Chapter Text
"Are you okay finishing up the day on your own, my darling?"
The gentle lilt of his mother's voice drifted across the shop, pulling Seonghwa from his concentration as he arranged the display counter. He placed the last wildflower into its vase, adjusting the stem until it sat just right, before turning toward her. Park Soonja stood a few steps away, graying hair swept back and deep brown eyes soft enough to calm anyone. She had her hands buried in the rich soil of the hydrangea she was repotting, her attention diverted to her son across the parlor. The energy she radiated was a balm to his nerves, always managing to keep him calm.
Seonghwa knew how fortunate he was to have grown up with that kind of tenderness; too many people he'd met carried stories of homes filled with shouting instead of nurturing. "Yes, I think so," he murmured with a small nod, the corners of his mouth lifting just as his father, Park Seonghoon, emerged from the storage room behind the register. Seonghwa slipped off his gloves, folded them neatly, and tucked them into his apron pocket. "Are we still having dinner this Saturday?" He brushed soil from his apron, the flakes drifting to the floor to be swept up later. Even though he'd been living on his own for six years — he was twenty-six now — his parents insisted on weekly family dinners to keep their bond rooted and thriving. "And by Saturday, I guess I mean tomorrow, since today's Friday…" His voice trailed as his attention flicked back to the wildflowers, fingers automatically nudging a sunny yellow bloom into a better position.
The flower shop, Moonlit Blossoms, had always been a haven for people from every corner of the city — magical and non-magical alike. With the rise of supernatural communities — vampires, witches of every specialty — the shop's variety had become essential. They carried enchanted herbs, mundane plants, ingredients for healing and cooking, and their most popular offering: moonflowers enchanted to bloom even under the sun. Humans adored them, drawn to the calming energy they radiated; without magic of their own, they felt the effects more strongly. Seonghwa had grown up in this very parlor. As a toddler, he had toddled after his father among the rugged plants. When he was eight, he gravitated toward his mother's gentler craft, learning how to coax life into thriving harmony. At thirteen, his first magical awakening had pulsed through him — a soft thrumming deep in his core.
Through his adolescence and into adulthood, he had apprenticed under his mother, strengthening his bond with night magic. The moon's fullness always amplified his abilities, filling him with a serene, luminous energy. Healing came easiest then, moonlight spilling through the windows and settling over him like a blessing. He loved the night — the quiet, the stillness, the sense of breathing more freely when the world dimmed. Closing the shop at 10PM never bothered him; if anything, he preferred the solitude of tending to the plants alone. His mother's eyes crinkled as she shot him a playful look. "The answer is always yes to that question, my star. It's been 'yes' since you moved out at twenty. It'll be 'yes' when you're thirty. And forty. And —"
"He gets the point, dear," his father cut in, though the sternness in his voice was softened by the smile lines etched into his face. Seonghoon pointed at Seonghwa in mock warning. "Don't be late this time. This —" he gestured around the shop, "— will still be here even if you leave it for the night. Close up early like you're supposed to. Last week was a bit much." The shop only closed early once a week — Saturday — for their family dinners. Before Seonghwa moved out, they stayed open until 10PM every night. But once he left home, his parents insisted on carving out a dedicated evening to be together not as co-owners and their employee, but as mother, father, and son. "I know the situation was intense —"
"Last week was a mess," Seonghwa cut in, grimacing at the memory. "I don't think anyone could've handled that situation." A non-magical couple had wandered in about half an hour before closing, and what followed — an argument that erupted out of nowhere — had left him frozen. He couldn't safely intervene, couldn't close the shop with them still inside, and certainly couldn't wedge himself between them to ask them to leave. The woman had flinched at every sharp movement the man made, and Seonghwa had noticed the fading bruises she tried to hide beneath her sweater. He could only imagine the ones he couldn't see. Seonghwa wasn't a fighter — never had been — so, as awful as it felt to stand off to the side, trying and failing to talk the couple down, he knew the safest choice was to wait for law enforcement. By the time the officers arrived and de-escalated the situation, it was already 6:30PM. They took his brief witness statement, and he made sure to mention the fading bruises he'd noticed on the woman's arms and the fresher ones she tried to hide — he may not have been able to directly help the woman, but he could point the officers in the right direction.
