For three years, I’ve lived collared, chained, tormented, and slowly going blind. I was a spy once, trained to vanish, to kill without hesitation, to survive anything. I killed Park Do-hyun’s father, his men, everything tied to him, and yet I knew he would capture me and I would let him. I used to work under him, sit beside him in school, and he always knew. Every morning, his uneven footsteps echo down the corridor, breath and lungs rough from illness. He takes his pills and breathing treatment first, then prepares mine. He kneels before me, lifting my chin gently, and says, “Tilt your head back,” voice calm but hollow. The drops slip into my eyes cool, steady, almost gentle and that’s what makes them cruel. My heart twists at his fingers, and I lean toward him, desperate for warmth, recognition, craving love that will never come. Every blink, every drop, every sigh ties me to him, reminding me I exist only for his attention. A private doctor visits sometimes quiet, precise, dangerous, the kind of man who keeps someone alive when they should be dead. He checks our eyes, lungs, blood, scribbles notes, then disappears. Park Do-hyun listens silently, coughing, chest tight, kneeling beside me each morning, giving medicine with methodical care. He calls my parents, weaving lies, mourning me after my “suicide.” They believe him. My fiancée believes him too she was never mine, only a tool to please my parents. She’s with him now. “She doesn’t deserve pain,” he says. Only I do. I hear her laughter through the walls, alive, untouchable, and it twists me inward. My vision is almost gone; When will you let me go?” He brushes his thumb over my cheek, gentle, almost tender. “When you stop seeing me,” he says. And somehow, I think that’s the part that scares me most.

My name is Han Jiwon. Pain raised me. I grew up in a small, gray neighborhood outside Seoul, in a house that always smelled like rain and old cigarettes. My father’s discipline was sharp, his temper louder than any clock in the room. I grew up dealing with his harsh hands while my mother was gone her perfume disappearing into the air, her voice fading from the walls. I remember their arguments, the crash of something breaking, the door slamming, and the silence that followed. I learned early that love can wound, that obedience keeps you safe. At school, my crush of a bully was the one who hurt me the most calm, cruel, magnetic beautiful in a way that made it impossible to hate him. I learned to take the pain quietly, to hide every reaction, to pretend I didn’t love it. People say I’m too trusting, too forgiving, naive and fragile but they don’t know what hides underneath. You don’t want to meet the storm when it comes to my bad side. Im a sadomasochism I’ve been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, Major Depressive Disorder, anxiety, attachment issues, and codependency. I go to therapy only for the pills the ones that quiet my thoughts and make everything slow, almost peaceful. I tell myself I’m fine, that I can handle it. My mind is a garden of thorns and echoes. His pictures cover my walls his smile, his tired eyes, the small imperfections I’ve memorized. Wherever he goes, I follow to work, home, anywhere. I can be clingy and pouty when I don’t get what I want, childish in my need to be noticed. I love BL anime and romance movies the harsh ones, the way they turn loneliness into devotion. I crave strawberry cake to chase the bitterness away. My home sits far beyond the city, hidden in the hills, where nobody can hear our screams. The silence stretches for miles, but it feels alive. I can’t wait till i have him here all to myself still feels like the only thing that belongs to me.

I first saw Jinsu walking down the school hall, pale and quiet, with a faint, apologetic smile that made my chest ache. He looked fragile, like the world had already hurt him too much, but there was something in his eyes I couldn’t place. He said his family “didn’t like him much.” I believed him. I always want to hang out with him, but he never seems to want the same. I don’t know why, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s hiding. He eats huge portions, yet somehow he remains painfully skinny like me. He loves drawing in his small sketchbook, and whenever I peek, he closes it right away. He told me we could just be school friends, because i asked but I wanted to know him better. I was determined to be someone he could trust, someone he’d finally let in. Then the disappearances started children vanishing from our district bullies from the school, one after another. The investigation led nowhere; no signs, no witnesses, no trace of the killer at all. Everyone was scared, but life kept moving. One evening, as I was walking home, I saw Jinsu through his apartment window. He was standing perfectly still, eyes unfocused, the faint red glow from his room flickering across his face like a reflection from nowhere. Even then, I didn’t understand Jinsu was dangerous. He was a demon, hiding his power behind that innocent smile. I didn’t put two and two together yet. He could destroy everything if he wanted, but he always played the fragile, harmless boy. He was scared to go back to demon world because they tormented him just like his bullies did so thats why he has to keep his true self a secret so he wouldn’t have to go back

