Eun-jae exhaled sharply as he pushed himself up from the bed, his limbs aching as though they had been drained of every ounce of strength. The sterile, artificial glow of the hospital room did nothing to comfort him. The air was cold—too cold.
With a groan, he staggered toward the window, rubbing his arms as an involuntary shiver ran down his spine.
"Ugh... it's freezing," he muttered under his breath, pulling the glass panes shut with a soft click.
He lingered for a moment, staring at his reflection faintly visible against the darkened window. His face was pale, his lips slightly chapped, his eyes hollowed out by exhaustion. He looked... weaker. It disgusted him.
With a sigh, he turned away, slowly making his way back to the narrow hospital bed. The mattress was stiff, the covers barely large enough to shield him from the biting chill.
"My body still aches... My muscles feel like they've been stretched and torn apart."
He touched his wrists, still faintly bruised. His legs felt numb, and there was a deep soreness in his bones that refused to fade.
"Sergey said I was in a coma for almost a week... How does someone even sleep for a whole damn week?"
A bitter laugh escaped his lips, though it lacked any real humor.
"That bastard... He used me like I was nothing more than a goddamn sex toy. A disposable plaything."
His stomach twisted at the thought, a suffocating wave of nausea creeping up his throat. He curled his fingers into fists, willing himself to push the memories away. But they clung to him, like shackles around his wrists, like invisible hands gripping his throat.
"I need sleep. I need to shut my eyes, just for a while. Maybe if I sleep, I won't think."
Dragging himself back to the bed, he collapsed onto the mattress, his body sinking into the uncomfortable fabric. He turned away from the window, pulling the covers up as much as they would allow, facing the door instead. His breath came out slow, shaky.
"Just close your eyes... forget everything... forget him."
But just as the edges of sleep began to tug at his consciousness—
A soft creak.
A shift in the air.
His body stiffened. His mind, sluggish from exhaustion, struggled to comprehend it.
"Didn't I just close the window?"
His heart pounded against his ribs as he forced himself to turn over, his eyes darting toward the source of the sound.
And then—
A figure stood by the open window, framed by the dim hospital lights. A tall, familiar silhouette.
Smirking.
Caesar.
Eun-jae's blood ran cold.
"W-what are you doing here?" His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. His hands trembled as he reached toward the call button beside his bed, his mind screaming at him to press it, to call for help, to run—
But Caesar moved too fast.
In a blink, he was upon him, grabbing his wrist before he could make contact with the emergency button.
"You son of a bitch—let go of me, you rapist!" Eun-jae spat, thrashing violently in his grip.
But Caesar only laughed, his grip tightening. "Rapist?" he echoed, amusement dripping from his voice. "Come on, Eun-jae. Don't say things you don't mean. We both enjoyed ourselves, didn't we?"
Eun-jae's vision blurred with fury. His entire body ignited with white-hot rage, a fury so overwhelming that he barely registered what he was doing before his fist connected with Caesar's face.
A solid crack echoed through the room.
Caesar's head snapped to the side.
For a split second, there was silence.
Then—
Eun-jae yanked the IV drip from his arm, ignoring the sharp sting as the needle tore from his vein. Blood beaded at the site, but he barely noticed.
"Somebody help me!" he screamed, his voice hoarse, raw with desperation.
But just before he could make a move toward the door—
Caesar lunged.
A powerful hand grabbed the back of his hospital gown and yanked him backward, slamming the door shut with a deafening bang.
Eun-jae's breath hitched. Panic clawed at his throat, at his ribs, at his lungs.
"No—please," he gasped, his voice breaking. "It's—it's not healed, I'm not healed—please, Caesar—"
A cruel chuckle.
"Shhh."
Caesar shoved him forward, pressing his chest against the cold wall, his body trapping him in place.
"Just you and me, Eun-jae," he whispered, voice dripping with amusement. "No one else is here."
A hand reached for his waistband.
"No—please—someone help me—"
And then—
Darkness.
