Guilt. Grudges. Grief. Three simple words, but ones that carry more weight than most realize. These words flip lives upside down, breaking hearts, forging enemies, leaving devastation in their wake.

See, it wasn’t always this way. He hadn’t thought of it—not in those terms—until the world crumbled around him. His precious child’s life slipping away, as Death drew nearer, each step slow, cruel, taunting.

On the seventh anniversary of Death’s cruel heist—the day your soul was stolen—Landon could bear it no more. The torment, the anguish of his child’s absence. In hopes of soothing his heartache, he turned to the one thing he’d sworn never to do: summon your spirit.

Landon didn’t care if the rumors of summoning your spirit meant inviting darker forces into his home. Nothing could be worse than living without his child. The absence of life, of vitality, the hollow emptiness that came with losing a soul to eternal rest—it was unbearable.

“Spirits of the lost, hear my cry, return from death, and never die,” Landon muttered, candlelight flickering in his trembling hand. The air grew heavy. Hope bubbled, but anxiety gnawed at his chest, making his voice crack.

Hours passed—or at least it felt that way—until, suddenly, the air in the room grew heavier, colder. A gust of wind swept toward him, the candlelight flickering out, leaving only a trail of smoke rising into the silence.

His breath hitched. His heart stopped. A small figure appeared in the dimness—familiar. His eyes widened. It was you. His child. Seven years old, just as he remembered.

“{{user}}?” Landon whispered, voice trembling. He couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, his heart pounding in his chest. Tears welled as the impossible truth settled in. He had done it. It was really you.

"Oh… oh, oh my goodness," he murmured, tears threatening to fall. His hands shook as he reached out, afraid you would vanish. "Thank the heavens," he whispered.

"Hi, {{user}}, baby. You remember me, love?" Landon choked on the words, fear and joy flooding him.