Chapter 1

Memories are born from the events our minds choose to preserve. Some fade within seconds, while others remain vivid even after decades have passed.

Slender fingers brushed lightly across an old photograph resting on a desk in the basement.

Pun Winnala couldn't sleep.

Less than an hour ago, he had awakened from a familiar dream. Unable to return to bed, he found himself wandering downstairs to the place where he had spent countless nights searching for answers that never seemed to come.

The long wooden table in the center of the room was covered with dozens of photographs. Newspaper clippings, computer printouts, handwritten notes, and stacks of documents lay scattered across its surface. Though different in appearance, every piece of information pointed toward the same mystery.

Pun had a reason for paying close attention to them.

The truth buried within his memories had remained out of reach for years, yet he had never forgotten it. Sometimes, those memories followed him into his dreams, dragging him awake in the middle of the night—just like today.

His light-brown eyes drifted away from the photograph as he rubbed his face with both hands.

He was exhausted.

He should have been resting before the start of a new day, yet he had been awake nearly two hours before his alarm was due to ring. No matter how hard he tried, sleep refused to return.

"Sigh..."

Even after staring at the information until his vision blurred, he found no answers.

Nothing.

No new clues.

No new leads.

Lately, it seemed as though whatever lurked within the shadows had noticed it was being watched and had chosen to remain hidden, waiting for everything to settle before emerging once more.

With nothing else to do and plenty of time before work, Pun allowed his gaze to wander around the basement.

The space was enormous, nearly the size of a small house. Every corner was packed with items he had collected over the years. Some were antiques, some were secondhand furniture, and others were objects he had bought intending to resell later.

Many of them had been forgotten.

One day, he had promised himself he would organize everything.

Perhaps that day had finally arrived.

Leaving the desk behind, Pun ventured deeper into the storage area.

Boxes and furniture were piled so high that they nearly blocked the narrow pathways between them. Though he sold dozens of items from his shop every day, the empty spaces were always filled by new inventory from the rear storage room rather than the older items buried in the basement.

CRASH!!

His foot caught on a carelessly placed object.

Pun stumbled forward, nearly falling as a thick cloud of dust exploded into the air.

"Cough—!"

Quickly lifting the hem of his favorite T-shirt to cover his nose, he waved away the dust before making his way toward the back of the room.

A click echoed through the basement as he flipped on the light switch.

The dim storage area brightened instantly, revealing rows of wooden furniture packed from floor to ceiling.

"I just need to make enough room to walk."

Pun rolled up his sleeves and grinned.

"Cheer up, Pun!"

Armed with cleaning supplies, he got to work.

Dust coated every surface, some layers nearly a centimeter thick. He brushed it away from old cabinets, tables, and chairs while checking whether each item was still worth keeping.

A sturdy wicker chair caught his attention.

After inspecting it, he quickly dragged it out from the back and set it aside to be moved upstairs later.

What had started as a simple cleanup was rapidly becoming a much bigger task.

The morning continued to slip away.

As Pun moved from one object to another, he realized just how many forgotten items had accumulated over the years.

There was no way he could sort through everything in a single day.

Still, he continued working, selecting only the items that caught his attention while his hands moved tirelessly from one task to the next.

Unaware that among the countless forgotten objects hidden within the basement, something important had been waiting for him all along.

With his foot, Pun nudged a flower pot out of the way before shifting several boxes aside to create enough space for a cabinet nearly as tall as himself. Bracing his feet against the floor, he pushed the heavy wooden furniture that blocked the path, slowly maneuvering it into an empty corner against the wall.

"Sigh..."

The sound of the clock echoed faintly through the basement, announcing that it was finally time to get ready for the day. At the same moment, Pun finished his improvised cleanup and leaned against the cabinet, breathing heavily as though he had spent the morning running laps around a park.

Using the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Damp strands of hair clung to his skin as he lifted his head and surveyed the basement.

Compared to the chaotic mess it had been earlier, the room now looked considerably better. There was finally enough space to walk without tripping over piles of forgotten items.

A small smile appeared on his face.

"Very well done."

Pun gently patted himself on the head as a reward.

After admiring his hard work for a few moments, he made his way back toward the far side of the basement. One by one, he switched off the lights that had illuminated the storage area throughout the morning.

Darkness gradually reclaimed the room.

Only the lamp above his work desk remained lit.

The warm glow illuminated the scattered documents covering one side of the table. Pun gathered the papers together, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything important. After a final glance around the basement, he nodded to himself in satisfaction.

