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Chapter 1 - A Fathers Burden

  Ethan rubbed his eyes, the burn of exhaustion searing the edges of his vision. Eight hours of staring at a computer screen had left his eyes raw, as if they were ready to abandon his skull for a less demanding host. The fluorescent hum of the office lights still echoed in his mind, a relentless drone that followed him even into the quiet of his car. He leaned back in the driver’s seat, the cracked leather creaking under his weight, and let out a slow, shuddering breath. His hands, smooth from years of desk work, gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly, the plastic cool against his palms. He needed to pull himself together. There was no time to break—not now, not ever.

  He glanced at the dashboard clock: 5:00 p.m. Thirty minutes to pick up Declan from school and get to baseball practice. After that, the evening loomed like a gauntlet—cook dinner, help Declan with his math homework (God help him if it was long division again), get the kid bathed, and tuck him into bed. Then, and only then, could Ethan tackle the presentation for work tomorrow, a deadline that had been gnawing at his nerves all week. Sleep was a luxury he couldn’t afford, not with a ten-year-old counting on him to keep their little world from falling apart. He wouldn’t break. He couldn’t.

  Ethan had been a single father for eight years, a role he’d never imagined when he’d first held Declan in his arms, a tiny bundle of warmth wrapped in a hospital blanket. Declan’s mother, Tara, had walked out when the boy was two, her departure as sudden as a summer storm. At first, she’d fought for custody—not out of love, but for the child support payments she thought she could milk from Ethan. When he’d lawyered up, ready to fight tooth and nail for his son, she’d folded. “He’s not worth the hassle,” she’d said, her voice cold over the phone, and that was the last he’d heard from her. Ethan couldn’t fathom it. To him, Declan was everything—the sun, the stars, the very air he breathed. He’d kill for that boy, no question. He’d die for him too.

  The memory of Tara’s abandonment still burned, a quiet ember of anger buried deep in his chest. It flared now as he drove, the familiar route to Westwood Elementary a blur of suburban streets and fading daylight. How could she just leave? How could anyone look at Declan—his wide, curious eyes, his lopsided grin—and decide he wasn’t enough? Ethan shook his head, forcing the thought away. It didn’t matter. She was gone, and he was here. That was what counted.

  He pulled into the school parking lot, the brown brick building looming ahead like a relic from a bygone era. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the asphalt, painting the world in hues of gold and amber. Ethan stepped out of the car, his sneakers scuffing on stray gravel, and made his way to the front office. Inside, the air smelled of crayons and disinfectant, a nostalgic mix that tugged at memories of his own childhood. The sweet older lady at the check-out desk looked up with a warm smile, her silver hair pinned back in a neat bun.

  “I need Declan in 4th,” she said into her radio, her voice crackling through the static. She set the radio down and turned her attention to Ethan. “How are you today, Mr. Carter?”

  “Any better and I’d have to be sedated,” he replied, forcing a grin. It was a lie, but it beat the monotony of “Fine” or some other hollow response. He wished he could remember her name—Mrs. Something-or-Other. She’d been here every day for the past five years, her kind eyes and gentle demeanor a constant in Declan’s school life, but her name had slipped through the cracks of Ethan’s overworked mind. Asking now felt awkward, so he let it slide, as always.

  Her smile widened, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Oh, you’re a charmer, aren’t you?” She launched into a story about her day—something about a kindergartener spilling glitter all over the art room—and Ethan nodded at all the right moments, his mind half on her words, half on the ticking clock. He appreciated her warmth, but his exhaustion made it hard to focus. His body ached, a dull throb in his lower back from sitting too long, and his stomach growled, reminding him he’d skipped lunch to finish a report.

  Declan’s arrival snapped him out of his haze. The ten-year-old burst into the office, his backpack swinging wildly as he launched it at Ethan with a mischievous grin. Ethan caught it with a grunt, the weight heavier than expected—probably stuffed with library books again. “Hey, buddy,” he said, ruffling Declan’s dark hair, the same shade as his own. “How’d school go?”

  Declan shrugged, his enthusiasm dimming. “Fine.” He didn’t stop, marching straight out the door toward the car, his sneakers scuffing the linoleum.

  Ethan followed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Kiss any girls today?”

  Declan’s nose scrunched in disgust, his green eyes flashing with indignation. “Ewww, no!” He stuck out his tongue for good measure, and Ethan chuckled, the sound a rare burst of lightness in his chest. He savored these moments—the innocence of cooties, the simplicity of a world where girls were still gross. He dreaded the day that changed, the day Declan would grow up and face the harder truths of life. For now, though, he’d hold onto this.

  “We need to hurry,” Ethan said, his tone shifting to business. “Practice starts at 5:30.” He opened the car door, the hinges squeaking in protest, and Declan climbed in with a dramatic groan, throwing his head back against the seat.

