Under the bright desert moon, a pink bat struggled through the air, carrying a bald man in its claws.
After skipping over a long series of internal conflicts Adam himself didn't quite understand, he eventually surrendered to Silverbell's tearful assault and agreed to accompany her to the ball.
The result sent her into wild celebration.
And so, Adam was forced to hastily drink some pre-"prepared" blood, change into formalwear, and head out with her.
They soon stopped at the edge of the city.
After all, a pink bat carrying a bald man through the streets was far too conspicuous.
A carriage had already been arranged.
Silverbell climbed in, practically vibrating with excitement, while Adam sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the scenery beyond the window.
This was the so-called royal capital.
In Adam's eyes, it was poor—dilapidated even.
Worse than the medieval cities he remembered.
The entire city was built in a Turkish style.
Flat-roofed buildings stretched in neat but monotonous rows, their walls cracked and weathered with age.
A desert city was never lively to begin with.
At night, it was almost desolate.
On the streets, there was nothing to see but fighting cats and dogs—and the occasional drunk collapsed in the gutter.
In the distance, a massive castle loomed.
Its black walls were barely visible in the darkness, torches lining the outer ramparts.
With bloodkin vision, Adam could clearly make out guards patrolling the walls.
A militaristic nation, by the looks of it.
Not surprising.
What kind of economic prosperity could possibly grow in the middle of the Sahara?
The carriage soon stopped in front of a grand estate.
Silverbell hopped down happily and tugged at Adam, who was still surveying his surroundings.
The mansion was enormous.
Wide courtyards surrounded it, planted with vegetation completely unsuited to the desert.
In a land where water was priceless, this was outright extravagance—especially within a densely populated city.
The European-style building itself looked new.
The intricate carvings along the walls were flawless.
Lights blazed from every window.
People were everywhere.
Wait.
People?
So many?
Adam froze.
There was no way all of them were bloodkin.
A large gathering of vampires openly hosting a ball in the middle of a city?
Impossible.
This was—
A human ball.
Just as Adam was about to turn and give Silverbell a serious reprimand, a woman approached them.
Golden hair, lightly curled, cascaded over her shoulders.
A blue silk ribbon rested atop her head.
Slender brows framed eyes dusted with blue shadow, seductive and sharp.
A high nose bridge, full lips, and a perfectly balanced face.
She wore a luxurious European-style gown.
At her snowy chest, a blue gemstone shimmered softly.
She radiated elegance and allure.
Adam's eyes lit up instantly.
"Sister Christine!" Silverbell beamed and hurried forward, linking arms with her.
Christine smiled and glanced at Adam.
"And this gentleman is?"
Silverbell hesitated.
After a long pause, she answered, "This is Adam. My dance partner."
To be honest, she had no idea how else to introduce him.
She barely knew anything about him herself.
Earlier, she'd been so caught up in the excitement of attending her first ball that she hadn't even considered this problem.
"Good evening, Mr. Adam."
Christine lifted her skirt slightly and curtsied.
"I am Christine."
At the moment she bent forward, her heel seemed to slip.
She pitched forward suddenly.
Almost on instinct, Adam caught her.
Christine looked up with a smile.
"Thank you."
Her gaze was filled with ambiguity.
But Adam noticed something else.
At the instant her fingers brushed his palm, the diamond ring on her ring finger flashed faintly.
Just now…
Was that intentional?
Before he could think it through, the two women were already chatting warmly, arms linked, heading into the mansion.
With no choice, Adam followed.
Christine was a classic midnight enchantress.
And Silverbell's only female friend.
The Baron of Smoke knew of this human friend—and had never stopped it.
Five hundred years ago, when Silverbell was still human, she had been known as the most beautiful woman in the royal capital.
Such beauty naturally drew endless attention.
She lived surrounded by affection and admiration.
Then, at the peak of her youth, everything changed.
At her father's suggestion, she chose to become a bloodkin alongside him.
To the Baron, it was an act of love.
Eternal youth—what woman wouldn't desire that?
But once they became bloodkin, they realized something too late.
What endured forever was not youth.
It was loneliness.
To protect their secret, the family withdrew from human society.
Fearing sunlight, Silverbell could no longer wander the markets.
Because of her diet, she could no longer dine with her friends.
As old friendships faded and vanished, how could someone as lively as she endure it?
She grew quiet.
Spent her days hidden in the shadows of the estate, immersed in painting.