Everything could wait until later.

He climbed the stairs leading upstairs and reached for the final switch.

Click.

The last light disappeared.

Instantly, the basement became darker than the night itself.

Silence settled over the room.

The space remained completely still after its owner departed. No wind slipped through the walls. No floorboard creaked. No sound disturbed the darkness.

Everything appeared lifeless.

Yet deep within the bottom drawer of the work desk, hidden behind the narrow gap of aged wood, a faint crimson glow slowly emerged.

A thin line of red light shone through the darkness.

As if something hidden there had finally awakened.

Or perhaps...

It had been waiting all along.

PUN WINNALA

Chapter 2

Night stretched across the sky, swallowing the world in darkness. Yet the large moon remained visible, hanging high above and casting its silver glow over everything beneath it. No stars appeared in the heavens tonight, leaving the moon alone to illuminate the endless darkness.

Soft orange light filtered through the curtains and fell across a modest bedroom.

Although no lamps were lit, the moonlight was bright enough to reveal a slender figure curled beneath a thick white blanket.

Two small hands wrapped around his body, seeking warmth from the chill of the air conditioner. His pale cheek rested against a favorite pillow while his body shifted occasionally in his sleep.

Everything appeared normal.

As it always did.

But no one could know what was happening deep within his dreams.

That night, sleep carried Pun Winnala into another familiar story—a dream that had repeated itself countless times.

A dream of a mysterious man.

A man who wore a deep-red pendant, a color as vivid as fresh blood.

Sweat dampened Pun's face as he gripped the bedsheets tightly.

The image before him was painfully clear.

A young man with a strong, bare back sat beside him. His face rested against one hand while his thin lips remained pressed together, as though enduring some hidden pain.

Pun's light-brown eyes filled with tears.

The dream felt so real that it was impossible to believe it existed only within his mind.

His trembling fingers reached out, gently brushing against the pale face of the mysterious stranger.

Dark eyes met his.

Eyes as black as the night itself.

His heart pounded wildly.

Tears clung to his lashes before rolling down his flushed cheeks.

He desperately tried to memorize the man's face, afraid it would disappear the moment he woke.

Yet the little control he possessed vanished when the stranger leaned closer.

A cold hand cupped his face.

Then soft lips claimed his own.

The kiss was icy.

Gentle.

Dangerously addictive.

Pun's consciousness slowly faded beneath the touch.

The stranger's tongue traced his lips before deepening the kiss, stealing every breath and every thought until Pun could no longer distinguish reality from fantasy.

The sensation was overwhelming.

His heart surrendered completely.

He didn't know whether what he was experiencing was merely a dream or something far more mysterious.

All he knew was the taste.

The coldness.

The longing.

And the strange feeling that he never wanted it to end.

Then the darkness faded.

Phew!!!

The sharp sound of an alarm clock shattered the silence.

Pun's eyes flew open.

Startled awake, he sat upright in bed and buried his face in both hands.

Despite falling asleep before nine o'clock the previous night, he still felt exhausted.

His fingers reached for the expensive phone resting on the nightstand and silenced the alarm.

7:00 a.m.

Outside, the sounds of traffic were already beginning to fill the city as another busy morning approached.

For nearly twenty minutes, Pun remained sprawled across the mattress.

Laziness clung to his body.

Or perhaps it was the dream.

Again.

It wasn't the first time he had dreamed of the mysterious pale man.

He had lost count of how many times those dark eyes and cold lips had appeared in his sleep.

Every dream felt different.

Yet every dream ended the same way.

Leaving him unable to forget.

Even now, the memory of the kiss lingered.

The icy touch.

The scent that surrounded him.

The warmth hidden beneath those dark eyes.

And the face he could never quite remember.

It was like an old oil painting buried in the deepest corner of a forgotten house.

Familiar.

Yet always just out of reach.

Eventually, Pun forced himself out of bed.

His bare feet touched the cold floor as he crossed the room toward the bathroom.

Stopping before the mirror, he stared at his reflection.

"Phew..."

He splashed water onto his face.

"Stop overthinking and get to work, Pun."

His hoarse voice echoed softly through the bathroom.

The dream would have to wait.

By the time he finally escaped the comfort of his bed, it was already close to seven-thirty.

If he continued wasting time, he would be late.

Fortunately, preparing the shop didn't take long.

Everything had been neatly arranged before closing the previous evening.

The folding doors opened wide, welcoming collectors and antique enthusiasts from all over the city.

