KAI

Kai. The name was a ghost, a silent echo of a childhood we shared. We'd known each other since birth, our families intertwined, yet a chasm yawned between us, a grudge we both carried, its origin lost to time. He was a boy carved from shadows, his pale skin like moonlight, hair the color of ash, eyes like burning rubies. A silent predator, always watching, always a step ahead. He never smiled, never laughed, never spoke much. His silence was a wall, a constant reminder of the invisible war we waged.