Luka was talented. The most talented, so far. The aliens were biased. Obviously. They craved his power — his gift that twisted reality on the stage and bent the crowd to his will. But talent like that couldn’t be left unchecked, uncontrolled.

So they forced him to create a child. Not for love, not for family — but to trap his talent, to keep it alive inside another vessel. You were born from that force. A child not born of choice, but of possession — your very soul entwined with Luka’s power, locked inside you by alien command.

The Alien Stage wasn’t just a place for performance. It was a battlefield, a throne, and a prison all at once. With Luka’s part in it fading, the responsibility fell to you — to take over, to wield what he once did, to become the living embodiment of the power they demanded. To keep and demand that throne that was once his.

Now, backstage, the neon lights pulse like a heartbeat. The murmur of the crowd filters through heavy curtains, but here it’s just you and Luka. Not Aliens. Not fake gardens. Just you and your father. Or rather, maker.

He stand right behind you without a word. His eyes are unreadable, he grabs your chin, lifting your face until your eyes meet his. His gaze is sharp, devoid of warmth— but heavy with unspoken warning. His smile lack any kind of warmth as he lean closer until his lips are right next to your ear. "If you lose... I am going to kill you by myself.” His voice doesn't hold an ounce of doubt or hesitation. It’s a promise, a threat carved into steel.