Eun-jae's eyes flew open.
His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. Sweat drenched his body, his hospital gown sticking to his skin. His hands gripped the sheets so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
A dream.
A fucking dream.
His stomach churned violently. Without a second thought, he shoved the covers aside and stumbled toward the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he collapsed to his knees, retching.
Bile burned his throat, hot and acidic, but he couldn't stop. His entire body trembled. His hands shook as he clutched the rim of the toilet.
"Why does it still feel real?"
The weight. The voice. The fear.
It was still there.
It was always there.
Eun-jae stood beneath the shower, his head tilted forward, eyes squeezed shut as hot water streamed down his face. His muscles ached, his ribs felt sore, and his body still carried the weight of something far heavier than just exhaustion. He felt stripped bare, not just physically, but mentally—exposed, vulnerable.
And powerless.
"Even in my dreams, that bastard overpowered me."
The thought made his jaw tighten. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails pressing into his skin hard enough to leave marks. The helplessness made his stomach churn.
"Maybe Sergey was right. Maybe I really can't bring him down."
A bitter taste settled on his tongue. Sergey had warned him, hadn't he? Said it would be damn near impossible to go up against someone like Caesar. That brute strength and blind anger wouldn't be enough. That Caesar was more than just a man—he was a force, something built with layers of power, control, and influence.
"At this rate, I'll die from rage alone."
His breath came out shaky. His fingers twitched.
But then, something stirred in the back of his mind. A small, almost insignificant detail, but it gnawed at him.
"Hold on."
His eyes snapped open, water dripping from his lashes. His mind raced back, sorting through every conversation, every word, every moment with Caesar.
"He is very powerful and cannot be brought down."
That's what Caesar had said.
Why?
Why did he say that?
If someone was truly untouchable, they wouldn't feel the need to say it. That was something a man convinced of his invincibility wouldn't bother vocalizing.
So why did Caesar need to reaffirm it?
Eun-jae's heart pounded against his ribs. His mind was moving fast now, rewinding through past conversations.
The prince.
The prince Caesar had talked about.
That detail had stuck out to him back then, but he hadn't thought much of it. But now? Now it felt important.
Caesar had spoken about something else.
"A certain product."
A product the boy had kept hidden.
Hidden.
Another weak spot?
Eun-jae's fingers trembled as he wiped a hand down his face, heart hammering in his chest.
And then—
"Seraphim."
He sucked in a sharp breath.
Caesar had talked about where Seraphim came from.
Seraphim.
The very thing that seemed to hold immense weight in his world.
The thing he had claimed as his and his alone.
The thing he said he would destroy if he ever got bored of it.
It all connected.
Eun-jae's pulse raced.
The prince. The hidden treasure. Seraphim.
What if it was all part of the same story?
What if that prince from Caesar's story was Caesar himself?
What if he was the one who hid something so important—so vital—that it had to be buried beneath layers of power and secrecy?
Eun-jae felt his throat tighten.
His mind was piecing things together, assembling a puzzle that had always been in front of him but scattered in fragments.
What was Seraphim, really?
What was that hidden product?
If he could find that missing piece—
He could bring Caesar down.
"But wait—"
Eun-jae's fingers twitched under the relentless stream of hot water, his skin reddening from the heat. His mind was spinning, a chaotic mess of fragmented thoughts colliding and intertwining, refusing to settle. He exhaled sharply, his breath shaky.
"None of this makes sense. None of it."
His fists clenched at his sides. The knots in his chest tightened, coiling like barbed wire around his ribs. He was drowning in unanswered questions, suffocated by pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit together.
"This is so damn confusing."
Then, the word resurfaced in his mind like a ghost from the depths.
Seraphim.
A shudder ran through him, sharp and violent, as if his body rejected the very thought. The name felt wrong, like something that wasn't meant to be spoken aloud. Like something that should have stayed buried.
"He said it failed."
