Inside a derelict building, several men scrambled toward the exit on all fours, desperate and frantic. They wore tactical gear and carried submachine guns—automatic weapons designed for close-quarters urban combat. These were professional hunters, men whose sole purpose was to track and kill vampires and other sub-human species.

  Yet at this moment, they were the ones who had become the prey.

  “Retreat! Pull back now!”The shout echoed through the hollow building, only to be drowned out by ragged gasps and the crunch of boots on shattered gss. They stumbled over one another; a submachine gun cttered to the floor with a piercing metallic ring. Some looked back as they ran, their pupils dited with terror behind their gas masks. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, gunpowder, and the faint, metallic tang of blood—not theirs, but the blood of the comrades who had just been torn apart.

  “What the hell is the brass thinking? The intel didn't say anything about... about a Gold-eye being here!” the leader cursed, his voice trembling and nearly losing its pitch.

  Every veteran hunter knew that a golden-eyed vampire was a threat far beyond anything a standard unit could handle.

  The moment the st man burst out of the building, the structure returned to a deathly silence. Once the hunters had fled, a pair of golden eyes flickered within the shadows.

  There was no thrill of the hunt in that gaze, no lingering satisfaction of sughter. There was only a profound, soul-crushing weariness and a long-standing boredom.

  ...Found again.

  She had finally found a corner where she could close her eyes for a few hours, and now it was ruined. She couldn't even bother to count how many times this had happened—how many times she had been treated as game by human "hunters," or how many times she had been forced to uproot her life simply because of the color of her eyes.

  “Sigh...”

  She let out a long breath, reaching down to grab a tattered piece of cloth and tossing it over her shoulder like a makeshift cloak. The movement was mechanical, practiced, yet filled with an indescribable lethality. As she turned to leave, her hair caught the silver-white glow of the moon. Light filtered through a broken window, settling on her shoulders like a yer of thin frost.

  She looked like a specter under the moon. Her silhouette was slender and tall, carrying an air of aloofness that pushed the world away. She didn't look back. She simply walked deeper into the darkness, the only sound the rhythmic crunch of gss beneath her feet.

  A soft, glowing full moon hung high in the night sky.

  Under the moonlight, a slender figure walked. She wore an ordinary skirt, yet it could not hide her beauty—her delicate nose and mouth, her rge brownish-red eyes, and her lustrous bck hair tied in a high ponytail, shimmering with a silver light.

  The girl panted slightly, having just run a short distance, but it didn't bother her. Since her parents passed away years ago, she had taken on half the responsibility of the household. It was hard work, but she wasn't miserable. And she wasn't alone.

  She thought back to the argument she’d just had with her sister. They were fighting over what fruit to have with tomorrow’s meal; she wanted grapes, but her sister insisted on cherries.—Stop being such a child. Go back, apologize, and agree to the cherries, she told herself. She turned to head home—and then she froze.

  Standing at a crossroads not far away was a silhouette.

  Because the light was behind him and the distance was great, her vision—no matter how sharp—could only discern a blurry outline. He appeared to be a tall, lean man wearing a robe or a cloak. But what truly caught her attention was his hair. It was pure silver.

  The distance was significant, but she instinctively felt the man was looking at her. Then, her eyes met his—and her thoughts felt as though they were sinking into a mass of soft, fluffy cotton.

  A single wail pierced the silence of the night.

  Inside the house, another bck-haired girl heard the unusual sound and immediately threw open the door to investigate. The area was sparsely poputed, and she knew that voice too well. Despite their argument, she would never risk the safety of the only family she had left—her twin sister.

  She found the source of the wail on the road nearby. To her horror, her sister y slumped on the ground, motionless. Her neck and mouth were drenched in blood. The girl reached out with trembling hands to check for breath—there was none. No pulse, no warmth. It was as if she had been dead for some time.

  “...No... please! Sister—!!”Transparent tears rolled down her face. Panic-stricken, she grabbed her sister under the arms and hauled her up. The fallen girl remained limp, like a puppet with its strings cut. The sister hoisted her onto her back, heedless of the blood staining her own clothes, and began to run for help.

  “Please... someone... help! Save her!”The girl’s cries echoed through the silent night. Their home was in a remote suburb; the nearest neighbor was over ten minutes away on foot. Her sister’s head hung over her shoulder, her long hair spilling down like a cold bck ribbon. Her body felt as cold as the night wind.

  “Sister... don’t scare me...” she whispered, her pace quickening.

  Suddenly, the hand dangling beside her gave an unnatural twitch.

  “Sister?”

  It was the st word the girl spoke before losing consciousness.

  “...Ugh...?”Her vision began to return. The girl felt herself lying in someone’s arms, the thick, metallic taste of rust filling her mouth. She blinked, looking up—and saw silver hair and a pair of pure golden eyes.

  The scene shifted abruptly. The same field of vision was now looking up at the profile of a man with a casual buzz cut. He wore simple clothing designed for stealth and combat. She recognized this man, but the scene was unfamiliar.

