The humidity of Sabu was a physical entity. It didn't just hang in the air; it clung to the skin like a damp, invisible wool coat, smelling of sea salt, burnt diesel, and the sweet, smoky aroma of roasting pork from the street stalls near the terminal. For Lucean—now officially registered in the national database as Luke Yviel—it was the smell of a childhood he had been forced to bury fourteen years ago.

  He stood on the cracked pavement of the North Bus Terminal, adjusting the hem of his oversized black hoodie. It was far too hot for the garment, but it served a dual purpose: it hid his too-pale skin from the harsh tropical sun, and it shielded the dull, rhythmic vibration in his chest from the prying eyes of the crowd.

  Goal: Integration, Luke thought, his eyes scanning the colorful, chaotic flow of jeepneys and taxis. Step one: Do not look like a world-ending anomaly. Be the background. Be the extra in someone else’s movie.

  He had spent the last several months in the Western Continent practicing his "Normal Face" in the mirrors of public restrooms and train stations. He knew he was an aesthetic problem. His skin lacked the healthy, sun-kissed tan of the locals—a side effect of a heart that processed oxygen with such terrifying efficiency that his blood barely needed to surface. His eyes were even worse: a deep, unsettling crimson that looked like wine held up to a candle. To the average citizen of the Republic of Finas, he looked like a sickly student who spent twenty hours a day in a dark internet cafe.

  A taxi, its white paint chipped and its muffler rattling like a tin can full of rocks, pulled up to the curb. Luke approached the window, forcing a slight, deliberate slouch to his shoulders. He consciously softened his footsteps, making sure his heels hit the pavement with a clumsy thud instead of the silent, predatory glide that had been beaten into him by the Condre Clan.

  "To the Yviel Estate, please. High up on the mountain pass," Luke said, his voice a low, careful monotone.

  The driver, a middle-aged man with a rosary hanging from his rearview mirror, looked at Luke through the reflection. "The mountain? Near the old stone lookout? You sure, kid? People say that place is... well, it’s been quiet for a long time. They say a witch lives up there."

  Luke felt his heart give a slow, heavy thud. THUMP. It was a sound only he could hear, a drumbeat of ancient power. He forced a corner of his mouth to twitch upward in what he hoped was a reassuring, friendly smile. In the mirror, it probably looked like a polite threat.

  "I’m her grandson," Luke said, trying to pitch his voice higher to sound more youthful. "I'm moving back for college. It’s just an old family house. My Grandma is actually very nice, if you don't mind the eccentricities."

  The driver muttered a quick prayer under his breath, shifted the gear into drive, and hit the gas.

  As the taxi climbed the winding, narrow roads of the Asha continent’s southern tip, Luke stared out the window. His internal monologue was a constant, exhausting stream of calibration.

  Look at the malls, he told himself as they passed a gleaming glass structure with a giant neon sign. Normal people like shopping. Look at the teenagers on motorbikes, three to a seat, laughing. That is the life. No Golden Veins to maintain. No clan politics. Just tuition fees, midterm exams, and worrying about whether it will rain during a date.

  Fourteen years had transformed the landscape of Sabu. Where there had once been dense, impenetrable tropical rainforest, there were now rows of townhouses with satellite dishes and 24-hour convenience stores. A modern train line snaked through the valley below like a silver centipede, connecting the mountain suburbs to the gleaming skyscrapers of the city center.

  The urbanization was a shield. The more people moved in, the more the world became "ordinary," and the easier it was for a "cripple" like him to disappear.

  When they reached the massive iron gates of the estate, the taxi driver didn't even wait for Luke to get his bags out of the trunk before he started reversing. The man practically threw the luggage onto the gravel and sped away, his tires screeching on the asphalt.

  Luke stood alone before the gargantuan "Trial Doors" of the Yviel Estate.

  They were black, rusted, and stood nearly twenty feet tall. In the old days, a visitor had to push them open to prove their worth. Luke didn't even touch the iron. Instead, he walked ten meters to the left, pushed aside a cluster of overgrown ferns, and found a hidden stone lever. With a heavy, mechanical clack, a small, inconspicuous service door swung open.

  He stepped inside. The air was different here. Cooler. It smelled of wet stone and wild orchids.

  "Oh! You must be Lucean!"

  Luke stopped dead. A man was kneeling in a bed of purple flowers near the path. This was Niko Dana.

  Luke didn't just walk past. He stopped, stood at a respectful distance, and performed a slight, awkward bow. He had to be polite. Polite people were normal. Polite people were forgettable.

  "Yes. But please, just call me Luke," he said, focusing on his facial muscles to project 'Friendly, Harmless Student.' "It’s nice to meet you, Niko. Thank you for taking care of the place while my Grandma is away. I know it’s a lot of work."

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  Niko blinked, wiping soil from his hands. He looked at Luke with a mix of pity and curiosity. "Of course, Luke! My father, Rob, told me to expect you. He said the Yviel heir was coming home, but... well, he didn't say you’d look so much like a city boy! You're a bit pale, eh? Maybe the Sabu sun will give you some color while you’re here."

  "That’s the plan," Luke said, offering a stiff, practiced smile. "I’m just here to be a normal student. I’m enrolled for BS Finance. It’s a very stable, very boring degree. Just what I want."

  "Finance! Smart. Everyone needs an accountant," Niko laughed, picking up his shears. "Well, the house is aired out. I’ll be back on Saturday to check the gardens. Welcome home, kid."

  "Thank you, Niko. Have a safe trip back."

  Success, Luke thought as he walked toward the main porch. Human interaction: 100% normal. No one suspected a thing. I am just a pale boy who likes spreadsheets.

