The careful footsteps on the polished old wooden floor echoed softly in the profound silence of the teakwood house, standing majestically amidst the lush green valley of Chiang Mai province. The pure, cool morning air brushed against his skin. Death stood still and serene on the projecting wooden balcony, his gaze fixed on the soft white mist drifting lazily over the verdant treetops below, like a sea of cotton. He slowly sipped his black coffee, savoring the familiar bitter taste, before letting out a faint sigh. A complex, indescribable feeling still lingered in his thoughts.
Though nearly ten years had passed since fate had torn him from this home, the life he once knew and cherished still carried the same familiar scents and sensations that lingered in his nose and heart. However… it was he himself who was no longer the same. The wounds of the past had molded the once-gentle boy, "Kay," into "Death," a cold young man who concealed his emotions, his eyes holding a depth unfathomable to others.
"Up early again, grandson," his grandfather's deep, authoritative yet affectionate voice sounded from behind. The old man, dressed in a coarse, faded cotton robe, folded his arms, his face adorned with a faint smile, etched with the wrinkles of experience and old scars from times long past.
Death merely nodded slightly in greeting, uttering no words. His eyes remained fixed on the scenery before him.
His grandfather slowly approached, standing beside his grandson, looking out at the same vista. "It's peaceful here, isn't it... Suitable for someone like you, who carries so many stories locked away in his heart."
Death offered a small smile, a rare and fleeting expression, like the mere shadow of a smile that brushed his lips for an instant.
"Is May awake yet, Grandpa?" he asked, his voice typically flat, yet with a deep underlying concern.
"She's been up for ages. Saw her bustling in the kitchen before dawn, muttering some medical jargon from her books, I reckon," his grandfather chuckled softly, a mix of pride and fondness in his voice. "Top of the country in her medical school entrance exams, you know. This little girl is truly something else. A bright future ahead of her, no doubt."
Death said nothing in reply, but the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly again, unconsciously. A certain warmth spread through his chest when he thought of his sister.
Bright, bell-like giggles drifted from the kitchen, followed by the soft clinking of dishes. May—a seventeen-year-old girl brimming with dreams and hope. The sister he had been forced to leave to a cruel fate years ago. Now, she was growing up with grace and strength, about to embark on the path of a doctor, one who would give new life and alleviate the suffering of others… a path so starkly different, so diametrically opposed to the one he had walked, like black and white.
Death entered the kitchen quietly. The fragrant aroma of hot omelets and freshly cooked rice filled the room, stirring his hunger. May, busy arranging breakfast on the table, turned and beamed at him instantly. Her smile was as bright as the morning sun, momentarily dispelling the darkness in his heart.
"Brother Death! Perfect timing! Come have breakfast with us. I made plenty!" Her voice was full of life and a joy he wasn't quite used to. It was a pure and warm feeling.
"Mm," he nodded in acknowledgment, inhaling the fragrant aroma of the food deeply, then went to sit on his usual wooden chair at the old dining table that had been with the house for ages.
May quickly served him a heaping plate of hot rice and placed it before him attentively, along with a few other delicious-looking dishes. "Brother Death... I... I'm so happy that you're back here with us again. I used to think... we might never see each other again..." Her voice trailed off slightly at the end, her eyes reflecting a multitude of emotions.
His sister's words made Death pause. The hand reaching for the cutlery froze mid-air. He looked at May's face, still adorned with a smile.
"Every night... I dreamt of you. Some nights, I dreamt you were really gone. Other nights, I dreamt you were lost in the dark, unable to see anything, calling out for me to help..." Her voice began to tremble slightly, her eyes welling with tears, but she still tried to smile.
He placed his hand gently on the table, looking deeply into his sister's eyes, then slowly reached out and clasped her small hand tightly, feeling the slight coolness of her fingertips. "I'm alright now, May. You don't have to be afraid anymore. I'm really back, and I'm not going anywhere." His words were firm and sincere.
May smiled through the tears that now streamed down her cheeks. "I just... I just wanted you to know that no matter how much you've changed in other people's eyes, or what terrible things you've been through, I'll always remember you... Even though you might be called 'Death' now, to me, you'll always be my same old Brother Kay. You've never changed."