Only once everyone had finally cleared out did the shop feel like his again. It still took him nearly ten minutes to steady himself and calm the rising panic that had been building within him. The lingering negativity clung to the air like smoke, tightening his chest until he forced himself to breathe through it. When he finally managed to clear his head enough to finish closing, the clock read 7:10PM. Another half hour passed before he reached his childhood home, where his worried mother and very irritated — though clearly concerned — father met him at the door. Their questions came rapid-fire until he explained what had happened. Understanding replaced their frustration, but the worry never fully left their eyes.
"Sometimes I forget how violent non-magicals can be when they put their minds to it," Seonghwa murmured, glancing toward his mother. "I don't think my magic would've let me intervene safely anyway. We only deal with healing and growth. I wouldn't have been much use in a physical conflict like that." His gaze shifted to his father, his expression softening with a tired sigh. "I'll be there tomorrow. I promise." He lifted his phone in a small gesture. "I'll call if anything changes, mmkay?" The front door chimed as a pair of customers wandered in, drifting toward the herbs and medicinal plants. Seonghwa greeted them with the same gentle warmth he offered everyone, then turned back to his parents. "I'll see you both tomorrow." Several minutes later, after repeating his promise to call if anything delayed him, he watched them depart.
As the door shut behind his parents and Seonghwa was left alone with the pair of customers, an odd prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck. He reached up to scratch absently at the nape of his neck, brushing off the feeling as nothing more than a random itch. With a quiet exhale, he returned to the table he'd been arranging. In the far corner of the shop, the two customers who had entered moments earlier paused in their browsing.
The taller one — a man with pitch-black hair and tanned skin marked by tattoos and scars peeking from beneath a business-casual suit — had kept his gaze fixed on Soonja during the tail end of the conversation they had intruded upon. He had pulled out his phone, tapped out a quick message, then shifted his attention to Seonghwa once he was left alone. The second figure, shorter with dark brown hair and a face mapped with old scars, let his eyes drift toward the front door. His head tilted slightly, but he said nothing.
When Seonghwa turned back to his work, the taller man snapped his gaze away — only for it to slowly return to the florist moments later. Their silent, uneasy dance stretched on, tension threading through the quiet shop, until the stillness finally broke.
"I'm sorry, but if you aren't going to purchase anything, I need to ask you to leave," Seonghwa called from the succulent rack he was tending. He had felt the burn of eyes following him around the shop. He kept his tone polite, but there was a firmer edge beneath it. The prickling sensation from earlier hadn't faded — in fact, it had sharpened. He turned just enough to glance over his shoulder, confirming what his instincts had already told him: both men were watching him. Not casually. Not curiously. Watching. Studying. "You're welcome to stay a little longer if you intend to purchase something," he added, forcing a small smile as he faced them fully. "Just don't take too long to decide. The shop closes in twenty minutes." His instincts screamed at him to run the longer he looked at the pair.
Something was wrong — deeply wrong — and the pressure building in his chest only grew heavier, a dull ache building deep in his core. A memory flickered at the edge of his mind, something his mother had once told him about magic and danger, but he pushed it aside.
Later. He could unpack it later. Right now, he needed to stay composed.
The taller man's attention snapped to Seonghwa when they were addressed, lips parting in mild surprise, a glint of something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "My apologies," he said, voice smooth as velvet. "We were simply admiring the lovely work you've done here. I suppose time slipped away from us." He tilted his head, studying Seonghwa with an intensity that made the florist's skin prickle. For a heartbeat, the man's gaze felt predatory — sharp, assessing — but the moment passed, leaving only a lingering stare. "We'll have to return another day, won't we?" he murmured, glancing toward his companion.
The shorter man's smile was barely a twitch at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, absolutely. It would be a nice treat, yes?" For a split second, his eyes flashed a deep, wine-dark crimson — so quick Seonghwa almost doubted he'd seen it. Almost. His voice wasn't as silky as the first man's, but it carried a resonant hum that demanded attention. Alarm bells clanged in Seonghwa's mind and his magic twitched beneath his skin, erratic and unsettled.