  The interior of the house was a cathedral of Narra wood and beeswax. The floors were polished to a mirror finish, and the air held the weight of centuries. Luke navigated the familiar halls until he found his old room. It was exactly as he’d left it: the small wooden bed, the desk made of solid oak, and a single framed photo of his mother and grandmother.

  He dropped his bags and immediately went to the vanity mirror. He pulled back his lips, checking his teeth for the tenth time that day.

  No fangs. My reflection is solid. I don't feel a burning sensation when the sun hits my skin through the window. I am not a vampire.

  But then, his heart—the Sovereign Heart—gave a heavy, hungry pulse. It felt like a vacuum in his chest, a black hole that demanded to be filled. Ever since the Golden Vein was destroyed and his heart evolved, his metabolism had become a ravenous monster.

  He realized he couldn't survive on the meager snacks he’d brought. He needed a kitchen upgrade.

  He spent the rest of the afternoon in the city, acting out the role of a regular citizen. He went to a local appliance store and bought a high-end refrigerator and a powerful air fryer. Finally, he went to a meat wholesaler in the city market.

  "I’ll take the bulk pack of ribeye, the pork belly, and five kilos of chicken breast," Luke told the butcher.

  "Hosting a party, kid?"

  "No," Luke said, his eyes momentarily flashing a darker red before he blinked it away. "I’m just... very hungry. It's for my health. I have a very fast metabolism."

  By the time the delivery trucks had left and Luke was alone again in the estate, the sun had dipped below the mountain peaks. He lugged the heavy bags of meat into the kitchen, humming a song he’d heard on the radio—a normal, popular pop song. He was happy. He had a plan. He would study, he would eat his steak, and he would be invisible.

  He was halfway through the dark hallway, clutching a bag of groceries, when his chest suddenly tightened.

  THUMP-THUMP.

  It wasn't a normal heartbeat. It was a violent, jagged rhythm that hit him like a physical blow.

  What is this? Luke thought, his breath hitching. Why do I feel like I want to kill someone? Am I losing my mind? Is the power finally driving me insane?

  The feeling wasn't coming from his brain; it was a physical sensation in his ribs. It felt as if his heart was trying to warn him, or perhaps, it was echoing a sound from the shadows. He didn't know about resonance yet; he only knew that his body was suddenly reacting as if he were in the middle of a war zone.

  He didn't drop his groceries. Dropping the meat would be a "Hunter" reaction. A "Normal" person would just keep walking, confused. So, Luke kept walking, his eyes fixed on the floorboards, even as his pulse began to roar in his ears.

  From the dark, vaulted shadows of the ceiling beams, a figure detached itself.

  There was no sound—only a slight displacement of air. A 13-inch stiletto blade hissed through the humidity, aimed with surgical precision for the base of his skull.

  Luke didn't "fight." He didn't even look up. He simply tilted his head by three centimeters to the left. The blade whispered past his ear, cutting a single strand of his black hair.

  The assassin landed silently behind him. She was a blur of black silk and focused malice. She spun on one heel, the blade whistling in a low horizontal sweep intended to take out his legs. Luke stepped over it with a casualness that bordered on accidental.

  Who is this? Luke analyzed, his heart now pounding so hard it hurt. She’s fast. Incredibly fast. She isn't hitting the furniture. She’s being careful.

  He didn't strike back. He didn't even raise his hands to defend himself. He simply moved into the spaces where the blade wasn't. He watched her. He noticed the way her ponytail whipped through the air, and the way she gritted her teeth in frustration.

  He decided to end it before she broke a vase. As she lunged for a final, desperate heart-stab, Luke stood his ground. He caught the flat of the blade between his palm and his forearm, parrying the force just enough to pull her into his space.

  They collided. He caught her by the waist to steady her, his groceries still clutched in his other hand.

  Their eyes locked.

  She was beautiful, but in a sharp, lethal way. Her eyes were jet black, reflecting the dim moonlight and his own crimson gaze.

  Then, his heart did something it had never done before.

  The violent, killing rhythm vanished instantly. In its place, his heart began to flutter with a frantic, skipping beat. It was warm. It was chaotic. It felt like... a panic attack? Or a sudden, explosive fever?

  What is wrong with me? Luke thought, his own face heating up. Why is my heart acting like I’ve just seen a crush? This girl tried to kill me!

  The girl froze. Her face, previously pale and cold, erupted into a deep, furious crimson. Her breath hitched. She stared at him, her eyes wide with a shock that didn't look like fear.

  She felt it too—the strange, invisible tether between their pulses. For a few seconds, the only sound in the ancient house was the frantic, synchronized thumping of two hearts.

  "You..." she whispered, her voice trembling.

  Luke’s brain scrambled for a "normal" response. He couldn't think of anything heroic. He couldn't think of anything cool.

  "I... I have steak in this bag," he blurted out, his voice cracking like a nervous teenager's. "It’s very high quality. Do you... want some? I have an air fryer."

  The girl’s eyes went even wider. She let out a frustrated, strangled sound—a mix of a growl and a sob—twisted out of his grip, and bolted. She didn't use the stairs. She vaulted toward the open second-story window and disappeared into the mountain fog.

  Luke stood alone in the dark, clutching his bag of ribeye. His heart was still fluttering with that strange, happy rhythm—a rhythm he didn't understand and couldn't control.

  "I really need to see a doctor," he muttered, leaning against the Narra wall, his legs feeling like jelly. "My heart is definitely broken. Finance. I just need to focus on Finance."

  He walked to the kitchen, his mind a mess of red eyes and black silk. He had two months until college. He had a heart that was behaving like a stranger. And he had a lot of meat to cook.