Whenever Samuel giggles, it reminds me of her.
Isabel.
His smile crinkles the same way hers did, like sunlight slipping through a curtain. And every time I hear it, I laugh too—but not without tears.
Samuel's used to it by now.
He waddles over to me with a crumpled tissue in hand, barely reaching past my knee, and pats it gently on my face. "Don't cry, Dada," he says, serious as ever. "Here. Wipe."
I chuckle every time. It's ridiculous. And sweet. And heartbreaking.
But when he cries… oh, when he cries—it's like I hear her all over again. That broken, gasping sob she let out the night her parents died. The tremble in her voice when she begged the world to give her back what it took. I still hear it in my dreams. I still hear it when Samuel cries.
That's why I swore—no matter what it takes—I'll protect him. I'll give him joy. Even if it costs my life.
.....
It was late afternoon, just as my shift ended. Samuel tugged at my sleeve, his eyes shining.
"Park, Dada? Please? Park park park?"
I hesitated.
That park... ten years ago it was reduced to rubble. The city's been slowly healing with the help of the Chosen—Daniel's chosen—but the scars are still there. Some physical. Some invisible.
People rarely go out. Especially with kids. There aren't many left, after all.
Still… I couldn't say no. Not to him.
He ran ahead, little feet pattering across the sidewalk, arms stretched out like airplane wings. I followed slowly, watching every step, every corner.
When we reached the park, he ran straight for the swings. Of course. It was his favorite. The creaky chain, the rusted seat. He loved it like it was a palace.
I sat on the bench, exhausted, but smiled as he giggled to himself. Alone.
Always alone.
"I'm sorry, Samuel," I whispered under my breath. "You need friends... but I'll be your friend. Your father. Your everything."
That's when I noticed it.
A tiny glimmer near the sandbox. Floating? No. Just… pulsing faintly. Like a heartbeat made of light.
Samuel saw it too.
"Dada! Look!" He picked it up and rushed to me. "It's so shiny! Is this candy?"
My eyes widened. It wasn't candy. It was smooth, round—like a marble, or a pill—and glowing a strange, silvery gold.
But before I could answer—
I felt it.
A presence.
The hairs on my neck stood up. I turned slowly and saw it.
A monster.
Its skin was the color of dried blood. No eyes—just a jagged mouth that stretched ear to ear. Its limbs were long and uneven, crawling like a spider, but with fingers that dug into the ground like knives.
It looked small—but I knew better. Even the weak ones were killers.
I froze.
No one else was in the park. Of course. No one else was ever here. No phone. No weapons. Just me and a toddler.
Panic hit me like ice water. I grabbed Samuel, held him tight, heart racing. "Hold on, hold on, hold on—"
The glowing pill still in his hand.
No. Wait.
In his mouth.
"Samuel—NO—!"
But it was too late.
He swallowed it.
He smiled.
The monster lunged—
And the world exploded in light.
A beam of pure energy slammed into the monster, disintegrating it into dust. Nothing left. Not even bones.
I stared in disbelief.
"Thank you—!" I called out, searching for the Hunter who must've saved us.
But no one was there.
Then I heard it.
A voice.
Deep. Unnaturally deep. Deeper than any voice I'd ever heard.
"Oh la la~ It's been a while since I used that. Hoo… I feel rusty."
I spun in a circle. "Who said that?!"
"Down here, Earthling."
I blinked.
Down.
Samuel.
He looked up at me with those same big eyes—but now they glowed faintly. His tiny face was scrunched in confusion.
"Stop carrying me around—I'm not a kid, you know!"
His voice. That voice. It wasn't his. It was wrong. Too deep. Too old.
I gently lowered him, staring like I was in a dream.
"Samuel…?"
He stretched his arms, looking around, confused. "Where am I? Who am I? …Wait—how old am I?"
I blinked. "Uh… two."
He stared at me.
"Two," he repeated flatly. "As in… years?"
I nodded.
He looked down at his tiny hands.
"…Oh, damn."
I just stood there, staring at Samuel—at whatever Samuel had become.
This wasn't my baby. This wasn't the chubby-cheeked toddler who still couldn't pronounce "spaghetti." This was… something else. Someone else.
But it was Samuel.
Same eyes. Same little nose. Same voice when he cried at night—except now it was layered beneath something far older.
"Dada?" I finally whispered.
He glanced up at me, startled, almost guilty. Then he sighed and put his hands on his tiny hips—like a cranky old man in a baby's onesie.
"Look, this is going to sound insane… but I think I'm... not your kid."
I blinked. "What?"
"I mean—I am. But I'm not. I wasn't. I mean—I am now...ugh, this is a disaster."
