Cameras flash and shutters click in Luca's ears as the 2025 World Chess Championship trophy is placed in his hands. Twenty years of hard work had finally paid off. Countless nights spent memorizing openings, studying positions from games long since forgotten.
His sacrifices had finally borne fruit. This was the beginning of the rest of Luca's life.
Smiles surrounded him—hands reaching out, voices offering congratulations—but beneath it all, a familiar weight pressed down on his chest. His parents were no longer there to see this moment.
No mother waiting at home with his favorite chicken dish after a tournament.No father pulling him into a tight embrace, telling him how proud he was.
Luca steels himself and forces another smile as yet another camera flashes.
A microphone is placed in his hand, and he's asked to say a few words about the journey that brought him here. A lump rises in his throat, catching everything he wants to say. The crowd watches him expectantly.
He exhales and finally speaks.
"I'm here, Mom. Dad. I made it—just like you said I would. I wish you were here to celebrate this moment with me, but I know you're both looking down, cheering me on."
He pauses, steadying his voice.
"To all my competitors, thank you. You pushed me to be better every game. I'm sure we'll have even more intense battles next year."
A small smile returns.
"Thank you, everyone."
Luca steps off the stage as another wave of camera flashes follows him.
Luca steps off the stage, another wave of flashes following him.
The trophy still heavy in his hands as he sets it down on his kitchen table.
Luca removes his coat and kneels before the small memorial shrine to his parents. A single photograph rests on the table—three smiling faces frozen in a happier time. He lights the two candles beside the frame, the flames trembling as if disturbed by an unseen draft.
He closes his eyes and prays in silence. Not for victory. Not for success. Just for them.
When he finally stands, his legs feel heavier than they should. He orders food out of habit, barely registering the screen before setting the phone aside.
Drawn by a quiet ache, Luca steps into his parents' bedroom. The air inside feels different—still, preserved. Nothing has been moved since the accident. The bed is neatly made. The clock on the wall stopped at 2:17.
His chest tightens.
The grief hits him all at once. His breath shudders, vision blurring as he stumbles toward the closet beside the bed. He reaches out—
The door swings open.
Luca falls forward, his head striking the frame. Pain flashes white. He groans, rubbing the sore spot as he blinks the room back into focus.
That's when he sees it.
Something glints faintly near the top shelf—catching the candlelight that shouldn't reach this far.
Curious, he stretches up and touches it. The material is thin, crinkling softly beneath his fingers. He pulls it free.
A small crown made of gold-colored plastic film.
His breath catches.
He remembers—sitting at the kitchen table at five years old, scissors in hand, proudly declaring this would be his crown when he became the king of chess. His parents laughing. Encouraging him. Believing him without question.
Luca lets out a quiet laugh that quickly turns into a shaky exhale. He places the crown on his head.
For a moment, nothing happens.
Then the room seems to tilt.
Images flash through his mind—boards arranged differently, unfamiliar openings, games that feel almost remembered. His heart pounds as the sensation fades as quickly as it came, leaving only a dull ringing in his ears.
Luca lowers his hand slowly. "...What was that?"
The doorbell rings sharply.
"Food delivery!" a man shouts from downstairs.
The spell breaks. Luca exhales, removing the crown—but pauses. After a moment's hesitation, he places it back on his head.
He wipes his eyes and heads for the door, unaware that the stopped clock in the bedroom ticks forward by one second.
Luca fails to notice the loose stair floorboard and stumbles forward. He stretches his arms out instinctively, closing his eyes to brace for impact.
Time seems to slow. Each second drags on endlessly as he waits for his hands and face to meet the hardwood floor.
Why does this fall feel so long? Is this how my life ends?
People say that at the end of a person's life, everything slows down, that your life flashes before your eyes and every moment stretches forever.
But Luca feels nothing. The stories are wrong. No life-flash, no final memories—only silence.
When he opens his eyes, a glowing fog envelopes him, pulsing with colors he can't name. Shapes drift within it—almost memories, but not quite his. He catches fleeting glimpses of a chessboard, pieces moving on their own, and the tiny golden crown from his childhood floating above a table that isn't there.
A whisper brushes against his ear, soft yet certain: "Welcome home, King."