Black Blood Shadow of the past

The room smelled of wax and blood. The flickering candles cast long shadows on the stone walls, their dim light barely reaching the far corners of the room. Yoon clutched Joon’s trembling hand, his fingers ice-cold despite the heat of the flames.

Yoon

“It’ll be okay,” Yoon whispered, though his voice wavered. He didn’t believe the words, and he knew Joon didn’t either.

Their father stood at the altar, his face unreadable, the same man who had once told them bedtime stories and laughed at their antics. Now he loomed over them, his eyes alight with a zeal that turned him into a stranger.

Joon

“We’ll always be together,” Joon whispered back, his voice barely audible.

Yoon nodded, squeezing his hand tighter as their father began to chant. The words were ancient, incomprehensible, but the weight of them settled over the room like a heavy fog. Yoon glanced at Joon one last time before the darkness consumed them both. ****

Yoon jolted awake, his chest heaving. The luxury of his penthouse surrounded him—polished floors, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline—but he felt none of its warmth. He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to shake the lingering memory of the dream. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

Jade

“Sir,” his assistant’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Your 9 a.m. meeting is in twenty minutes.”

Yoon

“I’ll be there,” Yoon replied, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him. He slipped out of bed and into his cold, unyielding routine, the dream already fading into the back of his mind.

But the emptiness lingered. It always did. ****

The crowd roared as Joon landed the final punch, his opponent crumpling to the mat. The referee stepped in, waving his hands, but Joon barely registered it. He stood in the center of the ring, his fists raised high, sweat dripping from his brow. Another win. Another night. Another fight to keep the ghosts at bay.

Kim

“Han!” his trainer barked as Joon ducked out of the ring. “Good work out there.”

Joon grunted in response, pulling off his gloves. He didn’t fight for glory, and he didn’t fight for applause. He fought because it was the only thing that made sense.

Mr. Eun

As he walked toward the locker room, his manager intercepted him. “Hey, got a job offer for you. Some big-shot CEO needs a bodyguard. Pays well.”

Joon

Joon snorted. “Bodyguard? Not my thing. Tell him to find someone else.”

Mr. Eun

“Think about it,” his manager pressed. “This guy’s loaded. Could set you up for life.”

Joon shook his head and walked away. Babysitting rich men wasn’t in his plans. He had enough problems of his own. Later, as he sat alone in the dimly lit gym, wrapping his knuckles for the next round of training, a face flashed in his mind—a face eerily similar to his own. He paused, the image slipping away as quickly as it came.

Joon

“Just tired,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head and returning to his routine.

But deep down, a spark of unease lingered, one he couldn’t quite explain.