Kazmun was eight when his heart stopped beating.
He blankly stared at his mother's blood on his clothes, the dark red stains a stark contrast against the moon-white fabric.
His mind was numb, his thoughts scattered and incoherent. There was an emptiness within him that refused to cease, a haunting nothingness that seemed to swallow everything.
And, he was nine when he first took a life, and something stirred in his heart.
It was a mixture of thrill, fear, and delight, an intoxicating blend of emotions that made his heart beat faster. For the first time, he felt something, a dark and twisted exhilaration that pierced through the numbness.
It was enough.