Something was wrong. Very wrong. A dull ache bloomed in the center of Seonghwa's abdomen, and he pressed a hand there as subtly as he could, trying not to grimace.
"Come," the shorter man said lightly, gesturing for the taller one to follow. "We mustn't take up this poor soul's time. We're clearly impeding his work." He cast one last look at Seonghwa, that faint smile returning with a hint of amusement — as if he'd made a joke only he understood. If Seonghwa looked close enough, he could have sworn he saw an insignia of sorts on the collar of his jacket, but it was quickly out of view. "Goodbye for now, my young friend." His voice drifted like a breeze as the pair stepped through the doorway and disappeared into the night.
Seonghwa could do nothing but offer the pair an uneasy smile and a polite bow as they slipped out into the night, leaving the shop abruptly, unnervingly quiet. It took several painfully long moments before he could even move. The ache in his abdomen didn't fade with their departure — if anything, it deepened, stretching upward toward his ribs in a slow, creeping burn. A cold sweat gathered along his hairline and the back of his neck as he forced himself toward the front windows, flipping the sign from OPEN to CLOSED with trembling fingers. The lights outside the door clicked off with a soft hum when he flicked the switch. His palm drifted to his sternum, rubbing absently at the growing pressure there as he gathered his bag and stepped out into the night air.
Locking the door behind him felt like moving through water — slow, heavy, disoriented. Outside, he tilted his head back to gaze up at the sky. It was overcast, but the moon still glowed faintly through the breaks in the clouds, shedding its serene energy upon the land below. The cool night air brushed over his skin, soothing the restless energy knotted inside him for a fleeting moment.
But the relief didn't last.
As Seonghwa started down the familiar path home, the tension inside him abruptly pulled taut, as if something within him was straining against its own boundaries. His steps faltered and a shuddering gasp tore from his throat. The fifteen-minute walk was usually a comfort — time to unwind, to reflect — but tonight his thoughts scattered like startled birds. "Something is definitely wrong…" he muttered through pained gasps, stopping beneath a streetlamp. His heart hammered, a growing hysteria resonating within him from the center of his magical core. He needed to stay calm, but he didn't know what was happening. He pressed a hand to the cold metal pole, leaning into it as he tried to steady his breathing. "Breathe, Seonghwa…" he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. He needed his mother. She would know what this was. She always knew.
He pushed himself upright, turning toward the direction of his parents' home. But the moment he took a step, the ache in his chest exploded — sharp, blinding, catastrophic. If he had to quantify it, he would say no scale could ever properly measure it. It was not a pain he would wish on anyone.
His knees buckled under him as he began to curl in on himself. The pavement scraped his palms as he collapsed forward, a raw, agonized wail faintly audible to his discombobulated awareness. He wouldn't realize he had been the one screaming until later, when he felt how raw and scratched his throat was.
Through the pain, a deeper horror struck him cold as his magic seemed to circulate around the affected area within him. The bond he'd shared with his parents since his first magical awakening — steady, warm, ever-present — was gone. Shattered.
Magical families were different from non-magical families. Their bonds weren't just emotional — they were woven with magic itself, forming attachments far stronger than anything non-magical households could experience. Not better, not more meaningful, but undeniably deeper. When magic threaded through a family line, even the non-magical members were pulled into that connection. They could sense danger, pain, fear — anything that threatened one of their own. And the bond Seonghwa shared with his parents had always been the strongest thing he'd ever known.
The memory that had tried to resurface earlier slammed to the forefront of Seonghwa's mind and he was too weak to force it back down. Growing up, his mother had taught him everything about magical bonds, especially the familial kind they shared. He remembered asking her, years ago, what exactly family members could feel from one another if they were connected like he and his parents were. He remembered the way her expression shifted — how something haunted flickered behind her eyes. Soonja had appeared so frail in that moment, and Seonghwa remembered wanting to curl up against her to try and make her feel better.
"It starts as a dull throb," she'd said, voice soft but steady. She had looked down at Seonghwa during the beginning. "It feels like a pulled muscle when you're not using it. If the danger passes, the sensation fades. You remember your father when he had tried to go ice fishing but fell through the ice? The way that ached?" When Seonghwa nodded, she had let a wan smile spread on her face. "That was his connection alerting us."