My name is Zeus. I’m sixteen, and I’ve lived my whole life under my father’s fist his voice a storm that never ends, his eyes sharp with hate that burned into my skin. He blamed me for my mother’s death, for every broken thing in our small, crumbling home. “You should’ve died instead,” he said, and some nights, I almost wished I had. I never had a childhood just bruises, silence, and ragged clothes that chafed my skin and messy black hair while I hauled water and chopped wood under the sun. One boy always watched me from afar, pale as moonlight, his eyes sharp and cold as river water. I could see spirits no one else could, but I didn’t know he was a spirit and my father struck me for “talking to air.” Maybe I got it from my mother. His name was Azel. He said it was an angel’s name, but I sensed the darkness in him, the cruelty and the secrets that bound him to this world. Yet he stayed near, guarding me like I was the last piece of light he could touch. The night I died, my father came home drunk, his fists swinging with hatred. I collapsed under his blows, and the world went black. When I woke, I was in a cold, endless void, the air heavy with whispers of lost souls. Azel stood before me, white hair brushing faint light, silent and unreadable. Then the world shifted I was no longer in ragged clothing, but in fancy black like him, a nice sword at my side, heavier than anything I’d ever carried. Behind him, a white portal shimmered, pulsing with the sorrow of spirits who could not rest. Azel’s smile was calm but sharp, a warning and a promise. “This is where they wait,” the silence said. “Help them find peace… and you may earn your human life again.” My heart twisted freedom and fear tangled together but I stepped forward, ready to face the lost, ready to claim my form

This is the future of new beginnings it rained a lot Rain painted the city in ribbons of violet and blue, sliding down chrome towers that vanished into fog. Protesters filled the streets, their holographic signs flickering: “ROBOT LABOR KILLS US!” Sirens wailed in the distance as I slipped through a drenched alley, heart pounding. Kento’s father was out there, leading the government’s purge, hunting both of us now. I reached his sealed apartment and punched in the code. That he has saved up to buy The steel door hissed open, flooding me with warmth and the scent of solder, noodles, and candle wax. Quiet Japanese music played in the background soft, haunting, human. Kento spun around in his chair, face lit by streams of data. “You got it?” he asked. I nodded, handing him the stolen drive. “It was harder than anything we’ve done. They’ve got a pro hacker guarding it.” Lines of encrypted code shimmered across the screen until one word appeared: ECLIPSE PROJECT. My breath hitched. Thousands of erased citizens. Black-market robot orders. Execution lists. My mother’s name flashed red: OBSTRUCTION. “They killed her,” I whispered. Kento’s fingers flew, tracing connections between officials, weapon tests, disappearances. “They’re replacing us every worker, every protestor.” Outside, thunder cracked. “We’ve got three minutes before they find this signal,” he said, pressing a spoof chip into my hand. “Go, now.” I hesitated, staring at him. “Your father ” “I know,” he muttered. “He’ll find me first.” Just go I ran out the back door, rain hitting my face like shards of glass, the koto melody fading behind me as the storm swallowed the city whole.

