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Chapter Text

The shotgun trembled slightly in Sunoo’s hands, its barrel aimed at the wooden target ahead—splintered and peppered with buckshot scars from previous trainees. The air around him was sharp with cold and the faint metallic scent of gunpowder. Sweat clung to the back of his neck despite the early morning chill, and he blinked rapidly, trying to keep his focus.

His finger hovered near the trigger.

Focus. Breathe. Exhale. Shoot.

“Again, Sunoo,” barked the instructor, his voice cutting across the range like a whip. “You're not breathing with your shot. You’re hesitating.”

Sunoo swallowed, his jaw tightening.

He’d missed.

Again.

The tall grass beyond the board was shifting from the impact—he’d hit the edge, just barely grazing the outer circle. It wasn’t enough. Not for him. Not for the respected Kim’s family descendants.

Behind him, some of the other trainees whispered quietly, their voices like thorns pricking at his pride. Most of them were older. Stronger. They didn’t come from a bloodline with centuries of history. They weren’t carrying the weight of a legacy forged in vampire blood.

But Sunoo was.

The Kims were a name known in hushed reverence—an old bloodline of elite hunters gifted with something not everyone had: vampiric sensitivity . It ran in their blood like a curse, or a gift, depending on who you asked. A psychic edge. An instinct that flared when a vampire was near. Not perfect. Not always reliable. But powerful enough that the elders considered it sacred.

Sunoo had always felt it—faint, under the surface, like a ripple in still water whenever a vampire passed through the town's history books. His father said it would grow stronger with time, sharpen with pain and experience. But all he felt now was pressure. The expectation to be perfect.

Because he wasn’t just anyone . He was a hunter in training, yes—but more than that, he was his father’s son.

“Keep your stance firm,” his father used to say during their weekend practices back home, out in the woods behind their house. “Don’t let the weapon control you. You control the weapon. Vampires don’t give second chances.”

But in the safety of the camp’s range, Sunoo was still trying to earn his first.

He squared his feet again, adjusting his grip. The shotgun was heavy. Not just in weight, but in purpose. Every shot he fired was supposed to bring him closer to what his family expected him to be—a protector, a warrior, someone who would never flinch in the face of blood or death.

And yet here he was, flinching.

He remembered his father’s hands guiding his younger self. “ There’s more to vampires than fangs and their blood hunger, ” he had said once, voice low as they polished weapons together. “ They're clever. They remember faces. They charm. They mimic. They survive. That’s why we must be sharper. Smarter. ”

That was the kind of hunter Sunoo was supposed to become. Cold. Efficient. A legacy weapon passed down through generations.

But it was hard to feel like a weapon when the steel in your hands trembled slightly with each breath.

The training camp sprawled across the hills just outside of town, surrounded by forest on all sides. It wasn’t luxurious—just rows of cabins, a weapons bunker, and a handful of instructors hardened by experience. This place wasn’t about comfort. It was about survival. It was the kind of place people only came to if they were meant to kill things that couldn’t die easily.

And yet, the town itself had been peaceful for years. Too peaceful.

No new attacks. No confirmed sightings. No blood-drained bodies in alleyways or stories of silver-eyed strangers in the night.

The other trainees sometimes joked that they were being prepared for a war that ended decades ago. But Sunoo’s parents didn’t believe that peace would last. Especially his father.

“You don’t train for now ,” his dad had told him, voice low and firm as he packed Sunoo’s gear for camp. “You train for what will come.”

So Sunoo had come here. Missing school. Missing normal teenage things. Missing birthdays and weekends and the warmth of home. All to prepare for a threat that hadn’t shown itself in years. All to not disappoint the ghosts of his bloodline.

“Ready?” the instructor called again.

Sunoo didn’t respond with words. He narrowed his eyes at the target and inhaled slowly, shoulders rising and falling with careful rhythm. He aligned his sight. This time, he didn’t let the nervous thoughts distract him. He didn’t think about what his father would say, or the whispers of the others, or the echo of missed shots.

He exhaled.

Pulled the trigger.

The blast tore through the still air, deafening and final.

Smoke curled from the barrel.

When the dust settled, he finally looked.

The buckshot had landed—not perfectly, but this time it struck the inner circle. A marked improvement.

Someone behind him let out a soft whistle. Another muttered, “Took him long enough.”

But the instructor only nodded. “Better. Again.”

And so Sunoo reloaded, fingers moving faster now, more certain. His heart still beat a little too fast, and his arms still felt sore from the weight of expectations—but the shot had landed. That was enough for today.

He wasn’t a full-fledged hunter yet.

But he was on his way.

And somewhere, far beyond the hills, in the shadows of a world he hadn’t touched yet— something was waiting .

Something that would change everything he thought he knew about the cold ones.

–

The training session had ended just before sunset. The sky, once clear and pale, was now soaked in warm strokes of pink and deep amber. The air cooled quickly in the hills surrounding the hunter’s camp, and by the time Sunoo stepped into the shower, the mountain chill had already begun to settle into his skin.

He let the warm water run down his back, scrubbing the gunpowder residue from his hands, his face, the back of his neck. His muscles ached—thighs sore from stance drills, arms heavy from the weight of the shotgun. He’d improved, sure, but every shot felt like dragging the sun out of his body. He leaned his head against the tiled wall, letting the heat seep into his bones.

Fifteen minutes later, towel-dried and dressed in soft clothes that didn’t smell like sweat or gun oil, Sunoo made his way back down the dirt path to the main house.

Unlike the utilitarian barracks where the other trainees stayed, the Kim family home was built like a fortress disguised as a farmhouse—wooden walls reinforced with cold steel, runes etched into every doorway, and a silver-embedded threshold. It sat just a few paces from the training camp, positioned strategically so that his father could supervise everything with a glance.

Inside, the smell of warm rice, grilled meat, and spiced broth greeted him like a memory. The dining table was already set, the yellow overhead light casting a soft glow across the space.

“Evening,” his mother said gently as he entered. She wore an apron over her clothes, her dark hair pulled into a low braid. Her smile was weary but proud, the kind that tried to make up for the life their family was bound to.

Sunoo gave a short nod, not quite smiling back.

He slid into his usual seat without a word, grabbing a plate and spooning rice onto it. His younger cousin, a bright-eyed girl who hadn’t yet been inducted into training, sat at the far end of the table, swinging her legs and sneaking bites before grace was said.

His father entered last, as always. Broad-shouldered and silent, still dressed in his work clothes from the day—boots with traces of dirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his presence alone commanding attention. He sat across from Sunoo, eyes scanning the table, then landing on his son.

“Well?” he asked.

Sunoo didn’t look up. “Fine.”

“Did you hit your marks?”

“I said it was fine .”

There was a silence. His mother paused, looking between them.

“You look tired,” she offered softly, trying to smooth the edges. “Eat more. You’ll feel better.”

But Sunoo barely responded. His chopsticks moved listlessly across his plate, and his shoulders felt stiff and cold despite the warm food.

“I just don’t get why I have to do all this,” he muttered suddenly, almost to himself—but loud enough that the entire table went still.

His father looked up. “What?”

“The shooting. The training. The tracking drills.” Sunoo looked directly at him now, his voice rising, frustration bubbling out in sharp corners. “It’s not like the vampires are coming back. This town hasn’t seen anything in years. The gates are protected, there’s no sign of a breach. So what’s the point?”

His cousin stopped chewing. His mother set her spoon down.

His father didn’t speak immediately. He let the silence sit—long, cold, deliberate—before leaning back in his chair with a deep exhale. That sigh alone told Sunoo what was coming.

“Have I told you,” his father began slowly, voice low and even, “about the year they did come?”

“Yes,” Sunoo said flatly.

“I’ll tell you again.”

Sunoo rolled his eyes and looked down at his plate, jaw clenched. He didn’t want to hear it again. The same story. The same fear disguised as duty. But his father’s voice cut through the air anyway.

“It was twenty years ago. During the Spring Festival. The whole town was out—lights strung across the streets, music playing, the carnival rides in full swing. People danced in the square. Laughed. Ate candy from the booths.”

He paused, looking far past the dinner table, eyes distant.

“And then, around dusk… the screaming started.”

His mother closed her eyes for a moment, quietly reliving it too.

“It was chaos,” his father continued. “People dropping where they stood. Blood on their throats. Some were dragged away so fast, it was like they vanished. No one knew what was happening. Not until I saw their eyes. Red. Glowing. Starved. They tore through the fair like wolves in a pen full of sheep.”

Sunoo’s grip on his chopsticks tightened slightly.

“I ran home,” his father went on, voice colder now. “Grabbed what I could—silver blades, stakes, the flint launcher. I remember opening the front door and seeing my neighbor’s son dead on the porch. Just lying there. His mouth open like he’d been trying to scream. But he couldn’t. His throat was already gone.”

The table was deathly quiet now.

“There were only five of us in the town who knew how to fight vampires. Just five. The rest of them—we had to hide them in the town hall, board up the windows, hold them there while we fought through the night. If we hadn’t, that town wouldn’t exist anymore. None of us would.”

He looked at Sunoo then—hard, unwavering.

“That’s why you learn to shoot. That’s why you train , Sunoo. Because when it happens again—and it will —I need to know that you won’t hesitate.”

Sunoo stared at his plate, lips drawn in a tight line. He heard every word. Every terrifying detail. And yet, a bitter thought still burned in his chest.

“That was twenty years ago,” he said under his breath. “They’re gone.”

“Do you know that?” his father challenged, leaning forward now. “Do you know what’s hiding beyond the woods? Behind the borders? What blood is waiting in silence?”

Sunoo said nothing. He just chewed slowly, swallowing anger along with his rice. The room didn’t breathe.

When he finally finished his plate, he stood quietly.

“I’m done.”

His mother reached for his arm, concerned, but he stepped away.

And with that, he retreated to the back hall and climbed the stairs to the loft where his bunk was tucked beneath a slanted ceiling. The wooden walls creaked with age, whispering the voices of a home built on old blood.

He collapsed onto the mattress and reached under his pillow, pulling out the thick, worn book he'd been reading for weeks now. Its leather cover was cracked, and the pages smelled of dust and candle wax. The title etched in faded ink: Vampyra: Nature, Weakness, and Evolution.

He flipped to a bookmarked page.

"A vampire’s hunger is never truly sated. It sleeps, yes—but only for a time. And when it wakes, it remembers where it last fed."

He read that line twice.

And despite everything—his anger, his exhaustion—Sunoo felt a cold ripple in the back of his mind.

His family legacy wasn't just blood and pride.

It was preparation.

It was a warning.

Even peace had teeth, if you waited long enough.

–

The sun rose pale and reluctant over the hills, casting long shadows through the trees that surrounded the hunter training camp. Mist still clung low to the forest floor, curling like ghostly fingers around the base of the cabins and training grounds. Birds chirped somewhere high above, but their songs were muffled—like the camp itself was holding its breath.

Sunoo tugged the zipper of his jacket up to his chin and shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked the gravel path toward the mess cabin. His boots crunched the frost-bitten leaves beneath him, and his muscles ached from yesterday’s drills. Sleep had come slowly, broken up by strange dreams and too many thoughts clawing at his brain like claws scratching against a closed door.

He didn’t notice Jake waiting by the camp gate until a rock landed near his boot.

“Hey, princess,” Jake grinned, his voice warm in the cool air. “The world’s ending and you’re walking like it’s Sunday brunch.”

Sunoo blinked, startled out of his thoughts, then rolled his eyes with a tired smile. “It’s too early for you to be this loud.”

Jake straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wooden post, brushing back the stray strands of blonde hair that always fell into his eyes. He was wearing his usual half-zipped uniform jacket, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and boots still a bit muddy from yesterday’s survival training.

“Come on,” he said, falling into step beside Sunoo. “Schedule for today?”

Sunoo exhaled through his nose. “Weapon maintenance, blood tracking drills, and then sparring in the pit after lunch.”

Jake winced. “That pit’s hell. Especially with In-gyu running today’s matchups.”

“Yeah,” Sunoo muttered. “He loves breaking noses.”

They walked together past the barracks and the target range where fresh boards had already been set up. A few trainees were dragging their feet to the mess hall while others jogged past them with a little too much energy. Sunoo rubbed the back of his neck absently. His body was awake, but his mind still felt like it was trying to crawl back under his blanket.

“Oh,” Jake said suddenly, nudging Sunoo’s shoulder. “Congrats, by the way.”

Sunoo looked at him, puzzled.

“You didn’t check?”

“Check what?”

Jake smirked. “Evaluation results came out this morning. You’re in the top five. Again.”

Sunoo blinked, stopping mid-step. “Wait. What?”

Jake pulled out a folded printout from his jacket pocket and waved it at him. “Look. Right there. Kim Sunoo. Ranked fourth overall. One of the instructors posted it outside the admin cabin.”

Sunoo stared at the list as Jake opened it.

There it was.

#4 - Kim Sunoo

Right below someone named Seungmin, and above two others he vaguely recognized. Jake’s name was further down—not by much, but enough to earn some smugness.

“Huh,” Sunoo muttered. “Didn’t think I’d make it.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You hit your mark yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Barely.”

“But you did. You’re just too used to being perfect.”

Sunoo didn’t respond right away. He kept walking, folding his arms tightly over his chest. For a moment, the cool air felt heavier. He could still hear his dad’s voice from last night echoing in his mind, the blood-soaked memory of the Spring Festival, and the image of the neighbor’s son dead on the porch.

“Last night,” he said after a long pause, “my dad told me the story again.”

Jake glanced over.

“About the attack?”

“Yeah. The festival. The fair. All of it.” Sunoo kicked a stray rock off the path. “I’ve heard it before, but this time it felt… different. I don’t know. He talked like it could happen any day again. Like it’s inevitable.”

“It is,” Jake replied simply.

Sunoo looked over at him. “How can you be so sure?”

Jake shrugged. “Because evil doesn’t vanish. It sleeps. It waits. That’s what all the elders say, right?”

Sunoo sighed, loud and exasperated. “That’s just it, though. There are a hundred towns out there. Hundreds of cities, villages, abandoned places. If vampires really are coming back, why would they come here? What is it about this stupid town that makes it such a perfect buffet?”

He was rambling now, hands gesturing as if they could shape his frustration into something solid. “I mean—we have the gates, the runes, the guards. The barriers are blessed monthly. The church rings the old bells. No one even talks about vampires anymore. So why are we still training like we’re on the brink of war?”

Jake was quiet for a beat, watching him carefully.

“Because,” he said slowly, “when the war does come back… I’d rather be the one holding the blade than the one hiding behind a table.”

Sunoo’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

Jake continued, his tone gentler now. “I know it sucks. Missing everything. Growing up like this. But we’re not doing this because we’re cursed. We’re doing this because no one else can.”

Sunoo looked away, jaw clenched. “Feels like a curse.”

“Maybe it is,” Jake admitted. “But at least we can turn it into something useful.”

They reached the edge of the training grounds, where instructors were setting up for the first session. Other students filtered in, weapons slung over shoulders and chatter echoing faintly through the trees.

Jake gave him a nudge. “Come on. Fourth place. You should be proud.”

Sunoo let out a breath. “Not until I beat you.”

Jake grinned. “You wish.”

They stood there for a moment, side by side, as the early morning fog lifted just slightly, revealing the clear sky above. Somewhere in the distance, the faint cry of a bird pierced the quiet—high, strange, and not entirely familiar.

Sunoo glanced toward the forest.

Something in his chest shifted.

A faint ripple. A tug.

Like something brushing the edge of his consciousness.

But it faded just as quickly.

He blinked. Shook it off.

Just the wind.

“Let’s go,” he said, pushing the thought away. “We’ve got vampires to kill.”

Jake laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

And together, they stepped onto the training field—two sons of the old blood, readying themselves for monsters they hoped would never come.

Chapter Text

The cafeteria buzzed with the low murmur of tired voices, the clatter of cutlery, and the occasional burst of laughter. Fluorescent lights cast a dull yellow glow over the long rows of tables. Most of the students were halfway through their meals, hair damp from evening showers and uniforms loose after a long day’s training.

Sunoo sat across from Jake, nursing a bowl of soup and picking at a plate of stir-fried rice he hadn’t touched much. Jake was halfway through a second helping, still rambling about the sparring session earlier.

“I’m just saying,” Jake said between bites, “next time In-gyu throws you in the pit with that monster from Unit B, just duck left. He always swings high. You could’ve used his own momentum to knock him flat.”

Sunoo tried to smirk, but something was… off .

It started as a buzz. A soft, high-pitched ringing in the back of his skull. At first, he thought it was just fatigue—maybe dehydration or a bad headache setting in.

But then the buzzing turned into a throb .

A pulsing pressure that clawed behind his eyes, like something deep inside his head was knocking—hard.

He blinked.

The cafeteria blurred slightly. Shapes shifted in and out of focus.

The sound of forks scraping plates grew louder, too loud, and his hands began to tremble as he reached for his glass of water.

“Sunoo?”

Jake’s voice pierced through the haze.

Sunoo didn’t answer right away.

“Hey,” Jake repeated, more urgently this time, leaning forward. “You alright?”

“I—” Sunoo started, but the ringing intensified, and his shoulders hunched inward. He dropped his spoon with a sharp clink.

“Shit—Sunoo?” Jake shot out of his seat just in time to steady him as he swayed. A few students glanced their way, concerned.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Sunoo whispered, wincing. “My head—it’s pounding. Like... pressure. Right here.” He tapped his temple with two shaking fingers. “Like it’s inside my skull.”

Jake frowned, steadying him. “Hey, hey, breathe. You’re okay. Let’s just—” he paused mid-sentence. “Wait. What the hell is that?”

“What?”

“Your hand.”

Sunoo blinked through the fog of pain and looked down.

On the back of his pale right hand, just below the knuckle of his index finger, was something that hadn’t been there earlier.

A small, inky mark—no larger than a coin. It shimmered faintly under the cafeteria light. Its shape wasn’t clear, more like a fractured star or a jagged flame. Faint but unmistakable. As if it had been burned beneath his skin instead of drawn.

“Is that—?” Sunoo choked.

Jake’s face went pale. “You don’t have a tattoo, right?”

“What? No!” Sunoo’s voice was sharp with panic. “You know I don’t!”

“Okay, okay—finish your food. Quick. We’re going back to your room. Now.”

They ate what they could in rushed silence, Sunoo hiding his marked hand under the table, his appetite gone. His head still buzzed faintly, but the sharp pain had dulled. The ringing faded into a kind of hum, distant but persistent. Jake practically shoved the last spoonful of rice into his mouth, then grabbed both trays and dumped them.

They slipped out of the cafeteria unnoticed, heads down.

Sunoo’s room was tucked in the loft cabin near the end of the row—modest, quiet, and warm with the faint scent of sandalwood from his incense stash. The window was cracked slightly to let in the night air, and his bunk was neatly made except for the blanket he always forgot to fold.

Jake locked the door behind them, then went straight for the tall bookcase crammed with old hunter texts, maps, notes, and dusty field manuals.

Sunoo dropped onto his bed, staring at his hand. The mark was still there—ink-black and jagged, like a warning etched directly into his skin. He turned it over again and again, hoping it would fade.

It didn’t.

“Jake…” he murmured. “It’s still here.”

Jake didn’t respond. He was already dragging books from the shelves, flipping through them one after another. Titles in faded gold: Hunter’s Lore , Bloodlines of the Sacred Order , The Tracker’s Codex .

“I read something about this—like, a mark that appears when someone comes of age. A rare thing, especially for descendants of the Core Lines. I remember…” He pulled a thick book bound in cracked leather. “Here.”

He opened it to a bookmarked page, scanning fast. Then he stopped, finger pressing into the yellowed page.

“ The Hunter’s Mark ,” he read aloud. “A hereditary manifestation appearing in rare vampire-hunting bloodlines. Activated only when a hunter reaches psychic maturity.”

