The rhythmic thunder of hooves shattered the silence of the night, sending tremors through the sleeping village of Shitapur. Emerging from the veil of mist, a pitch-black carriage skidded to a halt before the towering iron gates of the Ahmed Estate.
As the carriage door swung open, the wind itself seemed to hold its breath. The streetlamps flanking the gate flickered and died in sudden fear, only to reignite a moment later—as if bowing in reverence to the Lords of Darkness.
Two figures stepped down.
The man was Azgaar Ahmed. Though the glory of the Ahmed clan had faded over the years, this man's presence alone seemed to fill that void.
Long, ash-black hair fell in disarray across his back. He wore thin-framed glasses, behind which lay a pair of eyes that were calm, yet terrifyingly deep. He was not dressed in a common Sherwani; he wore ceremonial Robes of Royalty.
The ancient geometric patterns, embroidered with threads of liquid gold, seemed to writhe like living serpents under the moonlight.
Beside him stood Natasha—in a word, majestic.
Her golden hair was swept back and secured with an intricate clip carved from bone, exposing her pale, aristocratic neck. Her forehead was flawless.
Her golden eyes looked like molten metal, but deep within them burned a non-human brilliance. To look into them was to feel the vertigo of slipping into a bottomless abyss.
She wore robes of white and deep purple—she did not look like a fairy-tale princess, but rather like a Silent Empress, terrifyingly beautiful.
As they descended, the carriage driver practically threw himself at their feet. His forehead touched the dirt in a deep bow, terror rattling his very spine.
"Master," the driver stammered, "From the Old City to the New City, and then here to Shitapur Village... the total fare is 550 Baowa."
Azgaar said nothing. From the pocket of his robes, several banknotes floated out on their own accord and drifted gently into the driver's hands. A subtle, effortless display of 'Sentira'.
Touching the money to his forehead in thanks, the driver scrambled to grab the reins. He vanished in the blink of an eye, driving as if his life depended on escaping the presence of this 'monster.'
Once the carriage was beyond the line of sight, the driver paused. He did not reach for a phone. Instead, he pressed his finger against the locket hanging from his neck. Silently, a 'Sound-Transmission Artifact' hummed to life.
A faint red light glowed on the locket. The driver's tone shifted instantly. The humility evaporated, replaced by cunning.
"The Eagle has returned to the nest. The target is inside the village. Situation calm. He suspects nothing."
A mechanical voice crackled back from the locket, "Come to the 'Jughirghoul' area near the New City. Your reward awaits you there."
The driver released the locket and cracked his whip. He remained blissfully unaware that for Azgaar Ahmed, no device was needed to hear this whisper.
Standing by the palace gates, Azgaar suddenly let out a low, amused chuckle. The wind seemed to whispered secrets into his ear.
Natasha glanced at him. She knew his untimely laughs, but not the cause. "What is it? Why do you laugh?"
"Nothing," Azgaar adjusted his glasses. A cold glint flashed across the lens. "I was just thinking... how much some people love to dig their own graves for a few coins."
As they entered the gates, three figures bowed low before them like shadows. The Head Servant of the Ahmed Clan, Shirin, and her two daughters—Aspia and Tasnim.
"Welcome home, Master. Welcome home, Mistress," Shirin chanted, her voice dripping with an excessive reverence that sounded fake to experienced ears.
Azgaar did not even look at them. With a wave of his hand, they hurriedly took the luggage and vanished into the main complex.
Azgaar looked up at the sky. The ominous Bloodmoon hung heavy above them.
He leaned toward his wife and whispered, "I was thinking... the 7th day of the Bloodmoon is approaching."
Natasha's eyes widened. "Ruhan's birthday."
"Exactly. I have arranged everything," Azgaar's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tomorrow, I will announce a mandatory three-day vacation for all staff. I want this palace completely empty."
"Empty?"
"Yes. If the walls have no ears, there will be no one to report us to the Clan Elders. We will break the rules... just this once. We will celebrate our son's birthday, in our own way."
Natasha's heart swelled with emotion. But then, her gaze fell upon the special suitcase Azgaar was still holding. It was made of dark brown leather, engraved with a strange, incomplete geometric design.
"You... you aren't staying?" Her voice trembled. "You just arrived."
Azgaar stepped forward and gently kissed her forehead. A blush tinted Natasha's pale cheeks. Even in their thirties, their love felt as fresh as that of teenagers.
"I cannot stay, my love," Azgaar said, his voice dropping to a solemn vow. "Do you not want me to lift the curse that binds our son?"
Natasha gasped. "You found a lead?"
"I am close. Very close. The mission is dangerous, but for Ruhan... I would burn the world down."
He stepped back. The air around him began to distort and swirl.
In the hierarchy of power, the village rulers—the Clan Leaders—were Rank 4 Masterers. They were strong, without doubt.
But Azgaar Ahmed? He was a Rank 3.