  “Do we have to?” the boy whined, his voice a mix of exasperation and pleading.

  Ethan knew exactly what Declan wanted—to go home, sprawl on the couch, and dive into his video game. A new season had just dropped, and Declan had been babbling about leveling up to unlock character skins all week. But Ethan wasn’t about to let him skip practice. “You know we do,” he said firmly, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Your cleats are in the backseat. Get ‘em on.”

  Declan huffed but obeyed, his small hands fumbling with the laces. Ethan watched him in the rearview mirror, a pang of pride mixing with his exhaustion. He loved Declan more than life itself, but he wasn’t one for gentle parenting. Respect and discipline mattered—when Declan pushed boundaries, Ethan set him straight, no hesitation. It was how he’d been raised, and it was how he’d raise his son. Still, he couldn’t help but soften at the sight of Declan’s focused expression, the tip of his tongue poking out as he tied his shoes.

  They arrived at the ballpark with three minutes to spare, the field a patchwork of green grass and red dirt under the late afternoon sun. Declan grabbed his bat and glove, his earlier reluctance forgotten as he sprinted toward his teammates, a blur of energy and laughter. Ethan watched him go, a smile tugging at his lips. The kid was a social butterfly, far more outgoing than his father. Social enCarterments drained Ethan to his core—he’d always needed solitude to recharge, a quiet corner to escape the noise of the world. But Declan thrived on connection, his laughter echoing across the field as he high-fived his friends.

  Ethan leaned back against the car, the metal warm against his back, and let himself breathe for a moment. He fished his earbuds from his pocket, the cords tangled as always, and plugged them into his phone. His audiobook app was already open, the latest installment of his favorite series ready to go. The story followed a hunter chosen by a lizard god, a gritty tale of survival and ascension through a dungeon-filled world. In this book, the hunter was navigating a labyrinth, killing monsters to advance his skills and evolve to higher tiers. Ethan envied the simplicity of it—kill, grow stronger, repeat. No bills, no deadlines, no single parenting. Just power, progress, and purpose.

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  He closed his eyes, letting the narrator’s voice wash over him, the words painting vivid images of blood-soaked battles and glowing runes. But his mind wandered, as it always did, to Declan. What would he do with his son in a world like that? Protect him, of course—always protect him. But how? The thought gnawed at him, a quiet fear that had lived in his chest since Tara left. What if he wasn’t enough?

  A cheer from the field pulled him back to reality. Declan was at bat, his small frame coiled with focus as he swung. The ball sailed through the gap between second base and shortstop, a solid hit, and Declan took off running, his teammates shouting encouragement. Ethan’s heart swelled, a rare moment of peace settling over him. Maybe he was doing okay after all.

  Then he saw it—a light in the sky, stark against the golden hue of the setting sun. It was too bright, too steady to be a plane or a star, and it was growing larger, closer, with every passing second. Ethan frowned, his audiobook forgotten as he pulled out his earbuds. He wasn’t the only one who noticed. Parents in the bleachers were standing now, pointing, their voices a low murmur of confusion. A few kids on the field glanced up, distracted, but Declan and his teammates were too focused on the game to care.

  Ethan stepped away from the car, his sneakers crunching on the gravel lot, and moved toward the field entrance, his eyes locked on the light. It was descending fast, a blazing orb that seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy. His stomach twisted, a primal instinct screaming that this was wrong—dangerously wrong. “Declan!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the chatter, raw with urgency.

  The coaches turned, confused, their brows furrowing as they followed his gaze. The light was almost upon them now, a meteor hurtling straight for the field. Parents screamed, some grabbing their kids and running, others frozen in shock. The coaches finally looked up, their faces paling as they realized the danger. “Get off the field!” one of them yelled, but it was too late.

  Ethan sprinted through the chain-link gate, his heart pounding in his ears, every muscle screaming as he raced toward his son. Declan was still on the bases, oblivious, laughing with a teammate. “Declan, now!” Ethan roared, his voice breaking with desperation. The boy turned, his smile fading as he saw the terror on his father’s face.

  The light slammed into the field with a deafening boom, just behind the pitcher’s mound, not ten feet from where Ethan had reached Declan. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the ground, a crater forming in the dirt as dust and debris exploded outward. The force knocked Ethan off his feet, hurling him forward through the air. He wrapped his arms around Declan instinctively, twisting his body to shield his son as they hit the ground hard.

  The landing was brutal—Ethan felt the friction of the dirt and grass tearing at his skin, his shirt ripping as he skidded across the field. Pain lanced through his shoulder and back, but he held Declan tight, ensuring the boy landed on top of him, safe from the impact. They rolled to a stop, Ethan’s breath coming in ragged gasps, his body screaming in protest. He immediately checked Declan, his hands trembling as he ran them over the boy’s arms and legs. A few scrapes, a smudge of dirt on his cheek, but nothing broken. Declan’s eyes were wide, his breath hitching in shock, but he was alive. Ethan let out a shaky sigh of relief, his heart still hammering.