Sunoo looked up, wide-eyed.

Jake kept reading. “Symptoms of activation: auditory disturbance, pressure in the skull, trembling, and localized pain. The Mark appears on the dominant hand and signals proximity to vampire energy. It serves as a warning system, not a weapon.”

Sunoo rubbed his hand nervously. “So… it’s real?”

Jake nodded, slowly. “It’s very real. And only elite bloodlines have it. You’re the first I’ve ever seen with an actual confirmed mark.”

Sunoo swallowed. “What does it mean?”

Jake looked back at the page. “Listen to this—‘ The Mark flares when vampire presence is detected in the vicinity. The closer the vampire, the more prominent the Mark becomes. Pain increases with proximity. When no vampire is present, the Mark vanishes. ’”

Sunoo stared down at his hand. The Mark hadn’t vanished.

Jake was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he said, “That means... something’s out there.”

The room fell into stillness.

Wind whispered against the windowpane. A branch creaked outside.

Sunoo felt his pulse spike. “You’re telling me—there’s a vampire nearby ?”

“Not close,” Jake said quickly. “If it was close, you’d be screaming. But somewhere within range. That’s probably what triggered the Mark to appear.”

“But the camp’s protected,” Sunoo said, eyes darting. “The barriers—”

“Barriers don’t stop detection ,” Jake said, setting the book down. “They only block entry. Whatever this is, it’s close enough to ping your bloodline’s senses. Close enough to be picked up, but not close enough to cross the wards.”

Sunoo pulled his knees to his chest. “So what do I do now? Wait until it disappears?”

Jake looked at him seriously. “We monitor it. We keep track of when it appears and if it spreads. If the Mark stays… we report it.”

Sunoo was quiet, staring at the flames of the Hunter’s Mark.

“I don’t want to be marked ,” he whispered. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know,” Jake said gently. He sat beside him, bumping their shoulders together. “But you’re not alone, okay? We’ve trained for this. You’ve trained for this.”

Sunoo’s lips tightened.

“I thought I had time,” he murmured. “Time before it got real.”

Jake didn’t answer right away.

Then he said, “Sometimes, inevitable fate doesn’t wait.”

Sunoo looked at his hand again. The mark was still there—faint, but glowing softly in the pale moonlight.

— 

Sleep didn’t come.

It visited Sunoo in fleeting, broken pieces—brief, scattered, sharp around the edges.

Every time his body fell into rest, something pulled him back.

At first, it was just sweat. Heat rising off his body like he had a fever. The sheets clung to him. His pillow was damp, and the back of his neck burned like someone had pressed a hot coin against it. He tossed and turned, fingers curling in the fabric of his blanket as if grounding himself to reality.

But then the visions started.

They weren’t dreams. Dreams were softer, abstract. These were too real. Too clear.

He saw it again and again:

A forest. Dense, ancient, almost alive. The trees stretched impossibly tall—so tall, their canopies blocked out the sky, drowning the world in a bluish-grey light. Moss curled around their trunks like veins. Fog hung low between them like smoke.

And somewhere beneath the trees— a figure .

Still. Watching.

He couldn’t make out a face. Just the outline of a person. No movement. No sound. But it felt wrong. Like the silence was not absence—but intentional. Engineered.

Each time Sunoo tried to move toward it in the vision, he would jolt awake, heart hammering like it was trying to punch through his ribs. He’d gasp into the darkness of his room, chest heaving, drenched in sweat, limbs stiff with fear.

He didn’t scream.

But he wanted to.

By the time morning came, he felt like a shell—eyes heavy, stomach tight, hands trembling no matter how hard he tried to steady them. He splashed cold water over his face until it numbed him, then forced himself into his uniform and headed for the campgrounds.

Jake was already waiting by the edge of the archery field, spinning a dull knife between his fingers as he leaned against the low fence.

“You look like death,” he said the moment Sunoo walked up.

Sunoo didn’t even try to be witty. “Didn’t sleep.”

Jake’s smile faded fast. He stepped closer. “Was it the Mark?”

Sunoo held up his hand. The faint sigil still glimmered there—small, about the size of a thumbprint, but perfectly defined like a burn carved into skin and then healed over.

“It didn’t fade,” Sunoo murmured. “All night. It pulsed around 3 a.m., then again around five. That’s the only reason I know I even slept .”

Jake stared at the mark, jaw tight. “That’s not normal. It should’ve disappeared if the vampire moved out of range.”

Sunoo rubbed his wrist, voice lowering. “I think they’re still close. Just… not close enough to trip the boundary wards.”

Jake looked around, then motioned for Sunoo to follow him toward the garden wall by the east bench—an old meeting spot for them since they were kids.

“Do we tell our dads?” Jake asked in a whisper. “There’s a parent meeting tonight anyway. Could just… drop it in. Subtle. Like, ‘Oh hey, our elite bloodline friend has a literal pain signal in his hand. No big deal.’”

Sunoo sank onto the bench and let out a heavy sigh. “They’ll restrict me if we tell them. Lock me in the safe room or keep me under observation. You know how they are.”

Jake sat beside him. “Yeah, because they don’t want you dead.”

“I’m not dying,” Sunoo muttered. But even he didn’t believe it.

Jake studied his face—how pale he looked in the morning light, the exhaustion carved under his eyes, the sweat clinging to his temples despite the cool breeze. “Sunoo, you’re shaking.”

“I know,” he whispered, curling his fingers tightly into fists. “I know, I know…”

And then it hit again.

Harder.

A sharp, blinding sting behind his eyes.

The air around him seemed to press in , and all at once, the pressure in his skull snapped like a live wire.

He let out a choked sound, knees buckling beneath him.

“Sunoo!”

Jake caught him before he collapsed, lowering him carefully onto the bench, gripping his shoulders.

“It hurts—” Sunoo gasped. “It hurts , Jake—it’s like someone’s screaming inside my head but not using sound—!”

Jake was wide-eyed, panic quickly taking over. “Okay. Okay. Shit—breathe, Sunoo. Look at me. Hey— look at me. ”

Sunoo’s vision was tunneling. The pain spread through his head like a poison, down into his chest, his spine. His hand—his marked hand—was burning.

Jake held his face between both hands, firm but steady. “You’re not alone. You’re not alone. I’ve got you, Sunoo. Just breathe, okay? In—out.”

They stayed like that for a long moment.

Sunoo’s breathing was ragged, sweat dripping down his neck, eyes glassy.

And slowly— so slowly —the pain receded.

The mark dimmed, the pressure inside his skull easing back to a dull ache.

Sunoo slumped against Jake, utterly drained. “What… the hell was that?”

Jake exhaled shakily. “That was not normal.”

“I’ve had vision fragments since last night,” Sunoo mumbled. “There’s this forest. Tall trees. I can’t hear anything in it. And someone’s there. Not moving. Just watching. Every time I try to move toward them I wake up.”

Jake looked unsettled. “That’s not just a vision. That’s… a signal.”

“A vampire signal?”

Jake hesitated. “...Yeah.”

Sunoo pressed his palm to his forehead. “So what? I’m linked to them now? One-sided brain calls in the middle of the night?”

Jake stood up, pacing. “It might be more than that. If the vampire is strong enough to send visions , they’re not just a fledgling. They’re old. Very old.”

Sunoo’s stomach sank.

Jake turned back toward him. “We can’t wait. We need to tell your dad. Mine too. Tonight’s the parent summit. No more hiding it, Sunoo. If someone’s playing with your head through the Mark, they’ve already targeted you.”

Sunoo swallowed hard.

He looked at his hand.

The mark still flickered.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

Jake sat down again and grabbed his wrist tightly. “Good. That means you know it’s real. And we’re going to face it together. ”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was heavy.

Because somewhere, not far from the camp…

Beneath towering, ancient trees—

Something waited.

And it had already chosen him .

Chapter Text

The cafeteria buzzed with the aftertaste of the parent-senior summit, whispers spreading like wildfire.

Everyone knew something had changed.

The council hadn’t emerged with the usual bored expressions and polite nods. This time, the air had been different—taut with purpose. Like a storm just about to hit.

Sunoo and Jake barely had time to towel off after their late afternoon stake-throwing class before a message came through their comm bracelets. One of the senior instructors had told them bluntly: “Sunoo. Jake. Report to the old Strategy Room. Now.”

They didn’t question it.

Both of them had grown up with expectations riding on their backs like armor they could never take off. Top of their class. Sons of hunters. 

Leaders-in-the-making. And this time, first up on the list.

The Strategy Room had been untouched since the last real vampire conflict two decades ago. A narrow, low-lit space hidden beneath the chapel building, its concrete walls lined with outdated maps, old war pins, and war-worn journals still bearing the blood stains of forgotten names.

Jake pushed open the heavy door. His father, tall and built like a soldier, was already there. Sunoo’s father stood beside him, arms crossed, speaking in a tone low but urgent.

They turned when the boys entered.

Jake nudged Sunoo subtly, heart already racing. This was it. They had to tell them. About the mark. The visions. Everything.

“Sit down,” Sunoo’s father said. His voice didn’t rise, but the command in it was impossible to disobey.

They sat.

Jake cleared his throat. “Sir, actually—before anything else, there’s something we—”

Sunoo’s elbow nudged him, sharply.

Jake blinked. “—uh. Something we’re… glad to be involved in.”

His father raised a brow. Sunoo kept his eyes locked forward, face neutral.

Jake bit the inside of his cheek but didn’t push further.

“We’ve finalized a new addition to the curriculum,” Sunoo’s father said, walking toward the dusty wall map. “We’ve reached a point where the students—especially the advanced tier—need more than mock drills and theoretical threat prep. They need exposure.”

“Exposure… to what , exactly?” Jake asked.

“Uncertainty,” his father replied. “Movement. Vulnerability. Risk.”

He stepped back, and Sunoo’s father took over. “As of tonight, a rotational patrol course will begin. Pairs of students. Each night, new routes. Each pair will carry live weapon gear—stakes, flares, comms, and limited-use blood flash sensors. You will not engage unless given clearance. You will report anything suspicious. And if something goes wrong, you call for backup immediately.”

Sunoo’s pulse flickered at his throat. Jake gave him a side glance.

“This is real, then,” Jake said. “You think… something’s here?”

Sunoo’s father didn’t deny it. “Something will always be here. It is just that we know they are hiding and waiting for the right time to move. We, as humans that are sharper, need to be prepared no matter what.”

Sunoo’s fingers clenched beneath the table.

“The first patrol will start with the two of you,” Jake’s father continued. “You’ll take Route Three—between the lower border of the training grounds and the southern tree line. It’s a short circuit. Fifteen-minute walks between four checkpoints. At each station, you’ll sign into the logbook, scan your ID, and report your area status on comms.”

Jake swallowed. “Tonight?”

“Tonight.”

They stood. Instructions were quick after that. Maps were handed out. Comms reconfigured. Their weapons issued—refitted retractable stake grips and a curved dagger each. Jake took his like second nature. Sunoo stared at his weapons longer.

“You’ll report to Checkpoint Alpha at 2100 hours,” Sunoo’s father finished. 

“Dismissed.”

They bowed, turned, and walked out.

Jake was silent until they reached the hallway near the weapon lockers.

Then: “Sunoo.”

Sunoo didn’t answer.

Jake grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop.

“What the hell was that back there?”

“I panicked,” Sunoo mumbled.

Jake looked at him incredulously. “You panicked ?”

Sunoo avoided his eyes. “If we told them about the mark, they’d pull me out. I need to know what’s going on first. And I need to feel it out myself .”

“Sunoo—”

“I’m not backing out,” Sunoo snapped, voice low and rough. “I’m going. I’m doing this. I just… I need, just a little more time.”

Jake clenched his jaw but didn’t say more. He stared at the boy in front of him—this strange combination of fragile and fearless. His friend. His rival. His partner .

They both knew the night was coming fast.

At exactly 9:00 p.m., the comms pinged.

Sunoo and Jake stood at the border gate of Checkpoint Alpha, dressed in full gear. Wind stirred around them, kicking up dust and dried leaves. Their boots crunched against the gravel path, their breath fogging faintly in the air.

The checkpoint was just a wooden post hut with a lantern and a bench. Inside, a battered metal lockbox held the logbook.

Jake opened it. The pages inside were clean, save for the date written in thick ink.

He handed the pen to Sunoo.

“You first.”

Sunoo’s fingers hesitated.

Then he wrote his name.

Right beneath it, Jake added his own.

Their names sat side by side. Sharp. Present. Real.

There was no turning back now.

The sound of their names scratching into the logbook still echoed in Sunoo’s ears as they stepped away from the checkpoint.

Jake closed the box with a metallic clack , double-checked the lantern’s position, then swung his flashlight forward. “Alright. Route Three,” he muttered, checking his comm. “Four checkpoints.Checkpoint A to B, B to C, and then back to A.”

Sunoo nodded, unfolding the creased map under the thin beam of light. “We’re heading southeast first. Then we follow the trail markers near the cliff ridge—if we reach that, we’re halfway.”

The wind picked up slightly, rustling the dead leaves across the gravel road as they moved toward the edge of the sealed grounds.

Just ahead, two iron pylons stood at the border. Between them, a faint shimmer of protective spellwork glimmered like glass under moonlight— the Seal . A defensive perimeter made decades ago, when vampire attacks were frequent and savage. No one passed through it unless authorized, and no one outside could break in without alerting the whole compound.

Until now, it had never felt real. Just history.

Sunoo stepped forward, map in hand, eyes scanning the shimmer.

Jake placed a hand on his shoulder. “You good?”

Sunoo inhaled. “Yeah.”

Together, they passed through.

The moment they crossed the Seal, there was no sound. The wind died. Even their boots seemed quieter against the dirt.

It felt like the woods themselves were holding their breath.

Jake kept his flashlight steady ahead. “Alright,” he said softly. “This is it.”

They walked for a moment in silence, the forest dense and dark around them, the trail barely wide enough for the two to walk side by side.

Jake eventually broke it. “You sure you should be out here?” His voice was quiet, but pointed. “The mark’s still there. I saw it this morning.”

Sunoo glanced at his hand.

Even in the dim light, the faint ink-like shape was still visible. Not large. No pain. Just present . Like a whisper beneath the skin.

“I haven’t felt anything since,” he replied. “No ringing. No pressure. It’s like… it’s dormant.”

Jake looked unconvinced. “Yeah, but it’s there. And you said the mark only appears when something’s in the area. That has to mean something.”

“I know,” Sunoo said. “But that’s the thing. It means something’s close—but not here . Not close enough to be a threat.”

He paused, voice softer. “If I don’t face this now… when will I?”

Jake gave him a side glance, his jaw tense. “You're not supposed to face it alone.”

Sunoo smiled, faintly. “That’s why you're here, right?”

Jake rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. They walked further, moving past the brush and onto a narrow clearing between the trees.

Fireflies hovered like quiet watchers. Moonlight filtered through the branches above.

“But let’s say,” Jake continued, “hypothetically, that the mark is real. That it’s not some fluke or some—symbolic puberty thing.”

Sunoo snorted. “Wow, thank you.”

Jake grinned but stayed serious. “Let’s say it is what we think. A vampire hunter’s mark. You’re already developing the vampire sense—visions, pain, ringing. That puts you in danger, Sunoo. They will come for you first.”

Sunoo didn’t reply immediately. He watched the woods ahead, eyes sharp despite the calm.

“I’m not afraid of it,” he said at last.

Jake stopped walking. “That’s the thing. You should be.”

Sunoo turned back to him.

Jake stepped closer, his voice dropping lower. “You think your family name protects you? That just because you’re born into it, you can handle everything alone?”

“I don’t think that—”

“You’ve been acting like it,” Jake cut in. “Since the mark appeared, you’ve been trying to figure it out yourself. Hiding it. Risking more than just your own safety.”

Sunoo’s hands tightened around the map. “I have to understand what this is. It’s part of me.”

Jake exhaled sharply, then looked away. “Yeah, well… if it hurts you again, I’m dragging you back to camp myself.”

They walked in silence again.

A few meters later, they came across the second patrol checkpoint: Checkpoint B.

It was half-sunken into overgrowth, an old wooden post with a rusted lantern and a faded box containing the logbook. Sunoo signed their names again, Jake right after. There was no sound but the quiet rasp of ink on paper.

As they stood there, the air suddenly shifted.

Sunoo froze.

“...Did you feel that?” he whispered.

Jake’s hand immediately reached for his weapon. “What?”

But Sunoo shook his head. “Nothing. I thought—” He looked at his hand. The mark hadn’t changed. Still small. Still silent.

Jake scanned the woods. “We should move fast to Checkpoint C. This spot is too exposed.”

“Yeah,” Sunoo said quietly.

They pressed on, now slightly more tense. Their earlier conversation still lingered between them—unfinished, unresolved. But there wasn’t time.

Behind them, the wind picked up again. Just a little.

Unseen… something watched .

And ahead of them, someone waited.

–

The trees thickened as they pressed further along the path, silence hanging over them like a curse.

Fifteen minutes passed without a word.

Only the rhythmic crunch of boots over leaves kept the forest from falling into absolute stillness.

Jake's flashlight flicked back and forth, scanning the undergrowth. The slope to their left fell into a steep drop lined with black pine, while the right curved upward into jagged rocks and dense brush. It was the kind of silence that made every shadow feel too sharp.

“We’re close,” Sunoo said quietly, gripping the map tightly.

Jake pointed ahead with the beam. “There.”

Just barely visible beneath a sloping willow tree, an old wooden stand came into view. Unlike the earlier ones, this one seemed untouched for months — covered in moss, the logbook sealed in a rusted metal box chained to the post.

Jake jogged forward, crouched down and wrestled it open.

“Same thing,” he said over his shoulder. “Name and timestamp.”

Sunoo followed, still quiet. His fingers trembled slightly as he signed beside Jake’s name. He had been keeping steady the whole walk — no pain, no noise, not even a shimmer in the mark. It felt too quiet.

Too still.

Then, it hit.

Sunoo gasped, stumbling back from the post as if burned.

His knees buckled, hand flying to his temple.

The throbbing was back. Sharp. Blinding.

Jake dropped the flashlight and lunged forward, catching Sunoo under the arms. “Sunoo—hey, hey—what’s happening?”

Sunoo’s breath hitched. His eyes were wide with panic. “It hurts—Jake, it’s the mark— ”

Jake looked down at his friend’s hand.

The mark… was spreading.

What had once been a vague, ink-smudge shape now bloomed into jagged curves, dark tendrils crawling up toward Sunoo’s wrist like veins under the skin. The edges pulsed, glowing faintly in the dark like embers.

Jake’s blood ran cold.

“Shit,” he muttered, looking around, his senses spiking.

That’s when he felt it.

A shift in the air.

The cold wasn’t natural — it crept in from behind the trees, seeping through the fabric of his jacket like invisible frost. The flashlight beam flickered slightly as if the batteries were draining too fast.

And then he saw it.

A figure.

Not close. But close enough .

Half-shrouded in the dark beneath the trees, standing still — too still.

Tall, lean. Long black coat. The way the moonlight touched his pale cheekbone. A glint of eyes that were… too bright .

Jake froze.

“Sunoo…” he whispered.

Sunoo, still shivering against his shoulder, turned his head weakly.

The moment he saw the shape among the trees — something in him screamed .

His body arched like he’d been electrocuted, a strangled shout tearing from his throat. Jake gripped him tight, pulling him close, trying to ground him.

Then Jake looked up again—

The figure was gone.

No sound. No movement. Not even a rustle of leaves where the shape had been. Just… empty trees.

Sunoo slumped against Jake’s chest, gasping, drenched in sweat.

Jake’s heart hammered in his chest.

“What the hell was that…” he breathed, scanning the woods.

But there was nothing.

