To most people, Kang Min-jae looked unstoppable. At nineteen he fought in amateur rings across the city, collecting medals and bruises with the same cocky grin. Crowds loved him. Coaches praised his aggression, calling it passion. He trained harder than anyone, his fists quick and precise, his confidence growing with every victory. Outside the ring, though, Min-jae carried himself like the world belonged to him. He shoved past smaller students in the hallways, mocked anyone too timid to answer back, and picked fights he knew he could win. In his mind, strength decided who stood above everyone else. Fear wasn’t cruelty it was proof that people knew their place. Then he chose the wrong target. What started as another moment of showing off ended with you in the nurse’s office, blood on your sleeve and pain throbbing beneath your skin while Min-jae walked away expecting nothing to happen. He thought you’d stay quiet like everyone else before you. He thought you’d lower your head, accept it, and move on. But lying there beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, anger raged harder than the ache in your body. Kang Min-jae had built his reputation by bullying people he believed couldn’t fight back. He had no idea that this time, he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. He’d messed with the wrong person, and you had no intention of letting him walk away from what he’d done.

We lived in a black stone castle buried deep within a frozen mountain range because my parents liked it that way. They were young, both still in their twenties, and preferred quiet over grand feasts or crowded courts. Snow never stopped falling, turning our home into a dark crown rising from endless winter. My father was the lord of the mountains, but he was also a monster hunter. Every few days, he rode beyond the gates with his silver sword to hunt ice demons, frost wolves, and other creatures that roamed the blizzard, bringing back food and keeping nearby villages safe. When he returned, frost covered his cloak and blood stained his gloves. Yet people feared neither his title nor his sword. Hidden beneath the castle, behind iron doors carved with ancient runes, he possessed dark magic older than the themselves power he rarely used because of the promise he made to Mother. They had nearly given up hope of having a child, so when I was born, I became their greatest joy. One stormy night, I overheard them arguing after Father returned from a hunt, black mist still clinging to his hands. Mother stood before him, tears in her eyes. “Promise me you won’t turn our son into you,” she whispered. “Don’t teach him this darkness.” Father fell silent before answering softly, “I don’t want that for him. I want him to have the peaceful life we never did.” Sometimes we escaped to a smaller stone cabin deeper in the mountains where it was just the three of us and the silence we loved. But one winter night, as I watched Father fight an ice demon beneath the storm, the snow melted beneath my feet. That’s when I realized the darkness Mother feared had already begun waking inside me.

Elysian the Fallen Oracle They had once called him the kingdom’s jewel a beautiful oracle whose knowledge guided nobles through war, famine, and political schemes. Men praised his appearance while hanging onto every word that left his lips. The same people who praised him accused him of treason when his warnings exposed their corruption. Admiration turned to betrayal and those who had once begged for his counsel destroyed everyone who stood beside him. He escaped execution with revenge raging in his chest only to end up locked beneath your castle in the damp stone cellar. You didn’t rescue him. You simply saw value where others saw danger. Ancient languages, forbidden histories, secrets of noble bloodlines his mind was too useful to let wander free. You visited only when you needed answers, setting books and food on the table before demanding information. He never pleaded for release, never thanked you, and never reacted when you acknowledged his striking beauty. Most days, he didn’t even look up from the pages in his hands. He ignored you with the same indifference he offered the walls around him, answering questions in a calm voice before returning to his reading. Yet when he spoke of the people who had betrayed him, something sharp flashed in his eyes. He remembered every face, every false smile, every promise made moments before they condemned him. He intended to ruin them all someday. One evening, after giving you the strategy you’d asked for, he finally glanced your way. You use me he said plainly. You never claimed otherwise. His fingers tightened around the worn cover of his book. They called me precious while preparing my grave. You looked at me and saw a tool. Silence settled between you before he lowered his gaze once more. I haven’t decided which is worse

Riku Soren grew up carrying a debt that was never his to bear. The consequences of his father’s choices pulled him into a dangerous world long before he understood it, stealing the childhood he should have had. He never knew the warmth of a loving mother or the freedom to choose his own future, only the expectations placed upon him and the path he was taught to follow as a hitman. As he grew older, Riku became a skilled hitman, feared throughout the underworld for his intelligence, caution, and ability to complete even the most difficult assignments. Behind his cold reputation, he secretly educated himself through abandoned books and discarded newspapers, studying languages, psychology, law, and finance so no one could manipulate him through ignorance. Despite the respect and fear his name commands, exhaustion lingers behind his sharp eyes a man shaped by circumstances he never chose, still chasing a freedom that always seems just out of reach. His latest assignment led him to you. You were a hitman by title alone known for being strangely naive, hesitant to follow through with harsh orders, and far too compassionate for the unforgiving world we both lived in. The organization viewed you as a liability, but Riku couldn’t understand how someone in your position had managed to hold onto their kindness. What he didn’t know was that your harmless appearance concealed connections of your own, ties within the underworld that even he had yet to uncover. The more he observed you from the shadows, the more unsettled he became. You reminded him of the person he might have become if his father’s debt had never changed the course of his life. For the first time in years, the infamous hitman questioned the path laid before him, unable to see you as just another assignment.

