His eyes opened slowly.
A sharp pain throbbed behind his forehead. He groaned, placing a trembling hand over his skull.
"What the hell happened…?"
His body felt numb, weak. He tried to stand, but collapsed to one knee. That's when he saw it—The corpse.
Still there. Still dead.
"It wasn't… a dream?"
He had often seen strange visions—killing people he'd never met, hearing voices, watching impossible things unfold. But never had he thought those dreams could bleed into reality.
He looked around. Something felt… wrong.
The chains. They were smaller.
Shriveled. Weak.
There was no weight pulling at his limbs. No steel biting into his wrists.
Even the cell… had changed.
The walls, once stone and cold, now bled slow trails of black blood. The door—gone. A hole had taken its place, a passageway carved from absence.
"Am I still dreaming?" he whispered.
He stepped toward the body, staring into the face of the man he had killed—or rather, whose blood had claimed him.
Memories echoed.
Not his own, but the man's.
A name rose from the fog of pain: Felton.
Not a member of a noble bloodline, but his blood had been pure. That alone had given him strength. But when his wife turned into a Blood Wraith, something inside him snapped. Alcohol dulled the ache, but not the madness. And so, the Law of Blood exiled him to the lower district—to Niveros.
And he had come here, to this cell, for one reason only.
Cruelty.
He tried to make sense of it all—Felton's memories, lower district, Niveros, the bloodline, the law of blood, the screaming pain in his head.
Too much.
His vision blurred. He gripped his temples.
"Damn it… why does it hurt so much?"
And then—A thought. "The voice."
He forced his lips open, breath ragged.
"Hey, voice. Answer me."
Silence.
Anger bubbled up in his chest.
"I know you can hear me, you bastard. Answer me!"
And then, cold and amused, the voice returned.
"Shut up, wretch. Let me enjoy my meal."
He froze.
"Meal…?"
No answer this time.
He clenched his fists, fury building, but something else tugged at him. A sensation he'd never felt before—like curiosity mixed with warmth.
The opening.
The exit.
Light. Sky. Air. People.
Things he had only heard about in whispers. In myths.
He moved toward it.
The corridor was long, dark, silent.
No guards.
No wind.
Just death's quiet echo.
He turned a corner. Stairs. Spiraling upward.
And then—A voice.
Soft. Feminine.
"Stranger… are you really going to leave a girl here all alone?"
He stopped, stunned. He had never heard such a voice before—never heard anything so kind in this place.
He turned.
Another cell. Attached to his.
A whisper of sorrow came next:
"I've been locked here for so long… I did nothing wrong. Please, help me."
He stepped closer, narrowed his eyes.
"I don't have a key. Goodbye."
"Wait—wait! You don't need a key. Just… send a pulse. The cell will respond."
He blinked.
"Pulse? What are you talking about?"
"Seriously? What, were you born here or something?"
He paused.
"…Yeah. I was."
A sigh came from the other side.
And then—Mist.
White and smooth, pouring from beneath the cell door. It crept toward him, glowing faintly, swirling into shape.
A figure emerged from it.
A boy, around his age, with hair split in two colors—half snow white, half crimson red. He wore a bright smile.
"Hi. I'm Nyros. I'm sixteen. You?"
He stared.
He had heard a girl's voice—he was certain. But he didn't question it.
"I don't have a name. I don't know how old I am. But…"
He paused.
"There was a voice… it always called me Zek'arun."
Nyros's eyes widened slightly.
Then softened. He lowered his hand slowly.
"Zek'arun, huh… That name carries weight."
He smiled again.
"It's the voice of your bloodline talking to you. But that name's a bit much. Mind if I call you something else?"
He didn't answer.
Zek'arun sounded strange. Heavy.
But also… familiar.
"Sure."
"Okay then… How about Kael?"
He tilted his head, waiting.
The boy didn't know how to smile.
He had never done it before.
But deep inside, he felt something warm.
He nodded.
"Kael."
It fit.
"Why did you sound like a girl earlier?" he asked.
Nyros grinned.
"Because men are more likely to help a damsel in distress."
"Why didn't you leave before?"
"Couldn't. Not without a pulse. Yours unlocked my cell, and I wanted to see what kind of person you were."He paused, then added:
"Don't worry. I'll explain pulses later. Come on. Let's get out of this place. I'll show you the whole damn world."
He threw an arm around Kael's shoulder and began walking with him.
Kael didn't pull away.
No one had ever touched him like that before.
No one had ever smiled at him.
No one had ever stayed.
Maybe things were going to change.
Maybe…
He wasn't alone anymore.