  In her vision, the man held a rotary grenade uncher in his left hand. His injured right arm was immobilized, and his expression was one of agony—not just physical, but psychological. He knew he had made an irreversible choice for his own ends.

  She felt strange—not because of fatigue, but because she seemed unable to control this body. It was as if her consciousness was trapped inside someone else. She heard the man grit his teeth and shout: “Don’t make me waste energy worrying about you!! Have you forgotten your purpose!?” and “When you’re safe... tell your sister I’m sorry.”

  Those words felt like a hand squeezing her heart. She wanted to stay with him.

  But the vision turned toward a bloody battlefield. Heavily armed soldiers stood frozen like frogs staring down a cobra, unable to find the "snake" that was hunting them. Her vision no longer cared for the broken humans; it bolted at high speed toward the shadows of the night. Within those shadows was a slender, terrifying figure with what looked like demon wings.

  The dream snapped shut.

  Vision blurred like ink on wet paper. The st thing she saw was that demonic shadow—wings unfurled, blood and shadow woven into a chaotic darkness. Then, everything went silent.

  “...Mm...” Saliya slowly opened her eyes.

  Awareness drifted up from deep water. Her head spun, and the faint taste of iron lingered in her mouth. The first thing she saw was a reflection in a mirror... no, it was a face identical to her own. The same snow-pale skin, the same cat-like golden eyes. But this face was etched with worry.

  She realized she was lying in the arms of her twin sister, Ana. Ana was watching her with a quiet, sorrowful intensity. A coat had been draped over her; the night wind blew through a broken window, bringing a chill. Saliya didn't speak immediately.

  Her gaze was vacant at first, then slowly focused. Then—her pupils contracted violently.

  “...J...” The name escaped her lips like a faint, broken sigh.

  She remembered the final fragment of the dream: the man holding the signal fre, standing alone in the dust and moonlight, shouting toward their retreating figures with a voice rasping but firm: “Run... just run... I’ll hold this fre until you’re safe.”

  Saliya’s shoulders began to shake. She bolted upright, the coat sliding off as her hands cwed at the ground, her fingernails digging into the dirt.

  “...He... he did it for us...” Before she could finish, crimson liquid seeped from the corners of her eyes.

  These weren't ordinary tears. They were tears of blood.

  One drop, then two, slid down her pale cheeks like broken red beads, hitting the dirt and being instantly absorbed by the earth. She curled into a ball like a wounded animal, hugging her knees with her forehead pressed against them. Her body trembled, but she made no sound. Only the blood-tears fell, one by one, hitting the ground with a soft tap-tap, like a heart leaking life.

  Ana knelt beside her, her usually cold golden eyes now tinged with a thin yer of red. She reached out to hold her sister but stopped halfway—because she felt her own eyes begin to sting. A thin red line traced its way down Ana’s cheek, flowing toward her chin. She grit her teeth, forcing herself not to sob.

  But the pain—her sister’s pain—hit her like an invisible bde to the chest. They were blood-kin; their memories were shared, and so were their emotions. Even when they were human, they were easily influenced by each other’s moods. Now, as vampires, that connection was even more vivid.

  Saliya’s grief flooded Ana’s heart like a tide, making it hard to breathe. Finally, Ana reached out and pulled her sister into a tight embrace. She didn't say “It’s okay,” because she knew it wasn't. She simply rested her chin on the top of Saliya’s head, weeping tears of blood alongside her.

  The blood-tears hit the ground and dried into dark crimson spots. Saliya’s sobbing and trembling eventually quieted. She took a deep breath, her voice raspy but steady.

  “...I... I almost ran back.”

  Ana gave a soft hum of acknowledgment. “...I know.” She paused, her voice nearly a whisper. “But you didn't. Because you knew... if you went back, his sacrifice would have been for nothing.”

  Saliya closed her eyes, another tear of blood sliding down. “...He’s always like that... pushing us away and keeping the heaviest burden for himself.”

  Ana said nothing more, only holding her tighter. When Saliya’s emotions finally settled, Ana released her and asked softly, “...Do you feel better now?”

  Saliya nodded, wiping the bloodstains from her face. Her eyes were still red, but her gaze had returned to a calm, deep resolve.

  “...Yes. Thank you for... staying with me.” She took a breath, her voice clearing. “...That dream just now... some of it didn't feel like my memory... it felt like yours. And that... thing that looked like a monster... what was that?”

  Ana gave a light, slightly reproachful ugh. “That is the Blood Memory of our kind. When we drink fresh blood, memories flow in directly. The more you drink, the more you know.”

  Saliya froze, then slowly looked up. “...Then why did I... suddenly pass out?”

  Ana poked her forehead, exasperated. “Because you haven't had fresh blood in forever! Your brain is like a rusty computer; you jammed a ton of new data into it at once, so of course it crashed.” She softened her voice. “You were always surviving on synthetic or animal blood, never touching fresh human blood... so you colpsed the moment you tasted it. But... it was thanks to seeing you pass out after drinking J’s blood that I knew how to pull you back from the edge of losing control.”

