Kris awoke in the middle of a dense forest, disoriented and weak.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the canopy.
His body ached, and his mind struggled to make sense of his surroundings.
Nearby, his gaze landed on a tall figure, it was a man, around six feet tall, with a fitting suit and striking red hair.
His strange appearance seemed out of place in the wild, and Kris's heart pounded in his chest.
"Is he... a murderer?" Kris's panicked thoughts raced as he took in the man's unsettling presence, despite his polished look.
"Young master, you're alive?" the man suddenly spoke, his voice cutting through the silence. His expression was a mixture of shock and disbelief.
Kris frowned, confusion clouding his mind.
"Who are you? Are you here to kill me?"
He tried to stand but failed, his body felt too light, too weak.
He collapsed back to the ground, dizziness overwhelming him.
"Please, young master, don't move!"
The man hurried to his side, kneeling beside him.
"It's me, Cillian Reed—your Personal guard. Don't try to move. You've been through a lot. Lay down for a bit, and I'll call the masters."
His movements were swift but careful as he pulled out a sleek device and dialed frantically.
Kris stared at him, dazed and disoriented.
"Cillian? My guard?"
The name felt familiar, yet everything seemed wrong. His mind swirled with fragmented memories as Cillian spoke urgently into the phone, leaving Kris to wonder where he was—and why nothing felt right.
....
Inside a dimly lit room, a middle-aged couple stood in tense silence.
The man, with silver-white hair with a tinge of orange color and a full beard, bore a deep scar just below his right eye, a reminder of an old battle.
His intense gaze softened only when it settled on the woman seated before him.
She had long, flowing merigold hair, streaked with white, and her face, marked by stress and grief, showed the aftermath of countless sleepless nights.
Her swollen eyes, still red from tears, held the heavy weight of sorrow. In her hands a photo of a boy innocently smiling while looking at the camera.
"Why can't you just accept it? He's not coming back! It's been a week already" His voice, rough with frustration, cracked under the weight of the bitter truth he was trying to force upon them both.
"Dear, I know he's out there somewhere. He needs our help. He'll find his way back to us. Please... believe in him." She wiped her tears, trying to compose herself, her voice wavering with desperate hope.
"He is—"
Ring, ring, ring.
The phone's sharp ringtone broke through the tense atmosphere.
"It's your phone ringing," she said quietly, glancing at the device.
Irritation flared in his eyes.
"Who's calling now? I told them not to bother us. We just lost our son, for crying out loud!"
He snatched the phone, dismissing the call with an angry swipe, then tossed it back onto the table.
But before he could continue the conversation, the phone rang again.
Ring, ring, ring.
Frustration turned to rage.
He grabbed the phone and hurled it against the wall.
CRASH!
The phone shattered, pieces scattering across the floor.
"As I was saying—" he began, his voice trembling with suppressed fury.
But once again, a soft, melodic ringtone pierced the air.
"It's beautiful tomorrow,
Because I get to wake up next to you~"
The woman sighed in exasperation and pulled out her own phone. With an irritated swipe, she answered, "Cillian, if this isn't important, don't ever call me again."
"Madam!" Cillian's voice came through, breathless and panicked.
"We need the medical team, immediately!"
Her brow furrowed.
"Call them yourself, Cillian! Do you have any idea what we're going through right now? Our son is missing, and we're—"
Her voice broke, thick with grief. "We are barely holding it together."
"Madam... I... I found the young master."
Cillian's voice wavered, a quiet whisper, heavy with emotion.
The room spun around her as she clutched the phone, her breath catching in her throat.
"What... what did you say?" Her voice, sharp as a knife, cut through the tension. She stumbled back, one hand pressing against her chest.
"WHAT!?" Her voice cracked, her hands shaking violently.
"Where is he? More importantly, is my son alive?"
Across the room, her husband's head snapped toward her, eyes wide with disbelief.
He lunged for the shattered phone on the floor, trying to piece it together, but the screen was useless it was completely destroyed.
"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, panic rising in his chest.
He bolted out of the room, racing across the marble floor.
"James! Call the medical team and tell the pilot to prepare the helicopter—now!"
"Yes, Master!" James responded quickly, Hastily contacting the medical team and the Pilot.
"Master, the helicopter is on standby!"
Chaos erupted in the mansion as staff hurriedly prepared for the emergency.
Back in the room, she gripped the phone tightly.
"Cillian, listen to me," she said, her voice trembling but resolute.
"Don't let my son out of your sight! Do you hear me? Protect him with your life. We're on our way, do not let him go anywhere."
She went outside following her husband she grabbed his hand, her voice barely a whisper.
"Dear, take me with you."
he looked at her and nodded.
The husband and wife sprinted towards the landing pad at the back of the estate, where the private helicopter awaited.
The rotor blades spun faster, slicing the air.
James stood by, ensuring everything was in place as they rushed to the helicopter.
They barely paused as they went inside, fastening their seatbelt.
"Get us there fast!" the husband barked, his voice urgent.
"My son has been found. We can't lose him again."
James gave a nod and signaled the pilot.
The helicopter lifted off, soaring into the sky. Below, the city blurred past as they gained speed, urgency driving them forward.
The wife reached over, holding her husband's clenched fist.
Her voice trembled with a mix of fear and relief.
"Kris is alive."
The helicopter sliced through the night, each second feeling like an eternity as they raced toward their son.