The cops had kept their word, keeping Uche's secret from the public eye and clearing his name from accusations of being Snowflake. They had also thrown all their resources into tracking down Snowflake, but the elusive figure seemed to have vanished into thin air. There wasn't a trace of him to be found—no scent, no footprints, nothing. It was as if he had evaporated like smoke.
Despite the authorities' efforts, both Uche and Mira had taken matters into their own hands, tirelessly searching for Snowflake. Days blurred into nights, and their search yielded no results. A week passed, then another, and before they knew it, months had slipped by. Snowflake remained a phantom, his whereabouts an enigma.
Uche had begun to accept the grim reality—he might never retrieve his eyes. He had entertained the idea of giving up, resolving to descend into the vampire world wearing his eye patch.
In fact, he had already made the decision, and had prepared to leave the human world behind, and had gathered everything he needed for his departure. He had been training for the past month, preparing himself for a new chapter in his life. He had trained relentlessly with Mira, learning to harness a handful of vampire blood skills.
He couldn't wait for Snowflake anymore.
"Aren't you nervous?"
Mira asked, breaking the silence.
She sat at her desk in the study, her face lit by the glow of her laptop screen. For the past few days, she'd been absorbed in compiling a report for the officials back in the vampire world—a summary of all she had learned during her time among humans. Her delicate features looked tired, but her voice remained calm.
"Nervous?"
Uche raised an eyebrow, glancing at her.
"Why should I be?"
"Well, most half-blooded vampires feel nervous about leaving the human world,"
She explained, still typing as she spoke.
"It's all they've ever known, where they are born and brought up, so it's always hard for them to leave and step into the unknown—a world that's foreign and often dangerous. And for you mostly, it's alot dangerous for you, but you seem excited instead."
Uche shrugged, his gaze drifting to the window. The night outside was quiet, the stars dim against the city's glow. He felt a strange calmness, even an undercurrent of excitement.
"It's not like I don't know the risks,"
Uche replied, his tone steady.
"But it's different for me. The human world never really felt like home. Sure, I might face danger in the vampire world, but I'll finally have a chance to grow stronger. Here, I've been weak, always on the run. There… I'll have the freedom to discover my true power, to protect myself and maybe even carve out a life I can call my own."
He smiled faintly, a glimmer of hope lighting up his face.
"The fact that I'm different,"
He continued,
"it's for a reason. And I'm ready to find out what that reason is."
Mira studied him for a moment, her expression softening.
"I understand."
Suddenly, Uche winced, doubling over with a sharp cry as he felt something strange happening to him.
"Hey! What's wrong?"
Mira asked, alarmed. She sprang from her chair, rushing to his side.
Uche's hand shot up in a reassuring gesture, signaling her to stay calm. The feeling wasn't new to him—it was something he had secretly been waiting for, hoping for.
His empty eye socket burned, as though something sharp and searing had struck it. But the sensation wasn't just pain—it carried a familiar undertone, one he hadn't felt in months.
As the pain subsided, a distinct vision began to form in his mind. He straightened up, his breathing steady as he watched it unfold.
At first, everything was shrouded in darkness. Then, a faint light illuminated a sandy ground, and a long, pale arm came into view. A stick hovered over the sand, held by the pale hand, and began moving, scratching lines into the earth.
When it stopped, Uche read the words it had etched with unnerving clarity.
It was a detailed description of a location. Beneath it, another message appeared:
*Be there in thirty minutes.*
The vision faded, and Uche blinked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
"What is it?"
Mira asked, noticing the shift in his demeanor.
"That bastard,"
Uche said, his voice laced with determination.
"He finally contacted me. He wants me to meet him—at the outskirts, in thirty minutes."
Mira arched an eyebrow, her expression skeptical.
"Just at the right time."
"Yeah,"
Uche agreed.
"But I won't let him slip away this time."
"Agreed. But we need to be careful—he's bound to have another trap waiting for us."
Uche's gaze hardened.
"I don't care. He won't escape me again."
Mira nodded, grabbing her coat.
"Then what are we waiting for?"
---
Barely thirty minutes later, they found themselves navigating the junk-filled streets of the outskirts. The place was a labyrinth of dilapidated buildings, narrow alleys, and flickering streetlights.
Uche led the way, the details from the vision vivid in his mind. Despite the chaotic maze, he moved with confidence, retracing the steps Snowflake had described for him. Mira followed close behind, her senses sharp, eyes scanning for any sign of danger.
The further they went, the more unsettling the atmosphere became. The outskirts carried a strange energy—a quiet, eerie tension.
Then they reached a street unlike the others.
The road was alive, bustling with people walking amid the debris-strewn ground. Street vendors lined the sidewalks, their makeshift stalls offering everything from cheap trinkets to steaming bowls of food.
The air buzzed with chatter and laughter, a stark contrast to the desolation they had encountered earlier. It was as if this street existed in its own little bubble of joy and chaos.
"What the…"
Uche muttered, his gaze sweeping over the scene. He knew this place—he'd been here before. But for some reason, he couldn't recall when or why.
"Is this the street?"
Mira asked, her voice low.
Uche nodded slowly. "
Yeah… but it's different from how I remember."
Mira glanced around, her brows furrowing.
"It's strange. This doesn't feel like the outskirts at all."
They moved forward cautiously, weaving through the lively crowd. The vibrant energy of the street felt almost too perfect, too distracting—as if it were masking something far more sinister.