The night sky was calm — too calm.

  A silver moon hung above, watching over the quiet forest that surrounded the Callus estate. Its pale light spilled through the trees, bathing the young boy standing at the edge of the woods.

  Kevlar Callus stared at the moon, its glow reflected in his eyes — eyes that once held innocence, now hollowed by truth. His thoughts drifted back to the voice that had once comforted him, the only voice that had ever seen him for who he truly was.

  “My little Kev…”

  His grandfather’s words echoed softly in his mind, as though whispered by the wind.

  “Always remember that you are precious — to the world, to the air, to the land. No matter how much people define you or reject you, nobody can ever put value on you. That is something only you can dictate.”

  The old man’s voice carried warmth, strength, and an unshakable certainty — one that Kevlar clung to even now.

  “You see, my boy,” his grandfather had once said, seated by the hearth with embers glowing in his wrinkled hands, “vampires may be immortal and strong, but they possess a cruel irony — a weakness to the simplest things: sunlight and white oak wood. The mightiest of creatures, undone by nature itself.”

  He had smiled then, his gaze drifting into the flames.

  “Humans are the opposite — fragile, short-lived, and weak. Yet our will, our tenacity, and our thirst for knowledge keep us standing against the immortal. There are no perfect beings, Kev… not truly. Even those deemed perfect are only so in the eyes of others.”

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  Then, he had looked at Kevlar — truly looked — and his tone had softened.

  “And you, my little Kev… you’ll one day be caught in that same view. For you are born with a potential beyond what mortals can measure. And when that day comes, you’ll understand — humans and vampires… aren’t so different after all.”

  The memory faded, swallowed by the night breeze.

  Kevlar’s small hand clenched at his side.

  He understood now.

  He could no longer cling to the naive kindness that once defined him. The world was not kind to weakness, nor to those without value.

  At that moment, the boy made a choice.

  He would erase the version of himself that sought love from others.

  He would accept both the light and the dark — the hate and the hope — and forge his own meaning in a world that had cast him aside.

  The Callus Mansion, once his home, loomed behind him like a cold monument to betrayal. Without a word, Kevlar turned away. His footsteps were light but resolute as he disappeared into the dark embrace of the forest.

  By morning, the Callus estate was in chaos.

  Servants searched the halls, hunters combed the grounds, and his parents — though pale and shaken — could not find a trace of their son.

  Every room was examined, every corner turned over. And then, inside Kevlar’s chamber, they found it — carved deep into the wooden wall, jagged and deliberate:

  “I will return, to refund all the rage and hate I have received.”

  The words bled with anger and sorrow, each stroke of the blade a mark of pain.

  Silence filled the hall as the family stood before the message. None dared to speak it aloud, but all of them felt the same chill crawl down their spines.

  In the days that followed, rumors spread through the Callus estate — that a strange darkness had passed through the mansion that night. Some claimed to have heard a whisper, soft and feminine, carried by the shadows.

  “Since the humans no longer want Kevlar…”

  “…then I shall have him.”

  And as the voice faded into the wind, the candles within the manor flickered — and one by one, went out.