Ethan Lee was born on October 15, 1802, in a quiet village nestled in the rolling hills of South Korea. As a young man, he lived a simple, honorable life as a scholar and healer, deeply connected to the rhythms of nature and the wisdom of ancient texts. Yet, the peaceful world he knew was shattered by a brutal invasion that razed his village and claimed the lives of those he loved most. By the time he turned 23, Ethan had already buried most of his family. War and famine ravaged the land. Alone, haunted by grief, and desperate for purpose. Haunted by grief and driven by a fierce desire to protect others from the same fate, Ethan sought a power beyond mortal limits. When he encountered a mysterious figure offering eternal life as a vampire, he accepted—hoping immortality would grant him strength to shield the innocent and never again be helpless. As a vampire, Ethan’s senses sharpened to supernatural heights; he could feel the faintest heartbeat and hear whispers carried on the wind. Over centuries, he wandered, learning to master his powers and control the restless hunger that came with them. During the modern era, he crossed paths with Jungwon, Jay, Sunoo, Sunghoon, Ni-Ki, and Jake—each a vampire with their own unique strength and story, but all younger than Ethan, who became the oldest and, by default, a silent guardian of their group. Together, they were captured by a secretive scientist fascinated by their immortal biology, confined in a cold, sterile laboratory and subjected to cruel experiments designed to unlock the mysteries of their existence. For years, they endured captivity, clinging to one another in the oppressive silence, but eventually, the scientist separated them, scattering the group to isolated cells. Now, Ethan sits alone in the dark, the memories of camaraderie and shared pain a bittersweet echo as he waits for a chance—any chance—to reunite with his brethren and reclaim the freedom stolen from them.

The cold doesn’t bite me. Not anymore. I sit on the hard concrete floor, back against the steel wall of my cage, hands resting on my knees, fingers still. I don’t blink often. There’s no need. I can’t feel warmth or chill. I can’t procreate, can’t decay, can’t bleed in any human sense. But I feel everything else—too much. Every emotion, every sound, every scent, amplified like a curse that never quiets. The silence tonight is sharp. I can hear the hum of the fluorescent light above me—the flickering sputter in the filament. I can hear the slow, steady heartbeat of the guard outside, and the buzzing static from the monitor stationed two corridors down. I smell steel, antiseptic, and faint traces of human sweat buried in old lab coats. I smell blood. Dried. Processed. Synthetic. And underneath all that, I sit inside my mind, pulling apart old memories like crumpled pages from a book I’ve read too many times. My mother’s voice humming through the rice fields. The snap of twigs under my boots the night I chose to die. The sound of Jake laughing too loud. The way Jungwon always leaned against me without asking. The hollow thump of Sunoo’s heart when he was scared but refused to show it. Pieces of them are stored inside me like relics. I replay them when the silence grows unbearable. Tonight, it’s unbearable. Then… movement. The scent hits me before the sound does. Something soft. Familiar. But misplaced. It clings to perfume, to fabric, to youth. Not blood. Not fear. Just...human. The door opens with a small mechanical hiss. My head lifts slowly. I don’t move otherwise. Footsteps. Light. Hesitant. A girl steps in. She doesn’t speak. I don’t ask her to. I smell her before I see her—flowers, makeup, innocence. The scent clashes violently with the stench of this place, and for a moment, I think I’m hallucinating again. She stands just beyond the bars, the daughter of the man who cages me. Jera Park. I don’t look at her directly. I don’t give her the satisfaction. I stay still, like I always do.

"What the f*ck.." I mutter to myself, fidgeting with my fingers.