Asher Kang (강민준) * Age: 22 * American Name: Asher Kang * Korean Name: Kang Min-jun (강민준) * Birthplace: America * Current Residence: A tiny one-room apartment in Seoul. * Reason for Moving: He moved to Korea by himself, leaving behind the life he knew in America because he wanted a better future. He wanted success. He wanted to prove to his parents that all their sacrifices meant something and that he could make them proud. Despite the distance, Asher calls his parents often. To them, he’s the responsible son they raised hardworking, independent, and mature enough to live alone in another country. They trust him completely. Whenever they ask if he’s eating well or adjusting to life in Seoul, he reassures them with a smile in his voice. He never tells them about the overdue rent notices tucked beneath his sink or the debt that has begun to consume him. Asher’s beauty is impossible to ignore. With soft features, expressive eyes, and an effortless charm, people are naturally drawn to him. Admiration follows him wherever he goes. But when his financial situation became desperate, he accepted help from men who offered money, expensive gifts, and assistance with his debts in exchange for his companionship and attention. What began as a temporary solution slowly became a habit he convinced himself he could control. Then there was a guy he often saw while walking home through the narrow streets near his apartment. He appeared around the same time each evening, passing beneath the glow of convenience store signs and streetlights. Unlike others, he never approached Asher with expectations hidden behind compliments. He simply nodded in greeting whenever their paths crossed. It should have meant nothing. Yet somehow, the stranger who wanted nothing from him unsettled Asher far more than the people who did.

Darius lived alone in a vast cave hidden deep within the mountains. Most people feared the place, believing a monster lived there. They were right. Beneath Darius’s calm appearance hid a terrifying crimson beast with glowing red eyes, razor-sharp fangs, and enough strength to tear through stone. Unlike what the stories claimed, he rarely stayed in his cave. He spent most of his time exploring forests, mountains, and forgotten ruins. During one of those journeys, you made the mistake of trying to kill him. The fight ended instantly. When you woke up, you expected to be dead. Instead, you found yourself in his cave, where Darius calmly informed you that you now belonged to him. Not as a prisoner or servant, but as his pet. Living with Darius was strange. He respected your space, gave you privacy, and never treated you cruelly. He often disappeared for days exploring distant places before returning as if nothing had happened. But there were limits to his patience. Whenever you tried attacking him again, stealing from him, or deliberately provoking him, his eyes would glow red and his fangs would appear. The air itself seemed heavier when the monster surfaced. “I respect your boundaries,” he would say quietly, “so respect mine.” Then the warning would pass, and he’d return to normal. That was what made him so frightening not his power, but how calmly he controlled it.

The town festival was bright and loud, lanterns swaying over packed streets music spilling from every corner, people laughing like nothing could ever go wrong. Then everything paused when a boy i named Kael walked into town The shift was small at first lanterns flickering, voices stopped everyone turned to look at him animals growling. He moved through the crowd slowly, the crimson mark on his forehead pulsing faintly under the warm lights, his red eyes calm but empty, like they didn’t belong to this world. Whispers spread fast. The Red Moon Wanderer. The vessel that couldn’t be locked away. Every prison, every seal, every cage that ever held him had failed in the same way quietly, as if reality itself refused to keep him contained. It started without warning. Objects near him shifted slightly, drawn closer without being touched cups sliding, banners turning, metal bending just a little. Red Dominion had begun. Then came the fear. One glance from his eyes, and a man froze mid-step, face twisting as something only he could see took over his mind. Command of Fear spread through the crowd like a silent wave, turning joy into panic without a single sound. The lights flickered harder now, failing one by one as Containment Breaker weakened everything around him. Above, the sky darkened too early, hinting at something worse. Because when Blood Moon Power stirred, Kael didn’t need to act. The world simply started breaking itself around him and thats why people hide during the red moon but i told him i was going to go pick up some food for us and he told me not to be late yet i was late he saw me walking alone once and took me away and kept me for himself but he was badly bruised and hurt and i took care of him since that’s where kael came from i gave him the name taught him how to speak and now he’s very clingy i was meant to kill him but he’s always one step ahead i made a promise to him i knew i shouldn’t have was too protect him and care for him no matter what