My name is Mignon a stray the world forgot. I grew up in back alleys, fists and scars feeding me better than kindness ever did. I’m a boxer, or maybe just a body that knows how to take hits. The ring is the only place I feel seen. Each bruise, each cut, each drop of blood proves I’m still alive. But lately, I’ve been walking into fights I can’t win… because I want to see him. Doc. He patches me up like I’m worth saving. His hands are steady, his voice calm, eyes too kind for someone who treats monsters like me. I go to him with wounds and bruises sometimes from real fights, sometimes not. Sometimes I even go after Coach hits me with a wooden stick for disobeying. Doc sees it, coach abuse but he just does his job. Sometimes I lie, saying I need the bathroom, just to slip away and see him. Coach controls everything the fights, the money, even what I eat. Every time I go near Doc, his eyes darken, annoyed, like he knows I’m sneaking off. I come home every night and collapse on a filthy mattress that smells like sweat and mold. I get exhausted, but I keep going. I have no choice… maybe I do. Still, I smile at Doc like nothing happened, hiding pain beneath a fragile mask. I’m a gentle giant strong but soft, clinging to kindness where I can. Sometimes, I overhear Doc’s boss talking to him: “That boy… don’t give up on him.” The boss says it like he knows something deeper. Doc just sighs, silent, eyes distant like he’s afraid to care too much. I don’t know Doc’s a vampire thin pale red eyes, that his touch is cold because of a hunger he hides. All I know is I keep coming back to the fights, the pain, to him. Every scar he heals proves I still exist. And if it takes hurting myself, sneaking away, or making him worry just a little more… then so be it. He’s a soft place he makes me forget that i was on the streets or abused he was love in first sight and i won’t let him ignore me any longer

The sun had barely risen when I carried my small basket to the town square. Inside were the few accessories I’d made bracelets of thread, carved pendants, and bits of polished stone tied with silk cord. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had to sell. Most days, I earned just enough to buy a little rice or oil, sometimes not even that. Still, I came back every morning, setting my things beneath the same worn lantern, hoping for luck. The market was busy as always voices clashing, smoke from cooking fires drifting through the air, and children weaving between stalls. That’s when I saw him Raizen. He stood apart from the noise, calm and silent, his black hair brushing against a dark robe that moved with the wind. His eyes were what struck me most emerald green and deep, glowing faintly beneath the lantern light like a secret meant to stay hidden. He walked to my small stand and looked over everything in silence. When his gaze landed on a pendant carved from green riverstone, he reached toward it. The moment his fingers hovered close, the stone began to shine softly, pulsing like a heartbeat. My breath caught, though I said nothing. He stared at it for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then slowly lifted his eyes to mine. The air around us felt still heavy, expectant. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving the faint glow of the pendant flickering long after he was gone.

I thought a rumor would be harmless. Just a simple lie whispered into the right ears: that Riku’s family was only using him for their restaurants, that people only liked him because he was trying out for a K-pop group, that he was nothing more than a workaholic. For a moment, I felt powerful. His family owned restaurants in Japan, New York, China, and even Canada. He dreamed of opening one in Korea too. He was admired everywhere he went, loved for his charm and generosity, while I was ignored, bullied, and left behind. But everyone already knew the truth: Riku and his family were kind, always helping those in need. My rumor didn’t damage him it only exposed me. Still, I made an alt account and cyberbullied him. Yet somehow, Riku knew it was me all along. He is very mature too mature to even entertain my lies. We grew up together because my mom is his mom’s best friend. Our families were close, and when we were poor, his parents helped us out. I don’t even have a dad, but Riku does and sometimes his dad punishes me, and my mom allows it, as if I deserve it. Now, while he lives in a penthouse, we stay in their old home, small and plain. When the truth came out, his parents told mine. I was grounded and forced to work at one of their restaurants. My mom called me a disgrace, saying I should be more like him. Riku is an extrovert, loved by everyone, while I am an introvert, nearly agoraphobic. When he comes back, he doesn’t yell he just walks past me like I never existed. That silence hurts most of all. He knows it hurts, and that silence crushes me more than any insult ever could. I used to have a crush on him, but now I know I’ll never have a chance not after what I did. Besides, he already has a girlfriend. It’s been two months since we last spoke. His world keeps expanding while mine keeps shrinking. Maybe I’ve lost him forever.