He was a monster among men. Only the Village Leader equaled his strength. As an elite operative of the 'Secret Organization,' his true power remained a terrifying mystery to the common folk.
"Wait for me."
And then—ZHWIP!
Azgaar didn't walk away. He simply dissolved into the wind, vanishing faster than the eye could track. Only the scent of his cologne and a void remained.
Natasha let out a deep sigh and turned around. Her gaze drifted to the corner of the estate, to a specific, dusty building.
The Storeroom.
With the aching heart of a mother, she looked at the neglected structure and whispered to the wind,
"Ruhan... my baby... just a little longer. Your father is trying... we haven't forgotten you."
✦✦✦
5:30 AM.
The darkness of the night had not yet fully lifted from inside the storeroom. The gray light of dawn merely peeked through the gaps in the window grill. Silence reigned, broken only by the lonely call of a bird from a distant tree.
Suddenly, the old hinges of the door creaked. The shutter opened slowly.
A silhouette stepped inside without a sound. She wore the traditional uniform of the Ahmed Palace maids—a modest black and white dress.
But even the modest clothing failed to hide the youthful curves of her body. Her figure was full and distinct beneath the fabric, enough to draw any man's gaze.
The girl—Tasnim—walked slowly to Ruhan's bedside. In her hand was a tray with a glass of water and a towel.
She stood there for a moment, looking down at the sleeping boy. Her eyes held a strange mixture of pity and guilt. The secret crush she harbored for Ruhan was biting at her conscience from the inside. But she was helpless.
She let out a deep sigh, her body trembling with the breath.
"Poor soul..." the words escaped her lips in a whisper.
She leaned down slowly. Her voice was soft as the morning dew, but beneath it lay the forecast of an approaching storm.
"Young Master... Oh, Young Master? Wake up..."
Ruhan was deep in slumber. The mental trauma of the previous night, combined with sleeping on an empty stomach, had left his mind in a delirious haze. Hunger and exhaustion blurred the line between reality and dreams.
Tasnim leaned closer. Ruhan's eyelids fluttered. Slowly, he opened his eyes a fraction. But in his drowsy, half-awake state, he did not see a human figure.
Instead, he felt—
A supreme warmth.
Soft. Safe. A sanctuary.
It felt as if, after a lifetime of cold, a loved one was reaching out to embrace him.
A familiar sensation floated up from his subconscious—
Mother's lap.
Or perhaps the memory of resting his head on Linara's shoulder in the old days. That lost peace.
He mumbled in a groggy, slurried voice,
"Mom...?"
His hand rose on its own accord.
He didn't mean to grab anything improper—
He just didn't want to lose that warmth.
Driven by fear of the cold, he unknowingly tried to cling to the only source of comfort in his cruel life.
His fingers reached out.
Just moments before they touched the fabric over Tasnim's chest—
CRACK!
The sound of a thunderous slap shattered the silence of the storeroom.
Ruhan's cheek burned as if someone had pressed a branding iron against it. The haze of sleep and the 'illusion of sanctuary' vanished instantly. He scrambled up in bed, clutching his stinging cheek, staring blankly ahead.
The dream was shattered. Mother was gone. Linara was gone.
Standing before him was Tasnim.
The girl's fair cheeks were flushed red with shame and panic. She clutched the fabric of her dress tightly with both hands, as if protecting her modesty. Her eyes held a look of utter bewilderment. She hadn't wanted to strike him, but the situation had forced her hand.
"Y-You...!" Tasnim stammered, stepping back, her body trembling. "W-What were you trying to do? To... to me?"
Ruhan's eyes went wide. He still couldn't process what had happened. Blood rushed to his head. Was he... in his sleep? Mother? Tasnim?
It took seconds for the horror of the situation to sink in. Tasnim was two years older than him. If she screamed now, Ruhan's last shred of honor would be ground into the dust. What would Linara think? What would his parents hear when they returned?
"Shame on you, Ruhan! I never expected this from you!"—Linara's imaginary voice rang in his ears like a condemnation.
Ruhan opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He was suffocating in pure panic.
Tasnim glanced nervously at the door. Her heart was pounding. She knew the second act of the play was about to begin.
Suddenly, the door creaked. Ruhan's chest tightened. Someone entered and swiftly locked the door from the inside.
Seeing the intruder, Ruhan's blood ran cold.
Aspia. Tasnim's older sister.
Ruhan felt like a mouse trapped in a cage with a hungry snake. Aspia walked forward slowly, a twisted smile playing on her lips.
"Sister! What happened? Why are you shaking?"
Aspia rushed to Tasnim, hugging her sister protectively while turning to glare at Ruhan. Her eyes held a perfect mix of fake shock and genuine disdain.
"Young Master? You... you could actually do something like this?"
Ruhan's heart felt like it would burst through his ribs. Sweat poured down his forehead. He stammered, "No... I... I didn't do anything... Believe me, Aspia! It was a mistake..."
