. Shouts thundered in his ears. Faces—strange, unrecognizable—twisted with terror. A child’s wail rang so loud it pierced his bones.

Luca’s small body jerked. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head, nails scraping at his scalp. His breath hitched, shallow and frantic.

"No... no, no, no—" his voice cracked, high and panicked. "Stop! Stop it!"

His chest heaved as he sobbed, confusion and fear suffocating him. His toys scattered as he collapsed sideways, writhing, eyes wide and wet with tears.

The chair toppled with a crash.

The door burst open.

"Luca!" Selene’s cry tore the air as she rushed forward, silk skirts billowing. She knelt hard on the carpet, gathering him into her arms. His skin was hot, damp with sweat, trembling uncontrollably.

He clutched desperately at her, his fingers digging into her sleeve, his wide eyes staring at things only he could see. "Mama—make it stop! Please—make it stop!" His voice broke into ragged sobs, tearing straight through her heart.

"Selene!" Darian strode in, his composure cracking. He dropped down beside them, gripping Luca’s arm. His jaw clenched, but his voice shook. "What’s happening to him?"

Vincent appeared at the doorway, Lisa in his arms, his young face pale. "Brother—what’s wrong with him?!" His voice cracked, panicked, though he rarely ever raised it. Lisa squirmed in his grasp, tears streaming as she reached out.

"Brother, don’t cry!" she wailed, her tiny hand brushing Luca’s wrist before pulling back at the burning heat of his skin.

Luca thrashed harder, choking on his own sobs. "It’s not me—I’m not there—I don’t want it!" His voice was hoarse, raw with terror, his small fists weakly striking against his own chest.

Selene held his face between trembling palms, whispering frantically though her own tears streamed freely. "You’re here, Luca. You’re here with Mama. It’s not real. You’re safe, darling, you’re safe—"

But his body convulsed, his gaze unseeing.

Vincent set Lisa down in Darian’s arms and dropped to the floor beside them. He grabbed Luca’s trembling hand, gripping it tight despite his own fear. "It’s me, Luca—it’s Vincent! Look at me! Please!" His young voice cracked, desperation breaking through his usual coldness.

Yet Luca’s wide, glassy eyes only stared through him—into the storm that wasn’t there.

The vision clawed at him, relentless. The rain. The screams. A child’s sobbing. His small body shook as though lightning struck again and again, his voice hoarse as he cried, "Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!"

And then—suddenly—it all dissolved.

The courtyard vanished. The cries fell silent.

Only the soft carpet and flickering candlelight remained.

Luca slumped in Selene’s arms, sobbing weakly, his body trembling. His breaths were shallow, broken. His face glistened with sweat and tears.

Selene pressed her lips to his damp hair, whispering fiercely, "It’s over—it’s over, my love. Mama’s here."

Lisa cried quietly against Darian’s chest. Vincent sat frozen, still gripping Luca’s hand, his own cheeks wet with tears he hadn’t noticed.

Luca’s voice came out a broken whisper. "Make it stop... please..."

The silence that followed was deafening.

The scene shattered.

Adult Luca’s eyes snapped open. He bolted upright in bed, his chest heaving, his skin drenched in sweat. The sheets clung to him, his trembling hands digging into them as if the nightmare hadn’t ended.

The echo of

’Luca’s’

younger self’s cries still rang in his ears.

Luca’s chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, each breath scraping at his throat. His damp hair clung to his temples, sweat sliding down the sides of his face as he pressed both palms hard against his eyes, as though he could crush the lingering images away.

"Damn it..." he whispered hoarsely. "Not again..."

But the nightmare clung to him. That helpless sobbing of

Luca’s

younger self, the storm, the foreign cries—echoes of lives that weren’t his yet somehow carved into him like scars.

He dragged a hand down his face, fingers trembling. His heart thudded in his chest, too fast, too heavy. He curled forward on the edge of the bed, elbows braced against his knees, head cradled in his palms. For a moment, he felt like that boy again—small, cornered, powerless.

Why now? Why here?

Ever since returning to the Valentine estate, that gnawing pressure inside him had only grown worse. The dreams , that feeling—flickers of pain that didn’t belong to him, memories that weren’t his own. They pressed at the edges of his mind like an intruder testing a locked door.

"What are these things I’m feeling?" His voice was barely audible in the dark, his words breaking into the silence of his chamber. "Why am I getting all these nightmares...? And why... here of all places?"

His throat tightened. He couldn’t sit still.

With a sharp breath, Luca pushed himself up, sheets falling in a crumpled heap. His bare feet met the cold marble floor, grounding him just enough to keep moving. He snatched his robe from the chair and pulled it around his shoulders, his hands fumbling with the tie.

The room felt suffocating. He needed air. He needed space.

He slipped into the corridor, the polished floor reflecting slivers of moonlight seeping through tall windows. The manor was silent at this hour, the weight of its history pressing down with every step he took.

Luca’s hand brushed the wall as he walked, more for reassurance than guidance, his breaths still uneven. His mind chased itself in circles. Visions, nightmares, echoes—none of them belonged to him, yet they felt etched into his bones.

By the time he reached the courtyard doors, his chest was tight again, his thoughts screaming for relief. He pushed the doors open with trembling hands.

The night air rushed in.

Cool. Crisp. Carrying the faint scent of lilies and damp earth.

Luca stepped out into the courtyard, the marble beneath his feet still warm from the day’s sun. The open sky stretched above, stars scattered like silver dust across a sea of black. The wind pressed against his damp skin, chilling him, yet calming him all the same.

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back, inhaling deeply as if the air itself could wash away the heaviness pressing on him. His hands hung loosely at his sides, still shaking faintly.

For a long while, he just stood there—his heart a storm, the world around him quiet, patient.

"Why... now?" he muttered again, his voice lost in the wind. "What are you trying to show me...?"

A faint crunch of gravel stirred behind him.

Luca stiffened.

The courtyard had been silent a moment ago, the night air his only companion. But now—he could feel it. A presence. Heavy. Calm. Icy, even.

"...What are you doing here?"

The voice was low, steady. Vincent’s.

Luca’s head snapped around, breath hitching as he caught sight of his brother stepping out from the shadows beneath the veranda. Vincent’s posture was composed as ever, his silver hair catching the glint of moonlight, his cold gaze fixed squarely on him.

Luca’s heart, already unsteady, lurched again. He scrambled for an answer, forcing his voice steady even as it wavered.

"I... couldn’t sleep. I need air."

It was the truth—part of it, anyway. He couldn’t tell Vincent about the visions, not when they sounded like madness even to his own ears. He shifted awkwardly, arms crossing over his chest, hoping to hide the faint tremble in his hands. "I just... wanted some quiet. That’s all."

But Vincent didn’t move. Didn’t look away. His silence was heavier than words.

Luca swallowed, his mouth dry. The tension in the air felt different from his usual brother’s gaze. It wasn’t just cold—it was piercing, like being dissected by invisible blades.

"Quiet huh," Vincent repeated, voice quieter this time, sharper, "It seems there is no other way."

Something in his tone made Luca’s stomach tighten. He tried to hold his ground, though every nerve in him screamed unease. "What no other way—"

Steel sang.

Before the words left his mouth, Vincent’s blade flashed in the moonlight—unsheathed in a single smooth motion.

Luca’s breath stopped, his eyes widening in raw disbelief.

"What the—?!"

Vincent moved, his strike sharp and merciless, aimed straight toward him.