"What happens if the danger doesn't pass?" Seonghwa had asked. He was an inquisitive child, even more so in his teen and adult years. He thrived on learning new information no matter the content.
Soonja had tensed imperceptibly at hearing her son ask about the deeper, more traumatic feelings brought on by the familial bond. "Well, my star… That urge becomes more insistent and far more difficult to ignore. When we are physically harmed, it leaves a residue on our magic. That residue can affect any magical connection you have. It is a very unpleasant, very uncomfortable and painful feeling." Seonghwa remembered the moment her voice grew quiet, barely above a whisper. "The worst pain is if they succumb to whatever it is that is taking them from this world." She had taken a shaky breath, as though reliving something she wished she could forget. "It is the worst pain imaginable, my star. You must understand that. One day, when your father and I are no longer in this world — hopefully not for a very, very long time — you will feel it. The severing of a magical bond leaves a wound on the soul. It aches for years."
Now, kneeling on the cold pavement, Seonghwa dry-heaved as the agony his mother had described a decade prior tore mercilessly through him. His vision blurred with tears he couldn't blink away and he couldn't hear the world around him — no footsteps, no cars, no wind. Only a high-pitched ringing filled his ears, drowning out everything but his own internal collapse.
The bond was gone — nothing in his life had ever hurt like this.
His mother was right.
Time stopped making sense. Seonghwa couldn't tell if he'd collapsed in the street for minutes or hours. His arms collapsed under him and he slumped forward with a pitiful, hoarse groan, his voice wrecked from his guttural screaming.
The world around him was muffled, distant, as if he were submerged underwater.
His parents were dead.
He was alone.
Why were they dead?
What was going on?
Only after several long, shuddering breaths did sound finally begin to seep back in and his internal spiraling slowly receded, allowing his awareness to return. The sound of cars in the distance, the faint hum of streetlights, the whisper of wind against buildings — the usual music of night that he had adored all his life felt like nothing but a hollow pit of despair now.
His parents were dead.
A pitiful groan slipped from Seonghwa's lips as he pushed himself upright. His limbs trembled violently, his body hollowed out by the sheer force of what had torn through him. I can't do this… Why is this happening? He wrapped his arms around his torso, hunched over as if trying to hold himself together physically since nothing inside him felt intact anymore.
Need to get home. Need to understand. Hurts so bad. Why me? Why them?
Seonghwa robotically forced one foot forward, then another, eyes locked on the pavement before him. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, feeling like he was breathing in shards of glass that raked down his windpipe into his lungs. His magical core pulsed erratically, a frantic, wounded thing thrashing inside him to no avail.
After what felt like hours but was merely a few minutes, Seonghwa found himself leaning against the wall near the mouth of an alleyway. Ordinarily, he would have kept going and paid no attention to what lurked in the shadows at night, especially in this sector of the city. It was a safe sector, but one couldn't be too sure.
Except it wasn't really that safe anymore, was it? Everything else had been flipped upside down in his life, so why not include this as well?
Seonghwa was dazed as he peered into the shadows. He furrowed his eyebrows, propping himself up against the wall more securely as he panted, sweat pouring down his forehead.
Something there snagged his attention. It was a pull — a sense of wrongness. His instincts screamed at him to run the other way, but he was rooted to his spot. "...Hello?" Seonghwa winced at the hoarseness of his voice, the rawness of his vocal cords agitating him. When he got no response after several moments, he shakily sighed, turning back on his heel as he moved to keep walking. A startled gasp left his lips as he jerked back in surprise at the appearance of a looming figure.
"Going somewhere, doll face?"
The voice slithered out of the darkness before the man did. When Seonghwa lifted his head, he found himself staring into the same dangerous eyes he'd seen in the shop — the taller of the two strangers, gaze sharp and glinting with malice. Recognition hit a beat too late. Something dark clung to the man's mouth and jaw, trailing down his neck in uneven streaks, though Seonghwa's mind was too fogged to process what it meant.
"You don't look so well," the man drawled, lips curling. "Why don't we take a load off?"
The words were casual, almost playful, but the intent behind them was anything but.
