prologue

palimpsest

Seoul. Winter, 1999.

The loud petrifying laugh echoed throughout the frozen silence of the winter night – it was getting closer and closer within each ragged breath – the cold night air gushed through his lungs and dried his already parched throat. The five-year-old boy bolted through the dark forest. Twigs and branches assailed his face. Blood trickled down his chapped lips, spreading its colors over him like the ripples on a still water. Despite of the rapid heartbeat that pounded against his chest, he was not frightened nor he was afraid. What he felt was beyond such mere nouns. What he was experiencing was the closest thing to death one could acquire, and yet he remained alive.

“Why are you running away from me, little boy?” the familiar, formidable voice had once again disturbed the absolute taciturnity of the algefacient winter air. He could feel the demon chasing him in agility and strength. “You know you can’t hide from me!”

He was innocent in his own eyes; he had done nothing wrong. He mentally let out a desperate child’s cry, allowing courage and determination to brim his soul once more. He just ran … faster, faster, and faster. He paid no mind to his direction, escaping was the only thing that mattered.

Is this the hunt? Am I the prey? His disoriented thoughts had repeated that certain question over and over again – for he was only five years old. He was vulnerable – he did not know what he was doing, but his instincts, buried deep down beneath the morals and etiquette associated with humanity, were pulsing through him like a second heartbeat. Run. It told him. Run away from the Silver Blood. He was oblivious to all but escaping.

He could not hide. He could not fight. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep on running. He could sense the Silver Blood behind him, rapidly catching up to him.

The little boy chanced a glance over his shoulders for a moment. The creature was gone. When he inverted his gaze back on his goal, the Silver Blood had stood right before his eyes. He stumbled backward and fell.

“I told you not to run away from me,” the Silver Blood uttered. His pair of silver pupils glowed in the dark. “I am the beast, you are the prey, remember?”

His hands unconsciously tightened into a tight fist as a flood of tears gushed down his ashen pale cheeks, staining his shabby, black trench coat as he felt that certain feeling overwhelmed him once more – the blank, emotionless expression swept over his face as the realization of the moment gradually seeped in. What is going on? Who is this person? I’m going to be killed, am I?

The vampire bared his fangs at him. He couldn’t feel anything else but fear that became a tangible, living force that crept over him like some hungry beast, immobilizing him, his brain, holding him captive. He could feel the fight responses kicking in, increasing his heart rate, flooding him with added adrenaline, but neither move nor sound was made. Like a caged animal, he remained there. Paralyzed by a tragic feeling of isolation. He closed his eyes, when suddenly a loud noise of snapping caught his attention. He diverted his gaze back at the creature; just to found his neck had twisted the other way, someone had broke it.

The Silver Blood was still alive when a man pulled the creature by his collar and slammed his body onto the ground. “You can never kill me!” the Silver Blood’s voice roared, but it was too late, a match was struck, and a fire burned. The fulminating atrocious scream of the dying immortal pierced through his ears. Smoky dark flames danced around the creature’s entire being. Ignis Aeturnus. The Black Fire of Hell.  

The little boy found himself trembling as the man made his way toward him. He knelt down onto the powdery white carpet of the forest’s ground, allowing the little boy’s tenebrous pair of amber eyes to ponder him before he spoke, “There’s no need to be scared. The Silver Blood is dead,” his eyes travelled over the specks of dried blood on his torn brown trench coat. “Were you attacked by it?”

He nodded.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” The little boy shook his head. “That’s good then…” a small smile curved on the edges of his lips. “What is your name, little boy?” the little boy did not reply. He repeated himself, “your name, young man?”

What is this? The little boy’s attention was caught to something else. He placed his hand onto the ground and a breathtaking coolness made him flinched to its touch. It was white, and cold. What is cold? The snow blurred his vision yet he stared up the sky with his mouth open to see the incandescent specks cascaded from the heavens before landing onto his feet. Is this snow?

“Your name, boy?” again, he repeated the same question in the same soothing tone.

My name … what is my name? He started to panic, yet he kept his calm composure. What is my name? A look of turmoil and agitation crossed the little boy’s face, but his eyes did not bat. The same impertinent and oblivious eyes had leered over the man. Do I have a name? His name was there. He was sure of it. It was there on the very back of his mind, but no matter how hard he tried to reach it, he could not.

“M-my name …” he said in faint tone. “K-Ka-Kai.” He was unsure when he said it, as though he never had a name before. “Kai. My name is Kai.”

The man smiled as he reached out to him.

"Let's go home, Kai."