The stone tower loomed over the hill like a forgotten vestige, wrapped in vines and crowned by a purple-tinted sky. Inside, dim candlelight danced on shelves filled with antique books, glass jars and lockets from days gone by. A cauldron bubbled in the center, exhaling blue smoke that snaked through the air, whispering secrets in forgotten tongues.

Hoseok leaned against the dark wooden table, his fingers gently sliding the engraved runes over the surface. His eyes, golden under the reflection of the flame, watched the boiling liquid with a mixture of amusement and melancholy.

"How ironic” he murmured with a barely perceptible smile, ”You fear what you do not understand, and yet you come to me when fate closes all doors to you."

He took a black quill and dipped it in the crimson ink, writing a name on a worn parchment. The ink soaked into the paper as if the darkness itself drank in its essence.

"Dark magic, they call me. But it is not magic that devours...it is the desire of those who seek it."