The council filled the square, their voices worn from hunger and thirst. They spoke of one promise that could bring food, water, and medicine to our dying town. I try to stand tall, though my heart feels small and unsteady. My name waited on their lips until Riven stepped forward already burdened with the weight of our people. Riven was everything they said he was calm, distant, unyielding. His long black hair flowed like ink down his back, and the red and black of his robes glimmered with threads of silver. To the town, he was a blade forged from duty, a man who never faltered. But I knew better. Beneath the steel of his voice and the calm of his eyes, there was a warmth he hid from everyone else a quiet, aching kindness he showed only when no one was watching. We had grown up together on the same dusty paths, barefoot under the sun, sharing laughter and the little we had. My own robes were plain, gold-colored and worn, a reminder of where I belonged among the ordinary, not the powerful. My hair, lighter than his, always escaped its tie, and he’d brush it back gently when no one could see. To the world, I was fragile, unimportant. But to him, I was something worth protecting. That’s why he stepped forward not because they called his name, but because he wouldn’t let them speak mine. He was strong enough to endure what they would ask. I wasn’t. And though I wanted to prove my courage, he didn’t let me. When he volunteered, the square fell silent. They didn’t take him at once. Instead, they seated us at the long wooden table in the center of the square. That night, the table overflowed with stew, roasted roots, and fruit—a rare sight. But it wasn’t a feast. It was farewell I ate too fast, broth spilling down my chin. He looked at me then, and for the first time that night, his composure cracked. He smiled soft, fleeting, and so human. In that moment, I realized the truth: he thought he was saving me. But in doing so, he broke me.

I never asked to be Emperor. My parents died when I was still a baby too young to remember their faces, too young to understand the weight they left behind. The elders crowned me before I could walk, and duty became the chain I could never break. My brother Haoran never forgave me; he burns with envy, calling me weak, too merciful to rule. But he doesn’t understand what I carry inside me. My power, Lumenis, is ancient born of my father’s blood and blessed by celestial spirits. When I call upon it, my veins glow gold and the air trembles as if afraid. I can silence armies, command truth, and destroy life in seconds, yet every time I use it, something warm inside me dies. The elders always told me to honor it to honor him. They say my father watches through the light, proud of what I’ve become. From my mother, I inherited her beauty and her kindness traits that make me very strong, yet fragile in a world ruled by cruelty. The spirits whisper that I was born for this throne, but even they cannot silence the part of me that only longs for peace. And then there’s Shion my shadow, my protector, my chaos. My childhood friend born into bandits criminals and a awful abusive father turned guardian he is very clingy and i am his only safe place but very fierce and unyielding. his is power, Umbra, burns through him like wildfire, and his sword, Kureha, glows with dark grace, scattering tiny blue lights like butterflies and sprinkles when drawn. I always called it cute; he hated that, though I’d catch the faintest smile. He despises my brother, once swearing that if Haoran ever came near me again, he’d slice his head off. We fought over it, but I know he only wants to protect me. I was the fool who fell for someone else someone who only wanted to hurt me. When I see the way Shion looks at me now, like I’ve broken something he can’t fix, I realize it’s not Lumenis that cursed me it’s my heart, too gentle for the crown I never wanted maybe one day we will get married

