The chill of late autumn clung to the narrow streets of Kraków like a second skin. Mist swirled through the cobblestone alleys, thick and ghostlike, veiling the flickering lanterns that struggled to hold back the dark. Somewhere in the distance, the old church bell rang once—low, hollow, and ominous.
Liora pulled her velvet cloak tighter around her shoulders, her breath visible in the cold night air. The hem of her royal-blue dress brushed the ground with every step as she crossed Rynek Główny, the city's grand central square. It was late, far past the hour a girl of her station should be walking alone, but something had called to her—something she couldn't explain.
She stopped in front of St. Mary's Basilica, its twin towers rising like sentinels into the fog. The moon hung full and unnaturally bright above the church, bathed in an eerie blue light. A blue moon—the second full moon of the month. A rare occurrence. A powerful one.
She shivered, but not from the cold.
Behind her, footsteps echoed.
Liora spun around.
A man stood at the edge of the shadows, half-shrouded in mist. He wore a long black coat, finely tailored, with silver embroidery glinting faintly beneath the moonlight. His dark hair was tousled by the breeze, and his eyes—deep, unreadable—were fixed on her.
"You're not from around here," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
"No," he replied, his accent subtle, smooth, foreign. "And yet, it feels like I never left."
He stepped forward, his presence silent but commanding. Liora felt the air shift around him, as though the night itself bent to his will. Her instincts screamed at her to run. But she didn't.
Something in his gaze held her still.
"Who are you?" she asked, more curious than afraid now.
"Someone searching for answers. Just like you," he said softly, then added, "Liora."
She froze. "How do you know my name?"
He offered no reply—only a small, enigmatic smile that did nothing to ease the storm in her chest.
And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Vanished into the mist like he had never been there at all.
Liora stood alone beneath the blue moon, heart racing, the echo of his voice still lingering in her ears. She didn't know his name.
But he knew hers.
Liora didn't sleep that night.
The vision of the stranger haunted her thoughts—the way he spoke her name like it was something sacred, the way the air around him had turned heavy with something unspoken. Something ancient.
Morning came reluctantly, with pale sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows of her small attic room above Madame Wierna's apothecary. She sat curled beneath a blanket, staring at the worn leather journal on her lap. It had belonged to her mother—a woman Liora barely remembered, yet whose whispers still echoed in her dreams.
She opened it again, turning to the last page she had read.
> "When the blue moon rises and the blood of the first witch stirs, the veil will thin. He will come for her—not to kill, but to awaken what sleeps."
The same sentence had repeated throughout the final entries, always written in a different ink, a different hand. Like her mother had been writing it down again and again… as if trying to remember. Or warn.
And now… he had come.
Liora snapped the journal shut and stood. She had questions—too many. And she knew exactly where to start.
---
By midday, the streets of Kraków were bustling, but her path took her away from the noise—past the cloth halls, beyond the Vistula River, and toward the edge of the old forest. That's where she found him.
The stranger stood beneath a stone arch, half-buried by vines, staring into the woods like they spoke to him. He turned as she approached, as if expecting her all along.
"You left without answering me," she said, breathless.
"I answered everything you asked," he replied calmly.
Liora stepped closer, close enough to see the strange glint in his eyes—like silver drowned in shadows. "You said you were searching for answers."
He nodded once. "I am."
"About me?"
"No. About what's coming."
His voice dropped, softer, darker. "You're standing at the center of something vast, Liora. You've felt it. You dream in languages you don't remember learning. You see things others cannot. That is not coincidence."
She stared at him, her mouth suddenly dry. "Who are you?"
He hesitated, then said, "SIM Jaeyun. I am not what you think I am."
"You're not human."
He didn't deny it.
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of lavender and ash. Jaeyun's expression darkened. "They know you're awakening. You must be careful."
"They?" she asked.
He glanced toward the shadows between the trees. "There are older things in this world than vampires, Liora. And some of them remember your bloodline very well."
Before she could reply, he stepped back and vanished once more—this time into the woods, leaving only his name and the scent of rain in his wake.
Liora was alone again. But not for long.
Because fate had begun to turn.
And the blue moon had only just begun to rise.
The following days passed in a blur.
Kraków grew colder. The winds howled through the narrow streets like wolves, and even the shopkeepers, usually warm and chatty, grew quiet and uneasy. There was something strange in the air—something ancient and watching.
Liora felt it everywhere: in the flickering shadows between lanterns, in the distant cry of ravens circling Wawel Castle, in the sudden silences that fell over crowded squares. She saw fleeting glimpses—strange figures dressed in black, vanishing the moment she looked their way. Whispers followed her, though no mouths moved.
But most of all, she felt him—SIM Jaeyun.
He hadn't returned since that moment in the woods. And yet, his presence lingered like perfume on her skin.
One night, as she walked home from Madame Wierna's shop, she took a longer path—through Planty Park. The trees were bare, their branches clawing at the night sky like fingers. Fog crept low across the ground, swirling around her boots.
That was when she saw it: a shape—tall, lean, and completely still—standing beneath a broken lamppost.
She froze.
Her heart pounded, but something deeper than fear urged her forward.
"Jaeyun?" she whispered.
The figure didn't move.
She approached cautiously, her hand slipping into her satchel, fingers brushing the charm Madame Wierna had given her—a small silver talisman, warm from her touch.
"Jaeyun," she said again, louder.
The figure stepped into the light. But it wasn't him.
The face was pale, almost waxen, with sunken eyes glowing faintly red. Its lips curled in a grin far too wide for a human. The thing that wore a man's shape let out a sound between a breath and a hiss.
It wasn't Jaeyun.
It was hunting her.
Liora stumbled back, heart hammering. The creature moved with inhuman speed, but just as it lunged—
A blur of black and blue slammed into it from the side.
Liora barely saw what happened next: a flash of silver, the hiss of cold steel, and the creature screaming as it burst into black ash.
Jaeyun stood between her and the remains, his eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a silver pendant pressed to his chest. He held a short dagger in one hand, bloodless but gleaming.
"You shouldn't walk alone," he said without turning.
Liora stepped closer, shaken. "What… what was that?"
"One of the Marked," he said grimly. "A servant of the old blood."
"You said they remember me."
"They do. And now they're sending warnings."
She swallowed hard. "What do they want?"
"To stop you before you awaken. Before you remember what you truly are."
Jaeyun turned to face her fully, his gaze fierce but unreadable. "Liora, the blue moon isn't just a sign. It's a door. And your blood… is the key."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the rustle of the wind and the creak of dying trees. The weight of his words fell over her like snow—silent, cold, and irreversible.
"I didn't ask for this," she whispered.
"No one ever does," he replied softly. "But fate doesn't ask."