"What are you —" The question rasped out unfinished as a sudden blow drove the air from his lungs. Seonghwa folded forward, pain blooming through his abdomen, and before he could regain his footing, a rough shove forced him deeper into the alley's shadows — out of sight, out of reach.
His senses reeled. The air was thick with dampness and something else — something metallic that didn't belong. His knees buckled, sending him stumbling into a slick patch on the ground. The cold wetness soaked through his clothes and smeared across his palms as he tried to brace himself. A faint part of his mind registered warmth, but the thought slipped away as quickly as it came.
"Please, I don't understand —"
A sharp strike cut him off, snapping his head to the side. The world tilted, and he toppled onto the ground, landing hard. Whatever coated the alley floor clung to him — his cheek, his hair, the entire length of his left side. His breath hitched in uneven, shuddering pulls as he forced his gaze upward.
The man loomed above him, a dark silhouette framed by the faint glow of the street behind. The metallic tang in the air was stronger here, almost overwhelming, and Seonghwa's stomach twisted as the taste of it crept unbidden to the back of his throat.
Blood. He was lying in a pool of blood. Seonghwa dry-heaved, gagging on the cloying, thick scent around him. It was too much. Too fucking much.
"Hmm. What a pity…"
The taller figure crouched before him, fingers curling into Seonghwa's hair and forcing his head up. The grip was cruel, deliberate, and the man seemed to savor the weak sounds of protest that escaped Seonghwa's throat. His gaze swept over Seonghwa's trembling form with a predator's satisfaction.
"Soonja always boasted about the legacy she carried through her son…" he murmured, tilting Seonghwa's head to the side as if inspecting a fragile object. "'The power of night flows through him…'" he added in a mocking falsetto, a poor imitation of Seonghwa's mother.
As if a switch had been flipped, his expression sharpened dangerously. "She forgets one very crucial fact."
With a sudden jerk, he flung Seonghwa aside. The world tilted, pavement scraping against his palms as he caught himself. The man rose and strode toward the deeper shadows near a dumpster, his silhouette shifting as he bent to grasp something heavy — something limp. "She isn't the only one with ties to the night," he said, dragging the weight into the open and letting it fall carelessly at Seonghwa's feet.
For a moment, Seonghwa couldn't process what he was seeing. The shape was wrong, the stillness worse. But the clothing — torn, familiar — hit him like a blow. The carefully pinned graying hair. The jacket she always wore when closing the shop. His breath hitched, then collapsed entirely. His hearing vanished into a suffocating ring as his chest seized with panic.
A sharp kick to his side snapped him back into his body.
"Screaming won't bring her back," the man sighed, almost theatrically disappointed. "I had hoped to keep her alive just long enough for her to see her beloved 'star' —" his voice twisted into a syrupy mockery, "— become the very thing she tried so hard to shield you from."
He nudged the lifeless form aside with a casual sweep of his foot, as though clearing clutter. Then he crouched again, his cold fingers brushing Seonghwa's bruised cheek with unsettling gentleness.
"I tend to… lose control when I'm playing with my meals," he mused. "Usually I stop myself before they wake up. But your witch-blood…" His smile widened, hungry and unhinged. "It's intoxicating. I couldn't help myself."
He snapped his fingers lightly, as if remembering an errand. "Oh! And this was supposed to be a family affair."
Another body was dropped beside the first — no ceremony, no care. Seonghwa didn't need to look. The bond inside him, torn and bleeding, told him everything. The pallor of both forms confirmed what his soul had already screamed.
His parents were gone.
They were gone and it was because of vampires.
Why were they targeted by vampires?
"Now, that's much better, isn't it?" The man sighed in satisfaction, beckoning to the second figure that had delivered the second body. "They may not be able to enjoy it like we can — you know, 'cause they're dead —" he winked down at Seonghwa, an airy note of indifference in his tone, "— but let's give our favorite witchlings a show to remember." He turned his attention to Seonghwa then, his gaze almost pitiful as he looked down at the broken young man.
The second figure — the shorter one from the shop earlier — just laughed, shaking his head. "Always so theatrical. Just feed the boy your blood and kill him." He glanced around warily, his attention split between the situation before him and keeping an ear out for unwanted guests. "We have been in the open for far too long — this cannot be connected back to us." There was an air of finality to his voice, the command of someone in charge. "Just finish what we set out to do."
