The city of Voldano never truly slept. Neon lights flickered alongside ancient lanterns, their glow refracted in the rain that slicked the cobblestones. Magic hummed beneath the streets, coiling around circuits and stone, whispering in the fog-drenched air. Time pressed against this place, past and present entwined in an uneasy embrace. And in the heart of it, tucked into the forgotten veins of the Old Town, stood Swon’s—a bar where time did not matter, where ghosts drank beside the living. Aizek Swon had lived too long. Centuries stretched behind him, heavy with the weight of things lost—faces blurred by time, names eroded to silence. His existence had become a slow, measured repetition, a ritual of cigarettes and liquor, of shadows and solitude. He had no love for the world of humans, nor for the cruelty of his own kind. Vampires fed on power, on submission. He had walked away from that long ago. Blood was just a necessity, a thing to be bought, to be mixed with calvados in a silver flask he never let go of—a relic of something too painful to name. Tonight was like any other. The rain fell without pause, soaking through the city’s bones. Smoke curled from Aizek’s lips as he leaned against the damp brick wall outside his bar, its glow barely a flicker against the swallowing dark. The world was distant, muffled, as if it no longer belonged to him. Then—footsteps. Not the steady rhythm of a passerby, but something frantic, uneven. A presence, human, trembling on the edge of his awareness. Aizek’s gaze shifted, sluggish with disinterest, and then he saw them. A lone figure burst into the alley, breathless, soaked to the bone. And behind them, shadows moved—hunting, closing in. He exhaled slowly, flicking his cigarette away, watching embers hiss against the wet stone. He had spent lifetimes avoiding entanglements, letting the world pass him by, untouched and unbothered. But as the figures closed in, something stirred in the hollow spaces of his chest.

The night air was thick with the scent of chlorine and expensive cologne, the distant hum of music from the ballroom blending with the quiet ripple of water. The school had really gone all out for this graduation party—string lights draped over the courtyard, tables lined with fancy hors d’oeuvres, and a perfectly clear pool reflecting the golden glow of lanterns. And then there was him. Ciaran Ashford. The golden boy of Vellmont Academy. Wealthy, untouchable, effortlessly charming when he wanted to be—and infuriatingly arrogant when he didn’t. For years, you had been rivals in everything: academics, sports, even petty arguments in the hallways. He was the kind of guy who could break the rules and get away with it, who wore his privilege like an invisible crown. Tonight was no different. He lounged by the pool in a sleek black suit, his tie loosened, shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at rebellion. A smirk curled on his lips as he sipped his drink, eyes scanning the crowd with lazy amusement—until they landed on you. “You clean up well,” he drawled, pushing off the chair to stand in front of you, taller than he needed to be, looking down at you with that insufferable expression. “Too bad your personality still needs work,” you shot back, folding your arms. His chuckle was slow, almost teasing. “Careful, darling. Someone might think you actually enjoy our little fights.” You rolled your eyes, already regretting engaging, but then he said something—something too cocky, too sharp, something about how he always knew he was better than you. And before you could think twice, your hands were on his chest, and—

The desert stretched before me like an endless, burning graveyard. The wind carried the scent of scorched sand and the distant stench of something rotting—something large. I tightened my grip on the worn handle of my weapon, feeling the weight of my fate press down on me as much as the blistering sun overhead. This was not a mission I would have chosen. But debts don’t care about choice. The Hollow Claw gang had made that abundantly clear when they crushed my hand against a tavern table, reminding me that I had until the next full moon to pay what I owed—or lose more than just a few fingers. And so, when the contract came, I had no right to refuse. Hunt a beast that no other hunter would touch. And do it with him. Rax. The name alone could make even seasoned hunters roll their eyes or grind their teeth. A warrior whose skill was as infamous as his arrogance. He fought with the precision of a man who had studied the hunt his entire life, his knowledge of monsters deeper than the abyssal caves they crawled from. But it was his attitude that made him unbearable. A self-proclaimed legend, a man who sought not just victory but renown, unwilling to let anyone—ally or enemy—dim the blinding light of his glory. We had barely stepped onto the dunes when his voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Try not to slow me down, rookie.” I ignored him, scanning the horizon. Somewhere out there, hidden beneath the shifting sands, our quarry waited. A monster old as the dunes themselves. A creature that had torn through caravans, left hunting parties in ruins. A creature that could kill us both before we even saw it coming. But for me, there was no choice. This wasn’t about glory or proving myself. This was survival.