  Saliya lowered her head, filled with self-reproach. “...I’m sorry... I just... didn't want to become...”

  “I know,” Ana interrupted gently. “You’re afraid of losing control, afraid of hurting people. But you can’t hide forever. The memory of our blood isn't a curse; it’s how we survive. Our culture is passed down through it.” She extended her wrist and rolled up her sleeve. Her veins were a faint blue under the moonlight. “...Here. Try again. I’ll control the amount this time. Get used to it slowly.”

  Saliya hesitated, then gently took Ana’s wrist. “...Is it... really okay?”

  “It is,” Ana said firmly. “Because I’m your sister. If you still have an aversion to drinking from others, then at least drink from me. Sister... you must be able to control the Blood Memory while remaining conscious.”

  Saliya lowered her head, her fangs piercing the skin. She drank slowly this time, carefully. The memories flowed in like a gentle stream—not a flood, but the feeling of Ana holding her hand as they walked through the snow as children. Saliya closed her eyes, a small smile touching her lips.

  “...So... you were scared back then, too.”

  Ana gave a light snort. “Duh. You’re so clumsy, of course I was scared something would happen to you.”

  Saliya let go, the wound closing instantly. She leaned against Ana’s shoulder, her voice very light. “...Thank you... for being with me.”

  Ana said nothing, only reaching out to ruffle her sister’s hair. Then, she rested her forehead against Saliya’s, their breaths intertwining.

  “—Ana, could you do me a favor?”

  Ana had expected them to rest until the next move, but it was Saliya who spoke first.

  “Sister?” Ana looked back, her tone still carrying its usual lightness. “What kind of silly question is that? Of course I’ll—”

  She stopped mid-sentence. Saliya had quietly removed her outer clothing, folding it neatly beside her. Her movements were deliberate, like a ritual she had already decided upon. Soon, she stood there in only her undergarments, her shoulders braced straight, though she pointedly avoided Ana’s eyes.

  “...Why are you taking off your clothes?” Ana’s voice dropped.

  “I want you to check,” Saliya said, taking a breath. Her tone was steady, but the tension was undeniable. “Check that I... don't have any trackers left on me.”

  She looked away slightly—not out of shyness, but from a hesitation to fully surrender herself, and from the weight of her guilt. “I already led them to J. I led them to you. I can’t... let it happen a second time.”

  The air went still. Ana met her eyes, then stood up, her usual pyful smirk vanished. “...I understand.”

  She stepped closer, her voice soft. “But Sister, that wasn't your fault. I want you to remember that.”

  Ana reached out, her movements focused and restrained. Her pale fingertips pressed along the path of Saliya’s veins, checking carefully—cold yet gentle, as if she were handling a fragile treasure. “If there are any remaining trackers, I should be able to find them by the anomalies in your blood flow. I’ll try... not to hurt you.”

  Shortly after, she detected something in Saliya’s upper left arm and lower left back. Once the locations were confirmed, Ana didn't hesitate. A bde of shadow flickered, moving faster than the eye could follow—like a sewing machine needle, it pierced in and pulled out in an instant.

  Saliya only furrowed her brow slightly, making no sound.

  “It’s done.” Ana looked down at the two blood-stained, metallic micro-capsules in her palm—the humiliating brands the hunters had carved into her sister. “Only these two left, and they were already fried when your power exploded... We’re lucky.”

  She looked up as her sister dressed herself, but she didn't look away. Her expression was uncharacteristically hesitant.

  “Sister... I’m sorry.”

  The voice was light, but impossible for Saliya to miss. She turned back, looking at Ana with confusion.

  “Do you remember when we reunited outside the company...?” Ana gripped the hem of her skirt, her knuckles turning white. “I confirmed you were there through a guard’s blood memory... and I saw what those humans did to you.”

  Her voice broke for a second. The images were still clear—the repeated injections, the blood draws, the biopsies, the tests; the varying levels of UV exposure and garlic stimution, as if they were trying to find exactly where her breaking point y.

  “When I saw that...” Ana’s voice turned raspy. “And then I saw you standing on the side of the humans, willingly. I was so furious I could have screamed. I couldn't believe... that you would do that for a human.”

  She lowered her head. “I thought you were just being used.”

  As her words fell, her shoulders began to shake. Saliya stepped forward and pulled her into a hug.

  “I am the one who should apologize,” Saliya whispered. “For making you worry for so long... I’m sorry.”

  Ana let out a sob, finally hugging her sister back, her forehead pressed against Saliya’s shoulder. Moonlight spilled through the window, catching their overpping shadows. Blood and tears mingled, soaking into their clothes, before slowly drying in the night air—like a scar that no longer bled but would always be remembered.

  The moonlight bathed the small shack, illuminating the two figures leaning on one another. The night wind blew through, bringing a chill—but at least for tonight, they no longer felt cold.