Fire, blood, burning houses, and amidst them, red eyes staring at me. I couldn’t understand what was happening.

“What happened here?” I whispered, my voice trembling. My feet felt as if they were nailed to the ground, and I couldn’t move as I watched the surrounding chaos. The fire roared with terror, consuming everything in its path, and even from a distance, its flames heated my skin. The air was filled with the metallic smell of blood and the bitter scent of burning wood.

Even though I was standing at the end of the village’s main street, I could see what was happening at the other end through the smoke. I saw the bodies lying on the ground, dogs tearing at their flesh, and women screaming in pain or fear. At the head of the street, there was a man—if you could even call him that. He had two horns protruding from his head and glowing red eyes that shone brightly even through the smoke. In his hand was a spear, aimed at the chest of a man lying on the ground. That man was Hans.

The red eyes slowly turned toward me, and his sharp gaze felt like it was piercing through me. Despite the intense heat around me, cold sweat began to drip down my body. This creature was a demon.

All of this had started with a dream this morning.

I was in my room, my hands tucked under the blanket, listening to my father tell me a story. It was a story he had told me five or six years ago. I don’t know if it was a dream or a memory from the past. One thing was clear in the dream—it felt as real as the memories I had.

“Long, long ago, in a time when people didn’t even know who they were, on a dark night, a giant star fell from the sky, illuminating the earth. It was as if it was showing off its beauty and uniqueness, splitting into five colors—red, green, white, yellow, and blue. Each was unique and beautiful. The stones fell to different parts of the world and lay buried deep within the earth for a very long time. Thousands, millions of years passed, and creatures began to appear around the stones. They were terrifying and resembled ordinary animals, but the difference was that these creatures had unique abilities. Some could breathe fire, while others looked like trembling trees. In this chaotic world, even the plants developed unique abilities. People called it ‘Magic.’”

As always, my father told the story with passion, from the heart.

“Magic?”

At that time, I was just a child, and my young mind was captivated by my father’s stories. You must have also been amazed by the heroes and dragons in the stories you heard as a child, right?

“Yes, magic. Magic was capable of many things. Those who learned to control it were called ‘Mages.’ One day, one of these mages united all the people and built a great kingdom.”

“Wow, the mages must have been really powerful, right?” I couldn’t help but express my amazement.

“Of course, they were not only powerful but also wise.”

At that moment, the door to the room opened, and my mother walked in. She was always gentle, always smiling, and always trying to find goodness even in the most difficult situations. Despite her kind nature, she was very strict when it came to my upbringing.

“Are you telling him scary stories instead of fairy tales again?”

As I said, my mother always tried to protect me from anything that might influence my mind or upbringing.

“Not at all, I’m just telling him a story.”

“Yes, Dad told me about creatures and mages!”

At that age, I didn’t yet understand what to keep secret and what to say.

“What have you done? You’re scaring a four-year-old! Don’t you think he’ll have nightmares?”

“It’s nothing. My son isn’t afraid of anything, right?”

“Yes, I’m not afraid of anything!” I shouted in response.

“Alright, that’s enough for today. Children should be asleep by now.”

“Fine, I don’t want to upset you, so we’ll stop here. I’ll tell you another story tomorrow. Good night! Sleep well, Attu.”

This strange story was one of the tales my father used to tell me, and it had stuck with me. A few years after that story, my father left us.

I woke up in my room after having this dream. I wanted to believe it was all just a dream—my father’s story, my mother’s words. It felt like it had been pulled from my deepest memories. On the other hand, it felt like I had seen this dream before.

Sitting on my bed, I tried to make sense of the dream I had just had. What did it mean? This thought lingered in my mind, keeping me from getting up for a while.

As I recalled the dream, I remembered something else—my father’s face wasn’t in it.

“Why couldn’t I see their faces? What did my father’s face even look like?” I asked myself.

Realizing I wouldn’t find the answers just sitting there, I decided to get up.

“Time to get up,” I said, standing and putting on my clothes. After dressing, I tied the blindfold around my eyes, which had become almost a part of me, from the table next to my bed.

From a distance, many people might think I’m just an ordinary boy, but when they get closer and see my eyes, that thought changes completely.

My blood-red eyes scare most people. When I was younger, I didn’t wear this blindfold. The first time I went out to play with the village children, they were amazed by my eyes.

At first, I liked it. Why wouldn’t I? Standing out from the other ordinary kids was appealing.

But after some time, the parents in the village started telling their children to stay away from me. The reason was my bright, terrifying red eyes.

It’s natural to wonder why this happened. I knew that bright red eyes like mine were usually associated with demons and vampires.

This didn’t make me happy—it hurt me deeply. As a result, no child in the village wanted to play with me.

Despite this, my mother didn’t let me feel sad or hate myself. She told me to wear a blindfold, so I wouldn’t see my eyes as something bad.

This calmed me down a bit. But even so, the other children still didn’t want to play with me. After that, I had no choice but to spend my time at home with my mother. She became my closest friend and confidante.

By the way, you might be wondering how I could see with the blindfold on. Honestly, I don’t know myself. Even with the blindfold, I could see perfectly fine. Even at night, I could see as clearly as during the day.

This wasn’t the only unusual thing about me. My appearance was also slightly different from my parents. For example, my white hair. According to my parents, there had never been anyone with white hair in our family or my mother’s lineage.

Now, standing up, I put on a white shirt, rolled up the sleeves to my elbows, and wore a brown vest and matching short pants before leaving my room.

As I stepped out, the first thing I noticed was the delicious smell of the sweet food my mother had prepared. My mother was an excellent cook.

“Good morning, Mom.”

This was my mother—Aurora. My mother was 32 years old. She had met my father when she was 19, fell in love, and married him. Then, at 20, I was born.

To be honest, they never told me the story of how they met or fell in love. They kept it a secret.

Now, it was just my mother and me living on the outskirts of the village. Why just the two of us? Because my father left us six years ago. To be honest, I didn’t want to remember this, because I felt like it was my fault he left.

“Good morning to you too! Come, sit down.”

As always, my mother placed the food she had prepared on the table with a bright smile.

“What’s wrong? You look upset.”

My mother noticed the sadness on my face and asked.

“Everything’s fine, I just had a bad dream. About Dad…”

Whenever I said something bad about my father, my mother would stop me. Even though my father had left us, my mother still loved him and believed he would return one day.

No matter how many times I told her he wouldn’t come back, she always held onto hope. She would say that he had some business to take care of and would return once it was done.

To be honest, I had given up hope that he would ever return, and I didn’t want to believe it anymore.

“Your father again? How many times have I told you he didn’t leave us? He just went away for work.”

“If that’s the case, it’s been six years, and he still hasn’t come back. We don’t even know if he’s alive!”

I heard the same words again, words that had become ingrained in my mind and irritated me whenever I heard them. Without realizing it, I shouted at my mother. I shouldn’t have done that.

My mother started crying when she heard me shout at her. I could understand her—she was waiting patiently for my father, and I was trying to crush her hope. I had done something wrong, and I needed to apologize.

“It’s true, I don’t know what he’s doing now or where he is. But I believe in your father. He will definitely come back.”

My mother’s faith in my father always amazed me. I realized how much of a bad child I was for testing her patience and making her cry. I needed to apologize, right now.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I ruined your good mood this morning.”

“I’m not upset with you, I understand. It’s hard for you too, without your father. That’s why I’m not upset.”

I wiped the tears from her face.