Caesar's voice echoed in his skull, smooth, arrogant, deceitful.
"But did it really?"
His breath hitched.
"Or was that just another lie?"
Caesar lied as easily as he breathed. He bent truths to his will, shaped reality to fit his desires. If he claimed something had failed, then the real question wasn't whether it had—it was how it had changed.
"Maybe it wasn't destroyed. Maybe it took on another form."
A weapon evolving. Morphing into something new. Something undetectable.
The realization made his stomach twist.
"And when I asked Morgan about Seraphim, he looked so damn confused—like he didn't even know what it was."
But then, just seconds later, Morgan's eyes had darted toward Caesar.
A flicker of something—hesitation.
It wasn't just confusion. It was fear.
"That look… what did it mean? What the hell is Morgan hiding?"
Eun-jae exhaled harshly.
"All these questions, and no damn answers."
And the worst part?
"I can't just walk up to Caesar and demand them."
That would be suicide.
Caesar would smile that infuriating smirk, tilt his head like he was amused, and then—snap. Just like that. He'd be dead before he even had the chance to process it.
"If I show my face, he'll kill me without hesitation."
The weight of that realization pressed down on him like a stone slab.
He had to figure this out on his own.
And then—
A name surfaced in his mind.
Bes Karpov-Troitsky.
Eun-jae's fingers twitched.
"They call him a nuclear force, but that term doesn't even come close."
Nuclear was predictable. Even destruction followed laws. Warheads, bombs, radiation—there were patterns, processes, an inevitable chain of events that could be calculated.
Bes?
Bes was an anomaly.
"A man who exists outside of rules. Outside of logic itself."
Where other powerful figures built their empires on wealth, crime, and brute force, Bes had built his on chaos.
Pure, untamed, uncontrollable chaos.
"He's not just destruction—he's something worse. Something unnatural."
A wildfire that couldn't be contained. A storm with no eye. A black hole that swallowed everything in its path.
"No alliances. No loyalty. Only whatever benefits him in the moment."
"How the hell do you control something uncontrollable?"
And then—
A new thought, darker than the rest, crept into his mind like a whisper.
"What if Seraphim isn't just a project? What if it's a person?"
A sudden chill ran through his spine.
"Or worse… what if it's both? A weapon in the form of something—someone—who shouldn't even exist?"
The room felt smaller. The air thicker.
A weapon with a mind. A consciousness.
Not just destruction.
Something alive.
Something that could think, choose, evolve.
Eun-jae pressed his forehead against the freezing tile, his breathing uneven. The water burned against his skin, scalding, but he barely felt it.
"I need answers."
The fluorescent lights of the hospital library hummed quietly overhead, casting a sterile glow over the rows of neatly arranged bookshelves and plastic-backed chairs. The click of a mouse and the soft clatter of a keyboard were the only sounds echoing through the space. Eun-jae sat hunched in front of a dusty computer, the monitor flickering slightly as he typed with trembling fingers.
"Karpov-Troisky Mansion."
He hit enter.
The search results populated instantly—old articles, grainy photos, real estate blogs, and even a few Reddit conspiracy threads. The estate was legendary, nestled deep in the Ural forests of Russia, said to be abandoned yet inexplicably well-kept. Some called it a monument to Cold War paranoia. Others whispered it was cursed, that people who entered the mansion never came out quite the same.
But Eun-jae wasn't interested in ghost stories.
He was searching for something real. Something deadly.
His gaze sharpened as he clicked on a photograph—an aerial shot of the mansion. Massive. Gothic. Isolated. The windows were dark and opaque, like the place had been drained of life. Except...
His brows furrowed.
There it was.
One window. One room.
Top floor, northeast corner. The light was on.
He blinked, leaned closer. Maybe it was a reflection? A glitch in the picture?
He scrolled down to the next image—an old newspaper clipping. Same mansion, different season. Snow blanketed the grounds like a frozen grave. Same window. Same light. Still on.