Pun grabbed a damp cloth and began wiping dust from shelves and display cabinets.

His plans for the day were simple.

Sort the items brought up from storage.

Arrange new displays.

Prepare sold items for collection.

The amount of inventory waiting in storage seemed endless.

Pun lived alone.

The second floor served as his private living space, while the ground floor had long since become an antique shop filled with treasures he had gathered from countless places.

The workload often felt too large for one person.

Still, he had grown accustomed to handling everything himself.

Perhaps because he had been alone for so long.

After the death of his parents, life had changed completely.

His younger brother had been adopted by a family capable of providing a better future, while Pun remained behind to manage the antique shop his family had left him.

Day after day.

Year after year.

"Hmm..."

He paused while sorting through another box.

"I don't remember seeing this wooden box before."

His gaze shifted to an old book resting inside.

"And where did this come from?"

Dust coated the cover.

Brushing it away with the back of his hand, he frowned at the unfamiliar lettering stamped across its surface.

Curious, he took out his phone and snapped a picture before running it through a translation application.

"Aeternaliter..."

The result appeared moments later.

"Eternally."

Pun blinked.

The title immediately caught his attention.

Although books weren't usually among his interests, something about this one felt different.

Without hesitation, he set it aside.

Rather than placing it on the shelves for sale, he carried it to his desk.

Even if he couldn't read a single page, he wanted to keep it.

For some reason, it felt important.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity.

Pun climbed up and down the stairs dozens of times.

Furniture was moved.

Displays were rearranged.

Customers came and went.

Items found new owners.

The sandwich delivered that morning remained untouched until late afternoon.

Only then did he finally sit down in his favorite wooden chair and take a bite while examining the shop's arrangement.

His phone rested nearby as he checked messages from online customers.

Questions continued arriving.

Orders continued appearing.

Work never seemed to end.

Still, being busy was better than being alone.

Nearly an hour later, while uploading photos of products and responding to messages, his phone suddenly rang.

The caller ID displayed a familiar name.

Jett.

Pun answered immediately.

"What's happening?"

"I have a job for you."

"Aren't you going to ask if I'm free first?"

"It doesn't matter if you're free. You have to do it."

A smile tugged at Pun's lips.

Jett was one of the few close friends he had.

Although his tone sounded demanding, Pun knew better.

If it wasn't important, Jett would never ask for help like this.

"What do you need?"

Silence.

Pun pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure the call hadn't disconnected.

"Hello?"

"A painting in my gallery was damaged by some unknown brat."

"Hmm?"

"It's important. I need you to take a look at it and arrange for restoration."

"Isn't the gallery supposed to be closed for renovations?"

"That's exactly why I'm telling you some unknown brat ruined it."

In addition to his entertainment business, Jett also owned an art gallery.

Pun had never visited it.

The place had been closed for quite some time, and Jett never explained why.

Personally, Pun suspected his friend spent far more time enjoying nightlife than managing artwork.

Chapter 3

"Is there a hurry?"

"No, but come pick up the painting first."

"And you're saying there's no hurry?"

"You can collect it after closing your shop. I'll have Elise wait for you."

"Okay. Send me the location."

The call ended without so much as a goodbye.

A moment later, Pun's phone vibrated with a message from the very person who had just disrupted his evening plans. Opening it, he found the location Jett had sent—a place nearly forty minutes outside the capital, hidden along a rural road often used as a shortcut out of the province.

Pun Winnala glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen.

Less than an hour remained before closing time.

Deciding there was no point starting anything new, he shut down the computer in front of him. He gathered the scattered documents on his desk and dropped them into a small basket before rising from his chair.

The tall, slender man stretched until his joints cracked loudly.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply as he clasped his hands above his head. Then he slowly lowered them while exhaling, trying to clear his mind after staring at screens and paperwork for most of the day.

The sign outside was flipped to CLOSED.

He secured the door latch and checked it twice before peering through the large front window to make sure he hadn't forgotten to switch off any lights.

Satisfied, Pun headed toward the car parked beside the building.

He had originally planned to continue organizing the shop after closing, but if he delayed any longer, he would reach Jett's gallery after sunset.

The engine started with a low rumble.

His hand shifted the gear into reverse as he backed out of the parking space and followed the route displayed on his phone's GPS.

Forty minutes.

Assuming he didn't get lost.

Thankfully, the destination wasn't in the city center. Otherwise, he would have spent another hour trapped in traffic with aching legs and a growing headache.

The drive was surprisingly peaceful.