The taller figure tossed his head back, sighing dramatically as he stared up at the cloudy night sky hanging overhead. He lifted his right wrist to his own mouth, piercing through the flesh to get a steady trickle of blood flowing. "You never let me have any fun anymore, Giung," he practically pouted, leaning forward with his wrist outstretched. He roughly grasped Seonghwa's jaw, pulling him forward at an awkward angle that drew an agonized moan from the weakened man. "Open up, sweetness. Let's see what hell you can raise for us as a fledgling. Be a good boy and drink, now — come on, don't be shy."
Seonghwa's panic resurfaced and his eyes went wide as he struggled against the vampire's grip. Somewhere deep within him his magic flared in a feeble attempt to do something — anything — to fend off these attackers, but like before it was unsuccessful. Whimpering and pleading wordlessly, he clamped his mouth shut, desperately trying to avoid any contact with the blood dripping onto his face and lips. He thrashed in the vampire's grasp, which wasn't really smart on his part. The hand grasping his hair remained in a fist, unyielding. All his thrashing managed to do was cause him to gasp out in pain as his hair was tugged harshly, nearly ripping from his scalp.
Bad move. His gasp of pain was exactly what the vampire hovering over him had been hoping for — he was able to anchor his hold on Seonghwa, allowing him to access the now pliant, open jaw beneath. The coppery tang that had been clogging Seonghwa's nose now dripped onto and coated his tongue and he gagged against it, desperate to rid his mouth of the foreign substance. He was powerless against the hand keeping him in place, his mouth held helplessly open. The vampire merely laughed down at him, dripping more blood into Seonghwa's mouth as if to be absolutely certain the transformation would take hold. No! I can't! Someone, anyone — help me!
"Are you sure we can't just take him with us, Giung?" The vampire above Seonghwa looked over at the shorter vampire — Giung. Then he looked back down at Seonghwa, a sick sort of longing filling his expression. "I haven't had a toy to play with in years, I have become so bored. You never let us keep toys anymore." He caressed the side of Seonghwa's bruised face with his free hand. "We could have so much fun together…"
The shorter vampire simply stared at his taller counterpart, then shifted his focus, his gaze trailing over Seonghwa's beaten body. The only sound filling the space the trio occupied was the gagging, retching noise as the human struggled to reject the blood from his mouth. "My word is final. Kill him and be done with it before someone discovers us. Now, Eunjung — do not make me ask again."
Eunjung looked at Seonghwa's terrified expression, rolling his eyes and shoving him away roughly into the brick wall. "Yes, boss," he muttered under his breath.
There were a few experiences Seonghwa had had over the years of his life, all of which seemed to choose now to replay in his mind. It was strange how the ending of one's life could spring to the forefront various core memories and important moments. He happily let himself drift into the sea of memories, detaching his awareness from whatever pain was being inflicted upon his body. He was vaguely aware of the fangs tearing into his carotid, and the spread of warmth that gushed over his neck and collarbones, but none of the pain registered.
He remembered the first time he broke a bone when he was seven years old. It was his left radius and he was in a cast for several weeks. His mother had made him his favorite meals to cheer him up. He remembered his first time getting detention — though he would insist it was absolutely not his fault — when he was thirteen, and it was around the time he had first presented magically. Despite being disciplined at school, he remembered the pride shining in his parents' eyes when he told them the news. He couldn't even remember what it was that had gotten him in detention, and his parents had not seemed to care one bit. He remembered the day he discovered he had mastered everything his mother taught him about his abilities. Seonghwa had felt on top of the world with that news — it was the type of feeling that made him believe nothing else could go wrong. He could accomplish whatever he set his mind to.
In hindsight, perhaps that was a bit too optimistic a view to have.
His whole body grew heavy, his pulse quickening but weakening with the rapidly depleting blood volume. He vaguely registered the hum of voices, one more curt and direct than the other, and then the vampire who had killed him — Eunjung, he thought — tore himself away from the source of Seonghwa's ebbing vitality. Seonghwa sluggishly blinked, and when his eyes opened again, he was alone.
A single tear escaped, trailing through the blood staining his face.
I'm sorry, mom.