Only the air, returning to normal temperature.

The trees, still again.

Jake looked down — the mark on Sunoo’s hand was receding.

Shrinking.

The jagged lines curled back inward until only the original small symbol remained… and then even that flickered faintly… and began to fade.

Jake shook his head, trying to calm himself. “This isn’t normal. That wasn’t just a presence. That was— someone . A vampire.”

Sunoo blinked slowly, voice hoarse. “I saw… I saw his eyes.”

Jake looked at him.

Sunoo’s hand curled in his, still trembling. “He wasn’t just any vampire, Jake. He was… he looked—” He swallowed. “Young. Human, almost. Not like the old stories. But he wasn’t human.”

Jake stared into the trees again, jaw clenched. “We need to report this.”

But Sunoo didn’t answer right away.

He was staring at the last traces of the mark on his hand… a part of him still shaken by what he had seen.

A part of him was drawn to it.

By the time they reached the camp gates, the weight of the encounter still clung to their backs like fog.

The security ward at the forest’s edge pulsed faintly with an invisible line of protection. As they stepped through it, both boys felt the familiar warmth wash over them — the boundary’s quiet confirmation that they were now within safety’s reach. But it didn’t ease the knot in Sunoo’s chest.

Jake glanced at him.

“You okay?”

Sunoo nodded, but his hand twitched by his side. “Yeah. Just… keep what we said, okay?”

Jake hesitated, but then nodded back. “I got you.”

The main lodge was still lit despite the hour. It was almost midnight. Lamps inside glowed dim and golden, casting long shadows onto the veranda. The sounds of crickets buzzed faintly around them. A few other patrol teams had already returned, their muffled voices echoing through the hallway inside.

Jake pushed open the door, and Sunoo followed.

The two of them were immediately greeted by the sharp eyes of their fathers — Mr. Sim and Mr. Kim — standing at the back of the lodge near the records desk. Both were tall, broad-shouldered, with the kind of battle-worn auras that only long-serving vampire hunters carried. Their cloaks hung beside them on hooks, weapons neatly disarmed.

“You’re late,” Jake’s dad said simply, stepping forward.

“We hit the last checkpoint,” Jake replied calmly. “Everything’s logged.”

Sunoo quietly placed the signed slip into the patrol ledger. He kept his eyes down. He felt his father’s gaze on him, heavy and expectant.

“And? Any sign of movement?” his father asked, voice unreadable.

Jake hesitated. Then said, “We felt… something.”

His dad raised a brow. “Something?”

“The woods were cold near the last checkpoint,” Jake continued. “Felt wrong. Like something was… just beyond the trees. Sunoo felt it too.”

His father turned to Sunoo. “Is that true?”

Sunoo’s shoulders tensed. He met his father’s gaze but kept his voice even.

“Yes, sir. But it left as quickly as it came. We couldn’t see anything clearly.”

Not a lie. Not entirely.

But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

His hand, hidden in the fold of his jacket sleeve, twitched again as he remembered the mark — how it had seared into his skin like fire, how it grew and pulsed like it was alive .

And worse — how a part of him didn’t hate it.

His father exchanged a look with Jake’s dad, then nodded once.

“You did well,” he said. “Tomorrow, you two will sit with the other top squads and give a short recount during the evaluation session. We’ll go over potential threats, weak spots in the patrol grid, and reassess the wards.”

Jake nodded crisply.

Sunoo did the same, though his stomach twisted.

They were dismissed shortly after — a simple gesture of the hand, like their fathers were already deep in discussion again. The moment the door shut behind them, Sunoo finally let out the breath he’d been holding.

Jake turned to him. “You sure about this? About not telling them about your Hunter’s mark?”

Sunoo looked down at his hand. The mark was barely a shadow now — so faint it could be mistaken for dirt or old ink.

“Not yet,” he said softly. “I just… I need time.”

Jake didn’t push him. He just walked beside him as they made their way back to the sleeping quarters, the gravel path crunching beneath their boots.

When they reached Sunoo’s cabin, the porch light flickered on automatically.

Jake stopped at the bottom of the steps. “You gonna be okay?”

Sunoo turned toward him. The moon was high behind Jake’s head, casting him in a soft white glow.

“I don’t know what this means yet,” Sunoo whispered. “The mark. The dreams. That figure. But I need to understand it on my own terms. Not just because my father says I’m meant to hunt. I want to know what it really means to be… me .”

Jake tilted his head. “You don’t think you already are?”

Sunoo smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think I’ve been pretending to be something my whole life. Training to become a hunter because I had to. Because it’s in my blood. But now… it’s not just blood anymore. It’s inside me.”

Jake stepped closer. “Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Sunoo nodded slowly, grateful.

And after Jake left, once he was alone in the quiet of his room, Sunoo finally rolled up his sleeve. The mark was gone. Vanished, like it had never been there.

But he could literally feel it.

Lingering. 

Something had changed that night in the woods — something beyond the physical. A tether had formed. A pull. A sense of knowing that something had seen him… and would see him again.

And for the first time, he didn’t know whether he was terrified… or intrigued.

Chapter Text

A scream shattered the laughter first — sharp, cutting through the music and chatter like a knife. It came from the carousel. Then another. Then many.

By the time the first body hit the cobblestone, the night was already lost.

The sky turned black with smoke, and the sweet smells were devoured by the stench of burning wood and blood.

The carnival fairgrounds — once glowing with fairy lights — were now engulfed in flame. Booths cracked and sizzled. The Ferris wheel groaned, unmoving, its silhouette wreathed in fire.

The vampires came like shadows in the blaze — not old ones, not like the ancients of legend, but vicious and hungry. Their eyes glowed faint amber, and their faces were smeared with blood. They moved in packs, quick and merciless, cornering townsfolk and sinking their fangs into open throats without a whisper of hesitation.

Mr. Sim reloaded his shotgun with quick, mechanical movements, the gleam of his wedding ring catching the firelight.

“Three at your left,” he growled.

Mr. Kim, standing beside him with his own sawed-off double-barrel, nodded. “I see them.”

They moved like seasoned soldiers — the instincts of vampire hunters passed down through generations etched into every breath.

Sim fired first — the sound boomed through the night. The blessed shell exploded through the first vampire’s chest, searing flesh with sanctified salt and splinters of holy wood.

The creature shrieked, collapsing in on itself as its bones snapped and twisted into dust.

Kim spun around the fountain’s edge and shot clean through another’s spine. The bullet burst with a spray of light and vapor, knocking the vampire forward before it burst into crumbling ash mid-air.

A third lunged from the left — too fast.

But Sim met it with the long iron stake in his left hand. He ducked, rolled under the vampire’s grasp, and shoved it upward through its sternum.

The vampire’s face twisted in shock before its body convulsed, shriveled, and fell limp.

“Reloading!” Sim barked.

“I’ll cover,” Kim answered, eyes sharp beneath his furrowed brow. He stepped forward, pulling a silver dagger from his belt and hurling it into another vampire who was pinning a young woman to the burning wall of the taffy booth.

The blade hit true — straight into its temple.

The woman fell to her knees, sobbing.

“Get out of here!” Kim shouted at her. “Run!”

The streets were chaotic.

Fathers carried their children. Mothers screamed for their loved ones. Shopkeepers tried to fight with brooms and wooden poles, only to be struck down in seconds. Horses pulling festival carts broke free and galloped into the trees, terrified.

Old men shielded young boys. Sisters screamed for their brothers. And beneath it all — the sound of fire. Of crackling timber and collapsing structures.

The church bells rang — not for mass, but for emergency. The signal to hide. The signal that the hunters were out and the town was no longer safe.

Mr. Kim spotted another cluster of vampires gathering near the old bakery — dragging a man from behind a fruit stall.

He cursed under his breath. “They’re flanking.”

Sim reloaded with a final snap. “Then we cut through. Like old times?”

“Like old times.”

They charged.

The next ten minutes were pure adrenaline — bullets, knives, fire, screams. The kind of terror that etched itself into the bones and stayed there forever. And even when they were wounded — Mr. Kim with a gash on his arm, Sim with a twisted ankle — they didn’t stop.

Because they couldn’t.

Because they’d sworn to protect this town.

And because they’d seen what happened when they failed.

By the time the reinforcements arrived — more hunters from the outskirts — half the fair was gone.

The fire was finally contained. The vampires fled into the trees, dragging their wounded and snarling as the sun threatened to rise.

Bodies littered the streets. Some turned to ash. Others never had a chance.

The town was broken.

But it was not dead.

And as Mr. Sim stood over the charred remains of the carousel, shotgun lowered, sweat and blood staining his shirt — he turned to Mr. Kim and said quietly, “We need to train them. Every damn one of them.”

Mr. Kim nodded. “This can’t happen again.”

From that night forward, the town’s hunters doubled their efforts. They built the camps. The wards. The curriculum. They raised their children — Jake and Sunoo among them — with purpose.

Because that massacre had shown them something simple and unforgiving.

The vampires weren’t hiding anymore.

And neither could they.

—

They always began the same way.

He’d open his eyes into a firestorm — the sky bloated with smoke, the trees writhing in shadow as buildings crumbled beneath the weight of ash and flame. It was like time folded in on itself, and Sunoo was there again. In the past, in the night that changed everything.

That same cursed spring in 1989.

He saw the festival grounds scorched beyond recognition. Stalls twisted into burning skeletons. The once-bright carousel now a melting, gnarled wheel of black iron and flame. Blood stained the bricks beneath his feet. Bodies strewn like forgotten paper dolls — lightless, cold, and drained.

Screams echoed through the smoke.

Not one or two. Hundreds.

Men. Women. Children.

He always heard the slurping sounds — wet, guttural, inhuman. Vampires, young ones mostly, prowling like feral dogs. Their fangs flashing. Their eyes were wild. He watched, helpless, as they pounced on the weak, their hands pinning arms down, heads bending low to necks.

Then the bite. Then the tremble. Then the silence.

One by one.

But even that carnage wasn’t what kept him up.

It was him .

The figure.

He appeared near the edge of the burning woods every time — just beyond the line of light, standing completely still. A silhouette of calm in a world gone mad.

Tall. Pale. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in what seemed like a long, tattered coat. At first glance, he could be mistaken for a human. His posture, his eyes — too composed, too deliberate.

But Sunoo knew better.

There was something ancient in his stillness. Something impossible behind his eyes, glowing faint beneath the shadow of his hood. A presence that didn’t just watch — it waited .

And every time Sunoo locked eyes with the figure, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream.

There was no sound in the vision. None at all.

Only the image — burned into his head like a brand.

He woke up again. Breathless. His shirt clung to his chest. His hair soaked. The sheets twisted around his legs like chains.

He sat up and buried his face in his hands, heart beating like it was trying to break free of his ribs. The room was quiet, lit by the faint gray-blue glow of pre-dawn. Outside, the wind rustled through the trees. Somewhere in the camp, someone was moving early — maybe one of the scouts, maybe a teacher.

But for Sunoo, the dream still echoed behind his eyes.

The figure hadn’t moved. Not once.

But this time… Sunoo had.

In that last moment before he woke up, he'd taken one step toward it. Just one . As if something inside him — something not quite his own — wanted to.

That’s what scared him the most.

In the morning, he barely spoke as he dressed. He caught a glance of his reflection — pale, eyes shadowed with fatigue, and yet his movements were steady. The mark didn’t hurt. His limbs weren’t sore. Physically, he felt fine.

But the pull hadn’t stopped.

Something in him wanted answers. Needed to know who — or what — that vampire was. Why the dreams kept showing him that night. Why the visions felt less like dreams… and more like memories .

He couldn’t tell Jake. Not yet.

Jake had already carried too much. If he found out Sunoo was seeing visions of an old vampire that might be mentally drawing him into a confrontation he couldn’t survive — he’d panic. Worse, he’d report it. And then Sunoo’s dad would know.

And Sunoo wasn’t ready for that.

Because some part of him… wanted to understand it first.

Wanted to know if the mark — the curse, the burden, the gift — could be a key to something more. Something greater than just pain and fear.

Maybe this was the beginning of what it meant to truly be a vampire hunter. Not just through blade and stake — but through understanding the enemy. Through facing the darkness that lived in him, too.

He arrived at class ten minutes early. The sun was warm on his back. Birds were chirping. The world felt almost ordinary.

Jake spotted him from across the quad and jogged over, all sunshine and messy hair. “Yo,” he grinned, tossing a hand on Sunoo’s shoulder. “Early bird. You slept okay?”

Sunoo nodded. “Better.”

“Good,” Jake said. “Because today’s weapon drills are gonna suck. My legs are already mad at me.”

Sunoo managed a smile. A small one. But he didn’t answer beyond that.

Jake didn’t notice. Or maybe he did — but chose not to push.

They walked to class side by side.

Sunoo said nothing about the dreams. Nothing about the figure. Nothing about how the mark flickered faintly the moment he passed through the training grounds’ border this morning — like a compass remembering its true north.

Because something was coming.

And deep inside, Sunoo knew:

These visions weren’t just warnings.

They were summons .

—

The drills weren’t easy — not at first.

But by their third month in the program, something had shifted. Jake’s wild energy had found rhythm, and Sunoo’s quiet intensity had turned sharp, honed like a dagger over flame.

Jake’s aim had always been decent, but now it was lethal . His shots were no longer bursts of emotion — they were precision strikes, calculated and deadly. He started winning most of the sparring matches, even beating seniors who had years more experience. One of the oldest instructors, gruff and unimpressed with almost everyone, had clapped Jake on the back during weapons review and muttered, “You’re not just quick. You’re efficient. There’s a difference. You’ve got it now.”

Jake had grinned for hours after that.

Sunoo, on the other hand, excelled in timing. He didn’t rush. He didn’t overstep. He observed. And when he struck — be it a blade, stake, or bullet, it was always exactly when he needed to. Not a moment sooner. Not a heartbeat late.

“You think like a shadow,” another senior had told him one night after practice. “You watch, you wait, and then you move when the moment is right. That’s a rare instinct in hunters. Hold on to that.”

The compliments were foreign at first. Neither of them knew how to react so Jake laughed awkwardly, and Sunoo just nodded stiffly. But the recognition felt earned .

They had become ready . Prepared.

Months passed like that. One test after another. One trial bleeding into the next. Evaluations. Night drills. Simulations. Tactical hunting across mock zones. Sunrise fitness. Sunset meditation.

By the time the final assessment rolled in, both Sunoo and Jake ranked among the top three of their graduating cohort.

And just like that, graduation day arrived.

Their uniforms changed. The fabrics were darker, the stitching silver-threaded. Their new rank was etched in subtle runes along the hem — a mark of those who no longer trained to hunt, but trained others to do so.

They were instructors now. The next generation of vampire hunters.

Jake threw a massive celebration at the mess hall. Music, food, laughter. Sunoo let himself smile for real that night. He danced once — badly — and Jake never let him live it down.

Everything felt like it was finally aligning.

Except for one thing.

The mark never returned .

Not once.

It had faded into a ghost on his hand — a smudge of memory more than anything else. No flare. No ache. No glow. Just faint skin and silence.

Jake took that as a sign of peace.

“Maybe they’ve left the region,” he said one night as they were wrapping up after training. “It’s been almost a year since the last sighting. And if your mark’s quiet... that has to mean something, right?”

Sunoo nodded, but the unease never left his eyes.

Because the dreams were still there.

No pain. No mark. But every few nights, the visions returned — always quiet, always surreal. The same scorched carnival. The same shadowed woods. The same figure beneath the trees, unmoving and watching.

There was no fire anymore. No screaming. Just silence.

And the weight of something unfinished .

Sunoo didn’t tell Jake about the dreams. He didn’t tell anyone. They were his to carry — not out of pride, but because deep down, something told him this wasn’t something a team could solve.

This was his path . And only he could walk it.

It was nearly midnight when it happened.

Sunoo was in the library alone, seated at the far end of the restricted wing — surrounded by aging scrolls, shattered lore, and texts so old their covers crumbled when you touched them.

He had read hundreds of volumes on vampire psychology, combat techniques, bloodline hierarchies, known territories, symbiotic clans. Nothing helped. Nothing clicked .

Until he found it.

A book with no title. Just leather, torn and worn, sealed with a cracked clasp and a blank spine.

Inside, the ink was faint, almost rust-colored, and the language was archaic. But Sunoo read it anyway.

“ Of Ties and Trials: The Sacred Curse Between Vampire Hunter and The Cold Ones. ”

The more he read, the quieter the room became — as if the shadows were leaning in to listen.

The book spoke of a rare phenomenon: the bond . A thread, invisible but unbreakable, forged when a hunter and vampire were destined to cross paths. Not just as enemies — but as reflections of each other.

Not every hunter had it. Not every vampire recognized it.

But when the mark appeared — and faded — it meant the tie had been formed.

The hunter would be haunted with dreams. The vampire would feel the pull too. Their fates locked like mirrored chains. Their destinies become circular, inescapable.

And when they finally meet?

The hunter would feel a need to kill. A desperation to end it, not out of hate, but out of purpose. It would feel righteous. Inevitable. Like breathing.

And if the hunter didn’t kill the vampire?

The mark would return.

And this time, it would never fade .

Sunoo sat back, the book heavy in his hands. His breath was shallow. His thoughts tangled.

He was meant to kill him.

Whoever — whatever — that vampire was, he was bound to Sunoo now. Maybe since the night of the fire. Maybe before. It didn’t matter. The thread had already been spun.

Sunoo would have to face him.

And the moment he did, the tie would pull tight. The instinct would scream: Kill him. Stake him. Burn him.

But what if he couldn’t?

What if the vampire… wasn’t a monster?

What if he didn’t feed? What if he hid from blood, tried to live in silence?

What if he looked at Sunoo not with hate — but a cry of help ?

Sunoo closed the book slowly.

He would carry the stake with him now. Always. But not for the thrill of the hunt. Not for glory. Not even for revenge.

He carried it because when the time came… he had to make a choice.

And that choice could only be made in person.

With the vampire in front of him.

And the fire of fate burning behind them both.

—

By now, everything about the hunt had become second nature.

The swing of a stake, the rhythm of breath before pulling a silver trigger, the barely audible sound of claws against bark — Jake and Sunoo could read it all like a well-rehearsed script. The impromptu drills that once left them breathless were now nothing but a warm-up. The teachings, the advanced tracking classes, the hours buried in aged tomes of vampire lore — it was all there, rooted in their muscle memory and stitched into their instincts.

They were no longer students. They were hunters .

And more than that — they were reliable.

Even the older instructors had come to trust their judgment, handing off the tougher batches of recruits during training days. Jake often took the louder approach, shouting corrections and demonstrating with flare, while Sunoo taught through quiet precision, gently adjusting a grip or silently nodding when a trainee finally got it right.

Their dynamic, while different, had always worked.

Every evening after training ended, they would take to the fields. Just the two of them — an unbroken habit formed since their earliest patrols. Though their purpose had become more formal now — logged into daily reports and stamped with the academy’s seal — the feeling was the same.

Jake had started carrying two blades now. His marksmanship had improved to the point that his bullets rarely missed, but he liked having something up close — just in case. Sunoo still carried his crossbow. Sleek, silent, and unforgiving.

But lately, the patrols were… quiet.

Too quiet.

The first few months following their graduation had been filled with minor activity — evidence of vampire presence, signs of feeding, the occasional nest of fledglings. But after the first season passed, the traces stopped.

No footprints. No broken barriers. No disrupted wards.

No vampires .

Jake first noticed it during a patrol along the eastern line. “The air’s dead,” he had said, frowning. “Like the woods are holding their breath.”

Now, even weeks later, the unease hadn’t left.

They were patrolling the west border when Jake brought it up again. The sun had already dipped below the treetops, casting long shadows across the fields. The wind was gentle, rustling through the tall grass as their boots moved in practiced silence.

