Drogo barely cracks his eyelids open.

First thing he sees – a white ceiling, almost painfully clean and bright. Then he lowers his gaze – slowly, warily – and the room around him begins to take shape. Cold air. White walls. A lingering smell of antiseptic.

A hospital. Two nurses stand in front of him. One by the food cart. The other – right next to his bed.

His mind struggles to catch up. Memories jolt back in rough, broken fragments: two sharp blows in the back… a sudden fall… the face of an old man flashing before him… screams of random people… and then – silence.

Coming out of that haze, Drogo instinctively starts analyzing: What’s happening right now? Where does it hurt? How long have I been here? What’s my next step?

He pauses, reaching inward.

THE ESSENCE IS SILENT. Dead quiet.

Must’ve spent too much energy… Passed out. Probably asleep.

Just then, reality tugs him back with a gentle voice – so sweet and soft it sounds almost unreal.

– You’re awake, honey? Does anything hurt?

The voice belongs to the nurse standing beside his bed.

Drogo’s attention narrows.

Something feels… strange.

The two nurses are practically the same build – each short, each weighing roughly a hundred kilos. At first glance, they might pass for sisters.

But only from a distance.

Their resemblance ends there.

The one near the food cart – Nurse #1 – is a walking mess. Her hands are constantly fumbling – forks clatter, napkins fall, trays rattle. Her movements are nervous, fast, and chaotic, like she’s always ten steps behind the moment.

And the second she notices Drogo looking at her – she flinches. Eyes drop. Shoulders hunch.

But the moment their gazes lock – her whole face lights up. A goofy, bashful grin appears, cheeks flushing red, as if she’s five and just got caught peeking at her crush.

Nurse #2, the one by the bed, is the complete opposite.

Slow, steady, and composed. Every gesture is measured. Every word – soft and unhurried. She looks at Drogo with the kind of smile mothers use to soothe children with fevers – not fake, not overly sweet. Just calm care.

– So, sweetheart? Does anything hurt?

Drogo slowly raises his eyes to meet hers. His voice comes out hoarse:

– No… Just tired.

Then, after a pause:

– Do you know what happened? After I blacked out, I mean.

Before Nurse #2 can speak, Nurse #1 suddenly springs to life – bouncing with excitement, ready to blurt out everything she knows.

But Nurse #2 raises her hand like a stop sign and gently cuts her off:

– Katya, not so fast. I know you – you’ll start spinning your fantasies again.

Katya pouts immediately – cheeks puff out, forehead scrunches up in mock indignation.

But she listens. She backs off.

– Let’s do this, darling. You’ll eat a bit, and we’ll tell you what we know. Calmly. No drama.

She throws a side glance at her colleague.

– Right, Katya?

– Okay… Katya sighs, defeated.

No one asks Drogo what he wants – and honestly, it doesn’t even cross his mind to object.

Nurse #2’s presence makes any resistance feel pointless. She simply decides, and things happen.

Without a word, Drogo takes the spoon and begins eating the oatmeal. Slowly, mechanically. The warm, tasteless porridge coats his tongue.

While he eats, the nurses begin recounting what they heard from the emergency medics.

The call came in: “Unconscious male. Massive blood loss”.

They rushed to the scene.

There was a pool of blood.

The man – meaning Drogo – had already been flipped onto his back.

Next to him was another man, clearly trying to help… but it was painfully obvious he had no clue what he was doing.

When the paramedics ran up, the man started explaining everything – words tripping over themselves…

As Drogo quietly chewed his oatmeal, the nurses continued recounting what the emergency team had told them.

The man who had stayed by Drogo’s side had introduced himself as a doctor. He had tried to provide first aid. After turning the victim over to assess his condition, he initially assumed that the blood was coming from the nose or a head wound. But once he turned Drogo on his back, he saw the truth. The man was drenched in blood. Unconscious – but still breathing.

And then he saw it.

