At the café, after everyone had returned from their scattered assignments, the air was quieter than usual. Steam from the coffee rose slowly toward the wooden ceiling, and the dim light from the old lamps cast moving shadows of the tables along the walls.
William sat at the usual table beside the rain-streaked window, while Liner stood by the door, holding his cup of coffee and watching the blurred street through the glass.
Nila sat sulking on the small couch, tapping her fingers against the table in visible irritation.
Nila (resting her head on her hand): How long are you all going to keep me here? It feels like an endless prison.
Casey (with a small smile): A prison? This place is better than half the apartments in this city, Nila.
Nila (slightly annoyed): Don't mock me, Casey… at least I was the one who fought last time.
Casey (calmly sipping her coffee): Which is exactly why we're asking you to rest.
Before she could finish, the café door creaked open slowly, and a rather short young man walked in—no taller than one-fifty centimeters.
He wore a white raincoat streaked with red along the edges, his bright blond hair damp from the never-ending rain.
His crimson eyes gleamed like twin embers in the dimness.
The boy raised his hand in an exaggerated greeting and said with a cheerful tone, as if he already knew everyone there:
Vinky (smiling): Waaah, so this is the place William keeps talking about—"Flame of the Night." It looks way gloomier than I imagined!
William (sighing): At least step inside before you start mocking the place, Vinky.
Vinky (with a sly grin): Can't help it—you know my tongue's faster than my shadow.
He laughed lightly and walked toward the table, sitting opposite William and opening his coat slightly as if he were home.
He glanced at Nila, who stared silently at him, and smirked faintly.
Vinky (gesturing toward her): And this girl… looks angry. What's wrong? Did they stop you from playing outside in the rain?
Nila (standing up, angry): What's that supposed to mean?!
William (raising his hand to calm her): Just ignore him. That's how he always talks.
Vinky (laughing): That's my charm! Right, Liner?
Liner (coldly, sipping his coffee): Charm? I don't recall anyone ever calling it that.
Vinky (playfully): Then you'll be the first!
Casey (placing her hand on her forehead): I can't believe this guy is one of us now...
William (serious tone): Vinky is a sixth-generation vampire, specialized in espionage and pursuit. He may not look serious, but he's the best at what he does.
Vinky (with mild arrogance): The best? Come on, man—be modest. Maybe just in the eastern half of the city.
The group chuckled lightly despite the tension in the air, and even Nila smiled faintly despite her annoyance.
Meanwhile, elsewhere inside a dark castle surrounded by fluttering butterflies, Reinhardt sat on a large wooden chair before a table cluttered with maps and papers of the city.
Beside him stood the butterfly girl, her expression calm as she studied one of the maps pinned to the wall.
Reinhardt (sipping his tea): Things are finally moving… every piece is falling into place, but we're still missing a few names.
The girl (softly): Are you planning to send invitations to all of them now?
Reinhardt (with a faint smile): Not all. Some still need a little motivation… or a small threat.
The girl: And who will handle the recruitment?
Reinhardt (glancing at her): You. Use your butterflies—I want to know who still remains loyal, and who's waiting for a chance to betray us.
The girl (mocking slightly): You always like being greedy by nature, just to save yourself the effort.
The tone of his speech carried an odd stillness, a mix of confidence and boredom, as if everything around him had been predicted long ago.
He raised his teacup and whispered quietly while watching the butterflies multiply near the window:
Reinhardt (low voice): It won't be long before the white smoke returns to this city.
In another part of the city, Lawrence was running through the narrow alleys, his rifle slung over his shoulder, footsteps echoing between the brick walls.
Water dripped from rooftops, the streets soaked, while a moving shadow darted ahead of him with incredible speed.
Lawrence (panting): Stop! Don't run!
He fired a warning shot, the bullet ricocheting off a metal wall with a deafening clang.
But the shadow didn't stop—it leapt over a fence and vanished into the next alley.
Lawrence (reloading): I see you… you won't get away this time.
He dashed after it, turning sharply around the corner—just in time to hear a heavy crash.
A mysterious man stood before him, wearing a gray coat, his face covered by a half-broken metallic mask shaped like a crow's beak.
The two stared at each other briefly before Lawrence raised his weapon.
The man (coldly): You shouldn't have followed me.
Lawrence (angrily): And I say you chose the wrong alley!
Before the man could respond, Lawrence pulled the trigger, the bullet flying straight for his chest.
But the stranger didn't fall—instead, he appeared behind Lawrence in an instant, as if he'd moved through the shadows themselves.
Lawrence (shocked): What… the hell?!
In one swift motion, the man drew a small dagger and plunged it into Lawrence's chest, whispering quietly:
The man: Sleep for a while.
Lawrence collapsed onto the wet ground, unconscious, as the shadow faded away with the falling rain.
In one of the city's narrowest alleys, untouched by light, blood coated the ground like a dark mirror.
A man crawled slowly, gasping for air, leaving a long, crimson trail behind him.
His voice trembled, barely audible.
From the far end of the alley, a figure emerged—wearing a rotten black coat, the fabric torn and soaked.
His face was hidden behind a skull-shaped mask, its eyes glowing a deep red that pierced the dark.
Each step he took sounded heavy, deliberate… as if the ground itself feared him.
He raised a massive black Magnum revolver, its metal glinting faintly under the weak rainlight.
He stopped over the crawling man, who lifted his head weakly and whispered:
Wounded man: P-please… don't kill me...
The voice behind the mask was calm and cold:
???: Your death will be a pleasure… for this wretched world.
One single shot.
The sound of metal striking stone followed—and then, silence.
Seconds later, the walls around him began to move, creeping closer like living things until they completely swallowed the corpse.
Nothing remained in the alley except a faint smear of blood, soon washed away by the rain.
As the walls slid back into place, the masked man vanished—as if he had never been there at all.
Only the faint echo of his footsteps lingered… slowly fading into the darkness of Midnight