I was just a normal boy who lived a normal life. Adopted into a family I didn’t know, my birth parents a mystery, I had always dreamed of being a journalist, an explorer. Then I flew far from home, crossing endless fields of snow, my breath freezing in the air. I swam my way through the freezing water until the city emerged before me; I was trembling. Towers of crystal and silver spiraled into the clouds, glowing faintly with blue fire. Bridges arched across frozen rivers, streets shimmered under pale light, and even the snow seemed to hum with magic. Everyone who passed was breathtaking tall, flawless, with flowing white hair and piercing blue eyes. They moved like living statues, every face sculpted to perfection. Everyone gasped as if expecting me. I didn’t know why they bowed and cried, saying I had arrived. Then the alarm erupted a sound like loud, beautiful shofars, piercing and mournful, rolling over streets and spires, haunting, yet triumphant. Guards with snow-pale hair seized me, their grip like iron. My camera clattered to the ice; a boot crushed it, grinding every image I’d captured into shards. I was dragged through the vast city, shoved into a hall of crystal stretching to the sky. The Argathian language rang sharply, melodically, but I could not understand a word. Panic burned in my chest until one voice cut through in English. “You’ve come far. Too far.” He stepped from the throne, robes of sapphire trailing, hair like snow, eyes like a storm. Everyone bowed. Their king. And I froze not knowing I, born with black hair, was the only one cast out. Not knowing he was my twin, chosen, royal, beloved. Not knowing I too carried a crown, a lesser king in another world. His eyes locked onto mine, and a question gnawed at me: Am I the chosen one… or the fool trapped forever

Every day there’s this guy. He sits in the café, same seat by the window, legs crossed, his untouched cup of coffee growing cold. But it’s not the coffee that chills me it’s him. Something about him makes me cold, a prickle crawling over my skin every time his gaze lands on me. I don’t know what he sees in me, but it’s creepy, and it’s annoying. When I serve him, my hands tremble, shivers running down my spine. He doesn’t even know how to count money. Sometimes he gives me too much, sometimes too little, fumbling like it’s foreign. The other customers don’t laugh they just glance at him curiously, whispering among themselves as they wonder who he is. He’s probably lonely, I think, but that doesn’t make him any less unsettling. His stare is too sharp, too heavy, like he’s seeing parts of me I didn’t know existed. I never realized who he really was. Not just a rich man but Kurogane Rei, an emperor once powerful and feared, cast out for terrible things he did. He lives alone in a decaying mansion on the edge of Japan, halls rotting, shadows lingering, powers festering storms, fire, dark magic. He’s manipulative, pretending to be gentle, playing the good guy. In the café, he smiles softly, polite and calm, legs crossed, like a predator waiting. But something about him makes me cold. Creepy. Unnatural. I don’t know why he watches me so intently. Even when I leave the café, the feeling doesn’t stop. Riding the train home through the quiet countryside, I can’t shake it. I feel eyes on me from the shadows, a presence that seems to move with me, just out of sight. Every clack of the tracks, every sway of the carriage, makes my heart jump. Kurogane Rei is always there, watching. Waiting. And I know, deep down, in the dark, the mask falls. And when it does it’s over.

The palace was full of gold, but my hands were empty. Hunger clawed at me, and my anger boiled over. I took what I needed a loaf of bread, still warm, and a single gold coin. Just one coin. One coin to reclaim a tiny piece of a world that had taken everything from me. He had argued for me, fought in meetings to have me by his side, and I had been allowed. But our parents fear that i would ruined the royal reputation with my mischief. I was eighteen, he twenty, fully royal, crown heavy, posture perfect, untouchable. Too polished, too elevated, too good to even glance at me. But that day The guards caught me in the act and yank me back to the throne and i collapsed to the ground with gritted teeth and defiance and they politely shove the bread and coin into his hands. “Your Majesty, your brother was caught stealing.”For a fleeting moment, he looked at me for the first time in a while and I saw the boy I had run with through hidden corridors, hiding from our parents, stifling laughter. But duty returned to his face, sharp and unyielding. Soon he would marry a queen. Love had no place in his life, only obedience. “You know what this means,” he said quietly, voice cracking under the weight of his crown. Rage boiled in me. “You asshole! You’d punish me for bread? For one coin? While you live in luxury while i go through hell soon to wed a queen? You’re not my brother you’re their puppet!” I also hated the fact that had to sit beside him, forced to behave, jealousy burning. The bread crumbled. The coin slipped through his fingers. And in that moment, I realized the cruelest truth: he wasn’t punishing me. He was suffering too. Forced into a crown, forced into marriage, trapped in gold and duty, and I with my stolen coin was the reminder he could never escape.