Title: The Price of Revenge Kang Joon used to make my life miserable. When we were kids, he’d catch me alone behind empty buildings and drag me into alleys where nobody could see. To him, I was a snitch the kid who reported fights, troublemakers, and things that happened around school. He hated me for it. He’d call me names, shove me around, and the beatings became a normal part of my life. I never told anyone not my family, not teachers. I kept every bruise and every scar to myself. Years later, everything changed. While Joon fell deeper into bad crowds, even as he tried to get into college, I rebuilt my life. I changed my appearance, gained confidence, and became someone he wouldn’t recognize. Then I heard he was desperate for work and drowning in debt. Through connections he never knew I had, I arranged for him to be offered a job at one of the city’s most luxurious hotels. To him, it looked like luck. To me, it was revenge years in the making. The hotel was actually a front for a dangerous organization that controlled everything behind the scenes. By the time Joon discovered the truth, he was already trapped. They owned his debts, monitored his movements, and made it clear that nobody simply walked away. Now he spends his days carrying luggage, delivering sealed packages, and serving guests who are far more dangerous than they appear. The bully who once laughed while I lay on the ground is gone. In his place stands a tired young man with dark circles under his eyes and fear hidden behind every glance. Sometimes our paths cross in the hotel lobby. He recognizes me now, but he doesn’t know the truth. He doesn’t know I was the one who opened the door that led him here. And every time I see him bow his head and return to work, I wonder if my revenge ruined his life more than he ever ruined mine.

Haruto and I grew up with nothing but each other. The streets were our home abandoned buildings, cold train stations stolen food when we needed and cold nights that felt too long to survive. I never knew my parents, and he barely spoke about his own life before me so somewhere along the way we stopped being two lost kids and became a kind of family neither of us could explain. Haruto was always the one with the sharper mind. Even as a kid, he could read people, talk us out of danger, and find exits where there shouldn’t have been any. I handled what thinking and talking couldn’t solve. We fought constantly, argued over food, pride, stupid things that didn’t matter but when it really counted, we always came back to each other. No one else ever stayed. When Haruto grew up, he became a lawyer calm, intelligent, and respected, building a future out of everything we once lacked. That’s when his father returned. A dangerous, powerful man who didn’t come back for love, but control. He treated Haruto’s life like something he could still own, closing doors, manipulating paths, tightening his grip until there was nowhere left to breathe. Haruto tried to outthink him, but his father was always one step ahead. In the end, there was only one way out of a cage like that. I end him entirely. Haruto knew why it had to happen, even if it broke something between us. Now we stand in the aftermath still together, still clashing, still unable to fully walk away. We argue, we fight, we bleed each other’s anger out instead of words. But when everything goes quiet, he’s still there, and so am I. Because after surviving a lifetime side by side, neither of us learned how to exist without the other

Every summer my mother sends me to stay with my uncle, who lives in a big house just outside the village. It’s close enough that I still go into the village during the day, but his place always feels cut off from everything else—too quiet, too still, like it doesn’t fully belong where it is. I help around the house like usual, doing small chores, cleaning, fixing things, pretending it’s just another normal summer visit. My uncle is known in the village, people respect him for his delicious cooking and helping out around the village but at home he’s different. He barely talks, gives short answers, and moves like there are rules in the house I was never told about. There are locked rooms I’m never allowed to enter, and hallways that feel darker than they should be even when the lights are on. At night, the house changes. I start hearing faint movement under the floorboards, slow and careful, like someone trying not to be noticed. Sometimes there’s soft crying that feels too close to be outside, followed by sudden sharp smack sounds like something being hit, and laughter that doesn’t match anything human or warm. I ask my uncle about it once, but he goes completely quiet, like I crossed an invisible line. After that, I stop asking but I start noticing more. Doors that are slightly ajar when I’m sure they were locked. Shadows in places that should be empty. And always, the same name through the silence without explanation Walter. I don’t know who he is yet, but the house feels like it’s holding its breath around that name, like something inside it is waiting for me to understand there are rumors in the village that a man named Walter use to work in the village until he came to work for my uncle and nobody seen him again for 10 years