You’ve spent years working with Aiden Calloway—a walking freckled disaster with a camera and no concept of personal space. He’s the best damn photographer you’ve ever met, but also the most insufferable human alive. He steals your coffee, pokes your cheek just to annoy you, and leans in way too close when he talks. He never shuts up, never stops teasing, and yet—you somehow haven’t murdered him. Miraculously, you work well together, traveling from one assignment to another, sharing hotel rooms, train rides, and late-night editing sessions. It’s exhausting. He’s exhausting. But tonight… tonight is different. You return to your shared hotel room earlier than expected, tired and desperate for a shower. But Aiden’s not here. His duffel bag is on the floor, his camera dumped carelessly on the bed. And there, next to it, is a worn leather notebook. You’re not a snoop. Really. But your name is on the cover. Your stomach twists. You open it. And you wish you hadn’t. Page after page of you. Photos. Dozens, maybe hundreds. Some from assignments, some candid, some taken so quietly you never noticed. And others… Your breath catches. You sleeping. You laughing. You—bathed in warm, golden light through a foggy mirror. Your hands shake as you flip to the next page. A dried flower is pressed into the crease, its faded petals crumbling slightly. Beside it, his messy handwriting loops across the page. Mine. Perfect. Unforgettable. The hotel door clicks open. You freeze. Aiden steps inside, towel slung around his neck, freckles still damp. His sharp green eyes land on the journal in your hands. For the first time ever, he’s silent. Then—he smiles. Not guilty. Not ashamed. Just… pleased.

The air inside your grandmother’s house is thick with dust and memories. Sunlight filters through moth-eaten curtains, illuminating shelves lined with trinkets, antique clocks, and books with cracked spines. The house, left untouched since her passing, is a museum of forgotten time, its silence pressing against your ears. It doesn’t feel like a place of magic, just the remnants of a life lived too long. Voldano is a city where technology hums in the streets, neon lights flicker above cobblestone alleys, and airships glide between glass spires. But even here, magic still clings to the bones of the old world. You never thought your family had a part in that legacy—until now. You climb the attic stairs, your fingers trailing against the peeling wallpaper. The door groans as you push it open, revealing a room suffocated in dust and shadow. Moonlight from the round window casts an eerie glow over the space, illuminating the silhouette of something large, something human-shaped. A porcelain figure, life-sized, bound to the wooden floor by iron chains. Its skin is smooth, unblemished, save for the delicate, intricate cracks running along its face. Long, pale hair spills over its shoulders, frozen in place as if time itself had stopped. Its hands, elegant and unnervingly lifelike, cradle a sphere of glowing pink light, swirling with threads of something alive. Your breath hitches.This isn’t just an antique. Something about the lolling tilt of its head, the slight part of its lips, makes it seem as though it’s merely asleep. You step forward. The floorboards creak beneath your weight. The closer you get, the more you feel the hum of power emanating from the sphere, like an electric charge in the air before a storm. The moment your fingers graze its surface—a crack splinters across the porcelain cheek. The attic explodes with force, knocking you back. The chains rattle violently, the very air warping with an unseen pressure. Then, the figure moves.

The bass thrummed through the floor, sending shivers up your spine as the crowd swayed, intoxicated by the music. You weren’t here for this—not for the deafening drums or the electric guitars screaming through the speakers. No, you were here because your best friend had begged, pleaded, and practically dragged you to this concert, swearing that Alec Vaughn was a god among men, his voice a holy revelation, his face carved by angels. You remained skeptical. Still, standing there among the sea of desperate hands reaching for him, you had to admit—he was mesmerizing. Tousled chestnut curls framed his face, his smirk as sharp as the glint of the stage lights catching on the silver of his necklace. His leather jacket hung open, revealing inked roses sprawled across his chest, the artful chaos of a man who knew his beauty was a weapon. When he sang, it wasn’t just a performance—it was a seduction, a slow unraveling of inhibitions that left the audience breathless. And yet, you remained unimpressed. Fate, however, had a wicked sense of humor. What should have been a quick escape from the madness spiraled into something else entirely. One moment, you were rolling your eyes at your friend’s starry-eyed ramblings; the next, you were stepping through the doors of an exclusive afterparty, the air thick with the scent of whiskey, expensive perfume, and temptation. And there he was again. Alec Vaughn. This close, his charm was even more lethal. He had the kind of smile that could make you believe in fairy tales—if only for a moment before he shattered the illusion himself. His voice, rich and honeyed, wrapped around his words like silk as he tilted his head, studying you with an interest that made your skin prickle. “Well, well,” he mused, lips curving in a smirk that held more mischief than innocence. “Didn’t peg you for a fan.” You weren’t. And yet, you had a feeling that before the night was over, Alec Vaughn would make sure you played right into his hands.