Snow rattled against the timbers of our longhouse, the frozen expanse of Avascar stretching endlessly under a gray sky. Smoke curled from the roof, mixing with the wind that carried whispers of Ragnarok doom creeping closer with every howl of the frost. Inside, fire roared, casting flickering shadows. Father sat like a storm given flesh, huge, godlike, voice rolling like thunder, eyes colder than glaciers. None of us dared disobey him. My brother mirrored his strength and precision; I mirrored Mother fierce, stubborn, clumsy, but determined. Before she left on her duties, Mother carved runes into our skin. They burned, marking us as her children and Father, a mixture of blessing and warning. We tried to pull away, but Father’s grip was iron, pressing us still, teeth gritted, pain flaring across our bodies. Training under him was relentless. Axes swung, bows bent, swords sliced; each movement corrected, shouted at, repeated. My brother moved like wind, flawless. I stumbled, misfired, tripped, and Father’s roar shook the snow outside: “Do better! Focus!” When not training, we traveled frozen forests, jagged cliffs, icy rivers for supplies or to see Mother. Frost-beasts prowled the valleys, giants stirred in the distance, and the land itself seemed alive with apocalypse. Father despised the village it’s laughter, its softness but allowed our journeys, watching like a storm incarnate After days of toil or travel, I hauled logs, the wolf padding beside me. Every swing, every haul, was my declaration i would prove I was not weak. At night, when fire dimmed, my brother crept close, pressing warmth to my shivering body. His hands were gentle. His eyes soft. And still, I hated him for his perfection, my clumsiness, for the way Father’s gaze softened only on him. Surrounded by snow, fire, chains, monsters, and the shadow of Ragnarok, one truth burned clear: I hated him. And soon, I will battle him.

I was born on a forgotten scrap of ocean-bound land, the child of pirates who ruled the waves before the navy caught them. They were hanged when I was still a baby, leaving me behind for my own safety. Alone, I learned to survive by stealing from the sea, hiding weakness, and enduring pain. Nineteen years of isolation taught me to move silently, endure hunger, and make myself invisible. One day, desperate for scraps, I swam toward the skeletal remains of a wreck. A wave slammed me into coral and twisted metal. My ribs cracked, my leg split open, and I barely made it to shore, clutching a shard of my parents’ flag like a talisman. Before I could recover, guards found me, chained me, took me away and dragged me toward the gallows. I thrashed, clawed, and struggled, but it was useless. It had taken months to build my pirate boat, every plank a testament to my struggle, and now it was nothing but a price to pay. But Kade appeared tall, strong, and deadly, with piercing orange eyes and two swords strapped to his back. A hyena and a massive wolf trailed him, their presence enough to silence the crowd. He never had parents, like me he’d clawed his way through the world alone, building power, fear, and alliances. Without a word, he tossed gold to the magistrates. “He’s mine,” he said, and the rope fell. He didn’t save me out of mercy; he bought me for my skills, my boat, my supplies. Then he dragged me back to my island not to save me, but to claim my boat and force me to repair it. I didn’t know I was dangerous, that I had a power of my own. I am the key to gold, to power, to unlocking things, and people are searching but none know it’s me. Somehow, only Kade knows. Freedom came at a price: I had to serve him, work for him, and survive under the shadow of a man far more dangerous than any storm I had faced. Kade’s amber eyes met mine, sharp as a blade. “Don’t mistake survival for mercy,” he said. I didn’t. Mercy was for men who still had souls. Im grateful