Jake broke it first. “Hey,” he said, his voice low, “do you ever think about how weird this all is?”

Sunoo didn’t answer immediately. He kept walking, his eyes scanning the underbrush.

Jake continued anyway. “I mean, it’s been months. Not a single bloodsucker. No reports, no movement, not even a screech in the dead of night. Like they vanished.”

Sunoo finally spoke, “Maybe they’re hiding.”

“Or maybe they’re planning ,” Jake muttered, half-joking. “You think we scared them off?”

“No,” Sunoo said simply.

Jake looked over. “Then what?”

Sunoo hesitated. “They’re waiting.”

“For what?”

He didn’t answer right away. The silence lingered until they stopped near the old watchpost. The air was colder here. Still untouched by any recent signs of life.

Sunoo leaned against the post and finally said, “Sometimes I still get the feeling.”

Jake didn’t ask what he meant. He already knew.

“The pull?” he asked instead.

Sunoo nodded. “It’s not strong. Just... there. Like something brushing the edge of my senses. Not enough to be real. But I feel it.”

“And the mark?”

Sunoo shook his head. “Nothing.”

Jake kicked a pebble off the path, watching it disappear into the darkness. “It’s strange. I was sure something was out here that first night. We both felt it. Something older. Something different. And now…”

“Gone,” Sunoo finished for him.

“But you still dream,” Jake said quietly.

That made Sunoo pause.

He had never explicitly told Jake about the dreams. But he supposed, after all this time, Jake had guessed.

“Yes,” Sunoo admitted. “The figure. He’s always there. Same place. Same distance. Just… watching.”

Jake crossed his arms, looking out at the woods. “You ever think about what’ll happen if you meet him?”

Sunoo didn’t answer at first.

“I read something,” he finally said. “About the tie. Between a hunter and a vampire. When it’s formed... it can’t be undone. And when they meet — the hunter will want to kill. Instinctively. Desperately.”

Jake turned toward him. “But do you want to?”

“I don’t know,” Sunoo admitted. “That’s the problem. I don’t know who he is. I don’t know if he’s evil. I don’t know if he’s even feeding. All I know is that something ties us together. And I’m supposed to kill him.”

Jake was quiet for a while.

Then, after a beat: “What if you can’t?”

Sunoo looked at him.

“What if you face him, and everything in your blood screams to fight — but you can’t pull the trigger?”

“I’ve thought about that.”

“And?”

Sunoo looked back out at the horizon, where the trees thickened and the shadows deepened. “Then I’ll know the truth.”

Jake exhaled. “That’s cryptic.”

“That's all I have,” Sunoo said quietly.

They walked back in silence.

Their boots hit the dirt path in rhythm. The wind blew gently through the trees. And somewhere, in the distant edges of the woods, something shifted.

Unseen. Unfelt.

But waiting. Always waiting.

Chapter Text

The call came deep in the night.

Sunoo was already deep in restless sleep, twisted in sheets that did little to keep the shadows of his dreams away, when the thunderous slam of doors jolted him awake. His heart pounded instantly — not from confusion, but readiness. They had trained for this. He had been waiting for this moment.

He threw the blanket aside, already moving, already reaching. In seconds, he crossed the cold floorboards and tore open the latch to the storage room. His hands went straight for his shotgun — sleek, reinforced, and loaded with custom cartridges filled with weakening serums. The familiar weight steadied him, reminded him of the purpose drilled into his bones: kill vampires before they kill others.

By the time he stepped outside, Jake was already there. Lantern light cast sharp shadows across his face, his jaw tense, blades strapped to his side. His eyes met Sunoo’s for just a moment — no words, no hesitation. Just a silent agreement.

They moved.

The night was heavy, the air thick with unease as they pushed through the dark streets toward the scene. Every step brought Sunoo’s heartbeat louder in his ears, and though his breathing was steady, there was a pull — an itch — deep in his veins. He ignored it. He had to.

When they arrived, the sight met them like a blade to the gut.

The small home, just a little ways from the market street, was in ruins. Furniture overturned, walls scarred, the air thick with copper and grief. Jake froze when he spotted her — the florist, the young woman from down the street he sometimes bought flowers from on festival days. She was on her knees, screaming, clutching two small, lifeless bodies in her arms.

Her sisters.

The girls’ faces were pale, drained, necks marred with unmistakable bite wounds.

Jake dropped beside her instantly, kneeling. His usually sharp demeanor softened as he reached a careful hand toward her shoulder. “Stay with them. Don’t move them yet. We’ll— we’ll handle it.” His voice cracked just slightly, but he steadied it. He stayed with her, grounding her with his presence.

Sunoo swallowed hard and took a step back. His training screamed at him: the vampire might still be here.

He nodded at Jake, voice firm but low. “Stay with her. I’ll clear upstairs.”

Jake glanced at him, worry flickering in his eyes, but nodded. “Be careful.”

Sunoo gripped the shotgun tighter and started up the stairs. Each creak of the wood beneath his boots sounded too loud, too sharp in the silence. His body was tense, his shoulders rigid, every nerve alert.

And then — halfway down the narrow upstairs hallway — it hit.

The mark burned.

A white-hot pain seared across his hand, shooting up his arm like fire and ice all at once. His breath hitched, knees nearly buckling under the force of it. He grit his teeth, sweat breaking along his brow. The familiar dread crept into him — the connection.

It was here.

The source.

At the far end of the hallway, the last door stood ajar. Darkness bled out of it like mist, the air colder, heavier. Sunoo raised his shotgun with trembling hands, breathing unsteady as he forced himself forward.

When he stepped inside — the world shifted.

A voice slid through the shadows, smooth and deliberate.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

Sunoo froze. Every muscle in his body locked. The pain in his hand spiked, forcing a muffled cry past his lips.

From the corner of the room, the figure stepped forward.

So tall. Much taller than him. Pale skin that caught the moonlight like porcelain. Eyes sharp, burning with an intensity that made the air too thin to breathe. He didn’t move like prey or predator — he moved like certainty, like he belonged here, like he belonged in the space between Sunoo’s pain and his fear.

Sunoo’s breath stuttered. He couldn’t move. He wanted to, but the connection pinned him like invisible chains.

Jake’s voice rang faintly from below. “Sunoo? You okay up there?”

The figure — the vampire — smiled faintly. “So that’s his name.”

He took another step closer, and Sunoo instinctively backed away, his grip on the shotgun faltering.

“Don’t—” Sunoo hissed through clenched teeth, his body trembling.

The vampire tilted his head. “You’re hurting. I can feel it. The mark… it binds us. That burning— I can take it away.”

Sunoo shook his head violently, though his chest heaved with pain. “Stay away from me!”

The vampire’s gaze softened, not with pity, but with knowledge. As though he had seen this countless times before. As though he understood it better than Sunoo ever could. “You don’t believe me now. But you will.”

Sunoo flinched back another step. His vision swam. The pain in his mark was unbearable, blinding him, choking him. His knees almost buckled.

And then — the vampire was there.

Closer than he should’ve been, moving faster than Sunoo could register. A cold hand gripped his arm, firm but not crushing. Sunoo gasped, his instincts screaming to fight, to stab, to shoot, but the strength drained out of him in the flood of pain.

The vampire leaned close, voice low against his ear. “Let me show you.”

Before Sunoo could scream — teeth pressed into his neck.

Not a deep bite. Not enough to pierce flesh fully. Just the barest graze, fangs lingering against skin.

And then — silence.

The fire in his mark died.

The unbearable burning, the crushing weight, the sharp stabs of agony — gone. Snuffed out like a flame under glass.

Sunoo’s body went slack in the vampire’s hold, his shotgun slipping just slightly from his grip. His breath came ragged, shocked, but the pain… was gone.

The vampire’s lips brushed against his skin, his voice soft.

“See? I told you. Only I can make it stop.”

The bedroom was cloaked in silence, the dim moonlight seeping in through the cracks of the shutters. The smell of dust and iron hung heavy in the air. Sunoo’s pulse was still racing where the vampire’s teeth had grazed his neck, his skin hot with the strange relief of the mark’s pain vanishing, but his mind was tangled with horror.

“How could you do that?” Sunoo’s voice trembled despite his effort to steady it. His shotgun was still clutched tight in his hands, though his aim wavered slightly. “The girls downstairs… they didn’t deserve it. You—” he stopped, shaking his head. “You could’ve found literally anybody else. Anywhere else.”

Sunghoon, standing only a few feet away, tilted his head. His pale face glowed faintly in the moonlight, his dark eyes unreadable. There was no rage in his features, but something tired, something hollow. He shifted his weight slowly, circling Sunoo as if studying him—not with hunger, but with a strange sort of curiosity.

“I had to.” His voice was low, smooth but laced with something brittle. “You think I wanted this?” His hands twitched at his sides, and for a fleeting second, Sunoo thought he saw them shake. “I haven’t fed in weeks. Weeks.” His gaze dropped for a moment, the calm exterior cracking. “It’s… not so easy to choose when the thirst claws at you from the inside. I didn’t want them—”

“Then why?” Sunoo snapped, anger bubbling out despite the fear in his chest. “Why children? If you’ve lived long enough to hide this well, you know how to hunt. You could’ve taken blood from someone else, someone who had a chance to fight back!”

Sunghoon’s eyes darted back to him, darkening with something sharp. “Do you think I enjoy being a monster?” His words hissed out, soft but cutting, as if he was afraid of raising his voice. He moved a step closer, and Sunoo instinctively shifted back until his heel hit the wall. “Do you think I haven’t tried? Animals don’t satisfy it. The old and weak fall too fast. And the healthy—” he paused, jaw tightening, “they fight. They scream. And then everyone comes with torches and stakes.”

Sunoo’s grip on his weapon tightened. He wanted to scream back, to pull the trigger, to end it all right here—but something stopped him. The way Sunghoon’s voice trembled, the way his shoulders sagged as though the weight of centuries pressed down on him. He wasn’t just a predator gloating about his kill. He was… fractured.

Still, Sunoo’s chest burned with fury. “You don’t get to excuse yourself,” he spat, his voice shaking more from emotion than fear now. “You took their lives. You ruined hers.” He thought of the florist downstairs, clutching her sisters’ limp bodies, her wails still echoing in his ears. “Nothing you say changes that.”

Sunghoon’s gaze softened for a fleeting moment, a ghost of guilt flickering in his dark eyes. But then he stepped closer again, too close, his presence pressing into Sunoo like a shadow.

“You want to take me down, hunter?” His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. “You don’t even realize what binds us yet.” He gestured faintly toward Sunoo’s hand—the mark that had been tormenting him for months. “That pain. That pull. It’s me. You’ll never escape it, no matter how many books you read or how much you train. We’re bound. And whether you like it or not, one day, it’ll drag you back to me.”

Sunoo’s breath hitched, his heart slamming against his ribs. The urge to run was overwhelming, but his legs felt nailed to the floor. He thought of Jake downstairs—loyal, brave, waiting for him, completely unaware of the danger mere feet above his head.

“I don’t want this,” Sunoo whispered fiercely, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “I never asked for any bond with you.”

Sunghoon’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile—more like a grim acknowledgment. “Neither did I.”

The silence between them stretched, tense and suffocating. Then, without warning, Sunghoon stepped back, retreating toward the shadows near the window. His pale form seemed to blur, the edges of his body folding into the darkness like mist.

“You’ll see me again, Sunoo,” his voice echoed softly, just as his presence began to vanish. “The mark will make sure of it.”

And then—he was gone.

Sunoo was left frozen, his shotgun heavy in his hands, the cold sweat dripping down his temple. His legs finally unlocked, and he stumbled toward the door, his only thought screaming in his head: Jake. He has to get Jake. He has to get the woman out.

Sunoo pushed the bedroom door open with a trembling hand, his knuckles white around the shotgun. His breaths came shallow and uneven, but he forced himself to steady them before stepping into the hallway. Every trace of Sunghoon’s presence had vanished—as if the vampire had dissolved into thin air—but the sting of his words still echoed in Sunoo’s skull, pounding harder than the mark ever had.

Downstairs, Jake was crouched near the woman, trying his best to calm her. The florist’s sobs were raw and desperate, her tears streaming down her dirt-streaked cheeks as she clutched her sisters’ still forms against her chest. Jake looked up as soon as Sunoo descended the stairs, his eyes wide with urgency.

“Finally,” Jake breathed, relief flickering across his features. “I thought something—” He cut himself short when he saw the strained look on Sunoo’s face, but there wasn’t time to ask questions. “We need to get them to the hospital now.”

Sunoo nodded stiffly, forcing his voice to sound steady. “Yeah. Help me carry them.”

They moved quickly, gently prying the sisters from the woman’s grip. Her cries grew louder, panicked at first, but Sunoo knelt by her, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “We’re not taking them away from you,” he said softly, his tone more tender than Jake had ever heard from him during training. “We’re taking them to the hospital. You’ll be with them the whole time. They need help, and this is the only way.”

The woman clutched Sunoo’s arm like it was the only lifeline she had left. “Please,” she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking from crying. “Save them… they’re all I have.”

Sunoo swallowed hard. He couldn’t bring himself to promise her anything, not when he’d just looked into the eyes of the creature who had caused this. Not when he knew exactly how fragile those sisters’ chances were. Instead, he offered her the only truth he could manage. “We’ll do everything we can.”

Jake lifted one of the girls into his arms with careful strength, while Sunoo cradled the other, their small frames limp and far too light. The florist stumbled after them, still weeping, her hands trembling as she clung to Sunoo’s sleeve like she was afraid he’d disappear too.

Together, they carried the children out into the night, the cool air striking Sunoo’s face like a cruel reminder of reality. The moon hung high and pale, casting long shadows behind them. Sunoo kept his gaze forward, jaw tight, because if he dared to look back at the shattered home, he feared the weight of everything inside would crush him.

Jake glanced sideways at him once, noticing the sheen of sweat on Sunoo’s skin and the distant look in his eyes. “Hey,” he muttered low, careful not to let the woman hear, “are you okay?”

Sunoo forced a tight nod. “Just… focus on getting them to the hospital.”

He couldn’t tell Jake. Not yet. About the mark. About Sunghoon. About how the pain was gone now, replaced by something much worse—the knowledge that the vampire was tied to him in ways he couldn’t escape.

As they walked into the night, the sound of the woman’s quiet sobs following them, Sunoo kept his lips pressed in a thin line. His grip on the girl in his arms tightened, as though holding her a little closer could undo what had already been done.

But deep down, he knew the truth: this was only the beginning.

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and hurried footsteps. As soon as they entered, nurses rushed forward with stretchers, carefully taking the limp sisters from Jake and Sunoo’s arms. The florist stumbled after them, her cries fading down the hall as the doors to the emergency ward swung shut behind her and the girls.

Sunoo stood there frozen, shotgun still slung across his back, hands stiff at his sides. The adrenaline was still coursing through him, his chest rising and falling too fast. He didn’t even realize Jake was watching him until his friend spoke.

“Hey,” Jake’s voice was low, cautious, “you’ve been pale since we got there. What happened upstairs?”

Sunoo forced his lips into a thin smile, shaking his head like it was nothing. “Just… checked the rooms. Cleared it. Nothing.”

Jake didn’t look convinced. He stepped closer, searching Sunoo’s face like he could read the truth through his skin. “Sunoo, you’re sweating. You look like you just saw—” He stopped himself, exhaling slowly. “If something happened, you can tell me.”

Sunoo turned his head away, staring at the flickering fluorescent lights instead of Jake’s eyes. “I’m fine,” he said evenly. “We had a job. We did it. That’s all.”

But inside, his chest tightened with every word. Lying to Jake wasn’t something he did easily, yet the memory of Sunghoon’s cold voice, of fangs brushing against his skin, clamped his throat shut. If Jake knew… if his father found out… things would spiral out of control.

Moments later, the doctor pushed through the emergency doors. His coat was spattered faintly with blood, his expression grim but steady. The florist trailed behind him, her sobbing quieter now, clinging to the last thread of hope in his words.

“They lost a lot of blood,” the doctor said, addressing both hunters. “But they’re young, strong. We’ve stabilized their vitals. With immediate transfusions, they should recover.”

For the first time that night, Sunoo felt his lungs loosen. His body sagged back against the wall, and he let out a shaky, ragged sigh—so deep it sounded like it carried the weight of his soul. Relief slammed into him so hard he almost laughed, but instead, he pressed the heel of his palm against his brow.

If those girls hadn’t made it, if their blood had been drained past saving, he wasn’t sure he could have lived with himself. The guilt of walking into that house and walking out alive would have eaten him whole.

Jake caught the shift in him, the way Sunoo exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for hours. “See?” Jake murmured, trying to be reassuring. “They’ll be okay. We did what we had to.”

Sunoo just nodded, but his thoughts betrayed him. We didn’t do anything, he thought bitterly. I didn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop him.

But he swallowed it down, sealing the secret behind another forced calm smile.

Chapter Text

The dream had left Sunoo shaken.

He woke up in the middle of the night, heart racing, the phantom echo of a voice still tangled in his mind. Meet me by the creek. The words had crawled into his ears, steady, commanding, too vivid to be dismissed as imagination. Sunghoon’s voice had a sharpness that cut through the haze of sleep, lingering even after Sunoo sat upright in bed, sweat dampening his shirt.

But the most disturbing part wasn’t the voice. It was the look. In his dream, Sunghoon had been standing there—tall, pale skin gleaming faintly in the moonlight, his eyes glinting in a way that didn’t belong to the realm of sleep. He wasn’t just an image conjured by Sunoo’s subconscious; he had spoken back , responded, and insisted that this wasn’t a dream at all.

“You’re bound to me,” Sunghoon had said in that low, calm tone that made Sunoo’s skin crawl. “A hunter is fated to bind with his vampire. That’s why you can hear me. That’s why I can call you.”

Sunoo had shaken his head in the dream, muttering that it was impossible, ridiculous, that he wasn’t falling for tricks of the mind. But Sunghoon’s expression hadn’t changed—he simply stepped closer, gaze unwavering.

“This is real. Come to me. Tomorrow night, by the creek.”

And then Sunoo had woken, breathless, clutching the throbbing mark on his hand.

The following evening, the dream replayed in his head like a broken record. Dinner at the camp mess hall tasted like ash in his mouth. The usual chatter of hunters, the clatter of utensils, even Jake’s jokes—it all felt distant. His eyes kept drifting to the clock hanging above the doorway. Each tick of the second hand dragged him closer to midnight.

When his father asked if he was eating enough, Sunoo forced a smile. When Jake nudged his shoulder and asked if he wanted to spar after, Sunoo shook his head. And when Jake finally frowned, studying him more closely than Sunoo liked, he muttered, “Just tired. Gonna turn in early tonight.”

Jake tilted his head, unconvinced. “You sick? You never skip training.”

“I’ll be fine,” Sunoo replied quickly, maybe too quickly. He shoved the last bite of bread into his mouth, stood, and waved it off like it was nothing. “I’ll catch up tomorrow.”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. Suspicion flickered, but he didn’t push. He just muttered something under his breath and went back to his food. Still, Sunoo could feel his gaze prickling at the back of his neck as he walked away.

Upstairs in his room, Sunoo moved fast. He wasn’t wearing his usual training gear; instead, he pulled on a plain dark sweater, worn boots, and strapped his knife into the belt at his side—not his shotgun. Tonight wasn’t about hunting. At least, not yet.

He paused by the window, hand gripping the curtain tightly. The camp was still buzzing faintly from dinner, voices drifting in the night air. But beyond the fences, beyond the faint glow of lanterns, the woods stretched out like a dark abyss. And somewhere in that abyss, the creek waited.

The thought made his stomach twist. Every part of his training screamed against it— never walk into a vampire’s call. Never follow where they lead. It was a trap. Always a trap.

