California, November 1983

A gust of wind shook the branches of a California sycamore, shedding broad leaves of golden brown—they danced before surrendering to the ground. Among them, one leaf landed right on the head of a nine-year-old boy.

The boy stood still in the yard of his modest home. His body was small and thin, wearing a faded white t-shirt and washed-out blue shorts. His skin was pale, his knees covered in the small scratches typical of a child who often plays alone. His blond hair—bright and fine like young wheat—fell loosely, partly covering his forehead and lightly tickling his bright blue eyelids. His eyes were sharp yet looked tired—like the eyes of a child who understood solitude too quickly.

With curiosity, he picked up that thin, brown thing from the ground. A breeze blew through his hair, causing the strands to dance softly under the autumn orange glow. The leaf in his grasp slipped away just as three black cars pulled into the driveway.

Joey froze.

The sound of engines cutting off, the creak of doors opening, the heavy footsteps emerging from the vehicles—it all seemed to fracture time. The urge to call for his mother grew strong, yet his body refused to move—because from behind those cars emerged a tall, sturdy man with an unfamiliar gaze.

The man was handsome, dressed sharply in a classic black suit, layered with an aged vest and a dark blue-black scarf perfectly draped over his shoulders. There was an air of both luxury and roughness about him—like an elegance that knew how to fight.

Joey was transfixed. Even as the man walked closer, now just half a meter away, he didn't flinch.

The man bent down slightly, looking intently at the boy's innocent face. His gaze was intense, unblinking. Then, with a faint smile that wasn't entirely friendly, he raised his hand and gently ruffled Joey's blond hair.

Immediately, he continued his steps toward the white-painted house with its Arctic blue door. Several stern-faced men in dark suits followed behind him. They passed right by the boy—without a word, without a greeting.

"Mom!" Joey finally called out, loudly, taking hesitant steps toward the house.

The door opened.

A woman appeared—beautiful, graceful, with blond hair flowing down her back. She wore a loose, light blue dress.

"Joey, don't shout like—" Her words cut off—the moment her eyes landed on the man in front of her.

A smile appeared on the man's face. Not a warm smile. Not a long-lost smile. But the grin of someone who had never truly left.

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[ Prequel ] KALOPSIA

📍Read the prequel for free exclusively on KaryaKarsa | @oishielmo

That day, innocence met danger, and fate began to write.