A scream tore from my throat before I could stop it.
Blood.
It was blood. But how? Why hadn't I seen it before?
Then, a faint scent drifted through the air — soft, like blooming flowers. It brushed past me, and for a moment, my racing heart slowed. My breath steadied, though fear still clung to me like a second skin.
My eyes snapped to the stranger.
"What… what is this?" I stammered, stumbling backward. "What did you do?!"
"This isn't a trick," the man said, his voice smooth as pouring ink. "This is what's always been here."
I looked again.
The hallway — my hallway — was drenched. Blood covered the floor, smeared the walls, dripping like dark rain.
But how? A moment ago, everything was spotless. Now it looked like a slaughterhouse. Thick, dark blood pooled and spread across the floor, and my head spun with too many thoughts.
"Marc, are you alright?"
Mrs. Martha's voice came from outside the main door.
I shot up, wiping cold sweat from my brow. Panic seized me. If they see this… if anyone sees this…
I risked a glance over my shoulder. The blood was still there, glistening, almost alive.
"Marc, if you don't open this door right now, I'm breaking it down!"
Damn it — Uncle Sam. His voice was deep, serious. Now both of them were here.
No, no — this isn't good. I can't let them in like this.
"Marc! I'm counting to three!"
One…
I rushed to the door, my hand trembling on the handle. My mind raced. Should I tell them? Should I hide it? What if they see it too? Or worse… what if it's only me?
Two…
I drew a deep, shaky breath. The faint scent of flowers still hung in the air, unnervingly calming.
Three—
I twisted the knob.
Click.
The door creaked open under my hand.
Mrs. Martha's face appeared, eyes wide with worry. "Marc, dear — what's wrong? We heard you scream!"
Before I could answer, Uncle Sam pushed the door open wider, his heavy boots thudding against the floor.
But they didn't see it.
The blood-soaked hallway, the crimson pooling around my feet — it was still there. The same suffocating scene. And him.
That man.
Standing by the wall, watching.
Unmoved.
My throat tightened. My heart pounded against my ribs. How… how could they not see this?
Uncle Sam's sharp gaze swept the room. He frowned. "Looks normal to me. What the hell's going on, kid?"
Mrs. Martha stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on my cheek. "Your face is pale as death, Marc. Are you alright? You're shaking."
I swallowed hard. My eyes flicked toward the man. He didn't move. Didn't speak. As if he existed on a plane of reality only I could perceive.
Uncle Sam crossed his arms. "Talk to me, boy. What happened?"
I forced a trembling breath, steadying my voice as best I could.
"I… I slipped," I lied. "Coming out of the bathroom. Hit my elbow against the door frame. Think I startled myself more than anything."
They exchanged a look. Mrs. Martha's hand immediately flew to her chest. "Oh, sweetheart, are you hurt? Let me see — did you fall? Did you hit your head?"
"I'm fine," I said quickly, forcing a weak smile. "Just… lost my footing. It's nothing."
Uncle Sam grunted. "Damn near gave us a heart attack. Watch yourself, kid."
I nodded, my gaze never leaving the man standing silently in the blood-drenched hallway that, somehow, didn't exist to them.
"Yeah… sorry for the trouble."
Mrs. Martha squeezed my shoulder. "We're downstairs if you need anything, alright? You scared the life out of us."
"Sleep it off, boy," Uncle Sam muttered as he turned away.
Click.
The door shut.
And I was alone again.
Except I wasn't.
The man was still there.
"What was that?" I asked, my voice shaky.
"I only altered your senses," he said calmly. "They can't see me. I have no scent… none they'd notice."
What does it mean that he has no scent?
But first… this blood. How did it appear here? And why can only I see it?
And this man — the way he stood, the calm in his voice — he wasn't ordinary. If I was right… he had ties to the Olfun Cult.
I steadied my breath.
"Sir… how should I address you?" I asked.
The man gave a faint, knowing smile.
"You can call me Mr. Kane."
"Sir Kane," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Tell me… why can only I see this blood? And where did it come from?"
"Only you can see this because I've altered your perception of reality. And as for this blood…" He paused, his gaze sharp. "Its scent is connected to you. Such a bond exists only between a parent and child. And this scent… it belongs to a woman. I trust you understand what that means."
As his words settled in the air, a shiver ran down my spine.
A bond… a scent… between parent and child?
What was he talking about?
Aunt Martha said my mother had a panic attack. She… she'd never even—
No.
What am I even thinking right now?
None of this makes sense.
My mind felt like it was being split in two — one part scrambling for answers, the other suffocating beneath the weight of unspoken truths.
And yet…
My heart was calm.
Too calm.
After everything — the blood, the impossible scent, the cryptic words — how could I feel this still, this steady, as though none of it mattered?
I clenched my fists, the tremble in my hands betraying the calmness in my chest.
No. This wasn't natural.
"I know what you're doing," I said, my voice low, scraping against my throat. "You're controlling my emotions."
I looked up at him — at Sir Kane, his presence like a dark wound in the air, his expression unreadable.
"How else could I stay so… so calm after everything you just said?"
His lips curved, not into a smile, but something colder.
"I'm not controlling your emotions, boy. I'm… regulating them. You'd shatter otherwise."
My breath caught.
It wasn't a denial.
And that terrified me more than anything else.
Before I could think of anything else, Sir Kane's voice cut through the air — steady, sharp as a blade.
"I don't know what your connection is to the Oculis Empire, boy," he said, his eyes narrowing. "But you need to be cautious. You have no idea what you've stumbled into. If I'm right… this is likely the work of an Oculis Sage. One operating at Serial 7 — Distortion."
The name alone made my chest tighten.
I'd read about the Oculis Sages — beings so powerful their very presence could warp reality itself.
________________________________________
Sir Kane's POV
I think it's fate that brought me to this city. The moment I crossed its borders, I could sense it — the distinct pulse of distortion essence. And worse, it carried the unmistakable signature of the Oculis. A movement from a Serial 7 Sage in the eastern continent… it's as good as declaring war.
But the real question remained.
Why would a Serial 7 take interest in this boy?
Unless… it's because of her.
No. There's nothing abnormal in the surroundings, and the scent of his mother's blood seems ordinary enough.
I expanded my Oflun essence through the room, searching for even the faintest irregularity.
Then — a flicker.
Something buried deep inside him.
Now it makes sense.
The Oculis wouldn't move for nothing.
This boy's blood… It's not ordinary.