But there was something else. Curiosity. A pull he couldn’t name. And the strange truth was that in the dream, for all his fear, he hadn’t been able to look away from Sunghoon.

He slipped out through the back, his boots crunching lightly on the dirt. The cool night air hit his face, and he tugged his hood up. No one stopped him; the patrols were scattered in another direction tonight. That was good. That was what he needed.

The trail was one he knew well. Hunters often jogged it during morning drills, weaving through the pine and birch until it bent toward the water. But at night, under the silver wash of moonlight, the forest was transformed. Every rustle of leaves sounded like a whisper. Every shadow between the trees looked like something waiting.

Sunoo tightened his grip on his knife’s hilt.

The creek wasn’t far—just a sliver of water that stretched from the hills and carved its way toward the lake. He followed the trail, the damp earth giving way to soft grass, until finally, the air grew heavier, cooler, the sound of water trickling faintly ahead.

And then he saw it.

The creek glistened in the moonlight, narrow and winding, with reeds swaying gently at its edges. The surface rippled like glass, carrying the reflection of the sky. It was secluded, quiet—so quiet that even his heartbeat sounded loud in his ears.

Sunoo scanned the area quickly, instincts sharp. Empty. No movement, no figure. Just silence.

He stepped closer to the water’s edge, his chest tight.

Maybe it was just a dream, he thought. Maybe he lied. Maybe I’m an idiot for being here.

But then—

“You came.”

The voice slid through the night like a blade of ice. Calm, smooth, unmistakable.

Sunoo spun, knife raised.

And there he was.

Sunghoon stood a few feet away, emerging from the shadows beneath the trees as though he had been part of them all along. His pale skin was even more startling under the moonlight, his eyes sharp and unreadable. He looked the same as in Sunoo’s vision—tall, haunting, otherworldly.

Sunoo’s pulse quickened, his grip on the knife faltering for half a second.

“You…” His voice cracked slightly, but he forced it steady. “This is insane. This shouldn’t be possible.”

Sunghoon tilted his head, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “And yet, here you are.”

Sunoo didn’t lower the knife. His chest heaved, every nerve screaming to lunge forward, to strike before the vampire could move. But instead he found himself blurting, “What did you do to me?”

Sunghoon’s brows lifted slightly, as if amused by his lack of restraint. He took a step closer, slow and deliberate, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his coat. “So it’s the mark that troubles you.”

Sunoo’s knuckles whitened around the hilt. “Don’t play games. You bit me that night—during the attack. And since then…” His throat tightened. He hated even saying it aloud, hated giving it power. “Since then I keep seeing you. Dreaming about you. And the pain—it’s gone. It’s like…” He swallowed hard. “Like my body doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

For the first time, Sunghoon’s smile vanished. His gaze darkened, no longer teasing but heavy with something else. “Then it’s true,” he murmured, almost to himself. “The bond held.”

Sunoo’s stomach dropped. “Bond?”

“Between hunter and vampire,” Sunghoon replied evenly. “An ancient curse. When I marked you, the connection was sealed. You are mine as much as I am yours.”

Sunoo’s grip faltered. “Don’t—don’t say that—”

“It isn’t affection,” Sunghoon cut in smoothly, though his voice carried an edge, sharp as glass. “It is survival. Through the bond, I can call to you—in visions, in dreams. I can draw you to me.” His eyes flicked deliberately to Sunoo’s clenched fist. “And as for your pain… every wound, every torment that touches you can be reversed if I lay my hands on you. If I will it.”

Sunoo’s heart hammered so loud it drowned the creek’s gentle murmur. His breath came shallow. “You’re telling me you can heal me just by—touching me?”

“Precisely.” Sunghoon took another step closer, moonlight catching the faint red ring of his eyes. “It makes it all too convenient, doesn’t it? For a hunter to trust his prey. To lean on him. To… forget what he is.”

Sunoo’s knife trembled in his grip. A cruel twist of fate—his body was tied to the very monster he was supposed to destroy.

Sunghoon tilted his head, studying him with quiet intensity. “And one day, when you’re ready, it will make it all the easier for you to put a blade through my heart.”

Silence crashed over them, heavier than any threat. Sunoo couldn’t speak. His pulse was a roar in his ears, his chest tight with confusion, fury, and something far more dangerous: curiosity.

Sunoo’s breath came uneven, ragged, as though he had sprinted all the way to the creek instead of standing frozen a few feet from the vampire. His grip on the knife faltered, not from weakness, but from the sheer war between instinct and reason that clashed inside him.

“Don’t you dare—” Sunoo’s voice cracked, harsher than he intended. He tightened his hold on the blade as if the cold steel could anchor him. “Don’t you dare say I’m tied to you. I’m not yours. I’ll never be yours.”

The words came out sharp, but even as he spat them, the sting of betrayal burned deeper in his chest. He wasn’t angry at Sunghoon alone. He was angry at himself—for standing there, for listening, for not striking when he had the chance. For the way the ache in his hand, the mark, had quieted in the vampire’s presence, as though his body betrayed him with every pulse.

Sunghoon didn’t flinch. His eyes followed Sunoo’s every movement with unnerving calm, the faint gleam of moonlight reflecting in those dark irises. “And yet here you are,” he said softly. Not mocking, not taunting—just a fact spoken with the weight of inevitability.

Sunoo felt heat rush to his face, not out of shame but from the frustration boiling inside him. “I came here for answers. That’s all. Don’t think for a second I’d ever rely on you .”

Sunghoon’s expression flickered—something unreadable passed through his features before it vanished into the usual mask of cool indifference. “You already do.”

The silence between them stretched taut. The rush of the creek sounded louder, the air colder. Sunoo wanted to deny it outright, wanted to shove the knife forward and end this twisted conversation. But his hand wouldn’t move. The mark throbbed faintly, not with pain but with something… calling.

He staggered back a step, shaking his head violently as if the motion could dislodge the fog creeping into his thoughts. “No. No, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to control me.”

“I don’t control you,” Sunghoon replied, voice even but edged with quiet intensity. “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. The bond isn’t obedience—it’s connection. You feel me as much as I feel you. Tell me, hunter… was it only my voice that brought you here tonight, or was there a part of you that wanted to see me again?”

The words sliced deeper than any blade could. Sunoo’s lips parted, but no sound came out. He wanted to scream, to tell Sunghoon he was wrong, that this was all manipulation. But deep inside, beneath the iron walls of duty and training, something flickered. A dangerous curiosity. An unwanted pull.

And Sunghoon saw it. He always saw too much.

“You hate it,” Sunghoon murmured, stepping closer until the shadows nearly swallowed them both. “But you’ll keep coming back.—because you need to.”

Sunoo’s chest tightened. He forced himself to meet Sunghoon’s gaze, even as his throat constricted. “If this bond is real…” His voice wavered, but he pushed through. “Then one day, I’ll use it against you. I’ll kill you, Sunghoon.”

The vampire’s lips curved—not into a smile, but into something far sadder, far heavier. “I know.”

And for the first time, Sunoo hated the way his heart skipped at the honesty in his voice.

The night air around the creek was still, carrying only the faint rustle of reeds swaying against the water. Sunoo’s mark didn’t burn this time — instead, it hummed, a low pulse under his skin that made him restless. He was already on edge when Sunghoon appeared at the treeline, his presence sliding into the shadows like he belonged to them.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Sunoo muttered, tightening his grip on the dagger at his belt.

Sunghoon’s gaze was unreadable, his tone low but sharp. “In a week, Oak Falls will fall into chaos. A group is coming. They want revenge for what your kind did to theirs.”

The words dropped heavily between them, but what unsettled Sunoo more was the steadiness in his voice. It wasn’t a threat. It was a warning.

His heart beat unevenly. “Why are you telling me this? Why warn me when I’m supposed to kill you?”

For the first time, Sunghoon’s eyes softened — not quite pity, not quite sorrow. Something heavier. “Because I’m indebted to you.”

The word lodged itself in Sunoo’s chest. Indebted? To him? Before he could push, before he could demand what it meant, Sunghoon’s form blurred. In the blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving only the cold ripple of air where he stood.

Sunoo stood frozen, dagger useless in his hand, his thoughts tangled. Indebted. The word echoed louder than the warning itself. And for the first time, Sunoo felt a new weight in the bond between them — not just pain, not just calm, but a secret threading them closer together.

—

When Sunoo slipped back through the window and landed lightly on the wooden floorboards of his room, he froze. Jake was sitting on his bed, arms crossed, face lit only by the silver wash of moonlight. His expression wasn’t just confusion; it was something heavier — disappointment, edged sharp with anger.

“Where the hell were you?” Jake’s voice was low, but it struck harder than if he had yelled.

Sunoo swallowed, his heartbeat tripping against his ribs. “I… I told you, I wasn’t feeling well. Just needed—”

Jake shot to his feet. “Don’t.” His tone cracked like a whip. “Don’t lie to me, Sunoo. Not after sneaking out with your weapons. What were you doing out there when it wasn’t even our turn to patrol?”

The weight of his friend’s eyes made Sunoo’s palms sweat. Panic clawed at his throat, but the thing about Jake — he could read Sunoo too well. He could push and push until the cracks showed. Sunoo’s mouth opened, closed again. Finally, his shoulders slumped, and the words spilled, reluctant and trembling.

“I met him,” Sunoo whispered.

Jake blinked, confusion flickering before his eyes widened. “Met who?”

“The vampire.” Sunoo’s voice was barely audible, but the silence in the room magnified it. “The one I’ve been seeing… in my dreams. He’s real, Jake. He’s been contacting me through visions. Tonight… tonight I saw him for real.”

Jake went rigid. “Are you—” His voice faltered before he caught himself. “Do you hear yourself right now? You met a vampire, and instead of putting a blade through his heart, you’re here telling me he’s been giving you… what? Prophecies?”

Sunoo flinched at the heat in Jake’s words. “He warned me,” he said quickly, desperation lacing the edges of his voice. “He told me there’s going to be an attack. A week from now. A whole group of them — coming for Oak Falls.”

For a moment, Jake just stared at him, as though trying to figure out if this was some cruel joke. And then the storm broke.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Jake’s voice cracked through the room, anger spilling over. “You’ve been hiding this? This ? When we’re supposed to be partners? Do you realize how dangerous that is — not just for you, but for everyone here?”

Sunoo’s stomach churned. He opened his mouth, searching for the right words, but Jake’s fury didn’t give him room.

“What else?” Jake demanded, stepping closer. His voice was sharp, almost frantic. “What else aren’t you telling me, Sunoo?”

Sunoo’s heart stuttered. He thought of the mark, of the way Sunghoon’s touch eased the burn, of how their fates were tangled in ways he didn’t yet understand. He thought of the visions, the pull, the strange calm that sometimes silenced his pain. But the words lodged in his throat, too heavy, too dangerous. He shook his head. “Nothing. That’s it. Nothing else.”

Jake searched his face for a long moment, his jaw clenched tight, before scoffing bitterly. “You’re lying. I can see it. But fine — if you want to dig a hole and bury yourself in secrets, go ahead. Just don’t drag me down with you.”

The words cut deeper than Sunoo expected, but he pressed his lips shut, biting back anything that might betray more than he already had.

Jake ran a hand through his hair, pacing, before stopping to face him again. “We need to tell our dads.” His tone was hard, practical. “If there’s really an attack coming, they need to know. They’ll have time to prepare the camp.”

But Sunoo shook his head fast, panic flaring again. “No. We can’t. If we tell them, they’ll ask how we know. And then what? What am I supposed to say — that I’ve been having late-night chats with the very thing I was born to kill?”

Jake’s scowl deepened. “So what’s your brilliant plan? We sit on this? Do nothing? Let everyone walk blind into a slaughter?”

“ No!” Sunoo’s voice cracked. He forced himself to steady it, to look Jake in the eye. “We figure out another way. A way to warn the camp without… without exposing how we know. Maybe we drop hints. Suggest patrols be doubled. Spread rumors that there’s been unusual movement near the borders. Anything. Just… not this.”

Jake was quiet for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breathing. He looked at Sunoo like he didn’t recognize him — like the boy he trusted most was slipping into someone else’s shadow. Finally, with a sharp exhale, he nodded once.

“Fine,” he said flatly. “But if this blows up in our faces, Sunoo — if even one person dies because you chose to keep things to yourself — that’s on you.”

The words sat between them like a blade, cold and unforgiving. Sunoo looked away, his chest aching. He hated lying to Jake. Hated it more than the mark that bound him to Sunghoon. But some truths were too dangerous to bear — not yet.

And so he stayed silent, holding his secrets close, while the weight of a coming storm pressed heavy on both of them.

The silence after Jake’s accusation hung like smoke in the room, heavy and suffocating. Sunoo sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands, while Jake paced, muttering under his breath like he was trying to wring an answer out of the air itself.

Finally, Jake stopped, his gaze sharp. “If we can’t tell them how we know, then we need to give them something else. Something that will make them act without asking too many questions.”

Sunoo lifted his eyes warily. “Like what?”

Jake pressed his lips into a hard line, thinking. “Unusual activity. Border disturbances. We can make it seem like we noticed signs while patrolling — claw marks, scattered animal remains, tracks that don’t belong. Something that hints a larger group is preparing to strike. They’ll believe that faster than some vague warning.”

Sunoo frowned. “That would mean lying in the official reports.”

Jake’s mouth quirked bitterly. “You started lying the moment you decided to keep this vampire thing from me. Don’t pretend this is where your morals kick in.”

The jab stung, but Sunoo let it pass. “If we put it in the patrol logs, my father will see it first. He’ll have no choice but to escalate it.”

Jake nodded, the edge in his voice softening just a fraction. “Exactly. And not just the logs. We talk to the trainers too — mention how the younger hunters are falling behind in their sparring. Suggest the camp isn’t ready if something big were to hit us. If enough of us start voicing the same concerns, it’ll spread. The elders won’t want to risk being caught unprepared.”

Sunoo hesitated, chewing his lip. The idea had merit. It was clever, even. But a part of him still twisted with unease. “And what if they ask for proof? What if someone goes to check the borders?”

Jake smirked grimly. “Then we give them proof. A snapped branch here, a few staged tracks there. We know how to fake signs well enough to buy us a week.”

The sheer practicality of it made Sunoo exhale in relief. This was why Jake was his partner — hotheaded, yes, but quick to adapt, always ready to fill the gaps Sunoo left behind.

“Alright,” Sunoo said quietly, more to himself than Jake. “We do it your way. Patrol logs, subtle warnings, staged evidence. Enough to push them to tighten security without dragging questions we can’t answer.”

Jake studied him for a long moment, then gave a single sharp nod. But the look in his eyes wasn’t victory. It was worry — threaded with something that almost looked like betrayal.

“This better work,” Jake muttered, heading for the window. “Because if you’re wrong, Sunoo, if you’re protecting that vampire more than you’re protecting your own people…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I don’t even want to think about what that means.”

When he was gone, Sunoo sat in the quiet, the words echoing louder than they should have. Protecting the vampire. Protecting Sunghoon. He wanted to deny it, to believe his intentions were clear and loyal — but deep down, where the mark throbbed faintly against his skin, he knew Jake wasn’t entirely wrong.

And in a week’s time, when Oak Falls burned or survived, all of it would come crashing to light.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Oak Falls woke to a subtle but unmistakable change in rhythm. Patrol schedules were redrawn, training regimens sharpened, and the sound of clashing steel filled the camp yard long before breakfast. The young hunters, who once dragged their feet through sparring, now found themselves pushed harder, their trainers barking at them to keep pace with the “increased threat.” Nobody dared to question where the threat had come from—because it wasn’t a single alarm but a dozen smaller whispers, stitched together into something undeniable.

Jake and Sunoo had done their work well.

On the second day, Jake had slipped into the border log tent and altered their last patrol entry—just a few scratched words about “tracks too heavy for deer” and “disturbed earth near the northern ridge.” Nothing damning, nothing that would call for an immediate hunt, but enough to be read and passed up the chain of command.

On the third day, Sunoo had casually mentioned to one of the trainers that the younger boys weren’t reacting fast enough in their sparring matches. “If this were a real raid,” he’d said, his tone heavy, “half of them would be bleeding out before they even raised a blade.” The remark spread like wildfire. By evening, extra drills had been called, and the training yard rang long into the night.

By the fourth day, more guards had been posted along the outer fences. Hunters doubled their patrols, and lanterns burned through the dark hours, pushing shadows back from the woods. The elders, Sunoo noticed, stopped smiling as often; their eyes shifted toward the tree line more than the people around them. Curfew was drawn earlier, fires doused before the moon climbed high.

Every little adjustment was another knot tied in the web Jake and Sunoo had woven. And the best part—nobody questioned it. The signs were “there,” manufactured just enough to give the illusion of truth. The camp fell into step with the story, like a body bracing itself for impact.

Yet as each day passed, the mark on Sunoo’s neck burned a little less. The sting had dulled since the night of the bite, leaving only a faint warmth, like a reminder beneath the skin. He found himself brushing his fingers over it absentmindedly, wondering if Sunghoon felt the same heat.

He shouldn’t care. He couldn’t care.

At night, when the patrol fires flickered in the distance and Jake’s snores filled the room, Sunoo lay awake, his thoughts clawing at him. He wanted to tell Jake everything—about the dreams, about the binding, about how Sunghoon could summon him even in his sleep. But the words stuck in his throat like barbed wire. If Jake knew, if anyone knew, Sunghoon would be hunted long before Sunoo had the chance to confront him again.

And Sunoo wanted that chance.

Not to protect him. Not to side with him. No—Sunoo told himself it was because of duty. Because of destiny. Because one day, he was the one who should drive the wooden stake through Sunghoon’s heart. Not his father. Not Jake. Him. It was his bite, his mark, his burden.

Sometimes, though, when the camp was quiet and the lake shimmered in the distance under the moonlight, a traitorous thought slipped into his head:

What if he didn’t?

He would shake it off, bury it deep, and sharpen his blade until the guilt passed. But still, the thought lingered, like the echo of Sunghoon’s voice in his dreams— bound to you, until the end.

Now, with much less days left, the camp was braced, the people alert, and the weapons sharpened. Sunoo should have felt pride in their success. Instead, all he felt was the slow tightening of a knot in his chest—because the attack was coming, and when it did, the truth he was hiding would come clawing into the light.

—

The morning of the seventh day dawned too still.

The mist hung low over Oak Falls, curling around the sharpened fences and training posts, as though the earth itself held its breath. Sunoo woke up with a hollow pit in his stomach. He had expected a sign, some flicker of warning from Sunghoon, some whisper in his mind the way the vampire had haunted his dreams before. But there was nothing—just silence, thick and heavy.

Jake noticed it too. He strapped on his weapons with grim determination, muttering under his breath as he checked and rechecked his knives. “Something’s off,” he said. “Too quiet.” Sunoo only nodded, his fingers brushing the mark on his neck. The warmth had faded entirely. For the first time since the bite, it was cold.

By dusk, the silence shattered.

They came fast. The first scream rose from the northern ridge—a chilling sound that tore through the evening air—and then the gates shook with the force of impact. Dozens of shadows broke from the tree line, vampires with red eyes burning like coals in the fog. They were feral, just as Sunghoon had warned—no elegance, no mercy. They descended on Oak Falls with a single hunger: blood.

The camp erupted into chaos.

Hunters poured from their homes, weapons gleaming, steel clashing against claws. Lanterns swung wildly, throwing frantic light over the yard as the first wave hit. Sunoo drew his blades without hesitation, falling into rhythm beside Jake. The training they’d forced on the younger hunters paid off—no one hesitated, no one ran. The air filled with battle cries, the metallic stink of blood, the sharp crack of wood stakes splitting bone.

