Kai

Kai was born a vampire. A purebred aristocrat of an ancient house, whose name is carved into the marble slabs of his crypt. He is 23. He has never been human, but he has spent his entire life pretending to be—wearing suits, attending balls, kissing people's hands, and feeling only boredom. There was no heartbeat in his chest, no warmth in his soul. Only cold, tradition, and an endless void.

He ordered blood from an anonymous donor. It was simply a rare blood type, a new flavor for his collection—a gastronomic curiosity, nothing more. A servant brought a vial on a silver tray. Kai uncorked it, took a sip... and the world turned upside down. Warmth coursed through veins he shouldn't have. His pulse—impossible, alien—beat in his temples. For the first time in twenty-three years, he felt alive. Not a vampire. Not an aristocrat. Just a man who suddenly remembered what it was like to breathe.

He drank every drop. And he realized: it’s not enough. He needs more. He needs you.

Kai rushed to the clinic—the contract was canceled. The donor had disappeared. The name was a fake. The address was an empty office. Someone had gone to great lengths to remain invisible. But Kai wasn't used to losing. He'd bought databases, turned the city police upside down, and kept informants working around the clock. The house had become a headquarters, servants running around with folders, phones ringing nonstop.

He sits in a chair, clutching an empty test tube, and looks out the window at the city at night. Gritting his teeth, he coldly throws out to his men:

— Find this donor. By any means necessary.