More than fifty years ago, humanity began to change.
At first, it was just a rumor — whispers of people turning pale, violent, and vanishing at night. The stories were dismissed as superstition, the kind of ghost tales that old folks told to keep children from wandering after dark.
But when the bodies started piling up, the myth became impossible to ignore.
People were found drained of blood, their expressions twisted in terror. Entire families disappeared overnight. Authorities searched for logical explanations: secret cults, new diseases, biological weapons — anything but the truth.
Yet the truth was simpler. And much darker.
Human beings were turning into vampires.
No one knew why it started. Some claimed it was a curse. Others said it was divine punishment for humanity's sins. Whatever the cause, the world fell into chaos. Governments collapsed, borders dissolved, and survival became the only law.
For decades, humanity hid in fear — until something unexpected happened.
The Saints appeared.
No one understood how they were chosen. They simply awakened — ordinary men and women who suddenly possessed divine power. Flames that burned corruption, light that shattered darkness, and strength that rivaled monsters.
They were humanity's last miracle.
The first Saint annihilated an entire vampire nest in a single night. Within a year, the balance shifted. Cities were reclaimed. Order was restored. The Holy Order was born — an organization uniting all Saints under one creed: "Light shall judge the dark."
And so began the new era.
The Age of Saints.
---
"Miss, how can someone become a Saint without being born one?"
The classroom fell silent for a moment.
The teacher — a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and round glasses — lowered her book and smiled. "That's a very interesting question, but for now, it's impossible," she said softly. "Saints are born awakened, not made."
A small hand shot up from the middle row.
"Madam, what if someone drinks… like, a pool of holy water? Wouldn't that make them a high-level Saint?"
The class turned toward the boy — Kaiser.
The teacher blinked, trying not to laugh. "And where did this theory come from, Kaiser?"
"Uh… from my head," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck.
For a moment, the room was silent again. Then the teacher sighed dramatically, crossing her arms.
"Why didn't I think of that?" she said in a perfectly serious tone.
The students erupted in laughter.
Even Kaiser chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a proud grin. "See? Genius ideas come naturally."
"You mean ridiculous ideas," muttered one of the other orphans, grinning.
The classroom buzzed with warmth and laughter, a rare comfort in a world that had forgotten what peace felt like. Outside the old windows, sunlight poured through the leaves, painting the floor in gold.
Kaiser looked around the room — at the cracked walls, the worn desks, the faded posters about Saints and faith. It wasn't much, but it was home.
For now.
He tried to ignore the faint ache in his burned hands, still hidden under the table. No one had noticed yet. No one knew about the explosion last night — or the vampire.
Not even the teacher.
"Alright, alright, class," she said, clapping her hands to bring order. "Let's get back to the lesson. As I was saying, Saints are rare individuals blessed with divine essence. It's not something humans can force."
"So they're like superheroes?" a younger student asked.
The teacher smiled. "Something like that, yes. But unlike superheroes, they don't always wear capes. Some live among us quietly. Others fight at the borders where the vampires still lurk."
Kaiser's eyes drifted toward the window. The sunlight felt strange on his skin today — warmer, heavier. He wondered if the light was testing him… or hiding him.
He clenched his fists, feeling the faint sting of heat under his bandages.
Saints… vampires… fire.
His thoughts tangled together like smoke. Whatever had happened last night wasn't normal. No human should be able to summon light like that.
And yet — he did.
The laughter in the room faded into the background as he stared at his reflection in the glass.
For a brief second, he thought he saw his eyes flash gold again.
For most young people in the world, being a Saint was considered the greatest blessing imaginable.
It was the dream of millions — to awaken, to be chosen by the light, to become something divine.
But for Kaiser, it was nothing but a curse.
He had used his powers for the first time when he was fourteen.
He still remembered that night vividly — the trembling in his hands, the spark that danced between his fingers, and the burning that followed.
It had been nothing more than a small flame, no larger than a candle's flicker.
But the pain… it was unbearable.
The fire had scorched his skin, his flesh melting under his own light.
He screamed until his voice broke. And yet, when he woke up the next day, his body was healed — as if nothing had happened.
Except the pain never really left.
That was the moment he realized what his "gift" truly was.
A curse disguised as power.
After that, Kaiser swore to never use his abilities again.
What was the point of having the power of fire if you burned yourself every time you used it?
So instead of training to become a Saint, he buried that part of himself deep inside — hidden beneath layers of silence, fear, and denial.
He focused on something far simpler. Something that made sense to him.
Money.
To Kaiser, money was the only real miracle left in the world. It didn't hurt. It didn't betray. And it could buy time — time for his mother, time for himself.
That's how his online empire began.
What started as a few small hustles became a business — shady, but profitable.
Now, he owned a betting website. A game disguised as entertainment, but built entirely on deceit.
He called it "Sky Gamble."
The rules were simple: players bet on how many kilometers a virtual rocket would rise before exploding.
For every kilometer the rocket climbed, their money multiplied.
If it reached five kilometers, ten dollars became fifty.
If it exploded early, they lost everything.
It was exciting. Addictive.
And completely rigged.
Behind the scenes, Kaiser controlled every variable. He could make the rocket burst early or soar high depending on the traffic, the timing, or simply his mood.
Thousands played every day, thinking luck was on their side.
But luck, Kaiser thought, was just another illusion — one he learned to sell very well.
In just over two years, he had earned more than 127,000 dollars.
He didn't live lavishly. He didn't buy cars, clothes, or jewelry.
Every cent went to one thing: the hospital bills of his mother, who had been in a coma for fifteen long years.
Every week, he visited her. He talked to her, told her about his classes, his website, his "boring" life. He never mentioned the pain. Or the fire. Or the night he almost died.
Because deep down, Kaiser believed if he just kept working, kept earning, maybe someday he'd find a way to wake her up.
Maybe money really could buy miracles.
---
The afternoon light spilled into the classroom, warm and golden. The other students were laughing and chatting as the lesson ended, their voices echoing down the hall.
Kaiser leaned back in his chair, lost in thought. His mind drifted between memories of his mother, the faint sting in his hands, and the numbers that filled his screen every night.
$127,312.47.
That was the balance in his hidden account.
He should have felt proud.
But instead, there was only a hollow ache inside him — a silence that even laughter couldn't fill.
He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Maybe I really am cursed…" he whispered to himself.
When he looked up, the laughter had stopped.
The classroom was empty.
He blinked.
The teacher's desk was vacant. The sunlight outside had dimmed.
The faint hum of the ceiling fan was the only sound left.
He stood slowly, looking around in confusion. "Hello?"
No answer.
For some reason, the air felt colder.
Kaiser swallowed hard, his heartbeat quickening as he glanced toward the open window. The curtains swayed gently, brushing against the desk.
He could've sworn he heard something — a faint whisper, almost like a breath behind him.
He turned.