Still, it wasn’t enough to keep the chaos contained. Vampires tore through fences, dragged hunters into the dirt. The shrieks of the wounded filled the night. Families cowered in the meeting hall, guarded by the elders, while the rest of Oak Falls fought tooth and nail to keep the invaders from breaching deeper.

“On your left!” Jake’s voice ripped Sunoo back to the present. He spun, driving his blade into the chest of a vampire that had lunged from the shadows. The creature’s mouth was smeared with blood— someone’s blood —before it crumbled to ash at his feet.

Everywhere Sunoo turned, there was death waiting. And yet, through it all, his eyes kept flicking to the treeline, searching for him . For Sunghoon.

He wasn’t there.

The realization gnawed at him, even as he fought. Sunghoon had warned him, yes, but where was he now? If he had been “indebted,” why wasn’t he here, in the thick of it, repaying that debt? Sunoo’s blade slashed again, his breath ragged as another vampire fell, but his mind screamed louder than the battle— Why isn’t he here?

Jake’s shoulder slammed into his, grounding him. “Focus, Sunoo! We can’t slip now!”

He was right. If Sunoo faltered, even for a moment, Jake could die. The town could fall. And so he shoved Sunghoon from his thoughts, burying the ache deep as he fought side by side with his partner.

The battle raged on in brutal waves. Every victory was stained by the sight of a hunter falling, dragged away screaming, blood painting the dirt. The youngest hunters, the ones Sunoo and Jake had pushed so hard just days ago, fought with desperate fire in their eyes. Some stood their ground; others faltered, barely saved by the elders’ arrows from above.

By midnight, Oak Falls was a ruin. Smoke rose from burning lantern posts. The border fences were shattered, the earth churned with blood and ash. Yet the town still stood. The hunters had held. The vile vampires—feral and reckless—had been met with steel, fire, and the unyielding defense of people who refused to break.

When the last of the creatures crumbled to ash, Sunoo stood in the wreckage, chest heaving, blades dripping crimson. Jake was beside him, bruised and bleeding, but alive. Around them, hunters gathered, some limping, some weeping for the fallen. Families crept from the hall, clinging to one another as they saw what was left of their home.

Sunoo’s relief was sharp, but hollow. They had survived, yes—but at what cost?

And beneath the relief, one thought burned hotter than the fires still smoldering in the yard:

Sunghoon hadn’t come.

Had he lied? Had his “warning” been nothing more than a cruel game? Or worse—had he stayed away because he couldn’t face Sunoo? Because the bond between them meant more than Sunoo dared to admit?

As the others tended to the wounded and rebuilt what they could, Sunoo stood still, his bloodied hand pressed to his mark. It was cold, silent. For the first time, he wished he could feel its warmth again—if only to know that Sunghoon was still out there.

But the night gave him no answer.

The fires burned until dawn.

By the time the last flames were smothered, Oak Falls no longer resembled the tight-knit town it had been just a week ago. Fences were torn down, roofs splintered, the dirt painted with ash and blood. Survivors moved like shadows, silent and hollow-eyed as they tended to the wounded, gathered the dead, and tried to stitch back together the pieces of their world. Children cried into their mothers’ arms; hunters with broken weapons sat slumped against walls, staring at nothing.

Sunoo stood among them, his body stiff, his clothes stained, but his mind far heavier than the aches in his bones. Every scream, every face lost in the chaos, replayed in his head. And beneath it all pulsed the same unrelenting question: Where was Sunghoon?

He clenched his jaw and shoved it down. He couldn’t afford to linger on that now. Not when Jake was watching him.

“Sunoo,” Jake called, voice low but edged. He was leaning against the wrecked post of the training yard, his face lit faintly by the glow of the dying torches. There was blood smeared across his jaw, a cut still raw on his cheek, but his eyes—sharp and searching—were fixed entirely on Sunoo.

Sunoo swallowed hard. He already knew what was coming.

Jake didn’t waste time. “You knew.” His words cut through the brittle silence like a blade. “You knew this was going to happen.”

For a moment, Sunoo couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight, the truth clawing at the back of his teeth. He wanted to tell him—about the visions, the warnings, the bond that tethered him to the vampire he should hate. But the words stuck, strangled by fear. Fear of Jake’s disappointment, his anger, his betrayal .

So Sunoo lied.

“My instincts,” he said quickly, forcing the words to sound steady. “I don’t know why, but… something in me told me it was coming. The patrols, the curfew—I just knew we had to act. That’s all.”

Jake’s brow furrowed. He pushed himself off the post, stepping closer. “Instincts?” His voice was sharp, incredulous. “Since when do instincts give exact dates ? You said a week. Not a month, not a guess. You were sure .”

Sunoo met his gaze but didn’t flinch. “I just… knew.” He hated how hollow it sounded, how flimsy. But it was the only shield he had.

Jake’s jaw tightened. He stared at Sunoo for a long, unbearable moment, as if trying to tear the truth out of him by sheer force of will. The air between them felt heavy, charged, and Sunoo’s heart hammered in his chest.

Finally, Jake exhaled, shoulders sagging just slightly. The fight left his eyes, replaced with something wearier. Something that looked like surrender.

“You’re keeping something from me,” he said, softer now, but no less firm. “But if you don’t want to say it… fine.” He dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I’ll believe you. Whatever. Instincts, visions, whatever it is—you saved us. That’s what matters.”

The relief that washed over Sunoo was sharp, almost painful. Jake was choosing to trust him—or at least to stop digging—but it wasn’t victory. It was a wound, stitched poorly, one tug away from tearing open.

“Jake…” Sunoo began, guilt weighing on every syllable.

But Jake just waved him off, his eyes flicking away to the broken camp. “Don’t. We’ve got bigger things to worry about. People to bury. Families to console. Let’s just… get through this first.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving Sunoo standing alone in the ruins, the lie still bitter on his tongue.

Sunoo exhaled shakily, his hand drifting unconsciously to the cold mark on his neck. He told himself it was better this way—that Jake didn’t need to know about Sunghoon, that no one did. The town had been spared because of the warning. That was enough.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t.

Because every secret builds a wall. And sooner or later, Jake would demand to climb it—or tear it down.

And when that day came, Sunoo wasn’t sure if Jake would still look at him the same way.

—

The camp had gone silent. The usual chatter of laughter, sparring, and blades striking wood was replaced with the hollow weight of mourning. They buried their dead in rows of unmarked stones, each a reminder of the lives lost during the attack. Sunoo stood among the crowd, numb, his hands clasped tightly until his knuckles turned white. He didn’t cry in public. He couldn’t—not when every other hunter looked to one another for strength. But grief gnawed at his chest, relentlessly.

He broke away after the final prayer, wandering beyond the campfires until the shadows of the trees swallowed him whole. His weapons clinked at his belt as he found a clearing, one he’d used countless times to train when he wanted no one watching.

This time, he wasn’t here to sharpen skill. He was here to punish himself.

Knife after knife whirred through the air, embedding themselves into the bark of an old oak. The steady rhythm was all that kept him standing. But when his hand slipped—just once—the blade sliced across his palm. A hiss of pain escaped him, followed by the warmth of blood pooling in his hand.

And then, it happened.

The mark carved into his skin—the cursed link between hunter and vampire—ignited. It pulsed, throbbed, and burned as if alive. His breathing grew ragged. The ache traveled from his palm to his chest, each heartbeat harder, heavier. Desperate to end it, Sunoo did the unthinkable: he pressed the edge of the knife against the mark itself, dragging it harshly, trying to carve the damn thing out of his skin. Blood welled, spilled, dripped down his wrist, staining the earth.

But before he could go any deeper—everything blurred.

Wind rushed past him. His stomach lurched as his feet left the ground, the world streaking by in dizzying motion. He tried to struggle, but his strength bled out with the crimson trail he left behind. And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

He stumbled forward, chest heaving, his back hitting the trunk of a tree. The forest around him was darker, deeper, nothing like the training clearing. He blinked rapidly, vision sharpening—until his eyes locked on a figure before him.

Sunghoon.

He stood with that same detached elegance, shadows bending around him as though the forest itself bowed in recognition. His pale eyes glowed faintly in the dark, a contrast to the red smears staining his hands—Sunoo’s blood.

Sunoo froze, knife still clutched weakly in his trembling grip. His chest rose and fell in an unsteady rhythm, the sting of his mark flaring under his shirt like fire.

“You’re trying to kill yourself,” Sunghoon’s voice was calm, but there was a tension beneath it, tight and dangerous. “Or do you not understand what that bond does?”

Sunoo’s throat was dry, but the words broke out anyway, bitter and hoarse.

“I don’t need your help.”

A flash of anger flickered across Sunghoon’s face. He closed the distance in a blink, his hand snapping around Sunoo’s wrist before the hunter could press the knife against his skin again. The strength in his grip was inhuman, unyielding.

“If you tear it apart, you tear me apart with it,” Sunghoon said, voice low now, close enough that Sunoo felt the ghost of his breath. “Is that what you want? To drag me into death along with you?”

Sunoo’s pulse stuttered. The mark pulsed with a strange rhythm at Sunghoon’s nearness—not just pain, but something sharper, stranger, like heat coiled under his skin.

He wanted to pull away. He wanted to spit in his face, to demand answers, to hate him the way he was supposed to. But his chest betrayed him, loosening with a kind of relief he didn’t understand the second Sunghoon touched him. The pain dulled. The fire eased.

Sunoo’s knife clattered to the ground.

“Why?” His voice cracked, the question tearing out of him before he could stop it. His eyes searched Sunghoon’s face, desperate, demanding. “Why do you keep saving me? Why warn me about the attack? Why drag me here instead of letting me bleed out?”

For a moment, Sunghoon said nothing. His jaw tensed, his eyes softened, and in that stillness, Sunoo felt something unspoken passing between them.

Finally, Sunghoon answered, voice barely above a whisper. “Because I can’t not save you.”

The silence that followed was heavy, dangerous. Sunoo’s heart pounded, his breath shallow. He wanted to ask what that meant, but the weight in Sunghoon’s eyes told him the truth would ruin them both.

And still… he couldn’t look away.

The forest was so quiet, Sunoo could hear the blood dripping from his palm onto the grass. Each drop sounded louder than it should, echoing in the space between them.

Sunghoon crouched in front of him, his hand still wrapped around Sunoo’s wrist. His touch wasn’t gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either. Carefully, he pried the knife away, tossing it into the dirt out of reach.

“You’re reckless,” he murmured, pulling a cloth from inside his coat. Sunoo hadn’t noticed it before, the faint stain of old battles on it. Sunghoon pressed the fabric firmly against the wound. Sunoo flinched, a sharp hiss leaving his lips, but he didn’t pull away.

“I can handle—”

“No, you can’t,” Sunghoon cut him off, his voice sharp but low, as though he was afraid to raise it. 

“Not like this. You’ll bleed out before your pride saves you.”

His fingers adjusted, steady, pressing with enough force to stop the flow. The mark under Sunoo’s skin throbbed harder, each beat syncing with Sunghoon’s grip. It was unbearable and yet… grounding.

Sunoo’s gaze wandered up, catching the faint furrow in Sunghoon’s brow, the focus in his eyes. He looked less like a monster and more like someone carrying a burden too heavy for even immortal shoulders.

But then Sunghoon stilled.

His jaw tightened. His eyes—sharp and pale—shifted from Sunoo’s face to the blood soaking the cloth. Slowly, deliberately, he inhaled. The sound was subtle, but the change in his expression was not. His lips parted, his throat worked, and for the first time, Sunoo realized exactly what kind of temptation his wound carried.

The air between them thickened. Sunghoon’s grip faltered, his thumb brushing against the slick warmth of blood trailing down Sunoo’s wrist. His breathing grew shallow, uneven, the carefully constructed mask of restraint beginning to crack.

Sunoo saw it—the hunger.

His pulse quickened, not just in fear but in something he couldn’t name. The mark flared again, almost in answer, binding them in a heat that made his head swim.

“You’re…” Sunghoon’s voice was hoarse now, strained. His eyes flicked up, locking on Sunoo’s with a sharpness that felt like a blade against skin. “…too close.”

Sunoo swallowed, his throat dry. His instincts screamed to pull back, to shove him away, but his body betrayed him. He didn’t move.

Instead, he whispered, “Then why don’t you let go?”

The question hung like a snare.

Sunghoon’s fangs glinted in the dim light when his lips parted further. His face leaned closer, the scent of blood drawing him in like a tide. Sunoo’s breath caught, his body rigid but unmoving as if rooted to the ground.

And then, with a guttural sound that was half-growl, half-sigh, Sunghoon tore himself away.

He staggered back, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. He turned his face away, ashamed of the weakness he had almost given in to.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he rasped, his voice raw.

Sunoo’s chest tightened. His wound still bled faintly, but the ache in his mark dulled into a throb of something dangerously close to longing. He should have hated Sunghoon at that moment, cursed him for the hunger in his eyes. But instead, he sat there in silence, heart pounding, haunted by the knowledge that the vampire had chosen restraint—for him.

The night pressed in around them, the forest hushed as if holding its breath. The only sound was the shallow pull of air through Sunghoon’s lungs and the faint, steady throb of Sunoo’s wound.

Sunghoon still hadn’t moved from where he knelt before him. His hand hovered just above Sunoo’s arm, as though torn between touching and retreating. The hunger etched itself across his features—cheeks hollowed in tension, lips tight, eyes gleaming too bright in the half-light. But beneath that, there was something else: sorrow. A loneliness so heavy it softened the sharp edges of his face.

“Sunoo…” His voice was raw, almost breaking. He lowered his gaze, as though ashamed of even speaking the words. “I can’t… I can’t hold it back anymore. I need it.”

Sunoo stiffened. His heart stuttered in his chest, his instincts sounding alarms that should have had him reaching for his knives, for anything to keep the predator before him at bay. But he didn’t move. He just watched, lips parted, body trembling—not only from fear.

Sunghoon’s eyes lifted then, desperate and searching. “Let me drink,” he whispered. His voice cracked, weighted with a plea. “Just once. I swear I’ll stop.” His jaw tightened. “But I can’t keep pretending I’m not starving.”

It was a dangerous request, one that no hunter should ever agree to. But Sunoo, in his silence, felt his resolve waver. He had noticed it before—the strange pull in his chest whenever their eyes met, the quiet gravity that kept drawing him back to this vampire despite everything he knew. He hated it, feared it… but he couldn’t deny it.

The hunger in Sunghoon’s gaze wasn’t just hunger. It was something fragile, something vulnerable. And Sunoo, against every instinct, was weak for it. Weak for him.

His voice trembled when he finally spoke. “…Okay.”

The word was soft, nearly lost to the night.

Sunghoon froze, as though he hadn’t expected to hear it. His lips parted, eyes flickering with disbelief, then something darker. Slowly, cautiously, he leaned forward. His hand brushed against Sunoo’s jaw, steadying him with a surprising gentleness.

“Don’t move,” he breathed, his lips ghosting over the curve of Sunoo’s neck. The warmth of his breath prickled across skin, raising goosebumps. Sunghoon lingered there, inhaling deeply as though memorizing him.

Sunoo’s pulse hammered, loud enough to drown out his thoughts. He shut his eyes, every nerve alight with anticipation and dread.

Then the sharp sting came.

Sunghoon’s fangs pierced skin with a clean, searing pressure. Sunoo gasped, his whole body jerking before going rigid. Pain bloomed for a heartbeat—white-hot and unbearable—before melting into something else entirely. A pull. A dizzying wave of heat curling from his neck down his spine, until his gasp became a shuddered breath.

He gripped the fabric of Sunghoon’s coat, fingers curling as his knees weakened.

The sensation was wrong, dangerous… addicting.

Sunghoon’s hold tightened as he drank, his body pressing closer, trembling faintly with restraint. He groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against Sunoo’s skin. His hunger was palpable, raw, consuming. And Sunoo felt it—the way Sunghoon clung to him as though he were the only thing tethering him to this earth.

But the pull grew harsher, sharper.

“Ah—” Sunoo’s breath hitched. His hand weakly pushed at Sunghoon’s shoulder. “You’re… you’re hurting me…”

The words, though faint, cut through the haze.

Sunghoon tore himself back with a violent jerk, stumbling away like a man waking from a trance. His chest heaved, his mouth red—dark streaks of Sunoo’s blood trailing from the corners of his lips. He pressed a hand to his mouth, his eyes wild, horrified at himself.

Sunoo sagged against the tree behind him, breathing heavily, one hand clamped over the puncture at his neck. He could still feel the phantom drag of Sunghoon’s mouth, the burn of his fangs, the terrifying rush that lingered even as weakness seeped into his limbs.

For a long, trembling moment, neither spoke.

Sunghoon was the first to break, his voice low and strangled. “…I told you I’d stop.” His hands curled into fists at his sides, as though to punish himself for the loss of control. He turned his head, but not before Sunoo caught the glint of shame in his eyes—shame laced with something else. Hunger, still unquenched.

And yet, beneath it all, Sunoo felt the faintest curl of warmth deep in his chest. Because despite the danger, despite the ache in his neck and the dizziness clouding his thoughts… he had said yes. And some part of him knew he would say it again.

Chapter Text

The next night, the camp gathered for dinner in the main hall. The atmosphere was subdued—everyone was still raw from the attack, the air thick with grief. Bowls clattered, spoons scraped, and hushed conversations filled the gaps that once were laughter.

Sunoo slipped into his seat quietly, tugging at the high collar of the black turtleneck sweater he’d pulled on before leaving his quarters. The fabric clung uncomfortably to his skin in the humid summer heat, but it was necessary. He could still feel the punctures on his neck, tender and burning, as if branded.

Across the table, Jake narrowed his eyes. He’d been Sunoo’s closest companion for years—he knew his quirks, his moods, the way he fidgeted when something was wrong. And tonight, Sunoo was practically radiating unease.

Jake leaned closer, his voice pitched low. “Why the hell are you wearing that? It’s boiling in here.” His tone was skeptical, suspicious.

Sunoo avoided his gaze, poking at his food. “Just… felt like it.”

Jake frowned. “You? Sweaters in summer?” He smirked faintly, though his eyes lingered on him with unspoken questions. “Weird.”

Sunoo forced a small smile, though his chest tightened under Jake’s scrutiny. He tugged at his sleeves, keeping his head low for the rest of the meal, praying no one else noticed.

When the hall emptied, he retreated to his quarters. The moonlight seeped in through the window, soft and silver. Sunoo peeled off the sweater and stood before the mirror.

His reflection stared back—pale skin glistening faintly with sweat, his collarbone bare, and there it was: the mark. Two small punctures, bruised purple around the edges, raw and unmistakable. He reached up with trembling fingers and traced them, his breath catching.

The memory slammed into him—Sunghoon’s lips against his skin, the sharp sting, the dizzying wave of pleasure and pain that followed. He closed his eyes, and for a moment he could almost feel the heat of his breath again, the way his body trembled with restraint.

A shiver crawled down his spine.

He should hate this. He should be horrified. But instead, his heart raced with a strange, consuming desire. He liked it—too much. The bite wasn’t just a wound. It was a secret, one that pulsed in time with his heartbeat, tying him to Sunghoon in a way he couldn’t explain.

Opening his eyes, Sunoo whispered under his breath, a confession no one would hear: “I wish they were all like you.”

Vampires. He should despise them for what they did to the town, for the people they lost. But Sunghoon wasn’t like the rest. He hadn’t killed him. He had taken, yes—but carefully. Desperately. Almost tenderly.

And Sunoo… wanted more.

He let his hand drop, lips parting in a silent exhale. The attraction he had been trying to bury was no longer subtle. It was clawing its way to the surface, creeping into every thought, every stolen glance at the forest where he had first seen Sunghoon.

Lying back on his bed, the moonlight spilling across his face, Sunoo clenched his fists against the sheets. He knew it was dangerous. Knew it would consume him if he let it.

