"The pages of history are already soaked red.
Now the pen is in my hand—and I will write it.
But writing with their blood alone would be boring…
So I'll use mine too."
—Shiyami
The past cannot be changed; the future waits to be written. But what if the past itself is the one carving the future? To ask, "How hard is it to forget a death?" is foolish. Even after thousands of years, wounds remain raw. Hate endures. Destiny still demands revenge. Why forget when suffering can be passed on? Why search for a solution to a wound that never heals? And yet, there are always the naive—those who try, unaware that one spark will awaken the fire again. Hate never died. It was buried alive. After all, blood remembers what the mind forgets.
It began on a warm August evening. The sun sank behind the woods, painting the sky in molten gold.
In the bustling city of Paradox, a woman dressed her child. He was barely five, with curious deep-blue eyes—just like hers. She was in her late twenties, beautiful in a white gown, her face full of hope. Taking his hand, she led him outside.
Across the street rose a towering building that seemed to pierce the clouds. At its peak, golden letters blazed:
ZENOM ASSOCIATION.
Inside, the lobby buzzed with noise. Lavender walls cast a false calm over the crowded hall. The woman scanned the faces, searching.
A hand touched her shoulder. She turned. A man with blue hair and glowing crimson eyes stood behind her.
"So—you came," she said softly.
"I don't want to see a woman cry," he replied. "Don't mistake this for kindness. If the vice chairman hadn't shown up, it would raise suspicion. I'm here to protect the Association's reputation, nothing more."
She smiled faintly.
"Shizune, I don't trust them. Stay on your guard," he warned.
"I will. If I can bring even a little change, I'll try," she answered.
"Call me if anything happens."
"And he'll only make it worse," another voice cut in. A woman with golden hair stepped forward, arms crossed.
"I thought you wouldn't come, Sache."
"Why wouldn't I?" he smirked. "You'll always find me beside Shizune."
"I'm going, Mom!" the boy shouted, dashing off to play with a friend.
They laughed, chasing each other in a game of hide-and-seek—until everything went black.
The lights failed. Panic erupted. People screamed and shoved toward the exits.
"What happened?" the other boy asked.
A heavy crash shook the floor. A woman grabbed them both.
"Get out of here, Nuru and Samuru!" she cried.
They ran.
On the lower floors, the lights flickered back on. Nuru bolted outside, but Samuru froze.
"Worried about your mother?" a man whispered behind him.
Samuru didn't reply, but his fear gave him away.
"She's in trouble," the man murmured. "Shouldn't you save her?"
Samuru's heart pounded. He ran.
The elevator was dead. He climbed the stairs, legs burning, lungs aflame. At last he reached her floor and shoved the door open.
The marble floor was cold against his bare feet.
What he saw would scar him forever.
His mother lay gasping on the ground, blood staining her lips. Over her stood a woman with a face like stone. Beside her, another woman held a hand on the shoulder of a hooded boy.
"Mom!" Samuru cried, falling to her side.
"Why are you here, Samuru?" his mother asked weakly.
"What happened, Mom?"
"You have a fine boy, Shizune," the cold woman said.
"Who are you?" Samuru's voice shook.
"That's not something you need to know, dear," she sneered—and seized a fistful of his hair, hurling him against the wall.
His head cracked against stone. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He staggered up, trembling, vision spinning.
"What do you want, Sinthia? Revenge won't help," Shizune whispered, forcing herself upright to shield him.
"Is that so?" Sinthia laughed coldly. "Do you think words can stop me? Not even if hell froze over. I'll kill every last one of you."
Shizune crawled toward Samuru. She cupped his face with trembling fingers. His small hand clutched hers, fear and love burning in his eyes.
She had thought the conflict ended. That was her mistake.
How could Sinthia still bleed from wounds over a thousand years old? Why hadn't the past released them?
"Samuru," she whispered, "never seek revenge… even if they kill me."
He had heard those words before.
On a hot summer night, she had sat beside his bed, telling him a true story.
"Not a boring one!" he had begged.
"Of course not," she had smiled.
"Long ago, two brothers—Shiyami and Shigami—were abandoned by their father. Together they grew stronger than anyone imagined. Together they conquered half the world. But Shiyami changed. His hunger grew. Word reached Shigami that his brother was harming his own people."
"What? Why would he do that?"
"Power twists the heart. Shigami tried to trust him… but Shiyami murdered his advisor. Others, too."
Samuru had gasped. "No way!"
"Shigami confronted him. A terrible battle followed. Shiyami died branded as a traitor. But his son, Sean, killed Shigami in revenge."
"Why?!"
"Because revenge doesn't care who's right. And Shiyami's bloodline never let go. Generation after generation, they fed the hate. The war burned for centuries. It wasn't Shiyami's death that cursed us—it was revenge itself."
She had stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. "Don't seek revenge, Samuru. I will grow strong enough to protect you."
And she had been his shield—until she wasn't.
Now she lay dying on marble, blood pooling beneath her.
Samuru's world shrank to a single thought:
Kill the woman who had stolen his mother.
Fear crushed him. If she could kill Shizune, she could kill him too.
Sinthia's eyes glittered. "How does it feel, Samuru dear?"
"Shut up," he growled.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" she mocked.
"I said shut up!" he screamed.
"Are you a fool? You think your people are innocent? You started this. But we'll end it."
"You killed my mom for her blood. That's not right!"
"I love this scene. Even if I watched her die a hundred more times, it wouldn't be enough."
She seized his throat and slammed him against the wall. His body crumpled, bloodied and broken. She raised her gun.
Someone dragged him back.
"Olivia, look at Mom! Please do something!" he cried.
Olivia held him tight. "Calm down," she whispered—but she knew the truth. There was nothing she could do.
"It's done, my lady," another voice announced.
"Good work, Eefa," Sinthia praised.
"She offered peace," Olivia muttered, grief in her tone. "But you only crave war. We should have listened to Sache."
"You should have," Sinthia said coldly.
"Don't let the past destroy the future," Olivia warned.
Eefa shattered an oil lamp. Fire spread, devouring the room.
Samuru fought to reach his mother, but Olivia clung to him.
"Please, Olivia. Let me go to her!" he begged.
She refused. Sinthia and the others vanished into the blaze.
"Mother!" Samuru screamed.
And then—he woke, drenched in sweat.
Tears blurred his vision. He wiped them away with his sleeve.
Nine years had passed. The nightmare never left.
He could not forget.
And though his mother's last words forbade it—
Only one vow remained in his heart:
Kill Sinthia.
Kill Shiyami.