Fire, blood, burning homes—and a pair of red eyes staring straight at me from within the chaos.
I couldn't comprehend what was happening.
"What happened here?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
My feet felt nailed to the ground. As I observed the devastation around me, I couldn't move. The fire roared like a beast, devouring everything in its path. Even from a distance, I could feel its heat scorching my skin. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid stench of burning wood.
I stood at the far end of the village's main road, yet I could make out what was happening at the other end through the smoke.
Bodies lay scattered across the ground, dogs gnawing on their limbs. Cries of pain and terrified screams of women rang out clearly.
And at the heart of it all, at the head of the street… was a figure.
A man—if one could call him that.
Two horns protruded from his skull, and his crimson eyes glowed brightly, visible even through the smoke.
In his hand, a spear was pointed directly at the chest of the man lying on the ground—Hans.
Those red eyes slowly turned toward me, their blade-like glare piercing through my soul.
Though the air was hot, cold sweat trickled down my spine.
This creature… it was a demon.
And all of this—
It began with a dream earlier that morning.
I had been lying in my bed, arms tucked beneath the blanket, listening to my father tell me a story. A story he used to tell me five or six years ago.
I don't know if it was a dream or a buried memory, but it felt too vivid to be anything but real.
"A long, long time ago, when humans didn't yet understand who they truly were, a brilliant star fell from the sky one dark night. As if to display its beauty and power, it split into five radiant colors—red, green, white, yellow, and blue—before it hit the earth. Each one unique. Each one beautiful."
"The stones landed in different parts of the world, where they remained buried in the soil for thousands—millions—of years. But then, around those stones, strange creatures began to appear. They were terrifying, resembling wild beasts, but different. These monsters possessed powers. Some could breathe fire, others resembled moving trees."
"But in such a cruel world, humans didn't stay powerless for long. They too developed special abilities, something they called 'Magic.'"
My father always told stories like this, with passion, as though he were reliving the tale himself.
"Magic?"
Back then, my young mind was easily captivated by anything fantastical.
Just like any child hearing tales of dragons and heroes for the first time.
"Yes, magic," my father replied. "Magic could do many things. Those who learned to control it were called 'mages.' One such mage eventually united all people and founded a mighty kingdom."
"Wow! Mages must've been so powerful, right?" I said, unable to hide my amazement.
"Indeed. Not only powerful—but wise."
Just then, the door creaked open, and my mother walked into the room.
She was always gentle, always smiling, trying to find light even in the darkest of times.
But for all her kindness, she was strict about my upbringing.
"Scaring him again instead of telling a proper bedtime story, are we?" she asked with a disapproving smile.
As I said, she tried to shield me from anything that might negatively influence my mind or character.
"I'm just telling him a story," my father protested playfully.
"Yeah! Dad's telling me about monsters and mages!" I chimed in.
Back then, I didn't understand the difference between what should or shouldn't be said aloud. I didn't know how to keep secrets yet.
"You're frightening a four-year-old with talk of monsters? Don't you think he'll start having nightmares?"
"He'll be fine. My son is fearless, right?"
"I'm not scared of anything!" I shouted, puffing out my chest.
"Well, that's enough for tonight. Children should be asleep by now," my mother said gently.
"Alright," my father said, not wanting to upset her. "We'll finish the story tomorrow. Good night, Attu. Sweet dreams."
That strange tale became one of many bedtime stories I heard from him.
And not long after those days… my father left us.
I woke up in my room that morning, still haunted by the dream.
I didn't want to believe it had just been a dream. The story my father told me, my mother's words—everything felt so real, like a memory drawn from deep within me.
[What did this dream mean?]
I sat on my bed, trying to decipher the message behind it. The thoughts in my mind refused to let me rise.
And then I realized something. In the dream… I never saw my father's face.
[Why couldn't I see it? What did he even look like?]
Knowing I wouldn't find answers just sitting there, I finally stood up.
[Time to get moving.]
I dressed and reached for the one item that had become part of me—my blindfold. It lay on the desk beside my bed, and I tied it securely over my eyes.
From a distance, I might look like just another boy.
But when people get close enough to see my eyes… that changes.
My eyes are red.
Bright crimson. The kind that unsettles people.
As a child, I didn't wear the blindfold.
I remember the first time I went outside to play with the other children.
They were amazed by my eyes.
And at first… I liked it.
Who wouldn't? To stand out from the rest—it felt special.
But after a while, the parents in the village began warning their children to stay away from me.
The reason? My strange, fearsome red eyes.
The question naturally came to me: Why?
Eventually, I learned the truth—eyes like mine usually belong to demons or vampires.
If I said that didn't hurt me, I'd be lying.
It crushed me.