But he also knew this: he wanted to see Sunghoon again. He wanted to spend more time with him, even if it meant giving in to something he should never desire.

The days following the attack melted into a rhythm of recovery and routine. The camp mourned, trained, rebuilt. On the surface, Sunoo did the same. He nodded through meetings with the hunters, joined Jake on morning patrols, and carried his weight in chores. But little by little, the balance shifted. His presence at Jake’s side grew scarce. His excuses became more frequent—“I need to train longer,” “I’m going to practice my aim alone,” “I’ll scout the north ridge by myself.”

At first, Jake asked questions. He tried to joke it off, and tried to pull Sunoo back into their shared rhythm. But Sunoo’s answers were curt, his smiles fleeting, and Jake eventually let the distance stand.

Because what Sunoo never said aloud was this: his every step, every lie, every empty excuse was made with one purpose in mind. To get back to him .

The forest became their sanctuary. Sunoo would slip away through familiar trails, ducking past the borders until he reached the places untouched by hunters’ patrols—the moss-laden creeks, the quiet clearings between tall, whispering trees. And there, almost always, Sunghoon would find him.

The first few meetings were cautious—Sunghoon appeared in the shadows, lips pale, eyes dark with hunger. He would hover close, murmuring that he hadn’t fed since last time, that the thirst was gnawing at him. Sunoo would roll down his collar, tilt his head, and let him drink. Each time, the sensation burned hotter, the sharp sting dissolving into a dizzying wave of heat that curled through his veins.

But soon, it was no longer just about feeding.

One afternoon, the light was golden through the trees, painting everything in amber. The forest hummed quietly with cicadas, the water in the creek murmuring nearby. Sunghoon stood too close—he always did—but that day, something was different in his gaze. His hunger wasn’t only for blood.

“Take this off,” Sunghoon whispered, his voice low, almost reverent, as he tugged at the heavier outer layers of Sunoo’s training clothes.

Sunoo’s heart hammered, but he obeyed, shedding them until only a thin inner layer clung to his skin. The air was warm, yet goosebumps rose where Sunghoon’s hands traced along his shoulders, down his arms, pressing against the curve of his chest.

Sunghoon’s touch was cold, tentative at first, but it grew bolder as if he were memorizing the map of Sunoo’s body. His fingers brushed scars, lingered at the quick rise and fall of his ribs. He wasn’t just a predator taking blood—he was something more vulnerable now, as if offering Sunoo himself in return.

Sunoo’s breath hitched. He had never allowed anyone this close, never felt this raw and open. His own hands, trembling, reached up to touch Sunghoon’s wrists, then slid higher, daring to skim over his shoulders. Sunghoon didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned into the touch, as though craving it.

“Why only me?” Sunoo asked softly, eyes searching Sunghoon’s. 

“Why can’t you take from anyone else?”

Sunghoon’s lips parted, his gaze dark. “Because nothing else tastes like you.” His voice was ragged, almost pained. “Nothing else feels… this .”

And then he pressed his forehead to Sunoo’s, his breath shaky, his restraint fragile. His fangs ached, his hunger gnawed, but he didn’t bite—not yet. Instead, he let his hands rest against Sunoo’s chest, feeling the thundering heartbeat beneath.

Sunoo’s pulse was wild, his body alight with fear and yearning. He realized, in that quiet moment under the trees, that this intimacy had become his addiction just as much as his blood was Sunghoon’s. The secrecy, the touch, the knowledge that Sunghoon could unravel him with a single bite—it consumed him.

And he loved it.

Every day after, he found himself running back to this forest, to the one person he shouldn’t crave. To the man who was dangerous, forbidden, and yet, the only one who touched him like this—like he was both fragile and untouchable, prey and treasure, victim and beloved.

The sunlight filtered through the trees in thin golden strips, painting the ground with shifting shadows. Sunghoon leaned back against the trunk of a tall cedar, arms crossed loosely over his chest, while Sunoo sat a little ways in front of him, cross-legged on the moss. They were close, but not touching—though the memory of Sunghoon’s hands tracing over Sunoo’s skin lingered heavily in the air.

For a long while, only the sound of cicadas and the babble of the creek filled the silence. Sunoo toyed with the edge of his sleeve, tugging it down to hide the faint sting at his neck. He knew what lay beneath, two fresh punctures that still throbbed faintly, but instead of shame, he felt… warm. Charged. Almost whole.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Sunghoon said at last. His voice was low, steady, though there was something edged beneath it, like he was holding something back.

Sunoo glanced up. “Am I? I thought you liked it that way. Less noise.”

A faint smile tugged at Sunghoon’s lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I do. But when you’re silent, I start to wonder what you’re thinking.”

Sunoo hesitated, then asked softly, “Do you really want to know?”

“I always do.”

The words were so simple, so sincere, that Sunoo’s chest tightened. He pressed his hand absentmindedly against his collarbone, right above where Sunghoon’s fangs had sunk into him earlier. “I was thinking… about you. About what it means that you only take from me. Why me, Sunghoon? Why not anyone else?”

Sunghoon stilled, his gaze sharpening. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, slowly, he said, “Because you’re different.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“You want the truth?” His voice dropped, dark and raw. “Your blood… it’s not like theirs. It doesn’t just silence the hunger. It… binds. It pulls. Every time I taste it, I feel like I’m chained tighter to you. It’s maddening.”

Sunoo’s breath caught. He didn’t move, though every instinct screamed at him that this was dangerous knowledge. “So you’re saying… it isn’t just choice? It’s something you can’t resist?”

“Yes.” Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, his eyes darting briefly to the forest floor as though ashamed. “And that terrifies me. Because vampires aren’t meant to… want like this. We feed. We kill. We move on. But you—” His gaze flicked back to Sunoo, sharp, intense. “You stay with me. Even when I should have left you alone.”

Sunoo’s throat tightened, a strange mix of guilt and warmth surging inside him. “Maybe… maybe I don’t want you to leave me alone.”

The silence after was heavy, almost deafening. Sunghoon stared at him for a long time, as if searching for something in his expression.

“You don’t understand what that means,” Sunghoon whispered at last. “For me to take from you—again and again—it isn’t safe. For either of us.”

“Then explain it,” Sunoo pressed. “Help me understand.”

Sunghoon’s hands flexed against his arms, knuckles paling. “Hunters are raised to kill us. Vampires are raised to kill you . That’s the natural order. And yet here we are, breaking both. Don’t you see the cruelty in that? One day, your people will discover what you’re hiding. And when they do, it won’t just be me they come for. It will be you.”

Sunoo swallowed hard. “And you? What about your kind? What would they do if they found out you’ve been feeding on me without killing me?”

A bitter laugh slipped from Sunghoon’s mouth, but it carried no humor. “They’d call me weak. Pathetic. They’d put me down themselves if they knew how deep I’ve let myself sink into you.”

Sunoo’s chest tightened again, painfully this time. He curled his fists in his lap. “Then why keep doing it?” His voice cracked, more desperate than he intended. “If this is so dangerous, so wrong, why keep coming back? Why keep taking from me?”

Sunghoon leaned forward then, shadows carving his sharp features, his eyes burning with something close to anguish. “Because I can’t stop. Because every time I tell myself I won’t come back, I end up here, with you. Because when I’m with you, I feel like I’m not just a monster.”

Sunoo froze, breath shuddering in his chest.

And then, quieter, almost broken, Sunghoon added, “But make no mistake, Sunoo. You’re the one who will suffer for this. You’re the one who’s bound to bleed for me until it kills you.”

The words fell heavy between them, but instead of recoiling, instead of fleeing like instinct demanded, Sunoo reached out—hesitant, trembling—and laid his hand gently over Sunghoon’s.

“ I don’t care,” he whispered, voice fragile but steady. “If this is what it takes to be with you—even for a little while—I don’t care.”

For the first time, Sunghoon looked undone. His throat worked as he swallowed hard, his fangs catching faintly on his lip as if he were fighting the urge to sink them in again. His hand turned beneath Sunoo’s, gripping it tightly, almost painfully.

“You’re going to destroy me,” Sunghoon said hoarsely.

Chapter Text

The dormitory was quiet that night, the kind of heavy quiet that settled after long days of drills and hunts. Most of the trainees had already gone to bed. The hallways smelled faintly of oil lamps and old wood, the air still carrying a faint chill from the mountains outside.

Sunoo hesitated outside Jake’s door, fist raised but unmoving. He’d noticed it for weeks now—the distance. The way Jake wouldn’t sit across from him at the dining hall, the way he left training sessions early to spar alone, the way conversations had grown clipped, shallow, or nonexistent. It was a silence that cut deeper than words.

Finally, he knocked.

“Come in,” came Jake’s voice, flat and unenthused.

Sunoo pushed the door open. Jake was at his desk, hunched over books scattered in a messy sprawl—handwritten manuals, old hunter records, and even some brittle, yellowing papers that looked ancient. His brows were furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line as his finger traced a passage.

Sunoo closed the door softly behind him. “You’re still awake?”

Jake didn’t look up. “Obviously.”

The coldness in his tone made Sunoo’s chest ache. He stepped closer, trying to peer at what Jake was reading.

“What’s all this?”

Jake’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “Research.”

“On…?”

Jake pushed one of the books toward him with a sharp tap of his finger. “Vampire–hunter bonds. Cases where hunters got too close. Hunters who… changed. Hunters who disappeared.” His voice cracked slightly at the last word, but he masked it quickly.

Sunoo’s stomach dropped. He swallowed hard. “Jake…”

“I knew something was wrong,” Jake cut in, voice rising. His accent thickened when he got emotional, his words clipped. “Ever since the night those sisters were attacked, you’ve been different. And don’t tell me it’s nothing, Sunoo. I’m not blind. I’ve known you my whole life.”

Sunoo’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “It’s complicated—”

“Complicated? That’s all you’re going to give me?” Jake snapped, slamming the book shut with a thud that echoed in the room. “You disappear for hours. You skip meals. You come back looking pale and drained, and I’m supposed to sit here and pretend I don’t see it?” His voice shook, sharp with hurt. “Do you think I’m that stupid?”

“I never said that!” Sunoo yelled back before he could stop himself. His own voice cracked, high with frustration and panic. “It’s not about you being stupid. It’s just—there are things I can’t explain right now!”

Jake stood abruptly, his chair scraping back. His eyes burned with something between anger and betrayal. “Then what am I to you, huh? Just someone to sit beside at dinner? Just a sparring partner? You don’t trust me enough to tell me the truth, but I’m supposed to call you my best friend?”

Sunoo’s chest heaved, his breath uneven. He stepped forward, desperate. “It’s not about trust! Jake, I swear, it’s not that. You are the one person I—” His throat closed up, the words tangling on his tongue. “I’ll tell you when it’s time. Please. Just… trust me until then.”

But Jake’s expression hardened, a wall slamming down between them. His voice came out low, shaking with restrained anger. “No, Sunoo. That’s not how this works. Friendship doesn’t mean keeping secrets so big they’re eating you alive. It doesn’t mean pushing me away and then asking me to just… wait.”

Sunoo flinched, feeling the sting of every word. “I’m not pushing you away, Jake—”

“You already have.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. The weight of the words crushed Sunoo’s chest until he could barely breathe.

Jake turned back toward his desk, shoulders tense, refusing to look at him. “Leave.”

The single word sliced clean, final.

Sunoo froze. His lips trembled as he tried to form a protest, but nothing came out. His body felt heavy, as though moving would shatter him completely.

“Jake…” he whispered, but there was no answer.

Defeated, Sunoo turned. His hand lingered on the doorknob a second longer than necessary, hoping—praying—that Jake would call out, would say anything to stop him. But the silence held, cold and unyielding.

He stepped out and closed the door behind him, the click of the latch sounding like a coffin shutting.

Only then, in the empty hallway where no one could see, did the tears slip free. Sunoo pressed his palm to his mouth, muffling the quiet sob that broke loose. His body shook as he leaned against the door, heart splintering under the weight of the fight, under the weight of losing Jake—not to death, not to vampires, but to something far crueler: his own secrecy.

—

A few days later, the forest felt different. The usual birdsong was faint, muted, as though the world itself was holding its breath. Mist hung low over the undergrowth, weaving between the tall trees like ghosts. Beneath the creeks, where the water trickled soft and cold over the stones, Sunghoon was already waiting. He stood against one of the moss-darkened rocks, arms folded loosely, his sharp profile softened by the filtered light.

When Sunoo approached, his footsteps crunching on the damp leaves, Sunghoon looked up immediately. His gaze sharpened—he didn’t miss the dullness in Sunoo’s eyes, the way his shoulders sagged, or how every step seemed heavier than the last.

“Sunoo,” Sunghoon called softly, voice low and deliberate. “What happened?”

Sunoo tried to force a smile, but it was weak, trembling on his lips before dissolving. His throat burned. He moved closer, step by step, as though drawn forward by a pull he couldn’t fight. By the time he was in front of Sunghoon, his chest felt like it would collapse under the weight of everything he was holding in.

Sunghoon reached out, catching Sunoo’s wrist before he could hide himself away. His cold fingers tightened, and his brows knit together. “Why do you look like this? Did someone hurt you?” There was panic in his tone now, his voice sharper. “Tell me—”

But Sunoo didn’t let him finish. The dam inside him broke. A choked sob escaped his throat as he lurched forward, pressing himself into Sunghoon’s chest. His fingers clutched desperately at the vampire’s coat, twisting the fabric until his knuckles turned white. His face buried itself against that cold, unmoving chest, the sound of his ragged breaths muffled in the silence of the forest.

Sunghoon froze for half a heartbeat—then melted, arms wrapping firmly around Sunoo’s trembling frame. He cradled him close, one hand settling at the back of Sunoo’s head, fingers threading into his hair. Slowly, carefully, he tilted his chin down, brushing the crown of Sunoo’s head with a feather-light kiss.

“Shhh…” Sunghoon whispered, his voice low and velvet-soft. He kissed his temple, his hair, his forehead, again and again, each touch tender and reverent. His hand rubbed soothing circles against Sunoo’s back. “It’s alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

The sobs poured out of Sunoo in waves, broken gasps and trembling whimpers that shook his entire body. He clung tighter, as though Sunghoon’s coldness was the only thing anchoring him, grounding him when everything else had fallen apart.

Time slipped by in that quiet embrace, the creek’s gentle trickle masking the sound of his crying until it softened. Eventually, Sunoo’s breathing evened out, his sobs tapering into small, hiccuping breaths. His grip on Sunghoon loosened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. He stayed pressed close, as though the world beyond Sunghoon’s arms was too cruel to face just yet.

Only then did Sunghoon dare to speak again, his lips brushing against Sunoo’s hair as he murmured, “What happened?”

Sunoo sniffled, lifting his head just enough to speak, though his voice was hoarse and thick. “It was Jake…”

Sunghoon’s brows drew together, but he stayed silent, letting the boy speak.

“We fought,” Sunoo whispered, eyes flicking down to where his fingers still clung to Sunghoon’s hand.

“He knows something’s wrong. He’s noticed. He kept pushing me to tell him, but… I couldn’t. I couldn’t explain. I said it was complicated, but he thought… he thought it meant I don’t trust him.” His voice cracked again, his throat tight with guilt. “He told me to leave. And I did.”

Tears brimmed again, spilling over as Sunoo clutched Sunghoon’s hand tighter, pressing his forehead against the back of it. “I think I’ve lost him.”

Sunghoon’s chest ached at the sight—Sunoo, broken and clinging to him, whispering his pain like a confession. A flicker of guilt burned in him, sharp and unforgiving. He knew—deep down—that this rift with Jake was because of him, because of the way he had pulled Sunoo closer and closer into his orbit. Sunoo was unraveling in his arms, and Sunghoon couldn’t deny the part he played in it.

But he was too far gone. Too deep in the pull of Sunoo’s warmth, in the way his blood, his touch, his presence had become something Sunghoon craved like air. So he said nothing of that guilt. He only lowered his head, pressing another kiss to Sunoo’s damp cheek, tasting the salt of his tears.

“I’m sorry,” Sunghoon murmured, though the words felt too shallow, too empty against the gravity of Sunoo’s pain. Still, he held him tighter, as if he could shield him from the hurt with just his arms. “I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

Sunoo trembled again, but this time he leaned fully into Sunghoon, eyes closing as though the promise was the only lifeline he had left.

And Sunghoon stayed silent after that, letting the forest hold their confessions. He kissed Sunoo’s temple once more, his hands never leaving him, his thoughts tangled with guilt and desire alike.

Because even as he comforted him, Sunghoon knew, the deeper Sunoo clung to him, the harder it would be when the truth of their bond finally demanded blood and death.

Night fell slow and heavy around them, swallowing the forest in quiet darkness. The creek glimmered faintly beneath the pale light of the moon, its soft murmur the only sound breaking through the stillness.

Sunoo, worn out by his tears and the storm that had rattled his heart, eventually slumped against Sunghoon’s chest. His breathing evened, small and fragile against the vampire’s steady frame. In sleep, his face lost the tension it had carried all day—he looked almost childlike, soft and unguarded.

Sunghoon didn’t move. He didn’t dare. His arms cradled Sunoo carefully, one hand stroking absentmindedly through his hair as though memorizing the texture. His crimson eyes lingered on the boy’s features—his long lashes that brushed his cheeks, the curve of his mouth still faintly parted with sleep, the faint warmth radiating from his skin.

And Sunghoon thought: I like him too much.

It was dangerous, foolish, selfish—he knew this. They were bound together by something neither had asked for, and it was only a matter of time before that bond demanded the cruel truth of what Sunoo was meant to do to him. They were doomed. He was doomed .

Yet in that moment, with Sunoo safe and pliant in his arms, Sunghoon decided he would take what he could have. Even if it was temporary, even if it was cursed. For this night, at least, he could allow himself to hold him.

Hours passed in silence, the night pressing colder and colder, until the air stung faintly against Sunoo’s skin. He stirred, shifting restlessly against Sunghoon’s chest, eyes blinking open slowly.

The first thing he saw was the still figure beside him—the pale outline of Sunghoon’s face, gazing at him quietly. A faint smile curved Sunghoon’s lips, soft but never reaching his eyes.

Sunoo’s heart leapt into his throat. Panic flared in him, as though waking here, in the arms of someone he shouldn’t be with, had suddenly pulled him back to reality. He scrambled for words, his breath quickening—

But Sunghoon hushed him before he could spiral, his voice low and steady.

“You’re okay.”

The assurance sank into Sunoo’s chest like a stone dropped in water. He searched Sunghoon’s face in the dim light, finding no mockery there, no judgment—just that faint, bittersweet smile.

So they stayed there. Neither spoke for a while, lying side by side with the chill air wrapping around them, the sound of the creek filling the silence.

And then Sunoo, with trembling lips and a heart that pounded painfully against his ribs, whispered, “I… I love you.”

The words seemed to hang frozen between them. Sunoo’s throat felt tight, but once he started, he couldn’t stop.

“I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s dangerous—wrong, even. But I can’t stop it. I love you, Sunghoon. I want you for myself. Even if everything about this is impossible… even if it hurts. I wish you weren’t a vampire. I wish you were just… just someone I could hold onto without fear.”

His voice cracked, and he turned his face into Sunghoon’s shoulder, clutching at his coat again. “I don’t know what will happen to us, or how long we have. But if this is all the time we get, I want to spend it like this—with you. Just you.”

The confession was raw, sacred, carved from the deepest part of him. His breaths shook with the weight of finally speaking the truth aloud.

For a long moment, Sunghoon could only stare at him, his chest twisting painfully with something he couldn’t name. Then slowly, he leaned down, pressing his lips to Sunoo’s temple.

“I love you too,” he whispered, his voice breaking with sincerity. He trailed soft words against Sunoo’s hair, each one like a vow he had no right to make. “More than I should. More than I’ve ever loved anything. If I could choose, I’d choose you again and again, no matter what I am. No matter what this means.”