Even when she made new friends, what then?
Three or four years—that was their expiration date.
After that, she would have to leave again to keep the secret.
Bloodkin rarely formed friendships with humans.
And among bloodkin themselves?
Most were cold, distant, and solitary.
They disliked Silverbell's overwhelming warmth.
Endless youth became an endless nightmare.
For a father, this was unbearable.
Yet there was nothing he could do.
From then on, Silverbell treated every visitor to the estate with extreme enthusiasm.
As if afraid they might leave.
It was a sorrowful affection—born from crushing loneliness.
A desperate attempt to grasp any possibility of companionship.
And so, the cautious old Baron made an unprecedented concession.
He silently permitted his daughter's reckless friendships with humans.
Every time Silverbell laughed until tears fell before a new friend, only he understood the pain behind it.
Three or four years.
That was all.
After that, it would end—just like before.
At least during those years, she would smile again.
That was what he told himself.
Christine truly brought Silverbell joy.
She had recently moved here from Western Europe.
No one knew why she'd come to this barren land.
But the novelties she brought fascinated not only Silverbell, but the local elite as well.
And so, this European-style ball came to be.
For it, Silverbell practiced classical dance.
She prepared backups—Classical, then Vine.
In the end, she brought someone who knew nothing at all.
Adam.
Christine soon left to greet other guests.
Adam and Silverbell each held a glass of wine, drifting through the crowd.
Contrary to Adam's expectations, Silverbell wasn't especially popular.
This ball required fixed partners.
Unlike traditional European balls, people here didn't approach strangers easily.
Even dressed in Western finery, they were still Musa nationals at heart.
Still, after a while, the two blended into the atmosphere.
Distracted, Adam raised his glass—only for Silverbell to stop him.
"Don't drink that. It'll upset your stomach."
"Then what?" he asked. "Carry it around all night as decoration?"
"I prepared for that," she said smugly.
She pulled him onto the balcony.
Quietly, she poured out both glasses and took out a small vial.
"I had Uncle Kala make this for me. It tastes like wine, but it's blood."
"We'll drink this."
Watching her carefully pour the red liquid into his glass, pride written all over her face, Adam finally understood.
She had truly put her heart into this ball.
A first ball.
New and exciting.
Perhaps he should indulge her.
He suddenly turned to her.
"Want to dance?"
"Yes—but you don't know how."
"Who says I don't?"
A waltz.
And not even an advanced one.
These people were all beginners.
The dance probably originated from the Eden clans anyway.
It was identical to what he'd learned in his previous life.
Back in college, Adam had been an officer in the dance club.
He knew more than enough.
He took her hand, set their glasses aside, and led her into the center of the floor.
Only a few awkward couples were moving stiffly to the music.
"Follow my lead," Adam said with a smile.
"Huh—?"
Before she could react, his hand supported hers, the other resting against her back.
"We're starting."
"Smooth steps. Yes, like that… feel my movement, don't memorize steps. The woman follows the lead… good. Now spin—perfect."
He instructed her nonstop, just like when he'd been hired as cheap labor back in college.
The difference was—
Silverbell had real talent.
She adapted instantly.
All eyes in the hall turned toward them.
This wasn't a complex dance.
Back in Adam's old world, it would barely draw notice.
But here?
It was dazzling.
"You really can dance!" Silverbell exclaimed mid-spin.
The fluid movements stunned the audience.
Even Christine hadn't taught them this well.
"Who is he?" a tall man in a black suit murmured, tray in hand, approaching Christine quietly.
He stood straight, eyes fixed on the dancers, as if avoiding attention.
Christine touched the ring on her finger.
"Also bloodkin."
"How many generations?"
"I don't know. I can't measure him. He's strong."
"My ring has never reacted so violently."
"Before the eighth?"
"Yes."
"That's impossible. Aside from Pisa, there shouldn't be another of that level here—let alone older."
"Please don't question my accuracy," Christine replied coolly, her smile unchanged.
"All right, all right," the man said, eyes shifting toward the two unattended glasses.
"If I'm not mistaken… that's blood. If we add just a little—"
"Enough," Christine interrupted softly.
"Not now. They'll notice."
"We didn't come all this way just to hunt two bloodkin."
On the dance floor, Adam's ear twitched.
A faint smile deepened on his face.
"So that's your game," he murmured.
"Perfect. I didn't eat enough today."
"Hm?" Silverbell looked up, confused.