Samuel—no, whatever this thing was—rubbed his temples like a middle-aged accountant at tax season.
I dropped to my knees, grasping his shoulders gently. "Sammy… I saw you swallow that shiny pill. Is that what this is? Is this Daniel's pill? Are you… him?"
He blinked. "Daniel? Wait, Daniel the Daniel?"
I nodded frantically. "Yeah, the hero. The Chosen One. The Devil Slayer. That Daniel."
Samuel blinked again. "Huh. That explains the muscle memory kicking in. But also… seriously? A shiny pill in a sandbox? That's how this starts?!"
I was breathing heavily, heart pounding. "Wh-What do you mean?"
Samuel turned and stared at his tiny reflection in a puddle nearby. His voice softened.
"I remember… things. Battles. My comrades. My planet. I remember dying."
He paused.
"I think I'm him. Or at least… part of him. Reincarnated? Possessing? Or maybe I'm just a copy of his consciousness that got crammed into a toddler's digestive system like an expired gummy vitamin."
He looked at me again, this time with a strange mix of curiosity and guilt.
"I don't think I'm supposed to be here. Not like this."
I couldn't respond.
Not because I didn't have words.
But because I was too busy trying to process the fact that my two-year-old just quoted a battlefield tactic and called himself "rusty."
We sat in silence for a moment, the ruined remains of the monster still smoldering nearby.
Then Samuel—tiny, confused, and yet impossibly composed—walked up to me and gently poked my forehead.
"You're still in shock, huh?"
"Understatement," I mumbled.
"Alright, Dad—uh, William. I need you to focus. We can figure this out. If that really was Daniel's pill, and if I really have his power, then people are going to come looking. The pill was a myth, right? That means someone's been searching for it this whole time."
I nodded slowly.
He stepped closer, voice lowered.
"That monster today? It was no accident. I think something knew where the pill was. And it's not done yet."
I felt the blood drain from my face. "You mean… more are coming?"
Samuel—Daniel—whatever he was now—just gave me a serious look.
"Yeah. And next time, I might not be the only one glowing."
I didn't remember the walk home.
My legs moved, somehow, on their own. My brain, though? It was still trying to reboot.
Samuel—my Samuel—trotted beside me in his tiny sneakers, occasionally tripping, occasionally muttering things like "This body is a safety hazard" and "How did I get taken down by a teething biscuit earlier?" while brushing dirt off his knees.
Our apartment was small—more like a glorified storage closet. Two rooms, a flickering bulb in the kitchen, and a leaky faucet that had developed its own personality. But it was home. And right now, it was the only place that felt even remotely safe.
I locked the door behind us.
Then double-locked it.
Then dragged a chair in front of it, just in case.
Samuel (or Daniel? No. Samuel. Always Samuel.) climbed up onto the couch, legs too short to dangle, looking all serious with a toddler scowl.
"You okay?" he asked.
I stared at him.
"You're the one with a demonic nuke inside your stomach, and you're asking me if I'm okay?"
He shrugged. "It's polite."
I sat down across from him, elbows on my knees, hands in my hair.
"Okay. Let's… start simple. Do you remember being my son?"
"Yes."
"Do you remember your first word?"
"Banana."
"Do you remember throwing spaghetti in my face last week?"
"I regret nothing."
I blinked. "So… you're still Samuel?"
He hesitated.
"Yes. And also… more."
He patted his chest. "I don't know if I'm Daniel, but I have his instincts. His strength. Some of his memories. It's like someone dropped his consciousness into my head like a file I didn't ask to download."
I rubbed my face. "Okay. Okay, fine. You're part-Samuel, part-superhero-legend… and all of this started with a glowing candy rock in the park."
"Pill," he corrected. "Probably."
"Right. Pill."
He leaned back, arms behind his head like a smug CEO in a car seat. "Good news is, we have time to figure this out. Bad news is, if word gets out about what I just did back there—melting a beast into barbecue dust—there won't be any time."
I stood and paced. "So what do we do?"
"Lay low. You keep working, I keep being adorable and not setting things on fire unless absolutely necessary. Until we know what's going on, we stay quiet."
I paused. "And the part where you have a nuclear power core inside your toddler guts?"
He gave me a sheepish grin.
"That… we work on."
There was a long silence.
And then Samuel yawned. Not a powerful, commanding yawn. Not a "chosen one" yawn.
Just a two-year-old who'd had a long day.
I picked him up gently, held him close.
His little head rested on my shoulder.
He was warm.
He was real.
He was mine.
"Dada," he mumbled sleepily, "don't worry… I'll protect you."
End of chapter 2.