There were precise incisions across the entire body – not just the clothes, but the skin itself. Around sixty cuts, scattered across all the vital areas. Chest. Abdomen. Thighs. Neck. Arms. Every point where a killing blow could land – marked.

Reacting instinctively, the doctor tore off his own shirt, crumpled it, and pressed it hard against Drogo’s stomach – the area with the most blood pooled beneath him.

But the moment the fabric touched the skin – he realized something was wrong.

THERE WAS NO ACTIVE BLEEDING. ONLY SCAR TISSUE.

The skin was intact. Marked, yes – but not fresh. The cuts were long healed. Every single one.

He checked the body again. Frantically searched for open wounds. But found none. Just scars. No explanation. No source. So he gave up.

Sat down beside the man, gently lifted his head onto his lap – and waited.

Neither the doctor nor the paramedics could figure out where the blood had come from.

Still, the exhaustion Drogo was experiencing matched the exact symptoms of massive blood loss. The only mystery was that no transfusion had been needed – because, by the time he arrived, his body was no longer bleeding.

Drogo’s hand froze halfway to his mouth.

Something surged through him – hot, sharp, unstoppable.

Joy

It poured into his chest like molten gold, reached his throat, and stretched his mouth into a grin so wide it almost tore his face apart.

He didn’t even try to stop it.

POWER

– If only these little sheep understood… how damn good it feels…

His jaws clenched, but the grin wouldn’t vanish.

Just then, Nurse #2 pulled him back to reality.

– Sweetheart, we need some information from you. Your name, surname, any family we should contact?

Drogo narrowed his eyes, then slowly slumped back against the pillow.

He let out a faint breath, imitating weakness.

– I’ll tell you later… he murmured.
– Just… later.

In truth, he knew perfectly well:

That “later” would never come.

He closed his eyes. Waited.

Listened to the fading footsteps of the nurses as they finally left the room.

And then – like a spring, he sat up.

His grin returned, this time sharper, wilder.

– My original goal… was achieved.
But now…

His breath hitched.

I met him. And now I WANT him. That boy.

The joy twisted inside him, turned darker.

– My goal is under threat…

And then – a voice.

Familiar. Low. Calm. His.

The essence had awakened.

– So… how are you feeling?

– Looks like I only survived thanks to this new ability, Drogo replied inwardly. But why didn’t you sense the threat?

– Because there was none. No emotion. No hatred. No intention. They gave off nothing. Like static.

– So it was a mistake?

– Maybe. But more likely – the Higher Ones got your message. And now they’re coming. For you.

Drogo’s grin sharpened.

– Took them long enough. Too many deaths already.
But at least I won’t have to hunt them.
They’ll find me.

He licked his lips.

– But first… let’s start with dessert.
Take me through the hospital. Guide me to the exit.
Let’s find that boy.

The essence paused.

– You sure? You look weak.

– I SAID WE’RE GOING HUNTING!

And with that command – the hunt began.

The essence, guided by scents, led Drogo skillfully past the hospital staff. He slipped through hallways, down stairwells, and finally descended from the third floor to the main lobby – unnoticed.

In the coatroom, he grabbed a lightweight jacket that fit well enough. He found a pair of shoes, pulled them on, and walked straight out into the daylight.

– Where are we going? the essence asked softly.

– We need a map, Drogo murmured. – I have to see how many schools are near the waterfront.

At the nearest bus stop, he found what he was looking for – a public transport map posted on the shelter glass.

Only two schools within walking distance of the embankment.

That was good.
Very good.

– I know you’re already bathing in anticipation, the essence said. – But you’re attracting a lot of unwanted attention. I can feel the mood of the people around you.

– Why?

– Well… maybe because of how you look?

For a moment, Drogo frowned.

And then he caught his own reflection in the bus stop glass.

A man standing outside a hospital – wearing a patient’s gown, topped with a jacket, and shoes with no socks.

A walking contradiction.

He looked like someone who had wandered out of a clinic and got dressed in a panic.

Realizing the absurdity, Drogo stepped off the sidewalk and disappeared into a nearby alley.

Meanwhile…