Seoul.
The city was a labyrinth of glass, steel, and shadows—the perfect place to hide a secret.
Khael ibn Idris Althareyah had learned to blend in long ago. To fade into the chaos, to become invisible. But it wasn't people who threatened him. It was the curse. The one that haunted every step, the one that killed every heir before they turned twenty-seven.
At twenty-five, Khael was still alive—a ghost in the city, an exile in his own skin. He had faked his death years ago, escaping the bloodstained throne he was born to.
Now, he wandered Seoul's streets under the name Han Jiwoon, a man without a past, without a future.
Until tonight.
Rain washed the city in a silver sheen. Neon signs flickered above, casting long shadows across the alleyways. Khael's coat flared behind him as he moved, his footsteps silent. Precise.
He was being followed. Again.
His instincts urged him to slip into the dark, vanish like smoke. But he needed answers—answers to why the Shadows hunted him, answers to the curse that couldn't be outrun.
He turned sharply into a narrow street lined with old buildings. His eyes scanned the dim space, alert. His fingers rested lightly on the dagger at his side. His heartbeat was steady. His mind razor-sharp. He couldn't afford to be caught.
A scream tore through the night—sharp and desperate—from just ahead. Khael reacted instantly, bolting toward the sound.
He rounded the corner and saw her.
A girl. Maybe twenty-one, twenty-two. Pressed against the brick wall, eyes wide with fear.Two men loomed before her—tall, broad-shouldered, fists clenched. Masks concealed their faces, but Khael knew exactly who they were.
Shadows.
Royal enforcers. Trained to protect the bloodline and eliminate anything that threatened it.
Khael didn't hesitate. He drew his dagger and lunged. One clean slice disarmed the first man. The second rushed him, but Khael twisted, letting the man's momentum carry him to the ground.
Then—
"No!"
Her voice sliced through the chaos. Sharp. Panicked.
Khael froze, dagger raised.
She was looking directly at him now—confused, afraid. And something else.
Recognition?
She didn't know him. Didn't know what he was.
But there was something about her. Something… familiar.
Important.
He lowered the blade slowly, stepping back. The two men groaned behind him—alive, but dazed. No need to kill them.
The girl's eyes stayed locked on him. Dark. Wide. Unreadable. Her chest heaved, breaths shallow.
He stepped closer. His voice low and steady.
"Are you hurt?"
She shook her head. Trembling. One hand reaching out to steady herself against the wall.
"What's your name?" he asked, quieter now.
"Seo Rin," she replied. Voice soft. Uncertain.
The name hit him like a jolt of lightning.
Seo Rin.
She didn't know it yet, but her bloodline was entwined with the cursed throne he'd fled.
She held the key to breaking the curse.
His heart pounded. She wasn't just an innocent bystander. She was part of this.
A missing piece.
Her gaze searched his face. "Who are you?"
He smiled faintly. "Someone who owes you a debt."
She took a hesitant step forward. And something stirred inside him. A feeling he hadn't felt in years.
Hope.
But hope was dangerous.
And for Seo Rin, it might be the very thing that destroyed her.
"Stay away from them," Khael warned. "They'll come for you too."
Her eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she didn't ask more questions. Not yet.
She was already too deep.
And the Althareyah bloodline?
It doesn't let go.
Not ever.