The metallic, rusted scent of the dungeon bars still clung to Luka's nostrils like a bitter, indelible memory.
As they emerged from the throat of the gargantuan corridor, Luka's lungs expanded in a desperate search for fresh air.
But they were met only with a heavy, stagnant silence that tasted of ancient dust and iron.
The darkness ahead was so absolute, so suffocating, that it felt as if invisible black hands were reaching out from the stone walls to swallow them whole.
Luka could hear the frantic drumming of his own heart—a fast, irregular rhythm of terror that quickened with every hesitant step.
Then, the silence was shattered.
From the vaulted, invisible heights far above, a mechanical groan vibrated through the very foundation of the earth.
It was a sound like the grinding gears of a colossal, primordial machine being jolted to life.
In the next heartbeat, a deluge of white fire erupted from the abyss overhead.
Gargantuan floodlights, hidden in the velvet shroud of the ceiling, ignited with a predatory roar.
The beams struck the stone floor like solid pillars of lightning, shattering the darkness into a million jagged pieces.
Luka cried out, slamming his palms over his eyes as the brilliance seared his retinas, piercing through the thin flesh of his eyelids.
It felt as if a synthetic, clinical sun had been pinned directly over his head, stripping away the dignity of the night.
When he finally dared to peek through the gaps of his trembling fingers, the world had utterly transformed.
The shroud of night had been incinerated. In its place was a merciless, surgical whiteness.
There was no raw earth or soft soil ahead; instead, they stood at the edge of an immense ocean of heavy, weathered stone tiles.
The cracks between the slabs looked like the dried, ancient veins of a giant.
There were no trees, no shadows, no corners to hide in—only a naked, barren expanse that pained the eyes.
Luka's gaze flickered to the right, and his blood turned to ice.
A slender, bone-white railing sliced through the stone empire, acting as a fragile, surgical scar across the floor.
Beyond that rail, silhouettes moved with terrifying, frantic agility.
Luka recognized the attire immediately—dark uniforms that stood in stark contrast to the brilliant light. They were Vampire Guards.
They were consumed by a mysterious frenzy, moving equipment and barking silent orders as if preparing for a grand, terrible event.
Luka felt a persistent, rhythmic tug on his arm.
Len wasn't shrinking back in fear; instead, a deep, cold curiosity had ignited in his wide eyes.
His feet seemed to gravitate toward that forbidden white line as if pulled by a powerful, invisible magnet.
To Len, that railing wasn't a warning of death; it was a riddle waiting to be solved.
The moment Len took a purposeful step toward the boundary, Luka's survival instinct snapped.
He lunged forward, violently yanking Len back by the shoulders.
"Len! Stop!"
Luka's voice cracked through the vast silence like a frantic scream.
"What are you doing? Don't go there! There is great danger... those people will catch you!"
"Never do that again, do you hear me? Just stay close to me! Please... just stay with me."
Len froze instantly. His head bowed in a mask of apparent surrender.
Luka let out a long, shuddering breath of relief.
But then, a mischievous smile slowly drifted across Len's face.
"Fine, Luka... I'll listen to you," Len said, his eyes dancing with a strange, internal light.
Before Luka could even blink, Len yanked his hand away with an effortless, haunting grace.
"But now, try and catch me!"
Len began to sprint across the cold stone tiles on bare feet.
He dashed across the vast field as if he were playing in a meadow of wildflowers.
His laughter, light and crystalline, sliced through the oppressive silence.
"What's wrong, Luka? Catch me! Look, I'm too fast! Catch me!"
Luka chased after him like a madman, his heavy boots thudding clumsily against the stone.
He was terrified that Len, in his playful frenzy, would cross that white railing into the jaws of the guards.
Finally, Luka's legs gave out. He collapsed onto his knees in the middle of the field.
"Len... stop..." Luka wheezed. "I'm too tired. I can't... I don't have the strength to run anymore. Just stop, Len."
Len stopped, standing a short distance away. He was still smiling.
Luka gathered his remaining strength and lunged, finally snatching Len's hand.
In a surge of panic, Luka firmly twisted Len's ear.
"Ah! Luka!" Len tilted his head, though the mischievous spark remained.
"Why are you so stubborn and naughty?" Luka gasped. "Do you even realize where we are? Why do you trouble me so much, Len?"
Luka pulled Len into a desperate, crushing hug, burying his face in the boy's shoulder.
"Do you know how scared I am? Stop playing here... please, just stop."
Suddenly, a heavy, absolute silence fell over the field.
Beyond the railing, the vampire guards froze in their tracks like stone statues.
Luka gripped Len's hand tight and led him back through the dark corridor.
They returned to the room where their journey had begun—the room with no door.
Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating.
Four or five other children were huddled on wooden planks attached to the walls.
They were ghosts of human beings—silent, trembling, and paralyzed by fear.
Their gazes were fixed rigidly on the floor, too terrified to even look up.
Luka forced Len to sit on the edge of the bed. Luka was a hollow shell of himself.
"Listen to me, Len," Luka said, his voice a dry, rasping whisper. "Enough is enough."
"You will not take a single step out of this room without my permission. Do you understand? You must sleep."
Len smoothed the cold bedsheet and looked up at Luka.
"Fine, Luka... I'll listen to you," Len said. "But I have a condition."
"A condition?"
"Yes. You have to play with me here. If you don't play, I will go back to that white railing. Do you accept?"
Luka had no choice; he nodded slowly.
"Then just sleep now, Len. You must be exhausted. You ran miles out there."
But Len didn't lie down. He stood up with a fluid grace, his posture straight and alert.
There wasn't a single bead of sweat on his skin.
"I'm not tired, Luka," Len said with an enigmatic smirk.
"To be honest... I feel like I'm overflowing with energy. I feel like there's a fire inside me that won't go out."
"Luka, you are the one who is tired. You should rest. I'll stay right here."
Luka stared in utter disbelief.
"But you ran twice as much as I did, Len. I can barely keep my eyes open, and you aren't tired? How is that possible?"
Len stepped closer and placed a hand on Luka's slumped shoulder. The touch was unnervingly steady.
"Your pulse is slow, Luka. Sleep. I'll watch the entrance."
Luka's mind began to dissolve into a dark, swirling abyss.
As his vision finally flickered and died, he saw it.
Len's eyes—once a soft, sun-kissed golden—suddenly shifted.
The gold dissolved into a deep, abyssal black, dark and predatory.
The innocence was gone, replaced by something ancient and chilling.
Len leaned over the sleeping Luka, his gaze filled with a possessive affection.
He began to whisper, his voice a rhythmic hum that seemed to vibrate directly into Luka's dreams.
The other children remained frozen on their planks, oblivious to the transformation of the boy standing among them.
One haunting question pulsed in Luka's fading consciousness:
How can he be so full of life, when everything in this hellish place is designed to drink us dry?