Bloody nails. The metallic scent in the air, like rotting meat left too long under the sun.
And that voice—deep. Raspy, rough, dragging like bones scraped against stone. Not human. Clearly not. Its body simmered like soot, dense and heavy. Smoke pretending to be shape. Beneath it, another body curled up. Her legs still hooked around the shadow man's hips—ridiculous. An intimate position twisted into torture.
Her neck tilted slightly. A hairline crack. Just a small pull, and the head popped off like a cheap porcelain doll.
But she laughed. A low giggle from the chest—not the chest of softness, but a hollow cavity filled with embers. The corner of her mouth torn, her right lip dangling, teeth jutting out of the wound like shards of broken glass.
"...but what?" she murmured, her tone amused, like a child discovering a dead worm in their friend's pants. Blood still dripped from her mouth—fresh, warm, salty.
The shadow leaned in, slipping into her breath. His eyes glowed faintly—red? purple?—like swampfire, and that smile... too self-aware. Too satisfied.
"...but not stronger than me."
Once—back in the age of stone and wounds—he stood atop a mountain of skulls. Voiceless, heartless. Blood was a river, and his tongue licked from bone to bone.
That large hand moved down, rough like ember sludge. Found a bare stomach that should've felt soft—but it wasn't the comforting kind of softness. It was disgusting. The kind that made your gut turn. Too quiet. Too compliant. His fingers rose, slowly, licking the air between two bare mounds, uncovered and shivering.
She sighed—not from pleasure. Not even from discomfort. But boredom.
Tch. If her neck wasn't held like firewood on a butcher's block, she would've jumped. Ripped that stinking creature to ribbons and tied its intestines into pretty bows.
"Your hand tickles. Are you trying to seduce me, or are you just an idiot?" Flat. Dry. Her eyes narrowed, biting back a snarl.
The shadow didn't reply. Just dug deeper. One fingertip poked a sensitive spot with no regard.
"I should be gentle with my food. My delicious food."
The fingers pressed—just enough to tighten the skin, enough to make the brain twitch in revulsion.
"Oh? Seems like you're a bit excited down there too. Don't tell me… you've got a fetish for prey that hates you?" Her tone was flat, but every word felt like a shard of bone flung into the monster's face.
The shadow chuckled. A sound layered deep, like a thousand little laughs from mouths that had no shape. His face moved closer. His breath reeked of wet soil and expired flesh.
"Too much talk, for something that's going to die."
And then—bite. Not a bite. A tear. Brutal. Deranged.
Back then, a bite meant coronation. The one who bit was the one who ruled. Blood was a signature, an inheritance, a wound that never died.
Her ear ripped off. Blood spurted, fast, rhythmic like the last seconds of a rat caught in a washing machine.
She bit her lip. Eyes wide—not in fear. But hatred.
The monster chewed—her ear—like soft candy, then swallowed in one gulp. A little moan followed, like a sick orgasm. His body trembled. Bliss.
"Mmm… you taste divine. Worth the millennia. I'd wait again."
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Back then, no one spoke after being eaten. They hissed, they laughed, they waited for their turn to return the favor.
In the next life... You are no longer the hunter. You are prey. I will become the hole in your stomach that you cannot close. I will eat you from the inside.
Bastard.
And that—was the woman's last thought. Before her skin was chewed like wax. Before her bones were snapped one by one like brittle pine branches. Before her skull went crack— Nothing left.
Back then, there was no such thing as a "noble death." Only silence. Only teeth. Only a name left to rot in history.
A pair of violet irises lazily turned toward the ceiling of a classroom that was far too clean. Too sterile for stories of naked women and monsters licking blood off their own prey's chest. How could kids be asked to read that? How could... they believe it?
"Miss, if that's in history, does that mean creatures like that are real?"
Glasses kid. The type who doesn't yet know how to hide the smell of their own armpits. Finger raised like summoning a genie.