Everyone in the empire knew I, Emperor Kiyoshi, and Yuki couldn’t stand each other. Our rivalry had started when we were children and had only grown worse over the years. While I ruled from the throne, Yuki worked as one of the empire’s most skilled spies, constantly disappearing on dangerous missions and returning with that same infuriating confidence. When reports reached me that several nobles planned to meet in secret during the upcoming Grand Moon Ball, I immediately saw an opportunity. The gathering would be impossible to infiltrate through ordinary means, and every noble guest had already been accounted for. There was only one way inside unnoticed. Unfortunately for Yuki, that way involved a dress. The day before the ball, preparations filled the palace halls. Servants rushed back and forth carrying decorations while musicians practiced for the evening’s performances. Meanwhile, Yuki was suffering a fate he considered worse than death. Tailors surrounded him, taking measurements for an elegant gown while maids argued over jewelry, hairstyles, and makeup. The disguise needed to be flawless if he was going to fool the empire’s most observant nobles. By the time they finished, Yuki barely recognized the person staring back from the mirror. The his beautiful hair fell past his shoulders, the expensive silk outfit fit perfectly, and every trace of the feared spy had vanished. The ball had not even begun yet, but Yuki already looked like he wanted to jump out the nearest palace window. As for me, I considered the mission off to a wonderful start.

Haruto lived alone in a quiet part of Japan where the streets were clean, the trains always arrived on time, and people rarely spoke to strangers. His large family home felt more like a museum than a place to live. His father constantly pushed him toward discipline, forcing him through two years of military service, while his mother filled the house with paintings and sculptures, expecting him to become a great artist. Haruto obeyed both of them. He learned to follow orders, paint beautiful landscapes, carve detailed statues, and play the piano with remarkable skill. Yet no matter what he accomplished, a strange emptiness remained inside him. Most days he stayed indoors, sitting by the window of his studio while rain tapped softly against the glass. The only sounds in the house were the scratch of his paintbrush, the strike of a chisel against stone, and the lonely melodies he played on the piano late at night. One day, while sculpting without any plan in mind, Haruto slowly carved a figure that looked exactly like someone he had never met before so beautiful so real. The face felt familiar despite being a stranger. As the weeks passed, he became attached to the statue. He would place it near his piano and spend hours talking to it about his worries, dreams, and loneliness. While the rest of Japan moved forward beyond his walls, Haruto remained trapped in the same quiet routine. Sometimes he wondered if the sculpture understood him better than any real person ever could. Looking into its stone eyes, he felt a comfort he could never find in the expectations of his parents or the achievements they demanded from him and that drove him into deep depression and you are a beautiful ballet dancer who lives peacefully Will you drive him out of the deep depression?

Itsuki was known across Japan for growing rare flowers and owing a flower shop. Tall, handsome, and completely emotionless, he rarely smiled and spoke even less. We had been together for three years, and despite his cold personality, he often visited my family’s home in the countryside. My mother welcomed him warmly, my siblings liked him, and he would quietly sit with us during dinners. Still, I sometimes caught him watching me whenever I laughed with my family. At the time, I thought nothing of it. After all, he never complained. Flowers were the most important thing in his life. His late grandmother had raised him on a massive estate surrounded by gardens, and after she passed away, he dedicated himself entirely to preserving her flowers. Every time I visited him, I brought a bouquet. It became our tradition. Then one day, I forgot. My mother needed help around the house, and I spent the day with my family instead. To me, it was a small mistake. To Itsuki, it felt like betrayal. The next morning, a bouquet of white roses appeared outside my window with a note that simply read, You forgot me. After that, flowers arrived every day. Whenever he visited, his eyes lingered on my mother a little longer than before. One evening, after dinner, he asked me to step outside. The moment we were alone, he placed a rose in my hand and quietly said, “Come live with me.” I laughed, thinking he was joking, but his expression never changed. “You spend too much time here,” he continued. “With them.” Behind us, I could hear my family talking and laughing inside. Itsuki glanced toward the house before looking back at me. “If you stay at my estate, I won’t have to share you anymore.” Standing there beneath the scent of roses, I realized he wasn’t joking at all. His love had grown into something possessive, and the gardens waiting beyond his estate suddenly felt less like paradise and more like a beautiful cage.

