20 minutes earlier....
"I… I was sent by the Sect," the man stammered, his voice raw and broken. "They ordered me to deliver the vial with the Red Moon poison… to the palace."
He hung naked, upside down, his body bruised and trembling, blood trickling down his sides like ink.
"Who?" asked the man with the blonde hair, stepping closer. "Who did you give the vial to?"
"I… I don't know," the prisoner gasped. "They were hooded… masked. I only delivered the goods and took the money. I swear… that's all I know…"
The blonde's voice sharpened. "Why? Why did the Sect send you to deliver the poison to the palace? What's their plan? Speak now—if you want your death to carry less guilt."
The man's breathing grew shallow. His vision blurred. His heart slowed—a whisper of its former rhythm. He turned his head slightly, eyes locking onto the red-eyed figure watching from the shadows.
"E… Erisa…" he whispered.
Then he was gone.
The red-eyed figure's gaze flickered—wide for a moment due to the name uttered. Then returned to its unnatural calm. He turned away.
The blonde stepped forward, checked the pulse.
Nothing.
He exhaled and followed the red-eyed figure deeper into the dark.
"Do you think he was telling the truth?" he asked.
The figure paused. "He was."
He stopped near the exit, turned to face the blonde.
"We need to be more careful. I have a feeling this war has only just begun—and our enemies know more about us than we thought. Alert the Dragonflies. Contact the Shadow Demons. Tell them to dig into the Abyss. We need to find the rats spying on us in the shadows … and deal with them properly."
"Yes, of course," the blonde replied, bowing slightly before disappearing back into the building.
The red-eyed figure stepped outside.
He paused at the entrance, lifting his gaze to the night sky.
"Erisa…"
The name echoed—distant, hollow, heavy with mystery. A name he couldn't shake. A name that haunted him. A name that he always wanted to find the meaning and uncover the all the mysteries it holds.
He softly exhaled.
Above, the stars shimmered like scattered diamonds, casting their silent glow across the world. He inhaled deeply, eyes settling on the North Star.
A memory flickered.
'Whenever you feel lost or unsure, just look at the North Star. As long as it shines, the Heavens will guide you to the answers you seek. And if it glows brighter than usual… it means the Heavens are about to bless you with a gift. A gift bound by destiny. A gift of glad tidings.'
He snorted, eyes narrowing.
"I can't believe I ever listened to that folklore shit. You've never shined brighter than usual, have you? Tsk..Stupid old women's tales."
He muttered the words as he climbed into the backseat of his car.
If he had looked up just a moment longer…
He would have seen the North Star begin to glow.
Brighter than usual.
Just as he settled into the backseat, waiting for his partner to return, he noticed a figure dart into the alley—slipping past his car and crouching behind it.
At first, he assumed it was an enemy.
Then came the shouts.
"I think he went this way! Come on!"
Seconds later, the rear door beside him creaked open.
Before he could react, the figure leapt inside—landing squarely on his lap.
Clad in a black hoodie, jeans, and worn sneakers, the intruder clutched a briefcase to his chest like a lifeline. A mask covered his face, and his eyes darted frantically toward the alley, scanning for pursuers.
The red-eyed figure stiffened.
He was pissed.
This was the first time someone sat on his lap. Ever. Even the women he fucked never dared to do so. Much less a mere piece of garbage like him, a petty thief, dared to seat on his lap.
He considered snapping the stranger's neck on the spot.
For being so bold.
Until he felt it.
A soft whimper.
He felt the figure slightly wincing in pain.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes dropping to the figure's leg—blood soaked through the denim, dark and spreading.
His gaze lingered.
Then something else caught his attention.
A faint sweet scent wafted through his nose. It smelled like fresh flowers on a sunny day. The scent was sweet and a little bit addictive.
'Strange', he thought. 'That's a strange scent for petty thief from the slums to have. Especially a man.'
He leaned in, just slightly—close enough to inhale, not close enough to touch.
The figure on his lap remained oblivious, too focused on hiding, too consumed by fear to notice the proximity.
As the red-eyed man studied him, he caught sight of a loose strand of fiery red hair poking out from beneath the mask.
Unusual.
Rare.
Especially for a male.
Then the figure shifted—just slightly.
The movement sent sparks through him, a friction that brushed against his important treasure.
'The hell… ' he growled inwardly, jaw tightening.
He exhaled slowly, the realization dawning.
The weight. The scent. The softness.
Not a man.
He leaned back against the headrest, eyes narrowing.
'You're lucky,' he thought.
He saw one of the goons step toward the car, flashlight raised, about to peer inside.
The figure on his lap held their breath, shifting lower to avoid the beam.
That movement—subtle, desperate—sent a shockwave through him.
Heat exploded across his body like wildfire.
Their movements rubbed vigorously against his precious member of the body.
He cursed under his breath.
No one had ever made him feel like this. Even the women that he sometimes bedded. Sometimes it would take hours to even get a single reaction from him but this figure has done it in less than three minutes.
His breath hitched. Sweat beaded on his brow.
'You're going to pay for this', he growled inwardly.
Just then—
"I found something! He went this way!!"
The goons bolted from the alley, chasing the voice.
The figure exhaled in relief, clutching the briefcase tighter. They peeked outside, checking if the coast was clear so that they would exit and run away, completely unaware of the storm they'd just ignited.
The red-eyed figure inhaled deeply, then leaned in close—his lips near their ear.
