Years passed, Alexander was a boy born of noble blood, yet there was something almost unnatural about his presence. With golden hair that shimmered like molten sunlight and piercing red eyes that carried the weight of something far beyond his years, he was the perfect blend of his parents—Axel's imposing aura and Lila's quiet intensity.
From the moment he took his first breath, it was as if he had already claimed the world as his own. He did not cry like other infants; he merely observed, his gaze unblinking, his tiny fingers curling around his father's as if testing his strength.
As he grew, it became clear that Alexander was not an ordinary child. He was eerily composed, never prone to tantrums or childish whims. He spoke rarely, but when he did, his words were deliberate, carefully measured. His intelligence was undeniable, but it was his awareness—his unnerving ability to read people—that unsettled even the most seasoned knights and advisors.
He was beautiful, terrifyingly so. His features were symmetrical, almost sculpted to perfection, yet his beauty did not carry warmth—it was cold, distant, like a statue of a young god who had never known mercy.
The servants feared him. They whispered about the way he moved—too silent, too graceful for a child. How his laughter, when it did come, was soft but never quite reached his eyes. And how, despite his delicate hands and youthful face, there was something predatory in the way he watched the world, as if he were always one step ahead of everyone else.
Lila saw it too. The way his crimson eyes gleamed under the candlelight, the way he tilted his head in curiosity when someone spoke, as if dissecting their every word. She recognized it—the same sharpness, the same calculating gaze she had seen in Axel when he stood before his enemies.
But Axel… Axel looked at their son with a strange sense of understanding. As if he saw something in Alexander that no one else did.
Something he, too, had once been.
As Alexander grew older, the air around him became heavier, more unsettling. He was a child, but his presence did not allow others to forget that he was also something else—something colder, something more dangerous.
His blonde hair fell in soft waves, a deceptive contrast to the sharp, calculating glint in his red eyes. The same shade of crimson that burned in Axel's gaze when he was on the battlefield, the same hue that haunted Lila in her dreams.
Even at the age of five, Alexander moved with the quiet grace of a predator, his footsteps nearly soundless as he navigated the grand halls of the palace. He was observant—too observant. He watched people as if they were pieces on a chessboard, his mind always working, always calculating.
The servants whispered about him.
"He never cries.""He never plays like other children.""Did you see the way he looked at that wounded bird? It was as if he was… studying it."
And it was true. When Alexander found a dying bird in the garden, he did not react as a child should. He did not weep, nor did he rush to save it. He simply crouched beside it, his small fingers tracing its fragile bones, his eyes unreadable.
"Why do they fear me?" he asked one day, his voice as soft as silk yet carrying an eerie weight for a child so young.
Lila hesitated, brushing his golden hair back. "They do not understand you," she answered carefully.
Alexander blinked up at her, his crimson gaze unwavering. "Do you?"
Lila couldn't answer right away. Because the truth was, she wasn't sure.
One evening, as Lila was brushing his hair, Alexander tilted his head and asked in a soft, curious voice, "Mother, do you think people feel fear before they die?"
Lila's hand froze mid-stroke. "Why would you ask such a thing?"
Alexander met her gaze through the mirror, his crimson eyes gleaming under the candlelight. "I was just wondering… because when people beg, they all sound the same."
A cold chill ran down her spine.
She turned him to face her, holding his small shoulders firmly. "Alexander, listen to me. Life is precious. We do not take it lightly."
He blinked up at her, expression unreadable, then smiled. "Of course, Mother."
But somehow, Lila felt as if he had simply humored her, like a cat toying with a mouse before the inevitable.
As the years passed, the whispers of missing children spread like wildfire through the village. One by one, they vanished without a trace—no signs of struggle, no ransom notes, just empty beds and grieving families left in despair.
The rumors grew darker with each passing day. Some claimed a beast lurked in the woods, snatching the weak under the cover of night. Others whispered of a secret organization stealing children for unknown purposes. But none dared to speak of the most unsettling suspicion—the one that gnawed at the hearts of the villagers, the one they feared acknowledging.
It all began when Alexander turned twelve.
Lila heard the murmurs from the maids, the tremors in their voices as they spoke in hushed tones.
"The Duke's son… he doesn't have friends, does he?"
"No, he never plays with the other children."
"But I heard… I heard he watches them."
"Don't say such things! He is the heir to the house!"
"But what if it's true? What if he—"
Lila silenced them with a single glance, her expression unreadable. But the unease settled deep in her chest, coiling like a serpent around her ribs.
Then, one evening, she found Alexander standing in the moonlit courtyard, his golden hair gleaming under the pale light. His crimson eyes were locked onto something in his hands. Something small. Something unmoving.
"Alexander," she called, her voice firm yet laced with an edge of worry.
He turned slowly, his grip tightening on the fabric in his hands. It was a child's scarf, smeared with dirt and something darker. Something red.
Lila felt her breath hitch. "Where did you get that?"
Alexander tilted his head, his expression calm, detached. "It was given to me."
"By whom?"
A pause. Then, the faintest smile curled on his lips. "A friend."
Lila's blood ran cold.