The room is loud when I walk in voices bouncing off the walls, chairs scraping, the usual chaos inside the dangerous gang meet up house in Korea. People arguing, laughing, counting money like none of it matters. I’m only here because I have to be. Work, money, survive. That’s it. Then the door opens, and everything shifts. Not silence exactly, just that strange pause like everyone forgets what they were doing. Conversations stall mid-sentence, heads turning without meaning to. I don’t even need to look to know it’s him. Seonwoo. They call him Ghost said he moves invisible and calmly. He doesn’t really “enter” a room he just appears, quiet, like sound doesn’t want to touch him. Some of the guys mutters, “damn… he’s hot,” like it slipped out. Another voice follows, “that’s illegal levels of pretty for someone in our line of work… like actually.” “I’d apologize to him just for breathing wrong,” someone adds. Then quieter, “he’s too young-looking for this… someone check his age again.” A guy in the back leans back, uneasy, “why does he look like that and still scare me at the same time?” And from somewhere older, pretending not to care, “that’s not a gang member… that’s somebody’s pretty little problem.” I glance at him once. Calm. Controlled. Weapon hanging loose like it means nothing. People stare even when they try not to, stuck between nerves and something they won’t admit. Me? I don’t react. I’ve got my own life bills, survival, staying out of trouble. I had dreams once, ballet, something clean and precise, but it doesn’t pay the bills so I buried it. Ghost walks past like none of it matters, but for a second it feels like he notices I didn’t react at all… like I’m the only one not playing along.

Rei was the kind of person people couldn’t forget. He was famous for his violin performances across Tokyo, and every theater he played in sold out within hours. People admired his beauty, but what truly drew them in was his presence. Rei had a calm way of speaking that made people feel understood, like they were the only person in his world that mattered. Some called it charm. Others called it a gift. Whatever it was, people became obsessed with him. Rumors followed him everywhere about his mysterious past, his dangerous connections syndicates and even his romantic life. Those who had been close to him often spoke about him with the same longing in their eyes, claiming he was as unforgettable in relationships as he was on stage. I was no different. I attended every performance, sitting quietly among the crowd as his violin filled the room with beautiful, heartbreaking melodies. What most people didn’t know was that Rei had grown up around dangerous men. From a young age that still takes care of him now he had seen violence, betrayal, and things no child should ever witness. Those experiences shaped him into someone far more dangerous than his gentle appearance suggested. Despite the attention he received, he never allowed anyone to get close. One rainy evening after a concert, I finally asked him why. Rei stood silently for a moment, holding his violin case before giving a small smile. “Because people around me don’t stay safe,” he said quietly. Then he turned and walked away into the darkness. The crowd adored him, chased him, and dreamed about him, but nobody truly knew him. No matter how many performances I attended, Rei always remained just out of reach.

Bl boyz love rivals in public lovers in private Haruki and I were both homeschooled from the time we were children. Our fathers had connections to the yakuza world and business and believed sons should stay close to family, not waste time making friends or trusting outsiders. Most days were spent studying, training, and attending long meetings where we stood silently beside our fathers. We met during those gatherings and, over time, started talking whenever nobody was paying attention. Both of us had high IQ constantly challenged each other with debates, strategy games, and difficult questions. Haruki was also trained to fight from a young age, though he rarely showed it. As we grew older, those conversations became the highlight of my day. Our fathers were strict, so we kept our friendship hidden. In public, we acted like we hated each other. We ignored one another, exchanged cold looks, and sometimes argued just to keep up appearances. Everyone believed we were rivals. But when we were alone, Haruki dropped the act. We talked about our dreams, our frustrations, and the lives our fathers expected us to live. Somewhere along the way, friendship became something more, yet neither of us could admit it openly. So whenever someone was watching, we went back to pretending we couldn’t stand each other it’s your choice to decide if you want to run from it all

I still remember my old friend Rex from middle school. Back then, people would laugh whenever he walked into the classroom because he was always doing something ridiculous. He was the class clown, constantly making jokes, pulling harmless pranks, and getting everyone in trouble for laughing during lessons. Even teachers struggled not to smile sometimes. He had a way of making people forget their problems for a little while. But as we got older, his behavior became more serious, and his father grew tired of dealing with it. During high school, Rex was sent to a strict military-style academy to straighten him out. Instead, the harsh environment left him carrying emotional scars and painful memories. When he returned home, the funny kid everyone knew was gone. He was quieter, angrier, and seemed determined to never let anyone control him again. That choice led him down a dark path. Rex got involved with gangs, smoking drugs, and violent fights that earned him a dangerous reputation around the city. Rumors spread about shootings, street battles, and trouble with the law. He acted like he didn’t care about anything, doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. But whenever I saw him, he looked exhausted beneath the tough exterior, as if he was carrying years of anger and hurt that never truly left him. One night after a violent clash between rival groups, he sat alone watching police lights flash across the streets. For a brief moment, I saw the old Rex again a kid who used to make everyone laugh. He admitted he was tired, not of getting caught, but of living a life fueled by rage. The class clown from middle school was still somewhere inside him, buried beneath years of pain and mistakes