His voice was low, husky, dangerous.
"Are you enjoying yourself?"
The figure froze.
Their breath caught.
Then—slowly, boldly—they reached out and touched his chest.
Fingers grazed his body, squeezing his muscles like curious hands testing forbidden fruit.
As if their first actions did not brew up a storm, this time it induced the lightning and the thunder. Dangerously, flashing and booming like mighty roars in the sky.
'The nerve of this…' he spat in his mind, feeling their hand roam across his torso, shameless and uninvited.
Then the figure paused.
Something clicked.
They realized the seat beneath them wasn't just a car seat.
It was a special seat. Like a royal throne.
A VVVVIP seat that not even the richest person will ever be able to afford to seat on.
They turned slowly.
Their eyes met his.
Glowing, inhuman red eyes stared back—furious, unyielding.
Their breath caught.
Fear crawled up their spine like fire licking bone.
The red-eyed figure watched, amused.
He was used to inspiring fear.
And this little rabbit had just provoked the big bad wolf.
He smirked.
"You are in some serious trouble…"
...
Anastasia felt her entire body run cold.
Those eyes—glowing, inhuman, predatory—locked onto her like a beast sizing up its prey.
She knew.
She was done for.
Her gaze flicked to the door.
'Locked. Damn it.'
Her only escape route—gone.
Now she was trapped. In this car. With him. And he looked like he could devour her in one bite.
His energy was volatile. Unforgiving. The kind that didn't tolerate nonsense… especially not ones that involved his body and people sitting on his lap.
'What do I do? What do I do?' Her thoughts raced, spiraling.
Her throat felt parched. Feverish heat crept up her spine.
Then it hit her.
The wound.
In her rush to hide, she hadn't stopped the bleeding with a makeshift bandage. No pressure. Just raw, open flesh leaking life.
She was bleeding out.
Trapped with a monster ready to devour her.
And dying.
Two threats. One fate.
No.
She can't die like this.
Not yet.
Not now.
Not until she gets revenge on those who wronged her.
She vowed that she will not die until she sees their lifeless corpses lying on the ground in front of her.
No. She won't.
She refuses to.
All the while she was battling her thoughts, the red-eyed figure watched her closely.
He saw the pain etched across her face, the way her body trembled, slowly drifting toward unconsciousness.
But he also saw something else.
The fire.
The resistance.
The refusal to die.
It burned inside her like an inferno—wild, defiant, untamed.
She wasn't the type to surrender. Even with death knocking at her door, she clung to life with a vengeance.
He was amused.
Deeply amused.
He felt a pull—an urge to explore that flame. To feel it. To see if it could consume him too. To know her story. To discover if their goals aligned in ways neither of them yet understood.
But fate had other plans.
The car doors unlocked.
And before he could blink—
CRACK!
The briefcase slammed into his jaw.
THUD!
An elbow drove into his stomach.
STOMP!
Pain shot through his foot.
The girl bolted.
But not before he snatched her mask.
Fiery red hair spilled across her shoulders and back, cascading like molten silk. It veiled her face—but not enough.
He saw them.
Those golden-brown eyes.
Those rosy lips.
He would never forget them.
"Aaah…" he groaned in pain,he was caught off guard, a move he never expected.
"My Prince!" shouted the blonde man as he rushed from the building, panic in his voice.
"Are you alright, Your Highness? Were you attacked? Where did they go?"
The Prince turned slowly.
His eyes—once glowing red—now burned dark crimson.
Fury incarnate.
The blonde man swallowed hard.
He knew those eyes.
He knew what they meant.
His Prince was about to go on a rampage.
And somehow… he was the cause.
He didn't know how, but the blame was being laid squarely at his feet because the eyes were directed at him.
The Prince had been interrupted.
His prey had escaped.
And now…
He was ready to unleash hell.
However...
As if the winds had shifted, the Prince's eyes softened.
The monstrous red glow faded, returning to their original hue—golden brown, warm like honey.
Something had caught his attention.
A faint blue shimmer beneath the seat.
He reached down and picked it up.
A necklace.
Delicate. Beautiful.
Carved from the rare gem of the Blue Diamond Rose—its surface etched with three initials: A.R.S., nestled inside a heart-shaped engraving.
He turned it over in his fingers, feeling the roughness of the stone, the weight of its meaning.
A smirk tugged at his lips.
"Blake… take me back to the palace," he said abruptly.
Blake, still reeling from the chaos, snapped out of his thoughts. "Yes, Your Highness."
He gently closed the door, rushed to the driver's seat, started the engine, and pulled away.
The car glided through the eerie silence of the ghetto streets, shadows stretching long across the pavement.
The Prince leaned back, eyes fixed on the necklace.
"I'm going to find you… my mystery woman," he whispered.
"And when I do… you won't escape me again."
---
Meanwhile…
Anastasia ran until her legs gave out.
Her strength drained. Her vision blurred.
Her throat burned. Her lungs screamed.
Still clutching the suitcase, she staggered toward a pile of recycling waste. She collapsed and lost consciousness on top of the heap just as the Prince's car zoomed past her and turning into the main street towards town into the night.
She lay unconscious.
Moments later, a black car with tinted windows pulled up beside the heap.
A hooded figure stepped out.
Silent.
Purposeful.
They approached Anastasia, knelt beside her, and gently lifted her into their arms.
Without a word, they placed her inside the car.
The door shut.
The engine purred.
And the car disappeared into the shadows.