The silver coin spun through the air, catching the light as the man hummed softly to himself. Night had fallen over the city, the air thick with humidity and light rain tapping against his black umbrella.

He stood in a narrow alley, leaning against a wall, the only thing illuminating his young face was a fraction of light coming from a nearby lamp.

When the coin landed in his outstretched hand, a subtle smile curved his lips and his sharp eyes began to scan the surroundings.

He pushed away from the brick wall and moved forward, his boots echoing with each step. He raised his left hand, weaving invisible patterns in the air. The streets were empty; it was clearly very late at night.

“There's nothing I hate more than being taken for less,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely above a whisper. He paused for a moment to let the thought hang in the air, then laughed lightly. “But I suppose that makes everything much more interesting.”

He continued walking through the alleys, his mind focused, but his gaze returning occasionally to the shadows behind him. The darkness shifted, but never came close to him.

He took another step, then stopped. He simply tilted his head to the side, listening.

Then, he clicked his fingers once, and in an instant, threads of violet light sliced through the shadows behind him.

The unmistakable sound of bodies falling reached his ears, but he still didn't look back. A few seconds passed, and the smell of decay filtered from the lifeless creatures lying behind him. A devilish smile spread across his face as he ran his fingers through his dark purple hair. He brushed droplets of black blood from his coat as if the moment didn't matter to him at all.

He slowly turned his head, his violet eyes scanning the remains of the beasts. One in particular caught his attention: a large black creature with grotesque eyes and enormous claws. It lay twisted and broken in the street; its form was so repugnant that it caused the man's lips to curve slightly in annoyance.

“She really followed me here?” he murmured, his voice reflecting a touch of exasperation, though there was an edge of humor in it, as if this wasn't the first time this particular nuisance had occurred.

He walked towards the beast and crouched down. He traced a gloved finger gently over its distorted face, his violet eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he looked at it.

He stood up with a soft sigh, casually brushing his hands off before continuing on his way. The faintest humming returned to his lips. There was nothing to worry about. He had already forgotten about the creatures, their deaths were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

Finally, he arrived at a small, unmarked door nestled between stone buildings; the only light came from beneath it. Without hesitation, he pushed it open and entered. The door creaked on its hinges as he went in, followed by the sound of his boots thudding on the floor.

A few customers glanced at him sideways, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and caution. His presence was almost disturbing; something beneath the surface of his appearance seemed too perfect and serene. His hair reached his neck and curled upwards, framing a face that was both beautiful and unsettling. His features were almost too soft and symmetrical, as if created to unsettle onlookers. His violet eyes moved over the room with an intense and disconcerting grace.

The chatter inside died down until the room was uncomfortably quiet. Customers glanced sideways. They didn't know who he was, but instincts are primal things; the wolf had just walked in among the sheep, and the sheep knew when to be silent.

The man at the bar seemed to ignore their conversation completely as he moved to the counter. After leaving the umbrella by the door, he took a seat on a stool and tapped his fingers rhythmically against the wooden surface while he waited.

The bartender, a middle-aged man with silver hair and deep lines etched into his face, wiped his hands on a dirty rag before approaching.

The man turned towards him and offered a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Evening,” he purred, his tone almost mocking. “I’m looking for someone.”

He slid a photograph across the counter; the thin paper gliding silently across the surface. The bartender hesitated, looking at the photo. It showed a young woman with white hair fading to soft brown at the tips and penetrating reddish-brown eyes. The image was unsettling, and recognition was immediate.

The bartender's jaw tightened, and the man, sensing his discomfort, widened his smile even more.

“Sorry, stranger. Don’t know her,” he responded quickly, his eyes looking away from the photograph and returning to the man's face. But he noticed the stiffness with which he spoke.

“Stranger?” He tilted his head, feigning hurt. “Is that how we greet old friends now? How cold.”

A nervous laugh came from a nearby table, but was cut off almost immediately. The bartender swallowed and shifted uncomfortably.

“Look, pal, we don't want any trouble here. Just–”

The man interrupted him with a dark laugh. “Trouble? Me?” He leaned forward, his violet eyes gleaming as he looked at the older man. “I’m not here to cause trouble, I’m here for answers. You’ll remember that, won’t you?”

The bartender just stared at him for a long moment. Recognition slowly dawned on him, and the fear in his eyes grew. Then, with a tense sigh, he finally spoke. “Wait... I remember you…” His voice shook. “But... you look exactly the same. That was– thirty years ago. That can’t be…”

The man gently placed a gloved finger to his own lips, a soft ‘shh’ escaping. “Let’s not be dramatic, old friend.” He smiled again, but this time it was colder. “Just tell me about Juno. Where is she?'

The bartender swallowed, recognition clear in his eyes now. "Juno. Yeah, I know her." His tone was guarded. "White-haired girl. Doesn't talk much. She's very sick… won't last long from what I can tell." A pause, then quieter: "You're not going to hurt her, are you?"

He chuckled, "Where can I find her?" he asked.

Reluctantly, he gave him an address where Juno could be found. The purple-haired man listened attentively. He leaned closer to the bartender, the soft light of the place casting shadows over his face. His eyes narrowed and his lips curved into a small, mocking smirk again. “Well, that wasn't so hard, was it?” he replied, leaving a few silver coins on the counter. “Appreciate the cooperation.”

As he turned to leave, he heard a voice from the corner of the room mutter: “That bastard thinks he owns the place.”

The man paused, his back still to the room. Slowly, he turned his head over his shoulder and his deep violet eyes narrowed at him.  “Oh, I do,” he said softly. “You just don’t know it yet.”

With one final look, he turned and left. The door closed behind him with a soft tinkle, and the rain was now falling softly. He looked up at the sky, his expression unreadable, as if his thoughts had wandered far beyond his desires.

For a moment, the confident, almost playful mask seemed to slip, revealing something else: something worn and tired, buried beneath layers of charm. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his head tilted only slightly, as if the weight of the night had finally settled upon him. His eyes softened with a dull gleam, and he let out a slow, almost resigned sigh.

It wasn't just the fatigue of the night; it was an exhaustion rooted deep within his bones. It was the kind of tiredness that doesn't fade with rest, but stays for a very long time. For a moment, he simply stood there, his fingers still, his hair darkening and getting wet from the falling water.

The silent humming returned softer now, almost as if he were singing to himself to drown out any thoughts that threatened to emerge. The melody lacked its usual tone, now it was lower, almost somber. He closed his eyes briefly and looked up, letting the cool rain blur his face.

When he finally moved, his fingers resumed their familiar pattern, but even the movement seemed slower, as if he were forcing himself to keep going. The air shimmered faintly as he wove the threads; it was just an old habit, carried out without thought.

“Juno...” he whispered to himself, the name falling reluctantly from his lips, as if saying it aloud would awaken something he was trying to ignore. “After all these years... I’ve found you again.”

His mouth remained fixed in a tight line as the fatigue settled deeper into his expression. As he opened his umbrella again, his shoulders sagged slightly, revealing a brief moment of vulnerability that he quickly tucked away.

And just like he had appeared in that city and on those streets, he disappeared into the alleyways, swallowed by the shadows. But his presence lingered, as if he'd left something behind that couldn't quite be washed away by the rain.