The answer was obvious. They are real. But they wrote them like fairy tales. Watered down. Cut up. Changed blood to dust. Screams to dramatic narration.
The teacher stood at the front—default smile, weary face hidden under makeup, short hair too "neat" for someone who claimed to have two kids. "That's right," she replied. "Those creatures were called…"
Of course. The real name was never spoken. Always replaced with something safe. Something neutral. Something that wouldn't crawl out of the grave and eat them in their sleep.
"…and their existence continues even now. That's why, in this era, we have special humans. They're trained to hunt those evil beings."
Evil. A funny word. Evil—for eating? Hilarious. They call themselves human and flay cows alive for dinner.
"Miss! How do we know if someone's a special human?"
Too sharp a question for a mouth that still sucked fingers. But... good.
The teacher answered like an educational bot. "There are several ways. The simplest: instinct. Their aura feels different. Second, they often have unique traits. Third, their abilities surpass human limits."
Ah yes. Powers. A blessing to the government. A curse to the bearer.
Rivea rested her cheek in her palm. Too bright. Too noisy. Too... fragrant. This class felt like an aquarium of goldfish fighting over bread crumbs.
"Rivea."
That voice cut through her thoughts.
Rivea looked up. Heavy eyelids, pupils like pinholes, violet eyes mocking the world. "…yes?" Soft. But cold. A voice that made people unsure whether to adopt or slap her.
The teacher began to walk. History book in hand, heels tapping like tiny hammers on the floor. "I see you yawning. Not paying attention."
I hear it all. Every word. Every lie wrapped in educational tone.
She stopped two steps from Rivea's desk.
"Answer this. What year did the death of the woman occur?"
A joke of a question.
Rivea's lips curled. Not sweet. Not a little girl's smile. It looked more like a scar being peeled open.
"2025," she replied. "During the war between Dev'ra and the monster." A pause. A breath. Her violet eyes stared straight.
"Which ended… with the woman being devoured. Completely."
The classroom fell silent. Too silent for a morning meant to be filled with children's voices.
The teacher stared at her. There was something in her eyes she couldn't hide. Confusion? Fear? Or… a memory rising from the deep?
Rivea lowered her gaze, small fingers tracing nothing across her desk. She knew. That line was too specific. Too alive.
But let them be. It's not time yet. Not yet time for them to realize... that the story read in dry voices isn't a fairy tale. It's history. It's real.
The wall clock ticked like a lazy heartbeat. Forty-eight minutes past the hour. Twelve minutes to freedom. But for Rivea, time didn't move. She was trapped inside a cage of flesh that called itself human.
"That answer was... very accurate." The teacher tried to smile, but her jaw tensed slightly. Her grip on the history book tightened, a reflex she probably didn't notice. "Let's… get back to the lesson, okay?"
She turned back to her desk. Her heels sounded heavier now. Quicker. Rushed.
A chuckle followed from the back row. A boy with stiff hair and a permanently sarcastic mouth leaned back in his chair and called out, "Damn, Rivea. You read the uncut version or what?" A few kids giggled. A girl covered her mouth with her hand like she was trying to be proper. "I thought the whole 'eaten alive' thing was just made up. But… kinda creepy if it's real."
Rivea didn't turn. Her finger kept tracing faint lines into the surface of her desk—shapes with no clear meaning. Symbols never taught in school. Symbols from a time before time had a name.
"Rivea?" The voice came from her right. Nina. The sweet girl with the pink ribbon who always smelled like cupcakes. "Aren't you scared?" she whispered. "I mean… if those creatures still exist…"
Rivea lifted her chin slightly. Looked at Nina without a smile. Without emotion. Just… looked.
"I'm more afraid of humans," she murmured.
Nina laughed, awkward and unsure. Not sure if it was a joke. "Eh, yeah… true."
But she didn't speak again after that. Silence swallowed the class once more.
"Miss!" A heavy voice from the front.
A big boy in a school sports jacket. Sixth-grader, held back twice for throwing a chair at a teacher.