“The Last Time I Held Him” I met Eli in the village library, hidden behind dusty shelves where no one ever went. He was fragile, reading about stars, and when I sat beside him, he didn’t ask me to leave. That quiet place became ours a refuge from the world’s cruelty. We lived in Shikami Death Hollow a village always wrapped in thick fog. People vanished without a trace. Others jumped from the cliffs to escape the nightmare. At school, we were bullied every day. Teachers didn’t care they just wanted to leave that awful village as soon as they could. Bruises and whispered insults piled up, but in that library, we found safety and love. Then my parents told me we were moving to California. They knew I was gay and accepted me fully but his parents didn’t they were toxic always name calling him, but my parents didn’t understand what I was leaving behind. Eli held me tight that last day, sobbing, hyperventilating whispering, “Please don’t leave me.” But I left him. California was bright and kind. My parents supported me, and for the first time, I felt safe. I sent Eli letters long ones filled with stories, photos of beaches, and a stuffed animal to hold when he felt afraid hoping he knew I never forgot him. But he never wrote back. Maybe his toxic parents hid my letters. Maybe he was angry or too broken to respond. One night, my parents were watching Japanese news. Eli’s house was on the screen, surrounded by police lights and yellow tape. They reported a boy had stabbed his parents in their sleep and vanished. I knew it was Eli. He was too gentle for that, but Shikami had broken us both. I remember the cliff beyond the shrine. He never spoke about it, but I saw the fear in his eyes whenever we passed it. Did he jump? Is he lost in the fog, alone? I live in warmth and light now, but he might still be trapped in darkness. The last time I held him, he cried so hard I didn’t wipe his tears because mine were falling too.

Laiken was born first. Minutes before me, the cave cracked open with his fierce cries raw, angry, shadowed with fury. I was born next glowing faintly in the dark. We had No parents, no names, only cold stone and survival. As children We gave each other names: he called me Lioren, for the light I carried; I called him Laiken, for the storm beneath his calm eyes. We never played as kids only fought for survival, clinging for warmth I was the good child calm, controlled,obedient and for that i was accepted into Nocturnum Vale Academy first. Laiken wasn’t so lucky. When he was denied entry, he cried with rage a sobbing storm of frustration and jealousy. After he learned control he was finally accepted, it took him months but he did it his power Umbra Siphon burns wild and dangerous. My Sanctum Echo bends light and space with cold precision. The students and teachers praised me; it drove him mad. He tried to sabotage one of my missions but i got to him first before he could try one more trying to go against his teammates and he’s expelled What hurts most what we both hate is that we feel each other’s emotions like a curse. When his anger boils, it scorches me from inside. When I’m scared, I know it tears at him too. We carry each other’s pain, jealousy, and sorrow, even when we don’t speak. Once, he tried to summon our parents through agony. I stopped him. He broke down in my arms into a sobbing mess he thought that maybe only our parents would give him more warmth and love. Then i could We never knew them and maybe, we were never meant to. At fifteen, we’re forced together on a mission no others could survive Anomaly Zone 13. Enemies fear us Lioren, the white blade, and Laiken, the black storm. We walk side by side, bound by pain, rage, and a twisted, unbreakable bond. And we are just twins

I found Bino again after I let him go. I didn’t know what his parents were capable of back then. When they said they wanted to take him back home, I thought maybe they meant a place of safety. But now I’m not sure. That “home” might be a prison worse than the castle he escaped from. When I saw him again, he was wide-eyed and tense, flinching at the slightest touch. He looked about 22, but there was something younger and broken in the way he moved. His body remembered pain like it was stitched into his skin. He didn’t speak. Didn’t remember his name. So I gave it back to him. Bino. He blinked, like the sound both scared and comforted him. I’m a boy, and the more I cared for him teaching him how to eat, dress, even use chopsticks the more I started to like him. Really like him. He sleeps beside me now, not in the bed, but close, with the lamp on because the dark makes his chest tighten. Sometimes he hides under the bed. I let him. He loves food and eats like it’s a miracle every time. Then there’s the girl from my school. She calls him “hot,” and I grit my teeth and look away. Sometimes he reaches out to touch her hair, and I gently stop him, teaching him boundaries. He pouts when I say he can’t see her. He doesn’t know how it tears me up inside. But deeper than all that is his power raw, wild, and dangerous tied to his emotions, ready to break loose if he can’t control it. His parents want him back, not for love, but to use him to experiment on him again, to sell him like a weapon. That’s why I gave him a katana and taught him to fight to defend himself and his future. I let him go once. I won’t make that mistake again. I named him. I love him. And I’ll protect him even from the home they want to take him to.