Aspia didn't listen. She stepped closer to Ruhan. The cold malice in her eyes froze the blood in his veins.
"Spoiled rich brats like you... one day you will all be destroyed," she hissed in a low voice.
Then, suddenly, her tone shifted. She let out a sigh and adopted a look of utter helplessness. "We are just lowly maids, Young Master. What can we do? If I scream now and gather everyone, it will be your reputation that is ruined. The Clan's honor will go, Madam Linara will know..."
Linara!
At the mention of her name, Ruhan turned to stone.
Aspia watched his reaction from the corner of her eye. The fish had taken the bait. She leaned back against the door, a subtle, cruel smile returning to her lips.
"However... everything can be fixed. We won't tell anyone. This story gets buried in this room."
"It... it can be fixed? Really?" Ruhan saw a glimmer of hope.
"It will, if... you pay a small 'price'."
"Price?" Ruhan's throat was dry as wood.
"Nothing much. Just five thousand 'Baowa'. Then, silence. And if you want... money can buy anything. Maybe you can even touch my sister for real! Have a little fun!"
At Aspia's vulgar suggestion, Tasnim's face turned even redder. She looked at the floor. Her sister was treating her like a product. She hated it, but she said nothing. She did not have the power to disobey her older sister.
Ruhan's soul shuddered. How helpless was he today before his own servants? Aspia's nonchalant smile looked like that of a witch—cold, heartless, and terrifying.
He curled up against the wall, burying his face in his hands. "Take it! Don't come near me! Take whatever you want! It's in the drawer under the table!"
The two sisters paused.
Tasnim let out a breath of relief. At least Ruhan was paying. He wouldn't be humiliated in public.
Aspia smiled in victory. She quickly opened the drawer and took out seven thousand Baowa from the money box, tucking it inside her dress.
This was Ruhan's life savings. For two years, he had saved every coin with a single purpose: to take his grandmother's sword to a smith, to clean the rust and sharpen the edge.
He couldn't fix it himself. He needed a professional. And for that, he needed money.
Now, it was gone.
Aspia looked at Ruhan and sneered, "I asked for five, I took seven. Keeping the rest as a tip, Young Master!"
Ruhan didn't answer. He just wanted them gone.
But Aspia's greed didn't stop there. Her eyes fell on another box in the corner of the drawer.
A small box made of old mahogany wood. His grandmother's last keepsake.
Aspia picked it up.
Ruhan jolted as if electrocuted. "No! Not that! Put that back, Aspia!"
Aspia turned the box over in her hands, inspecting it. Then she looked at Ruhan and smiled.
"Will you have a problem if I take this? I mean... do you have an objection?"
"That's my grandma's..."
"Grandma's?" Aspia cut him off, her voice turning hard again. "Then should I call Madam Linara? Should I tell her what a beast you are?"
Ruhan lost the will to fight. He couldn't be belittled in front of Linara. Not that. Tears of humiliation and pain rolled down his cheeks.
"Take it," he whispered. "Get out of my sight!! Take it all and go to hell!"
"Hah! Is he crazy?"
Aspia and Tasnim laughed as they walked out. The sound rang in Ruhan's ears like poison.
The door slammed shut. Ruhan was left alone.
A violent hatred and rage began to birth inside him. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms until they nearly drew blood.
He screamed internally, a primal roar of vengeance—
"I will kill you! I will tear you apart! I swear it! For what you did to me... I will judge you! I will flay the skin from your bodies with my own hands! I will..."
But suddenly...
Ruhan's pupils trembled.
It felt as if someone had yanked a wire deep inside his brain. Like a puppet on an invisible string, his head jerked once and went still.
The words died in his throat.
A strange, heavy fog swallowed his mind. The intense hatred that had been bubbling like lava in his veins was extinguished in a single breath. In an instant, the canvas of his mind went blank—as if someone had taken a wet cloth and wiped away the memories of the last ten minutes.
His clenched fists relaxed. He looked at the blood marks on his palms with a confused stare.
"I... what was I thinking?" he mumbled. A crease formed on his forehead, but he couldn't find the reason.
Just moments ago, Aspia and Tasnim had taken his money and his grandmother's box. But amazingly, Ruhan now felt—what was there to feel bad about? He gave it himself. They were poor, they needed it. He donated it happily.
A profound numbness wrapped around his soul. It was as if an anesthetic had been applied to his spirit.
"Hmph! Why am I thinking such nonsense? My head feels so empty."
He let out a strange sigh of relief. It felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. The insult and rage that were eating him alive just seconds ago... no longer existed.
Ruhan leaned back onto his pillow. The soft morning sun filtered through the window and fell on his eyes. He raised a hand to block the light.
"Anyway, they are happy... that's what matters. What else do I need?"
He closed his eyes. A foolish, blank smile plastered itself onto his lips.
He did not know that this 'generosity' was not his own.
Control over his mind had already been taken—by something, or someone else.