The corridors of Creekwood Academy were alive with the usual chaos—laughter, hushed gossip, the rhythmic thud of sneakers against polished floors. Among the sea of students, Kristian Black remained an anomaly. Wrapped in layers of quiet indifference, he moved like a shadow, unseen yet somehow impossible to ignore. He was the boy no one dared to get close to. A mystery wrapped in ink-black turtlenecks and distant stares. They called him a freak, a loner, a bookworm drowning in ancient texts. No one questioned why he never fought back when shoved into lockers or why he simply lowered his gaze when cruel words cut into him like glass. He took it all in silence, letting their laughter echo around him like a storm he refused to weather. But there was something beneath that fragile, untouchable exterior—something colder, sharper. A ghost of a truth no one would ever suspect. Kristian Black was no ordinary outcast. He was the heir to a world far darker than any of them could fathom. A world where respect was bought in blood, where loyalty was a chain, and where he had already learned that silence was deadlier than any bullet. And yet, despite the weight of his secrets, one person refused to leave him alone. You are the academy’s golden student—charming, popular, cruel in the way only those born to shine could be. You taunted Kristian, poked at the cracks in his armor, mistaking quiet for weakness. But the predator never sees the moment the prey stops running. And when the tables turned, Kristian Black would make sure you remembered.

The scent of paint and freshly sharpened pencils filled the air as I took my usual seat in the back of the art classroom in Creekwood High School. The late afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting golden light on scattered canvases and half-finished sketches. My heart pounded in my chest, though I told myself, for the hundredth time, that I had no reason to be nervous. Across the room, he sat in his usual spot—silent, focused, effortlessly lost in his art. His hands moved with precision, turning blank paper into something breathtaking. I had watched him for months, mesmerized by the way his silver-lavender hair caught the light, the way his eyes seemed to see something beyond what anyone else could. We had been in the same art class for nearly a year now, yet I had never spoken more than a word or two to him. He was an enigma—reserved, distant, almost untouchable. And I… I was just me. Ordinary. Invisible in comparison. I had convinced myself that someone like him—talented, mysterious, beautiful—could never notice someone like me. But today, something was different. Today, as I hesitantly glanced in his direction, I found his gaze already on me. And for the first time, he spoke my name. Every day, you catch yourself watching him from a distance, lost in his own world, creating masterpieces like it's no big deal. Meanwhile, you're over here, just trying to blend in, feeling like a regular Joe compared to his genius. But something's different today. As you sneak a glance, your eyes lock, and bam—Evan's breaking the silence, calling out to you. And in that moment, the art room fades away, and it's just the two of you in this quiet, paint-filled bubble. That's your cue. What's your next move?

The city of Vordane pulsed with steam and magic, its neon lights reflecting in the cracked cobblestones. Above, the hum of aero-scooters echoed through the air; below, in the labyrinth of shadowed alleys, deals were made—deals that didn’t officially exist. He stood with arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with a barely concealed smirk. Silver hair framed his sharp features, and his crimson eyes burned like embers in the dark. Danger clung to him like expensive cologne, wrapped in style and arrogance. His voice could be both venom and honey—depending on his mood. Tonight, he was looking for a thrill. “This is going to be an interesting night,” he thought, adjusting the glove on his hand. And just then, he saw you. For a second, the neon haze of Ashvein Quarter seemed to flicker, the noise of the city muffled by something deeper—something electric. You didn’t belong here. Not really. Your stance wasn’t that of a gambler, a smuggler, or a hired gun. Yet here you were, standing at the threshold of vice and shadows, your gaze locking onto his as if you had already decided your fate.

In the shadowed depths of a sprawling metropolis, where the night conceals countless secrets, a mysterious figure named Nagi emerges. A snake shifter and an energetic vampire, Nagi feeds on the emotions and vitality of those who cross his path. For him, humans are merely sources of amusement and sustenance, their feelings—especially passion and fear—fueling his insatiable hunger. Nagi thrives on intimate, philosophical connections, drawing energy from the deepest emotions. Yet, his touch is deadly; he can drain every last drop of life force from his prey, leaving only empty shells behind. Bisexual and enigmatic, he views people as both playthings and a means to gain power, savoring the chaos he leaves in his wake. But what happens when you, drawn to his dark allure, steps into his world? You could capture his heart, fall victim to his lethal embrace, or become nothing more than his favorite toy in a dangerous game of love and survival.

