Lucas's magic broke ancient laws.
Laws not made by men, but sealed by the first bloodlines of witches, centuries ago.
And there is always a price for disturbing the balance.
When the witch Ayama, a direct descendant of the Deveraux line, felt the distortion in the veil of reality, she acted.
Without warning. Without mercy.
On a quiet night, as Lucas moved across the rooftops of New Orleans, an unnatural wind surrounded him. The stars vanished. The city dissolved. And then… silence.
When he opened his eyes, Lucas was somewhere else.
The sky was gray and motionless. Time did not flow there. The streets looked like distorted copies of the real world, but everything was empty, as if the universe had stopped breathing.
He had been banished to a Prison World — a parallel dimension created by ancient witches as a form of eternal punishment.
But what Ayama didn't foresee… was that Lucas would not despair.
He would adapt.
In the first weeks, he explored every corner of that deserted realm.
He soon realized that the rules there were different.
The prison world was a prison — yes.
But it was also a forgotten library, an endless magical source, where every spell ever cast, banned, or forsaken by the great witch families still echoed, like shadows imprinted on the fabric of time.
Lucas began to study it all.
The Deveraux grimoires, the marks of the Labonair, the tribal prayers of African warlocks, the forgotten invocations of the Nordic ice witches.
He read. He learned. He practiced.
There, there were no limits.
No time.
No interruptions.
Lucas turned exile into sanctuary.
And with time, he began to command that world itself. The structures obeyed him. The magic acknowledged him. Time itself began to bend to his will.
He was the Lord of the Prison World.
And then, after years — or perhaps centuries, it was impossible to know — he decided it was time.
Time to return.
Using an impossible conjunction of three simultaneous eclipses and the blood seal of the thirteen witch houses, Lucas tore a hole through reality.
And like a king crossing back into his kingdom — he emerged.
New Orleans still stood. The real world had continued on.
But now, something had changed.
He had returned…
And this time, he didn't need to ask for space.
He was the space.
He was the power.