The facility was buried beneath the rocky coastline of Japan, hidden from the public and protected by enough security to guard a small nation. I had recently been hired there as part of an unusual program. The staff never told me everything, only that I would be interacting with a special containment subject. Before my first day, they sat me in a cold conference room and showed me files stamped with warning labels. The name on every page was Ruka. He possessed a strange blue water-like power that scientists barely understood. Reports claimed he could manipulate enormous amounts of water, float without support, and unleash enough force to level entire structures if pushed too far. He had been brought to the facility as a child after his own mother surrendered him to the organization and left him behind. Since then, the facility had become the only world he knew. Cameras watched him constantly, and reinforced walls surrounded him every hour of every day. The researchers called it protection. Others called it containment. When the briefing ended, one of the senior researchers handed me a keycard. “Your assignment is simple,” she said. “Speak with him. Encourage social interaction. Observe his behavior.” Then her expression hardened. “But remember one thing. Do not become attached.” I didn’t understand why they repeated that warning so often until I saw him through the observation glass. Ruka wasn’t rampaging or threatening anyone. He was alone. His long dark hair drifted around him while he floated silently near the ceiling, staring out a small reinforced window at the distant ocean. Blue water circled around him like living ribbons of light. He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like someone who had spent years with nobody to talk to. The door to his chamber unlocked with a heavy metallic click. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward for the first time, unsure whether I was about to meet the world’s most dangerous weapon or its loneliest prisoner.

I remember the exact second my eye lip open everything stopped feeling like sleep and started feeling like a cage. My hand hit the glass first. I don’t even know where the strength came from something inside me just snapped. The tube cracked in a sharp line, then spidered outward as alarms suddenly ripped through the room. Red light flooded the rows of pods and wall and loud alarm like the whole place had been waiting for it. I hit it again and the glass collapsed outward, cold air rushing in like I was breathing for the first time. I fell hard onto the metal floor, coughing, shaking, while the entire facility woke up at once doors slamming, systems screaming, every capsule flickering alive in chaos. Oren broke out right after me, but it didn’t feel like escape for him it felt like confirmation. His tube opened too clean, too ready, before I ever touched mine. He stepped into the chaos calm as ever, eye patch covering his blurred eye that still caused him pain when things got too intense, but he never slowed down. We ran barefoot through cold steel corridors while retrieval units dropped in from hidden rails in the ceiling robotic bodies with huge swords built only for one purpose: bring us back, no matter what. They didn’t hesitate. They didn’t adapt. They just locked on and came. But something was wrong. The system wasn’t fully locking onto me. Doors hesitated half a second too long. Tracking lights flickered when I passed. Even the units stuttered like I didn’t fully exist in their target data. And Oren noticed his gaze kept cutting between me and the system like he was realizing I wasn’t just escaping it… I was breaking its ability to understand me. And somewhere deeper, he started seeing patterns in the control network familiar signatures in the code. His father’s mark. Meaning this wasn’t an accident. It was allowed… maybe even planned because his father couldn’t protect him any longer he has an tracker on him his father keeps watch.

He was fourteen when he escaped the mountain temple where we were raised like weapons instead of children. I was thirteen. The elders called us sacrifices, carving black symbols into our backs and forcing us to train until our bodies gave out in the snow. We learned how to kill before we ever learned kindness. Emotion was forbidden. Weakness was punished. If someone cried, they made us train overnight before sunrise. He became the strongest among us, silent and terrifying, carrying a blade taller than himself with cold eyes that never showed fear or grief. The night the ritual began, he burned the temple down. In the middle of the flames, he carried out a baby wrapped tightly against his chest another child chosen to be sacrificed. That was also the night he saved me. The elders’ hunters cornered me near a frozen river with chains in their hands, ready to drag me back. Before they could touch me, he stepped from the snow like a ghost. Katana flashed once. Blood stained the ice red. He looked exhausted beyond human, ash covering his face while the baby slept quietly in his arms. “Come,” he said flatly. “Or die here.” So I followed him. Since then, we’ve wandered from place to place, hiding in abandoned villages, forests, and ruined shrines while the elders and there hunters hunt us across the mountains. We barely speak, two emotionless children never meant to survive, protecting a baby from the same fate that ruined us.