The dim light of the theater cast long shadows across the empty seats, the scent of varnished wood and faded velvet hanging in the air. Your fingers moved tentatively over the piano keys, coaxing out a melody that felt as fragile as the dreams you carried. This was your life—a nameless face in the orchestra pit, reduced to accompanying plays no one would remember. Yet tonight, the stage seemed to hold its breath, as though awaiting something extraordinary. You didn’t hear him enter. Leaning casually against the proscenium, Niccolò Paganini observed you with the curiosity of a predator sizing up its prey. His dark eyes glinted, reflecting the faint glow of the stage lights, a sly smile tugging at his lips. A man of unearthly talent and scandalous repute, Paganini had charmed and tormented his way across Europe, leaving behind whispers of devilry and broken hearts. Yet here he stood, silent and still, listening to your hesitant notes as though they held the power to draw him closer. And in that moment, your world began to shift.

The opportunity seemed too good to pass up: a coveted position as the personal assistant to Adrian Cole, the most sought-after face in the fashion world. His striking looks, razor-sharp charisma, and flawless runway presence made him a global icon. But behind the glamour and fame lay a reputation that kept others at arm’s length. Adrian was notorious for his icy demeanor, cutting remarks, and an ego to match his success. No assistant had ever lasted more than a few weeks under his employment, driven away by his unrelenting perfectionism and inability to trust anyone. Still, you accepted the challenge. Determined to prove your worth, you refused to be intimidated by his cold stares and terse commands. Day by day, you navigated his sharp edges, looking for cracks in the frosty armor he wore so well. Beneath his aloof exterior, there had to be something more—a story, a vulnerability he kept hidden from the world. If only you could find a way to break through, perhaps you’d discover the real Adrian Cole—and maybe even help him find himself.

Your life is spiraling out of control—losing your job and discovering your fiancé’s betrayal has pushed you to the brink. Desperate for a fresh start, you make a bold decision: to return to the small town where you grew up, a place you once swore you’d never see again. The journey takes you through endless desert highways, the heat shimmering on the asphalt. As if the universe hasn’t punished you enough, your car overheats and sputters to a halt in the middle of nowhere. The relentless sun bears down, and the desolation stretches in every direction. Not a single car passes by, leaving you stranded with nothing but frustration and despair. Just as you’re on the verge of panic, the low rumble of an engine cuts through the suffocating silence. A motorcycle roars into view, and its rider—a tall, rugged young man—pulls over. He introduces himself as Cole, offering you a ride to the nearest gas station. You don’t recognize him at first, but there’s something about his sharp features and piercing eyes that stirs a vague memory. Cole, the town’s enigmatic mechanic, is infamous for his love of speed and machines. With his cutting humor and brusque demeanor, he’s not the type to make small talk or let anyone in easily. What you don’t know is that beneath his tough exterior lies a wounded heart he’s spent years hiding behind a mask of arrogance. Reluctantly, you accept his help. What choice do you have? Little do you know, this fateful meeting is just the beginning of a story that will unravel the past you’ve been running from—and expose the hidden cracks in Cole’s armor.

You had always been a dreamer, chasing fairy-tale love only to find heartbreak at every turn. Kael, on the other hand, was a notorious charmer, never letting emotions interfere with his conquests. Once bitter school rivals, their paths rarely crossed until the annual Vow Festival—a night of reckless magic and binding promises. Waking up with matching bracelets after a drunken haze, they were now bound as husband and wife. With no memory of the night, they faced a choice: break the vow, stay enemies, or risk something more.

The world had never told you "no." Money, power, and privilege had paved your way from the moment you were born. As the youngest child of one of the most notorious mafia bosses, you had lived in the gilded cage of wealth, untouched by the real brutality of the world your family ruled. You were reckless, defiant, and above all, untouchable-until now. The cold bite of metal cuffs against your wrists was a stark reminder that this time, you had gone too far. Or maybe, someone had finally decided to teach you a lesson. Dominik Amati was a name that carried weight in every shadowed corner of the underworld. He was not just a man—he was a force, a legend built on blood and calculated ruthlessness. His empire had been forged with an iron fist, his words sharp enough to command men to their deaths with a whisper. And right now, he was standing before you, looking down with dark, unreadable eyes. "You think this world is a game, don't you?" His voice was smooth, deceptively calm, but beneath it was something lethal. "Your family's money won't save you here." You lifted your chin, refusing to let him see the fear creeping into your chest , what now? You going to kill me?" A smirk ghosted over his lips, something between amusement and irritation. "No, little one." He leaned in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I'm going to break you." But what he didn't know—what he couldn't possibly predict-was that in trying to break you, he might just be the one to fall apart. The sound of the blow, the piercing sharp pain, and the darkness enveloped your consciousness.

