Sirens wailed in the distance, blending into the rhythm of the city. People moved along the streets, lost in their own little worlds—phones in hand, conversations half-shouted, footsteps quick against the pavement.
Among them walked a man who didn't quite belong. His hair was a wild silver-white, shining faint beneath the neon glow, and his eyes—black, endless, unsettling—seemed to drink in the world rather than reflect it.
He moved with a kind of calm detachment, just another figure heading home from a long, dull day at work. To anyone watching, he looked ordinary enough—suit neat, pace steady—but the shadows seemed to bend a little closer around him, like they knew who he was.
He glanced at the buzzing streets, letting out a quiet sigh. Same streets, same habits. Humans clinging to their patterns, circling through life like clockwork. And yet… he couldn't deny their progress. He remembered the days of donkeys and dirt roads, when fire was still a miracle. Now there were towers of glass, machines that carried voices across oceans, lights brighter than the stars.
Still, he knew it wasn't just them. The world they had built wasn't only human. Vampires, werewolves, witches—old bloodlines hidden in plain sight—had their hands on the wheel too. They had always been there, buried in the cracks of history, shaping it from the shadows.
The man shook his head faintly, a wisp of white hair falling over his pale brow. Then, without a word, he turned his gaze forward and kept walking. Home waited, but so did everything else.
He had barely lifted his foot for the next step when someone crashed into him. A woman—dark hair, pale skin—nearly lost her balance, but before she hit the ground, his hand shot out, steadying her with ease.
Her eyes met his, and in that instant, he saw it. The faint glimmer, the unnatural depth—vampire. He sighed quietly. Another night, another predator in the city. And tonight, she thought she had found her meal.
He let her stand upright, brushing her coat into place, then spoke evenly. "Watch where you're going."
"I'm sorry," she said quickly, offering a soft, practiced smile. "It's just been a long, exhausting day. Thank you for catching me."
If it had been anyone else, they might have melted right there, pulled in by her warmth. But Kane wasn't anyone else. He gave her a small nod and turned to leave.
She wasn't done. Her hand caught his sleeve, her voice low and alluring. "Why don't you come with me? I'd like to thank you… properly."
Her gaze sharpened, blood-red eyes locking onto his as she let her charm skill flow. The air around her pulsed faintly, her aura reaching out to snare his will.
Kane looked back at her calmly, his face unreadable. "Was that supposed to do something?"
The woman blinked. For a second, she lost her rhythm. She tried again, pouring more intent into her charm. Then again. Nothing. His expression never changed.
He tilted his head slightly, a faint hint of boredom in his voice. "If you're finished with your little tricks, let me know. I have a home waiting, and you're wasting my time. Right now, I'm not in the mood to entertain you."
Her lips parted, no words forming. For the first time, she looked into his eyes properly—saw the void inside them. No light. No end. Just darkness without bottom.
And in that darkness, her charm shattered like glass.
"Who are you?" the woman whispered, her voice sharp, but the answer never came.
Kane was gone.
One blink and the space where he stood was empty, like he'd never been there at all. The crowd around her didn't even notice. A couple walked past laughing, a man carried a bag of groceries, children tugged at their mother's hand. All normal. And yet, when their eyes passed over her, there was a flicker of confusion. To them, she was just a strange woman talking to herself.
Her jaw tightened. She steadied her breath and turned away, masking her frustration. Still, deep inside, she was trembling. Not with fear—something sharper. That man… no, that thing—he wasn't ordinary. She had never felt that before. Not even her maker, the one who had raised her in blood centuries ago, had ever made her feel so small. Or so alive. The thought twisted into her chest like a spark, and it thrilled her.
She swore then: she would find him again. She would rip apart whatever he was hiding, peel back his secrets, and if she could, take his strength for herself. The idea alone sent a shiver down her spine. To her, he was just a rare kind of human, one who could resist her charm. That was all. That had to be all.
She walked away, heels clicking against the pavement, already searching for another prey.
Far above, Kane leaned on the edge of a rooftop, watching her figure fade into the night. His hair caught the glow of the city lights, his expression unreadable. A faint sigh slipped from his lips. "Troublesome," he muttered, before stepping back and vanishing into motion—shadow to shadow, rooftop to rooftop.
It didn't take long before he reached the quiet edge of the city, where the noise thinned and the streets opened wide. A villa stood hidden behind tall gates and veils of enchantment. No one knew it existed, and if they ever did, questions would pile endlessly—where he got it, how he lived. Kane didn't need that kind of attention. Not in this age.
The gates opened without a sound as he approached. He stepped inside, shoulders relaxing as the stillness welcomed him. His jacket fell across the floor, his shoes slipped off without care. Piece by piece, he stripped down and walked straight into the bathroom. Water hissed. Steam rolled against the mirrors. He brushed his teeth, washed, let the heat of the shower soak through him before stepping back out.
By the time he crossed into the living room, the mess he had left behind was gone. Not a jacket. Not a shoe. The villa took care of itself. He made sure of that when he built it.
Kane moved with practiced ease—cream against his skin, cologne sprayed lightly, fingers sliding through white hair until it fell just right. A fresh suit, sharp and fitted, wrapped him like a second skin. The old one was already in the laundry, humming softly.
He walked to the far corner, pressed his hand against a hidden panel in the wall of the laundry room. One of the machines clicked, shifted, and the floor opened. A staircase unfolded into the dark.
He descended without hesitation. The air changed—cooler, heavier. The basement spread out into a private gallery of machines: rows of cars from every era, polished to perfection. Muscle, vintage, hypercars, all resting quietly like sleeping beasts.
His steps carried him to a sleek Ferrari, a limited run, paint gleaming under soft lights. He slid inside, the leather hugging his frame. The engine roared to life with a low growl.
As the car slipped out into the night, the radio came alive on its own, tuning to a station. A preacher's voice filled the cabin, telling the old tale of Cain and Abel.
Kane's lips twitched into the faintest smile. He scoffed under his breath.
"You don't even know the real story."