The Vampire's Cradle

The Vampire's heart

Chapter 4: A New Beginning

"We're going to stay here for a while you're like that. I cannot let you near humans unless I want a killing spree," he said, his voice steady amid the rustling leaves of the forest surrounding us.

His home—my refuge—nestled deep in the wilderness, a remnant of a time when I desperately longed for an escape. It was a quaint house, weathered but inviting, surrounded by tall pine trees that stood as silent sentinels. Yet, the serenity of nature belied the tempest that raged within me. For ten long years, I had embraced the torment of my new existence as a vampire.

In those early years, my instructor had guided me into the art of hunting. I captured and drained the blood of every creature I encountered in the forest, the taste of animal blood becoming a necessary substitute for the human flesh I craved. At first, the thrill was intoxicating, a surge of power coursing through me with each kill. But as the moon cycled through its phases and the nights extended into years, my desperation for human blood grew unbearable. Each thought of bloodshed brought back the horror of my first kill, the name of my friend echoing in my mind, reminding me of the irreversible damage I had caused. The memory was a dark stain that dulled my appetite, a reminder that if I surrendered to the seductive pull of human blood, I could lose myself completely.

And so, I remained within the confines of this forest for another thirty years, confined not by the physical barriers of the wilderness but by the shackles of my own consciousness. He, my mentor and savior, ventured back to town each day, maintaining the façade of a human existence as the CEO of a powerful company. His visits every weekend were a mixture of comfort and duty, bringing supplies that sustained and connected me to a world I no longer understood: clothes, shoes, and, for a spell, human food that he insisted I practice eating to prepare for the inevitable return to society.

It was a strange reality, learning to chew bread and swallow without gagging on the foreign sensations of human sustenance. But it was essential, for he had plans. We would soon be migrating to South Korea, where he could take on a new identity—this time as a lawyer, shedding one life to embrace another. It was necessary; we could not remain in one place for too long. After all, with an unchanged face and youthful appearance, I would always stand out among mortals.

End of Flashback

The memories of my past lingered as I stood atop a tall building in the sprawling city of Seoul, a mélange of history and modernity fused together. The sun dipped below the skyline, painting the sky with hues of violet and gold. "Woo Bin, we'll look for a school tomorrow," he said, breaking my introspection.

"Yes, father," I replied, a hint of pride in my voice. It was a title I had grown fond of, and he had slowly become a father figure to me over the years. We had registered our names legally, and he became Kim Min-Jun, a fresh identity under which we would navigate the complexities of human interaction.

Min-Jun, with his infinite kindness, had sacrificed much for my sake, relinquishing the high-profile life of a CEO for the simplicity of being a lawyer. That would allow him to blend in better with the world while giving me the chance to integrate into society once more. Vampires, like us, could adapt and learn at an incredible rate, but the human experience was fraught with nuances that required time—a luxury I had long forfeited.

And so, I found myself living in a lone condominium near my new school, a space both alien and oddly comforting. Solitude wrapped around me like a shroud, but it was necessary. Min-Jun preferred this arrangement; he visited often, checking on me, but he knew that I had to learn to be independent. Each weekend, we would resume the ritual of hunting, though now it was more for sport than necessity. I still drank animal blood to maintain my strength; it was a necessity for any vampire—"my booster," as I liked to call it.

The real test awaited me: the first day of school as a transferee. It had been decades since I set foot in any educational institution, and with every passing moment, a sense of dread coiled tightly around my chest. I had studied the intricacies of human behavior from afar, but now I would have to engage with peers who were blissfully unaware of the shadow lurking beneath my surface.

On that fateful day, as I navigated the hallways filled with chatter and laughter, I felt an instinctual urge to blend in, to be invisible. But fate had other plans. Just as I turned a corner, I collided with someone, sending my books tumbling to the ground.

Startled, I looked up to meet the gaze of a girl with sharp, piercing eyes. For a brief moment, I saw fire and intensity reflected back at me. She regarded me as if I were some sort of puzzle to be solved, her expression a mixture of curiosity and defiance. We stood there for a heartbeat longer than necessary before she entered the classroom with a smirk that sent a shiver down my spine.

The teacher—a kindly older woman—motioned for me to join her. "Class, this is our new student, Woo Bin," she announced, her voice warm despite the awkwardness of the moment. As I took my place at the front, I could feel the weight of dozens of eyes drilling into me, each pair filled with curiosity, judgment, and something that felt distinctly predatory.

There was something utterly fascinating about the balance of power in this classroom dynamic. Every girl looked at me as if I were a prize to be won, their glances lingering a bit too long. However, my enigmatic classmate—the one with the sharp gaze—watched me with a sense of challenge, as though she could see beyond the facade.

I chose to sit beside her, hoping to learn more about this social landscape I was now entangled in. To my surprise, she didn't even glance in my direction. What was I expecting? A gleeful greeting? As I glanced at her profile, I found myself lost in thought until her eyes met mine with an annoyed twist of her brow.

That was when I realized how unsettled I felt, bordering on vulnerable. A classmate behind me broke the moment by kicking my chair, a mockery of intent designed to intimidate. It was nothing more than typical teenage bravado, yet for me, it felt all too alien and unsettling.

As the bell signaled the beginning of the break, two classmates approached me with an air of bravado, their confidence unearned and misplaced. My mind raced with questions regarding their intent. Would they frighten me? Is that what they thought? But rather than instill fear, it only bored me.

"Hey, you! Newbie!" one of them yelled, trying to project an image of toughness. Their antics were predictable, a tired routine I'd seen play out countless times in my recollections of humanity.

Nothing had changed in sixty years—the euphoric rush of human youth revolved around the simplest of games: intimidation, laughter, and camaraderie built on pranks. Only this time, their rude performance had a technological twist; their smartphones glinted under the fluorescent lighting, capturing every moment for social media.

When one of them grabbed my collar, forcing me to my feet, I realized I had to maintain my composure. My heart raced, but I was no longer the terrified child I had been years prior. The sheer weight of my existence anchored me, reminding me of the intellect and power raced through my veins.

He slammed me against the wall, the impact jarring but harmless for someone like me. I remained calm in the face of this hostility, the blood pounding in my ears. Their laughter echoed around me like a chorus of uncertainty.

In that moment, I heard a scream—a sudden, piercing cry reverberating through the steady laughter surrounding us. It cut through the tension, startling everyone including myself. I turned, my instincts heightened, leaving me on the precipice of action. What I hadn't anticipated was that I was standing at the edge of an entirely new chapter—one where the blend of my past life and the human experience would coalesce into something altogether more complex and potent.

Something in the air shifted, and I was aware, suddenly, that the mask I wore to hide my true self had begun to slip. I was Woo Bin, a vampire in a world of humans, a blank canvas against a backdrop of intricate and unpredictable colors. With each laugh and each taunt, the threads of my existence were pulled tight, weaving a narrative I could not yet comprehend. But I knew one thing: I was not done fighting. Not yet.