As laughter echoed in the distance and children played beneath the towering statue of Bhishma, the air shimmered with a sense of relief. But Seko stood apart, leaning against the balcony rail of the adoptive father's modest home, eyes fixed not on celebration—but on the dying glow of a sunless horizon.
The adoptive father joined him silently, folding his hands behind his back.
Seko didn't turn to face him. His voice was low, almost unsure, yet sharp like a blade.
"They talk about Bhishma's legacy. His father. His choices.""But I don't even know mine.""The monks raised me… gave me purpose… peace. Then they came—my blood family. Vampires. Monsters. They slaughtered them. Burned the temple to ash."
The adoptive father listened quietly, gaze distant.
"Do you know anything about them?" Seko asked, eyes still locked on the distance. "My vampire family. The ones who gave me this curse?"
The old man exhaled slowly, the kind of breath that came from bearing knowledge too heavy for comfort.
"You're not the first to ask about them," he said. "But few dare. Even here on Kutol, whispers of your bloodline carry shadows."
He turned to face Seko.
"Your family… they were once revered. Not just as vampires—but as divine anomalies. They lived between death and divinity. Fed not only on blood… but on memories, on identity."
Seko stiffened.
"The monks that raised you?" the man continued. "They weren't just pacifists. They were guardians of forbidden truths. And your bloodline feared what they kept… or what you might learn."
A tense silence followed. Seko's fists clenched.
"So it wasn't hunger. It wasn't instinct."
"No," the father said. "It was control. And perhaps… fear."
He placed a hand on Seko's shoulder, firm yet gentle.
"You are the product of darkness… but you were raised in light. That duality may be your curse—but it can also be your weapon."
Seko nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, though a storm clearly brewed beneath it.
"Then I'll find them," he muttered. "And I'll make them remember the monks they burned."
The adoptive father didn't smile. He didn't frown. He simply said:
"Just make sure that when you do… you still remember who you are."
"I don't know who I am," Seko said quietly.
The words hung there like a blade pressed against silence. The adoptive father turned, ready to respond—but before he could speak, the door swung open with its usual lack of subtlety.
Atama walked in, a half-eaten skewer of something smelly and probably illegal hanging from his mouth.
"Then let's go find out, emo-vamp," he said through a bite. "There's a planet not far from here. Split right down the middle. One half drowned in absolute darkness—colder than death. The other half's blinding, bathed in eternal light. I think you'll like the irony."
Kiyomi was already gathering their things, her movements efficient but not mechanical. She paused to carefully wrap the shattered breastplate of Bhishma, the last fragment of their brief journey together.
She stared at it for a moment—then tucked it away in silence, her usual aloof expression softening, just for a breath.
Seko turned to leave with the others, but something tugged at his chest.
"I'll be there in a minute," he said.
He walked back through the city, through the winding alleys and fractured light crystals, until he stood once again before the weapon shop.
The Composite Sword stood motionless behind the transparent barrier, glowing faintly, almost pulsing like a heart. It was still there, still waiting.
Made of ancient fragments… multiple blades melted into one, a weapon that felt fractured yet whole. Long-range potential. Detachable segments. Too many energies intertwined to identify.
Like me, Seko thought.
The shop owner looked up with a knowing smile. "It's been calling to you," he said. "You're not the first it's whispered to."
Seko nodded once. No words, just understanding.
I don't know who I am, he repeated inwardly.But maybe this sword... is the first piece.
Outside, Atama was yelling about not finding his favorite spicy "fish dirt" jerky and Kiyomi was done waiting.
"Hurry up, Vampire. The dual planet isn't gonna split itself."
Just as the group was about to board the transport, the atmosphere shifted.
From the shimmer of the crystal pathways emerged a man—tall, around six feet, graceful in his steps yet undeniably commanding. His white hair flowed down in silken strands, and his lavender eyes gleamed like stardust captured in glass. He looked like he'd walked out of a divine painting, one painted by a hopeless romantic and a perfectionist at the same time.
Kiyomi, instinctively guarded, blinked once—and, for a moment, just a moment—blushed.
But that fleeting feeling vanished the second the man's gaze landed on her and he immediately gasped as though he had seen the moon itself.
"Ah! A blossom of unmatched beauty!" he declared dramatically, one hand on his chest and the other reaching toward her as if proposing a tragic romance.
Atama raised a brow. "Oh no. Not another one."
Before Kiyomi could even process the outburst or roll her eyes, the man teleported—yes, teleported—to a completely different stall nearby, where an elderly woman was casually sipping some steaming beverage.
"Madame! Such elegance—have I been struck by love twice in a minute? Impossible! And yet, here I am, a prisoner of admiration!"
The old lady blinked. "Boy, if you don't back up—"
"No, no, don't speak! Let me suffer for your silence! Let your quiet be the dagger to my soul!"
Seko's eye twitched. "Is he… okay?"
"Mentally? Definitely not," Atama replied, biting into another snack. "But I like him. He's chaos."
Kiyomi crossed her arms, watching the man now simping for a merchant cat, who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
"Who even is this idiot?" she asked flatly.