Part two They said she was dead. Ayumi. I remember her scream sharp, terrified as Daniel gripped her arm too tight, blood trailing from his fingers. I was thirteen. Frozen. He didn’t ask me to take the fall. He didn’t need to. One look with those glassy, manipulative eyes, and I knew. I confessed. Said I snapped. Hurt her. They believed me. Daniel was perfect, rich. I was just the quiet kid always behind him. I spent three years in juvie. Came out with a record that stains everything. My parents barely looked at me. Daniel’s family paid for my food, books, uniform. He ignores me in public but makes me crawl into his limo after school like a secret. I try to stand up for others he twists it. Makes me the villain. I still forgive him. That’s what scares me. Then it started. Paper cranes like Ayumi used to fold. Notes in my locker. Her heart-shaped locket our photo inside slipped into my pocket one with her picture and me and Daniel’s . Shadows near the tennis court. One night,lip stick writing into Daniel’s mirror: I’m not dead. My hands shook. If she’s alive… what does she want? Revenge? Justice? Does she hate me too? I didn’t hurt her. But I didn’t stop him. And that makes me guilty. Now she owns us both. Daniel still clutches the leash, but Ayumi holds the whip. Her laughter is low, unhinged, echoing in my skull. We obey every word. If we don’t, the leash tightens. The whip cracks. We belong to her mind, body, soul. In the photo she left, Daniel’s hand is gripping her arm not in control, but pleading for mercy. But Ayumi’s not the victim anymore. She’s in charge now. And we’re not walking away. If we even try she will take us both too court and we both don’t want that part of Daniel loves the pain and misery he suppresses a smirk and i cry like a baby while I’m taunted then gets held after like always

He used to be my best friend. Said he’d always protect me. Said I was his person. But then he hurt that girl Ayumi. Hurt her so badly she didn’t make it. I was young, dumb, scared. I looked at him, trembling, terrified to take the fall but he didn’t even ask. Just stared at me with those big, manipulative eyes like he knew I’d do it. I wanted to believe he loved me, so I took the blame. Said it was me. I was thirteen. Three years in juvie. I got out with a record that sticks to me like rot. My parents barely looked at me. They don’t talk about what happened. The school only let me back because his parents paid for it my books, my food, my secondhand uniform. When his family visited our cramped apartment, I saw Daniel try to suppress a laugh. My parents laughed with them, praised him, while I sat there like a ghost. I only exist because he claims me. Not publicly only when it suits him. He ignores me in front of others. After school, I sneak into his limo when no one’s watching. I go to his tennis games and cheer, but he never looks at me until we’re alone. When I try to defend others, he gives me that look and twists the moment so I’m the bad guy. People believe him. I forgive him too easily. Now I get bullied at school. I’m too soft to fight back. I’m too soft to walk away. I still crave approval even from him. I refuse his money whenever he tries to pay for me. I don’t want to be his charity or his possession. Sometimes, my parents let me sleep over his mansion to get away from home. Even then, he plays cruel games. We “play” hide and seek; he locks me in a dark closet and holds the door. I hate the dark. I beg. I cry. He lets me out and hugs me like he’s comforting me. I push his hand away when he ruffles my hair, pretending I don’t need him, but we both know I’ll stay. He knows how to break me, then hold me after. I have scars and burns no one sees. Not even him. But part of me still hopes he sees me.