"Can I go to the toilet? Emergency."
The teacher checked the clock. Nodded. "Be quick." Rivea followed the boy's movement with the corner of her eye. Not because she was interested.
But because his footsteps were too light.
Too… deliberate. He walked like someone who knew he was being watched. But not by the teacher.
I smell it. That faint scent clinging to his body—not sweat, not cheap body spray. Something older. Metal. Blood.
He wasn't a normal kid.
And he wasn't alone.
Rivea leaned back again, closing her eyes.
"Veil's pulse…" she whispered, barely audible.
The skin under her arm itched suddenly.
The cracked symbol sleeping there—began to throb softly. Like an eye… almost opening.
The sky over Nythra that evening looked clear—too clear. Like the surface of water hiding a corpse underneath. Sunlight bounced off the classroom windows, casting a dull glow on the faces of kids already bored out of their minds. Then the school bell rang—splitting the air like a gong at a funeral.
But no one stood. Not a single kid reached for their bag.
The classroom door creaked open—not the homeroom teacher, but the principal himself. His smile looked like it had been stapled on after vomiting blood. "Alright, children. Out to the field. All of you."
The floor of the lower hall trembled slightly.
A chorus of footsteps echoed through the corridors. From first grade to sixth, every kid was herded toward the back field. It was usually empty at this hour. Not today.
Two figures stood at the center. Not teachers. Not staff. Not parents.
One—tall, lean, hair tied back in a dark ribbon, eyes like chipped jade. No school badge on the uniform. Didn't need one.
Shadow Council. The kind that could sniff fear from a mile away. The kind that could smell the blood of a "special" before the poor kid even knew they were a monster.
The other—big, mean, a black jacket with a silver fang embroidered at the collar. His arms covered in brutal metal gauntlets that looked like they could crack open a grown man's skull like a peanut. FANG unit. The government's own rabid dog.
"Everyone sit," the principal said, voice higher than usual. Too high.
Rivea sat in the third row from the front.
She yawned wide, then deliberately leaned into her right hand, lifting one brow.
"They look like failed superhero auditions," she whispered, just loud enough for two rows on either side to hear. The kid beside her stifled a laugh, then fake-coughed to cover it.
The FANG officer snapped a look her way. "That mouth…" he growled. His fist clenched on instinct, and a heatwave of raw presence burst from his body—enough to make three kids nearby shiver without knowing why.
But the Shadow Council figure simply raised a hand. Didn't even turn. "She's just a child." The voice was flat. But those jade eyes…they were already locked on Rivea.
And she knew. He knows who I am. Rivea smirked sideways. Damn it.
The Shadow Council figure began to walk. Not fast. Not slow. But every step felt like it was counting every heartbeat in the field. He raised a finger. Pointed to a boy in the back row.
"You. White hair. Stand."
The boy stood, casually. Messy silver hair, half-buttoned uniform, and eyes like shattered mirrors. He yawned and grinned.
"Finally. I was about to die of boredom here."
FANG growled, ready to pounce if the kid made a wrong move. But the Shadow Council just glanced at him, then looked away.
"He's clear," he said.
"But… he's not the highest."
His gaze drifted back to Rivea. And the girl met it. Not with fear. But with sheer attitude—chin raised, hand under her cheek, a smirk just shy of disrespect.
"I don't stand unless you say 'please'," she said.
FANG almost lunged. But the Shadow Council sighed quietly. "Children…" Still, in those jade eyes—something shimmered. Awe. And hunger.
Three dots.
That was it. Three unmoving dots in a sea of elementary blue uniforms.
The Shadow Council raised his hand again—and the field fell into dead silence. He pointed. Not quickly, not carelessly—like he was picking the ripest fruit from a rotten tree.
"White hair. Back row. Stand."
"Already am," the boy replied, still standing like he'd been for the past minute. He yawned again, mouth half-shaped into a just take me or leave me alone kind of vibe.
"Middle row. Sixth grade. Black hair, violet eyes."