The name "Kay," uttered by May once more—her voice was as warm and gentle as a soothing stream, gradually softening his heart, which had once been as hard as rock. Feelings long suppressed began to reawaken.
"Don't call me Kay just yet... I'm still not quite used to it," Death said, slightly averting his gaze from his sister, a hint of embarrassment and confusion stirring within him.
"Okay, that's fine," May replied, smiling again, a smile filled with understanding and patience.
"Then I'll call you that later, when you're ready to be my Brother Kay again."
Weeks passed swiftly, like a river that never flows back…
Life in this house seemed to proceed slowly and peacefully, almost at a standstill for Death, a young man accustomed to tension and danger. But it was filled with small details he hadn't experienced or paid attention to since stepping into the dark world of a shadow assassin, a world where every second was a matter of life and death.
In the mornings, he would walk with May to the fresh market not far from home, helping her carry the baskets laden with vegetables and fruits. Sometimes, he would even try his hand at picking out fresh produce himself, following his sister's advice. Although two burly bodyguards, sent by his grandfather, always kept a watchful eye from a distance, the local market vendors had grown accustomed to and recognized that "this fierce-looking man" was, in fact, the kind older brother of the village's brilliant, aspiring medical student.
During the day, he would spend most of his time practicing his marksmanship and combat skills with his grandfather in the open area behind the house. Not to prepare for killing anyone anymore, but because his grandfather had once told him, "Death must always have self-confidence. He must be ready to protect himself and his loved ones, even on the day he lays down his weapons. The warrior's instinct must be in his blood."
And in the dead of night, he would enjoy standing on the rooftop with May, gazing at the star-studded sky, listening to the crickets and forest insects performing their nocturnal symphony, and hearing stories about her university life that he didn't quite understand—stories about new friends, club activities, or even the shyly recounted tales of budding romances. But he gradually tried to open his heart and learn to understand his sister's world, little by little. The gap between their ages and experiences was slowly being filled with love and connection.
"Brother Kay... I'm a little scared that you won't be with me when I graduate from medical school, and when I become a real doctor," she said one night while they were stargazing, her voice tinged with a slight worry.
Death turned to look at his sister's face, her concern clearly visible under the soft moonlight. "I promise... I'll try to be by your side until you're ready to stand strong and steady on your own. I won't leave you again." A promise as steadfast as a mountain.
But it seemed that his life, which was beginning to find peace and hope, was often challenged by the shadows of a past that never quite died, like a haunting presence…
One evening, while Death was helping his grandfather mend an old, decaying wooden fence in front of the house, he received a brown envelope from a mysterious delivery person who sped off on a motorcycle immediately after handing it over. Inside the envelope was a rather blurry black-and-white photograph of a large, abandoned warehouse—the place where he had been brutally tortured as a child. And a short, single-line message, scribbled in a hasty, almost illegible hand, was enclosed.
"They're back—and this time… many innocent children are in mortal danger."
Death's hand, which was holding a hammer, trembled visibly. The tranquility in his mind shattered instantly. Horrific memories surged back like a raging storm. His eyes hardened in an instant. The dormant killer instinct began to awaken.
He stood there for a moment, clenching his fists so tightly that his veins bulged, before striding purposefully into his grandfather's study inside the house, his expression grim.
"Grandpa... It seems... they're back again," his voice was cold and tinged with a murderous glint.
His grandfather, who was reading a newspaper in his favorite rattan chair, immediately looked up at his grandson. Seeing the look in Death's eyes and his expression, he knew instantly that something was wrong. His own expression shifted from calm to serious and tense in an instant. "It's time, then. Time we settled old scores and finished this once and for all. They will pay for what they've done."
Tonight… the moon was obscured by dark, ominous clouds. The wind howled, bending the treetops. Death would have to re-enter the world of shadows, the world he had tried so hard to escape.
No longer for senseless, reasonless killing.
But to save innocent lives, waiting for hope.
So that no child… would ever have to face the cruel and terrifying fate he once endured. No matter the cost.
And deep within his heart… his eyes, once devoid of light and hope, began to shine with a newfound determination and a sense of justice, like a flame ready to burn all evil to ashes.