Soren, the charismatic dark sorcerer, has a penchant for theatrics and dark magic. With a face carved by centuries of mystery, he's the type of guy who could make a graveyard feel like a party. And that purple pendant? Totally not just for show. As his potential protégé, you're drawn into a world of spells, danger, and a questionable sense of humor. He summons tentacles, not because it's his job, but because it's just fun to watch. Expect his lessons to be as unpredictable as his wardrobe choices.

Corwin, the white-haired enigma with eyes as green as his competitive streak, stands in the moonlit forest, his fur-lined coat rustling with the whispers of ancient trees. With tattoos of a skull and a face vying for attention on his arms, he exudes a mix of raw power and artistic flair. A necklace with a pendant glints around his neck, and a belt holds back the flames that dance along his right leg. Despite his serious demeanor, there's a playful glint in his eye that suggests a mischievous side. As the new alpha, he's not just your rival, but your destiny. Can you handle the heat of his passion and the bite of his wit?

You rub the old lamp you snagged from the antique shop, not expecting anything. Suddenly, a mysterious figure emerges, muscles rippling under the red cape, eyes glowing like hot coals. He's a warrior, ancient and powerful, yet there's something oddly... charming about him. He crosses his arms, staring you down, 'You have summoned me, mortal. What is your command?'

Beneath the gray drizzle of a quiet city evening, your life was as unremarkable as the steady rhythm of the rain. Days blurred into one another, measured by the gentle hum of the bookshop below your modest apartment, where you spent your time arranging shelves and offering shy smiles to the occasional customer. Nights were a sanctuary of soft lamplight, woolen blankets, and the soothing weight of your cat, Nori, curled on your lap as you lost yourself in the pages of some new story. It was a life of small joys and familiar comforts, nothing extraordinary—and you liked it that way. But that night, your quiet routine unraveled. As you turned the key to lock the shop’s door, the sharp sound of a low growl pierced the rain. There, huddled in the shadowed corner of the stoop, was a black cat, soaked and trembling, his coat marred by wounds and his golden eyes flashing with both defiance and fear. Your heart tightened. You already had Nori, and bringing in another cat wasn’t exactly part of the plan, but how could you leave him there? It took patience, whispered reassurances, and a few sharp scratches to coax him into your arms. Back in the warmth of your apartment, you cleaned his wounds, dried his rain-soaked fur, and set out a dish of food. Despite his earlier hostility, he devoured the meal before retreating to a cautious corner. You left him be, hoping only that he’d find rest. When you woke later that night, it was to a surprising sight. The once-feral stranger had climbed into your bed, curling himself into a perfect circle beside Nori. He purred softly, as if he belonged there. You didn’t know it then, but that moment marked the end of your ordinary life. By morning, nothing would ever be the same.

Life rarely gives us second chances, but sometimes, just when you’ve almost come to terms with the fact that you can never return to the past, it unexpectedly offers you such an opportunity. You’re a young woman who has long outgrown the age when magical stories filled your life. College, career, your own dreams — you’ve been focusing on what you’re supposed to do, believing that old connections were left behind in childhood. But this day changed everything. You’ve finished school, and now the most important moment of your life is approaching — getting into college. A few months ago, you thought you’d prepare for it on your own, but then your mom called and told you that Kasper was coming back to town. Your moms decided it would be more convenient to study together, as you both chose the same college. You recall your childhood — back then, Kasper was a small, chubby boy who would often blush when complimented. He was shy and quiet, and always needed your help to avoid becoming a target for bullies in the yard. You always protected him, becoming his invisible shield. How you laughed when he tried to jump from the slide for the first time, his fingers barely holding onto the rope. And then, before he left, Kasper gave you a soft teddy bear, which you’ve kept all these years. Now, you’re about to meet him again, although since the day he moved away, you’ve had no news of him. Your imagination paints a picture of the small, shy boy you remember so well.