The man turned instantly, somehow hearing her over the noise of the crowd.
"Idiot? No, no, my dearest executioner of hearts—I am Violet, and I am simply... hopelessly cursed to admire beauty wherever I see it!"
And just like that, he dropped to one knee before a crate of shiny fruit, sighing heavily. "Even the oranges are too perfect! Damn you, universe!"
Seko stepped back slightly.
Atama chuckled. "Yep. We're taking him with us."
The moment was chaotic, absurd, and strangely poetic.
Violet was practically skipping beside them now, humming some tune that didn't exist—eager, aloof, and unmistakably ready to tag along.
Seko, walking just a bit ahead, stole a quick glance over his shoulder."He doesn't even know where we're going," he thought, amused despite himself.Then a darker idea crept in."Is he that desperate? Or is he hiding something… like I do?"
But that thought was cut short when something shifted.
Violet, still smiling but less flamboyant, had stopped walking. His lavender eyes sharpened—focused—not on Kiyomi this time, but on Atama.
"You are…" Violet's voice was quieter, almost reverent, "not normal, are you?"
The words hung in the air, slicing through the nonsense he'd been spewing like it was all just a mask.Atama, as expected, didn't respond. He just kept munching on that weird snack, fish dust coating his fingers like glitter from another world.
Kiyomi blinked, her heart stuttering again.
There was something in Violet's tone. Something that made him real, just for a second.And that seriousness? That depth? It reached her like nothing else had in weeks.She blushed—again—and instantly turned away, frustrated at herself.
Then—
A sudden wind pressure cut through the street.
FWOOOOOOSH.
A streak of silver and energy cracked through the air like thunder.
The composite sword.
It had been displayed behind thick reinforced glass, surrounded by runes and security. And yet—without a warning, it flew through the air as if pulled by fate itself, cutting through the chaos of the market like a shooting star.
Seko turned sharply—too late.
But the sword didn't hit him.
It hovered, spinning around him like a predator orbiting its prey, humming with ancient power, pieces slightly detaching in the air like fragmented chains ready to strike at will.
Everyone froze—except Atama, who watched with genuine curiosity.
"Ohhh... well, that's new."
Seko stood motionless, feeling every vibration of the blade in his veins. The sword recognized something. Maybe it recognized him.
Atama, without looking up, licked his fingers.
"Guess it chose you."
The wind died down.
The sword gently floated… and nestled itself against Seko's back, forming a loose harness on its own, as if it belonged there all along.
Seko didn't speak.
But one thing was clear.
He wasn't going anywhere without it now.
Seko's eyes narrowed, still feeling the strange pull of the sword as it softly pulsed on his back like it had bonded with him already.
"How much is it?" he finally asked, his voice level but his aura tense.
The shopkeeper, an old Kutolian woman with charcoal-toned skin and eyes like fading amber embers, looked at him with a knowing gaze. Her fingers tapped slowly on the counter, counting something only she could see.
"On this planet, Kutol," she said with a voice as smooth as polished obsidian, "we don't deal in coins, credits, or paper."
She leaned forward.
"We deal in exchange. Quality or quantity. Essence or object. What do you offer in return?"
She gestured to a blank crystal orb on the table—it shimmered faintly, like it awaited input.
"Place your offering here. I will let you note the quantity. But remember… the sword is a composite of lost wills. It doesn't bind to just anyone."
Seko glanced at the orb.
Kiyomi was watching intently now. Even Violet had gone quiet. Atama paused mid-munch, raising one eyebrow.
Seko lowered his hand slowly… but instead of placing an item, he pulled out something wrapped in black cloth: a monk's bracelet, the last remaining item from the temple that raised him—burnt around the edges, holding nothing but silence and sorrow.
He placed it on the orb.
The moment it touched, the crystal blazed gold.
The shopkeeper's breath caught—just for a second.
The orb didn't just glow… it weighed.
A silent force swept through the air as memories, essence, sacrifice, pain, and lineage all poured into the orb like compressed history.
"This…" the shopkeeper finally whispered, "is enough."
But Seko hadn't moved.
His hand hovered beside the orb.
"No," he said, eyes unreadable. "That's not what I'm offering."
Everyone turned.
Even the orb dimmed.
Seko unwrapped the bracelet, and took something else out from within it:
A small blood crystal—not red, not crimson—but black, pulsing faintly with ancient vampire essence.
Something inherited.Something forbidden.
He placed that on the orb.
The orb didn't glow this time.
It screamed in silence.
Cracked faintly. Then stabilized.
The shopkeeper took a sharp breath and steadied herself. Her hand trembled slightly.
"You… overpaid," she murmured.
Seko didn't respond. He turned away as the sword clung to his back with a subtle hum, as if content.
Atama whistled low.
"Damn. That sword's yours now. And probably your problem too."
Violet clapped, completely ignoring the tension.
"Nice trade! Emotional damage and blood relics! Classic Kutol deal!"
Kiyomi looked at Seko.
But he didn't meet her gaze.
His eyes were on the road ahead. And in that moment…
he looked heavier than ever before.