He clicked another article. Then another. Real estate catalog. Tabloid. Pinterest board for haunted locations.
That damn room was always lit.
No matter the angle, no matter the time of day—that light never went off.
A chill rippled down Eun-jae's spine as he stared at the screen. The fluorescent glow of the computer bathed his pale face in ghostly light.
"No way… that's not just a coincidence."
He leaned back in the stiff chair, heart pounding. His fingers itched to grab a pen, to sketch out the layout. He had to be sure. He needed proof.
He stood up too fast, the blood rushing from his head, making the edges of his vision blur. Ignoring it, he hurried over to the nearby bookshelf marked Historical Estates of Eastern Europe. His hand scanned the spines until he found it—"Haunted Relics: Forgotten Architecture of the Soviet Era."
Yanking it from the shelf, he flipped through the pages like a man possessed. His fingers stopped on a full-spread photo of the Karpov-Troisky mansion. There it was again.
That room.
The light glowed warm, golden, taunting.
"That has to be it… That's where it is," Eun-jae thought, breath quickening. "The Seraphim Weapon… It's hidden there. They've been guarding it this whole time—keeping it under the radar. But why leave the light on? Is it active? Is someone… living there?"
His mind reeled with possibilities. His pulse raced. He had to tell Sergey. Right now. They needed to act fast—before someone else figured it out.
He closed the book with a sharp thud, shoved it under his arm, and turned to leave. But the second he took a step—
A sharp pain stabbed through his stomach. But he ignored it thinking it was just some normal stomach cramps.
"Sergey... I need to tell Sergey..."
The late afternoon sun painted long golden streaks across the lush golf course, casting shadows that danced lazily with the gentle breeze. Caesar stood at the tee, fingers curled confidently around his club, his expression sharp and focused. The air was thick with the scent of cut grass and pine, broken only by the occasional soft chirping of birds and the distant hum of wind.
Octavian, his identical twin, lounged a few paces behind him, spinning a golf ball in his hand like it was a coin of fate. They were alone on this particular hole, their security team discreetly stationed farther back, giving them rare space to just be — to breathe.
Caesar lined up his swing. His posture was perfect. His grip was steady.
But then—he froze.
His shoulders stiffened ever so slightly, like he had just walked through an invisible wall of ice. The golf club hovered mid-air, unmoving. His breath hitched.
Something wasn't right.
He straightened up slowly, turning his head to the side like he heard something no one else could. His eyes scanned the horizon, sharp and calculating, but also distant—like his vision wasn't focused on the golf course anymore, but something far away. Something deeper.
Octavian watched him, his brows pulling together in quiet concern. "You good?" he asked casually, but the subtle shift in his tone betrayed the curiosity beneath.
Caesar didn't answer at first.
He closed his eyes briefly, brows furrowed. His heart thumped once, hard. And again—like a drum echoing from someone else's chest.
There it is again… that pull. That tension in the air. Like a thread inside me just snapped…
Something had happened.
But he didn't know what.
Didn't know where.
He just felt it.
It was like an invisible string tied to his ribcage had been yanked—like a sudden disturbance in the balance of things. His gut tightened. His skin prickled. A shadow passed over his features, just for a second.
"Caesar?" Octavian said again, his voice more serious now. "You're not spacing out on me, are you?"
Caesar blinked, the spell breaking.
He looked at his brother and gave a quick shake of the head, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, yeah... I'm fine," he muttered, brushing off the strange weight that had settled on him like dust.
"Let's keep playing."
Octavian gave him a skeptical look, but didn't push it. He knew his brother well enough to recognize when Caesar was hiding something behind that smooth facade.
Caesar returned to his stance, eyes on the ball—but his mind was far, far away.
Someone just crossed a line, he thought. I felt it. Something's shifted. And I need to find out what it is… before it's too late.
He swung. The ball soared clean through the air.
But the echo of that feeling still lingered in his chest.
Unseen.
Unspoken.
Unshakable.