They say that when the moon reaches its peak, it stains crimson—so red it burns through fate itself.Some call it the Blood Moon.Others call it a curse.
I don't know which one I am.
I've heard voices in dreams I never lived.I've seen wars I never fought... yet they left scars. And every time I breathe, something inside me growls—like it's trying to escape.
No one told me who I am. No one explained why my shadow has fangs…Or why my reflection sometimes shows me another man's eyes.
Only the medallion knows.
...
The ground is cold. Dripping echoes.Footsteps approach, louder with each second—A heartbeat carved into stone.
He stirs.
That marble-skinned figure, shaped like a man but only in appearance.He knows. When he awakens... we will meet again.
...
Whispers. A cry. A woman dying.And beside her, three children.
One with violet eyes and a wild spirit. One with hollow eyes tinted with black velvet… an exact reflection of the emptiness his father displayed.. And the last—his mother's mirror.
The other side of the coin.
...
Tonight, beneath the white eye of the sky, I feel something ancient stirring.I don't understand it.I only recognize it
—As if the earth itself were holding its breath.
A name burns inside me.I won't speak it. I won't remember it.
But I'll find it.I'll hunt it.And when I do... it will burn.
...
Just as winter freezes the bones, the seal will one day shatter. And when it does, the truth will drag us all down again—Like cursed children of a faceless demon,Asleep until the moira—fate—calls them back.
"Blood calls to blood.And where it stops...the hunt will begin."