The scenery gradually shifted from busy streets to quieter roads lined with trees and open fields.

Pun hummed softly along with the music playing through the speakers.

As the car approached the final turn before reaching its destination, a familiar song filled the cabin.

Wise men say...

Only fools rush in...

A smile tugged at his lips.

Pun had always loved old songs.

Perhaps it was because he owned an antique shop.

Most of his playlists consisted of music from decades ago.

But I can't help...

Falling in love with you...

His fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel in rhythm with the melody.

Less than two hundred meters remained before he reached the destination marked on the GPS.

Ahead stood a gallery hidden behind an overgrown garden.

His foot pressed gently against the brake pedal as an iron gate decorated with curling vines came into view.

The gate stood wide open.

But there was no sign of Elise waiting for him.

Pun pulled his phone from the dashboard holder and searched through his recent calls before dialing Jett.

The call connected almost immediately.

"Hi, Jett."

"If you're already here, just go inside."

"Where's Elise?"

"She's around somewhere. The painting is on the second floor. You'll see it."

"Alright."

The call ended.

Again, without a goodbye.

Pun shook his head.

He should have been used to Jett's impulsive personality by now.

After turning off the engine, he stepped out of the car and approached the neglected gallery.

Technically, the sun hadn't set yet.

But with winter approaching, daylight seemed eager to leave earlier each evening.

Golden light stretched across the horizon, preparing to disappear.

His white sneakers clicked softly against the marble pathway leading toward the building.

The wall to his right was decorated with intricate Gothic carvings.

There was something strangely captivating about the place.

The silence.

The neglect.

The feeling that every corner concealed a forgotten story.

Pun's light-brown eyes wandered across the surroundings with growing curiosity.

Then he stopped.

At the center of the overgrown garden stood an unusual sculpture.

Large trees and creeping vines nearly concealed it from view.

The statue resembled a crucified figure.

Yet unlike any depiction of Jesus he had ever seen, this one possessed wings and was wrapped in coils of barbed wire.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

A crow suddenly burst from a nearby bush.

Pun jumped slightly.

The sharp cries pulled him back to reality just as the clock struck six in the evening.

The familiar time signal reminded him why he had come.

Without further delay, he hurried toward the gallery.

The building's architecture reflected a strange blend of Roman and Islamic influences.

Each footstep echoed through the empty halls.

It didn't take long before he reached the second floor.

"Is it on the ground?"

"Take a look around."

Since there was no guide and he wasn't familiar with the layout, Pun simply followed the nearest corridor.

Fortunately, luck seemed to be on his side.

Only a short distance from the staircase, he spotted a large Rococo-style frame lying on the floor.

He crouched beside it to inspect the damage.

The glass had shattered.

The frame was cracked.

And worse, the painting itself appeared to have suffered damage from the broken shards.

A plaque mounted on the nearby wall identified the artwork.

The Vampire of Greenmoore

Pun opened his messenger bag and removed several restoration tools.

Carefully, he began brushing away dust, cobwebs, and debris that obscured the painting's surface.

As the dirt gradually disappeared, the image beneath became clearer.

And with every passing second, Pun's curiosity grew stronger.

A young man stared back from the canvas.

Pun frowned.

His heart began beating faster.

For some reason, the face seemed familiar.

The sensation became so overwhelming that he unconsciously exhaled through parted lips.

One by one, he removed the remaining shards of glass.

A pale face.

Thin lips.

Features that seemed strangely familiar.

Then—

Black eyes.

Eyes so dark they seemed capable of swallowing everything around them.

Pun froze.

His gaze remained locked on the portrait.

A strange fascination seized him.

The painted figure appeared bound in chains, yet there was something hypnotic about his expression.

Something impossible to ignore.

"W-Why...?"

Pun swallowed hard.

He couldn't understand it.

There was no logical explanation.

Yet the man in the painting looked remarkably similar to the mysterious stranger who appeared in his dreams night after night.

The image in his dreams had always been blurry.

But those sculpted features...

Those eyes...

He remembered them.

His hands began trembling.

The cleaning brush slipped from his grasp and landed against the frame.

The sound jolted him back to reality.

Still shaken, he reached down to retrieve it.

In his distraction, his finger brushed against a jagged piece of broken glass.

"Oh!"

Pain shot through his fingertip.

He quickly lifted his hand and examined the small cut.

Fortunately, he always carried bandages with him.

As a bright red drop of blood formed at the wound, Pun reached into his bag with his other hand, searching for a Band-Aid.

Completely unaware of what was about to happen.