"Me?" Rivea raised a hand, all mock innocence. "Sure? I'm kinda sleepy, y'know. Might pass out halfway there."
FANG took half a step forward. Shadow Council didn't flinch. His jade-stone eyes never left her. "Come."
Rivea stood, tugged at her wrinkled uniform, walked like she was heading to the snack bar, not a test.
And the last one—that finger turned toward the fifth-grade section.
"That one. Solen Vire."
Solen rose without a sound. Clean. Polished. Too composed for a kid his age. Gold-gray eyes, light brown hair neatly combed. He looked like a poster child for a school brochure.
And honestly? He was. The whispers from teachers along the edges of the field started up. "He's brilliant."
"Already tested. Off-the-charts IQ."
"Model student."
Three kids now stood in the center.
FANG crossed his arms, eyes scanning them like a guard sizing up which dog bites hardest.
Shadow Council turned slowly, his coat trailing like ink in water.
"No tools needed," he said—quietly, maybe to FANG, maybe the principal, maybe just to himself.
He'd probably smelled it from the start.
Solen—clean. Strong aura. Controlled.
White-haired boy—wild, like a live wire stripped bare. Dangerous, but raw with potential. Rivea—
He stared at her longer than the others. A second. Then a few more.
And Rivea stared right back, with a small smirk. "That's the third time you've looked at me like that. Crush much?"
Solen blinked slowly.
Silver-haired boy burst into laughter.
"Damn, this girl's nuts. I like her."
The Shadow Council didn't blink. "You're one of the few who don't look away."
"I prefer watching people's backs as they run," Rivea said with a shrug. "But hey, if your face is asking to be stared at, I'm not rude."
FANG growled again, hand twitching toward his baton.
But once more—he was stopped.
"I said, just children."
"Children, my ass," FANG muttered. "That one's a little monster."
Through it all, Solen remained silent.
Eyes straight ahead, hands behind his back, like he was waiting for his turn at a debate podium. Then, softly—almost a whisper:
"Are we... being taken away?"
Shadow Council turned to him.
"Not necessarily," he said. "Today... I just want to know which one of you knows—knows that you're different."
Rivea shrugged. "I knew back when my parents still thought I was a blessing. Now? They get nervous just making eye contact."
Silver boy grinned. "I knew the first time I died."
Silence.
FANG shot him a look. "Died?"
"Yup," the boy said, utterly casual. "Don't worry, just a quick one. Came right back. Cool, huh?"
Solen said nothing. But his eyes flicked—to Rivea, to the silver-haired boy. And for the first time... His perfectly calm expression cracked. Just a little.
The children had been dismissed. The teachers faded away like mist being reeled back into the fog. The schoolyard fell silent. Too silent.
Three children stood in the middle of it.
One glowed like fine gold. One like white embers that refused to die. And the last—she didn't shine at all. She pulled. Like a black hole. Drawing everything in.
The Shadow Council now stood with his back to them, facing the school principal, who was visibly sweating.
"Those two… aren't registered under any known candidates. No prior reports."
"I know," the Shadow Council said without turning. "But both of them… have kept their fangs hidden for too long."
He paused, his voice dropping like wind through an empty room. "The girl… doesn't belong to this generation."
The principal furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"
"Too early to explain. Too late to stop."
Behind him, Rivea was sitting on the ground, humming softly as she plucked grass from the earth. The silver-haired boy stood with his back to the wind, hair wild, smile too calm. Solen stood straight as ever—but his fists were clenched too tight.
FANG watched them all, then stepped closer to the Shadow Council. His voice low but firm. "If they blow up in the middle of the city… who's taking the fall?"
Only a glance came in response. "If they blow… then the city won't be big enough to contain the consequences."
Rivea stopped plucking the grass.
She looked up—toward the sky, now cracking faintly into violet. Her eyes narrowed.
"…You're all late," she said. Softly. But it hit like a blade. "I woke up a long time ago."