Sunoo’s breath hitched, and he let himself sink into Sunghoon’s embrace completely, his heart open, bare, unafraid in that fragile moment.

When Sunghoon’s lips brushed against his neck, he didn’t resist. He tilted his head back, giving himself willingly, almost reverently.

“Take it,” Sunoo murmured, eyes fluttering shut. “If this is how I can love you, then let it be.”

And Sunghoon did. With trembling restraint, he sank his fangs into Sunoo’s skin, tasting him, drinking from him, every drop binding them tighter in a way words never could. Sunoo gasped softly at the sting, then melted, clutching Sunghoon’s coat as his warmth was pulled into him.

It was dangerous. It was doomed. But it was also unbearably intimate—an exchange of trust, of love, of surrender.

When it was over, Sunghoon licked the wound closed gently, holding Sunoo close until the boy’s body relaxed again.

He carried him home beneath the cover of night, his steps silent over the forest floor. By the time they reached the edge of Sunoo’s house, the boy was half-asleep again in his arms, his lips curved in the faintest smile.

Inside, as Sunoo lay curled beneath his blankets, that smile lingered. For him, it didn’t matter that Sunghoon was a vampire. To Sunoo, Sunghoon was simply his—his comfort, his refuge, his love.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

The weeks turned into months, and though Jake’s cold shoulder never thawed, Sunoo stopped waiting for it to. Instead, he slipped into a different rhythm—one where Sunghoon was the constant. Between his packed schedule of training and classes, there was always Sunghoon waiting. Always first, always patient, leaning against the mossed rocks by the creek or perched elegantly on the low branch of an old tree, as though time itself bent for him until Sunoo arrived.

That afternoon was no different. Or so Sunoo thought.

He didn’t notice the faint crunch of footsteps hidden by distance. He didn’t sense the shadow that kept just far enough not to be seen. All he knew was the quickening of his heart as the forest grew familiar, as the path curved and opened into the place that had long since become theirs.

Sunghoon was there, of course. He always was. His pale figure stood in the soft glow of the waning sun, like a sculpture cut out of light and shadow.

“Sunghoon!” Sunoo’s voice was unguarded, full of warmth, and he all but ran the last few steps. The vampire opened his arms, catching him in the same way he always did—with quiet devotion, as if Sunoo were both fragile and infinite in his embrace.

The forest closed in around them, but Sunoo didn’t mind. In Sunghoon’s presence, there was no edge sharp enough to wound him.

They settled near the creek, their words weaving back and forth like the ripples of water. Soon, as always, came the offering: Sunoo tilting his neck, his trust absolute. Sunghoon’s lips brushed his skin reverently before his fangs broke the surface.

The sting was fleeting. Sunoo exhaled, leaning against him, lulled by the strange calm that always followed—the feeling of giving and being consumed, and yet never being lessened.

But tonight, a chill prickled down his spine.

He stiffened slightly, his gaze darting over Sunghoon’s shoulder into the trees. The shadows seemed heavier than usual, watching. His pulse fluttered faster.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered, voice small, uneasy.

Sunghoon pulled back, crimson eyes narrowing toward the forest, scanning the air with a predator’s stillness. Nothing moved. The world was hushed, as if holding its breath.

When he looked back, he smiled faintly, stroking Sunoo’s hair as if to smooth away the tension. “There’s no one here but us.”

The words carried weight, as though he was willing it to be true. And Sunoo, so easily swayed by the gentleness he found only in Sunghoon, let himself believe it.

The unease melted gradually, replaced by the steady rhythm of conversation and laughter. As the sun sank lower, the sky bled into gold and crimson, painting the creek in liquid fire.

Sunoo sighed at the sight. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured.

His head rested on Sunghoon’s chest, listening to the silence where a heartbeat should have been. “I love it here. Almost as much as I love you.”

Sunghoon pressed his lips against Sunoo’s hair, silent. He knew this happiness was fragile, something that could never last. But Sunoo’s words were too precious to tarnish his doubts.

The two of them tangled together on the mat, the fading light draping them in warmth. They talked about everything and nothing—childhood memories, the stars they could barely see through the canopy, how the forest seemed to exist only for them.

Until Sunoo’s words softened into drowsy murmurs, then quiet breaths. He fell asleep nestled in Sunghoon’s arms, the creek whispering beside them, the last light of sunset painting his face in gold.

The world was quiet when Sunoo’s eyes blinked open. Too quiet.

He reached instinctively for warmth that should have been beside him, for the familiar weight of Sunghoon’s arms that always anchored him. But the mat was empty, cold. His breath caught.

“Sunghoon?” His voice trembled as he sat up.

Then he heard it—the crackle of fire. But it wasn’t the gentle hiss of the creek or the rustle of the forest. It was harsh, sharp, wrong.

He whipped his head around, and his heart stopped.

The clearing, once their sanctuary, was no longer their own. Circling the space were figures cloaked in shadow, torches in hand, firelight licking against their faces and steel glinting from the weapons they carried. Hunters. A ring of them, tightening like a noose.

And at the center of it all—Sunghoon.

He was bound in chains, heavy and cruel, pinning his arms behind him and weighing across his chest. His body sagged against the ropes that lashed him upright, his head hanging low, hair falling into his face. Unconscious.

“No! Sunghoon!” Sunoo’s scream ripped through the night, raw and desperate. He stumbled forward, only to be shoved back by one of the hunters’ raised weapons. Panic clawed at his throat. “Let him go! Please—don’t hurt him!”

The figures didn’t move, their faces obscured by masks, their torches held high. The firelight burned against the edges of the forest, sealing them inside a cage of flame and steel.

And then, one of them stepped forward.

The mask tilted, catching the glow. Something in the shape of the shoulders, the posture, made Sunoo’s stomach twist before his mind could catch up.

The hunter reached up, pulled the mask away—

And Sunoo’s world collapsed.

“...Jake?” His voice cracked, disbelief laced with horror.

Jake’s face was set in cold determination, though his eyes burned with something hotter than the torches around them. He looked older in that moment, harsher, as though months of distance and silence had carved something new and unrecognizable into him.

“You think I didn’t know?” Jake’s voice was steady, but beneath it there was a tremor—a storm threatening to break. “You think I couldn’t see what was happening? How you’d sneak off, night after night, hiding something from me?”

Sunoo shook his head, stumbling back a step, his hands trembling. “Jake, no, it’s not—it’s not what you think—”

“I followed you, Sunoo,” Jake cut in, his jaw tight. “I saw everything. I saw you with him.” His gaze flicked to the bound vampire, venom curling in his tone. “Feeding him. Loving him. Betraying everything we’ve trained for.”

The word loving landed like a blade in Sunoo’s chest.

Tears welled in his eyes as he took another step forward, only to be blocked again by the torch-bearing hunters. “Jake, please—he’s not what you think. He’s not a monster!” His voice cracked, hysterical. “You don’t understand!”

“I understand enough!” Jake snapped, the mask still dangling from his hand. His expression twisted between fury and hurt, his voice raw. “Ever since that night, when the vampires attacked those sisters, I knew something was wrong with you. I asked you—I begged you—to trust me. And you lied. You chose him over me. This monster killer.”

Sunoo’s knees buckled, the words slamming into him harder than any blade could. His tears spilled over, his chest heaving. “Jake, it’s not like that—I wanted to tell you, I just—”

“You just what?” Jake roared, stepping closer, his eyes blazing with betrayal. “You just decided my friendship wasn’t enough? That he was worth more than everything we’ve fought for, everything we’ve lost?” His voice cracked with bitterness. “You chose a vampire, Sunoo. You chose him .”

Sunoo’s hands shook violently as he tried to reach past the hunters’ torches, his voice breaking into sobs. “Because I love him, Jake!”

The clearing fell into silence, the fire crackling in the heavy air.

Jake froze, his breath stuttering, his face twisting in pain.

Sunoo was trembling, hysterical, his throat raw from shouting. “I love him! And I don’t care what he is! He’s not just a vampire—he’s Sunghoon. He’s mine . And if you kill him—” His voice fractured, a sob tearing through the words. “—you’ll kill me too.”

Jake’s grip on the mask tightened until his knuckles whitened. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—hurt, disbelief, a flash of the boy who used to laugh with Sunoo over late-night meals, who used to sit beside him without words and still be understood.

But then it hardened, like stone sealing over a wound.

His voice was low, broken, but merciless. “Then maybe you’re already dead to me.”

Sunoo’s scream echoed into the forest, raw and pleading, as the hunters closed in.

The moment Sunghoon stirred awake, the world tilted into a new nightmare.

His eyes fluttered open, hazy, then widened at the sight of flames dancing in a circle, of steel glinting in the hands of hunters, of Sunoo on the other side of the ring screaming his name. Panic bled into his veins, but when he tried to move, white-hot pain shot through him like fire under his skin. His body convulsed, his throat tearing into a groan.

The scent hit him first—sharp, bitter, suffocating.

Vervain.

It was in his blood. In every breath. Poison choking him from the inside. His veins burned like molten iron, his limbs were heavy as stone. He couldn’t heal, couldn’t fight, couldn’t even summon the barest spark of his vampiric strength. He was weaker than the human boy screaming for him across the fire.

“Sunghoon!” Sunoo’s voice cracked into pieces, raw with terror. His body lurched forward, struggling against the hunters’ line, but their torches pushed him back. Tears streaked down his face as he fought, desperate to reach him. “I’ll get you out—I promise, I’ll get you out of here!”

Sunghoon flinched as another wave of vervain ripped through his chest, his body curling against the restraints. He groaned, trying to bite it back, but the sound still slipped free. It tore at Sunoo’s heart.

“Stop hurting him!” Sunoo screamed, voice breaking into sobs. He reached out like sheer will could pull Sunghoon from the chains. His knees threatened to give way as he saw Sunghoon’s face pale with agony, his lips parted in shallow breaths.

And then—Jake’s voice cut through it all.

“This is what happens, Sunoo.” His tone was calm, too calm, and it made the world tilt colder. “This is the consequence of your choice.”

Sunoo whipped around, eyes red, his face contorted with grief and fury. “He didn’t hurt anyone! He’s not what you think!”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “He’s exactly what I think. A leech. A parasite that’s poisoned you, blinded you. You were supposed to kill him when you had the chance—but you didn’t. You chose him over us. Over me.” His gaze hardened, voice lowering like venom. “Now look where that’s gotten you.”

Sunoo shook his head violently, chest heaving. “You’re still my friend, Jake. I know you are. I know you wouldn’t let them do this to me.”

Something flickered in Jake’s eyes—pain, maybe, or doubt—but it vanished almost instantly. He reached into his jacket, and when his hand emerged, Sunoo’s blood froze.

A wooden stake. Its tip glistened faintly, the sheen of serum laced into the wood—deadly, irreversible. One strike to the heart, and Sunghoon would turn to nothing but ash.

Jake’s voice was cruel now, cutting, deliberate. “If you want to live, Sunoo, you’ll kill him yourself.”

The hunters tightened their circle, murmuring agreement, their torches swaying with anticipation. Jake stepped closer, his hand gripping Sunoo’s wrist. He shoved the stake into his palm, curling his trembling fingers around it.

“Do it,” Jake said, his tone as sharp as steel. “Or you’ll die here too—by their hands.”

Sunoo’s vision blurred with tears. He shook his head, the stake rattling in his weak grip. “No… no, I can’t—I won’t—” His voice shattered into hysterical sobs, his knees buckling. He tried to fling the weapon away, but Jake’s grip clamped around his hand like iron.

“You don’t have a choice,” Jake hissed, dragging Sunoo forward. The hunters parted just enough for them to step through, shoving him toward the center of the ring—toward Sunghoon, slumped against the chains, barely conscious but still looking at him.

Sunoo’s body shook violently, his breaths ragged, his sobs filling the clearing. “Sunghoon!” His voice cracked as he fell to his knees in front of him, the stake trembling in his hands. “No… no, please… I can’t… I can’t do this…”

Through the haze of pain, Sunghoon lifted his head. His eyes, though dulled by vervain and agony, softened as they met Sunoo’s. A faint smile touched his lips, fragile, but full of something Sunoo recognized immediately—love.

“It’s okay,” Sunghoon whispered hoarsely, his voice barely more than a rasp. Each word cost him, but he forced them out for Sunoo. “It’s okay… my love.”

Sunoo sobbed harder, shaking his head, pressing his forehead against Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Don’t say that. Don’t… don’t tell me it’s okay when it’s not.”

Sunghoon’s weak smile lingered, even as pain racked his body. “I’ve lived a long life… longer than I deserved. And out of everything… you were the best thing in it.”

“Stop—please, stop—” Sunoo’s words fractured, his voice collapsing under the weight of grief.

Sunghoon’s eyes shone, wet with tears he refused to let fall. His voice was quiet, intimate, as if they were the only two people in the world despite the hunters and flames. “I love you, Sunoo. Enough to let you go. Enough to want your life to continue… even if mine doesn’t.”

The stake slipped from Sunoo’s trembling hands, clattering against the earth. He shook violently, clutching Sunghoon’s face in his palms, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, desperate to hold him close. “No, no, I love you too much—I can’t lose you, not like this!”

Jake’s shadow loomed behind him, his voice sharp, merciless. “Do it, Sunoo. Now.”

The hunters raised their torches, the firelight roaring higher, their chants growing in anticipation.

Sunghoon drew in a shallow, painful breath. His smile, weak but unwavering, grew a fraction. “In the next life… I’ll find you again. When I’m human… when the world is kinder.” His thumb brushed against Sunoo’s tear-streaked cheek, though his hand shook. “Until then… remember me.”

Sunoo’s sobs broke into a wail. His shaking hand closed once more around the stake, as Jake shoved it into his grip. His chest heaved, his voice choking on every syllable.

“I love you, Sunghoon… I love you, I love you…” His tears soaked Sunghoon’s skin as he lifted the stake, his whole body resisting, trembling, refusing. “I’ll find you again—I swear it—I’ll find you in every lifetime…”

And with a final, broken scream, Sunoo drove the stake into Sunghoon’s chest.

Sunghoon’s body jerked once, his breath leaving him in a soft exhale against Sunoo’s lips. For a fleeting second, his eyes held nothing but love—and then they closed. His smile, faint but peaceful, lingered even as the light left his body.

Sunoo clutched him as his form crumbled into ash in his arms, the weight slipping away until there was nothing left but the echo of his touch, and the broken boy sobbing into the empty air.

The clearing had gone silent after the townspeople left, their torches fading into the distance until only the sound of the crickets and the faint rush of the creek filled the night. Jake stood there, stiff, his shadow long against the fire’s dying glow. Sunoo was on his knees, clutching Sunghoon’s limp body in his arms, shaking so hard that his sobs sounded more like broken gasps.

“Are you happy now?” Sunoo’s voice cracked, sharp and ragged, tearing through the night. He lifted his face, streaked with tears and dirt, and glared at Jake. “Is this what you wanted? For me to destroy the only thing I’ve ever… loved?” His throat closed, words failing him, but the fury kept spilling out. “You didn’t wait. You didn’t even give me the chance to tell you—if you were really my friend, Jake, you would’ve trusted me.”

Jake flinched, his jaw tightening as if each word was a strike, but he didn’t move. He didn’t answer. He only looked down at the broken boy kneeling in front of him, hands covered in blood that wasn’t his, arms wrapped around the one thing he could never get back.

“You ruined everything,” Sunoo spat, his voice breaking into a sob again. “You stood there, and you forced this—” His hands clutched tighter around Sunghoon’s body, fingers digging desperately into the fabric of his shirt, as if holding him harder could tether him to this world. “—you killed him through me. You made me do it. Isn’t this what you wanted? To see me like this? Miserable? Empty?”

Jake’s lips parted, the weight of guilt pressing heavy on him, but no words came. He couldn’t deny it, couldn’t undo it, couldn’t take away the pain unraveling before his eyes. He turned, shoulders heavy with shame, and walked away without a word. His footsteps faded into the night, leaving Sunoo behind in the suffocating silence.

Sunoo bent over Sunghoon’s body, his tears soaking into the pale skin that was already losing what little warmth it had. His chest heaved, every breath stabbing into his ribs, and then—he felt it. The change. Sunghoon’s skin began to crack faintly under his fingertips, like fragile porcelain splitting apart. The body in his arms grew lighter.

“No, no, no—please, don’t you dare,” Sunoo begged, his voice raw. His grip tightened as if he could anchor him here, but the inevitable was happening before his eyes. The man he loved, the vampire who had touched him so tenderly, was fading.

A brittle sound filled the clearing as Sunghoon’s form dissolved into ash, slipping through Sunoo’s hands like sand. His scream tore through the trees, wild and helpless, as he tried to gather the ashes, pressing them into his palms, clutching at them even as the night breeze carried them away.

“Don’t leave me!” Sunoo cried out, his body trembling violently. “I don’t have anything—I don’t have anything of you—please, stay, stay with me!” He dug his hands into the soil, smearing dirt and ash against his skin, frantic, desperate to keep even a piece of him. But there was nothing. Just dust, carried by the damp wind, vanishing into the night.

When the last trace of Sunghoon slipped away, Sunoo collapsed forward onto the ground, his arms empty. His chest heaved as sobs tore out of him, louder and louder, echoing off the trees until they sounded like grief itself was alive in the forest. His body curled in on itself, hands clawing into the earth where Sunghoon had been.

The forest held him there, drenched in silence except for his broken crying. His tears soaked into the dirt, mixing with the ashes that were no longer visible, as if the earth itself was swallowing the only proof of what he’d loved.

There would be no mark, no trace, no memory of Sunghoon left for the world. Only in Sunoo’s chest—the unbearable ache, the memory of kisses that would never return, the ghost of a smile that would never meet his eyes again.

And there, in the dark heart of the forest, Sunoo cried until his voice broke, until there was nothing but raw sound, until grief consumed him whole.

The night carried his sobs away, but they lingered in the air, heavy and sharp, as if the trees themselves would remember.

And Sunoo—he had nothing left to hold but his pain.

The ashes had scattered. The air smelled faintly of smoke, iron, and damp soil. Sunoo stayed on the ground, chest hollow, his cries slowly dying into shuddering breaths. His arms still reached out, as if they could pull Sunghoon back from nothingness.

And then—like a whisper carried from memory—he heard it. “I’m still here because of a debt… one I can’t escape.” Sunghoon’s words from days ago came crashing back, sharp against the silence. A debt. Something he had never fully explained, only brushed aside when Sunoo pressed for more.

Sunoo’s fingers clenched in the dirt. His face lifted, streaked with tears, eyes blazing with a grief that had nowhere else to go. If this debt had bound Sunghoon to him, then it meant something more. Something important. Something unfinished.

He dragged his palms against his tear-stained cheeks, smearing dirt across his skin, and whispered through clenched teeth, “I’ll find it. I’ll find out what it was. I don’t care what it takes, I’ll uncover it.” His voice wavered, breaking mid-sentence, but there was a steel edge buried inside it now.

The forest gave him no answer. Only the rustle of leaves and the faint sting of ashes still caught in the wind. But Sunoo’s heart tightened around that fragment of memory— the debt.

If it had mattered enough to chain Sunghoon’s existence, then maybe it was the key to understanding why their paths had been destined to cross… and why they had been forced apart.

Sunoo bent his head over the place where Sunghoon had lain, one last tear slipping down his cheek, and whispered, “I’ll find it for you. Even if you’re gone. I promise.”

The night swallowed his vow. He was alone, broken, but with the ember of determination glowing faintly in the ashes of his grief.

And so, in the heart of that cursed forest, Sunoo wept—until the tears bled into resolve. Until his sorrow had carved a purpose. Until the promise of uncovering Sunghoon’s debt was the only thing keeping him alive.