  Then his own pain hit him like a sledgehammer. Blood soaked through his torn shirt, warm and sticky against his skin, and he could feel the raw, scraped flesh on his back and arms. He didn’t dare look—he didn’t want to know how bad it was. Voices behind him snapped him out of his daze, a cacophony of screams and shouts that made his blood run cold.

  Ethan turned, his body protesting every movement, and saw something that defied reality. Three humanoid figures stood in the crater, their forms illuminated by the fading glow of their arrival. The largest was a male, towering at least seven feet tall, his green skin rippling with muscle. Patches of wood-like armor covered his body, as if grown from his flesh, and his weight—easily 400 pounds—made the ground tremble as he stepped forward.

  The second figure was smaller, female by the exposed breasts on her humanoid upper half, but her lower body was that of a deer, hooves clicking against the dirt. Her green skin matched the male’s, and long orange hair cascaded down her back, guided by two small antlers sprouting from her skull. She moved with a grace that belied the chaos around her, her eyes scanning the crowd.

  The third was another female, fully humanoid, about 5’8”, with the same green skin and orange hair. Random patches of wood armor dotted her body, but they seemed more decorative than functional, leaving vital areas exposed. She clutched a long, spear-like stick, its size disproportionate to her frame, yet she held it with confidence.

  They spoke to each other in a language Ethan couldn’t comprehend, a melodic, flowing tongue that sounded like wind chimes and rushing water. It was beautiful, haunting—and utterly alien. He knew, with a bone-deep certainty, that they weren’t from Earth. Green skin, wooden armor, deer legs—humanity would’ve noticed creatures like this centuries ago.

  The field had fallen silent, save for the agonized screams of a coach caught too close to the blast. He lay on the ground, clutching his shattered legs, his cries echoing in the still air. Ethan’s gaze darted to the field, and his stomach churned—bodies of children lay scattered, some motionless, others whimpering in pain. Rage boiled in his chest, hot and fierce, drowning out his fear.

  The large male moved suddenly, faster than anything that size should, and smashed a fist into the coach’s head. The screaming stopped instantly, the man’s skull reduced to a pulpy mess. Ethan’s breath caught, his anger turning to ice. The two females reacted, their melodic voices rising in what sounded like anger, their hands waving in protest. The male responded with a gesture that could only be an eye roll, his disdain clear.

  Ethan stood slowly, his body screaming in protest, and pushed Declan behind him, shielding him with his frame. He edged toward the gap in the chain-link fence, his movements deliberate, trying not to draw attention. But the aliens noticed—three sets of glowing eyes locked onto him, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. The male moved again, a blur of speed, and the females shouted in alarm, green lights flaring around them.

  The male’s backhand hit Ethan like a freight train, the force shattering every bone in its path. His ribs crumpled, his arm twisted unnaturally, and pain didn’t even have time to register before his nerves were obliterated. He was airborne, flying away from Declan, the world a blur of sky and dirt. He saw his son standing frozen, the behemoth looming over him, and despair clawed at his heart.

  Green light settled on the ground, and vines erupted, wrapping around the large male and binding him in place. The deer-legged female stepped forward, her voice sharp as she spoke to the male, arms crossed, waiting for a response. Ethan hit the ground hard, coughing blood onto the grass, the coppery taste filling his mouth. His body was a broken mess, every breath a knife in his chest.

  The deer-legged female turned at his cough, her expression shifting to something like sorrow. She rushed to him, kneeling beside his shattered form, and held out a hand. Green light poured from her palm, seeping into Ethan’s body. He felt his bones knit together, a searing pain as they realigned, his muscles stitching back into place. He screamed, his back arching, teeth gritted against the agony. It was like being remade, every nerve on fire, but when it stopped, he was whole.

  Ethan sat up, his clothes still soaked in blood, but his body unmarred—not a scratch remained. Declan knelt beside him, tears streaming down his face, clutching the remains of Ethan’s shirt. “Dad!” he sobbed, throwing his arms around him. Ethan hugged him back, tight enough to hurt, his own eyes burning. “It’s okay, D. We’re okay.”

  He looked around for the green-skinned beings, but they were gone. A faint shimmer in the air above the crater was the only sign of their departure, as if they’d vanished into the ether, leaving behind a field of devastation and unanswered questions. Ethan turned Declan away from the carnage—dead children, grieving parents, the field a tableau of loss. Other survivors stumbled onto the field, some cradling their own children, others weeping over small, broken bodies. Ethan held Declan closer, shielding him from the sight, his mind racing. What were those things? Where had they come from? And why had they spared him?

  They stayed like that, clinging to each other, until the wail of sirens announced the police’s arrival. Ethan knew, even then, that nothing would ever be the same.

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