A sharp wind swept through the back garden, tugging violently at the shawl on Linh Nguyet's shoulders. In front of her stood Luc Trac — the moonlight casting one half of his face in soft silver, the other in shadow. Beautiful and terrifying all at once.
"Duong Khai Minh has returned," he said, his voice steady but as deep as the grave.
"Because of me," she whispered.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Because of us. Because something between us was never finished."
Her fingers clenched. The blood in her veins felt like ice.
For two nights straight, Linh Nguyet was haunted by strange dreams — memories, or perhaps warnings.
In one of them, she stood in a crimson forest, wearing a wedding gown, holding a small dagger. Before her was Luc Trac, dressed in ceremonial robes, his left hand already cut open.
He said:
"This blood pact — if completed…
…your soul will belong to me forever.
But if you break it,
…your spirit will scatter for all eternity."
In the dream, she hesitated.
Then turned away.
And after that came fire. Blood. His screams — raw and heart-wrenching.
She awoke gasping.
But the worst part wasn't the dream.
It was the fresh cut on her left arm, still bleeding.
Somehow… the ritual was real. And in her past life, she had refused it.
That night, Luc Trac led her into the sealed lower basement — once a family altar room, locked for over thirty years.
The stone door opened like a gate to hell. The walls were lined with ancient blood-bound talismans. Two unlit candles rested on a black altar. And in the center — a circle drawn in dried blood, ominous and magnetic.
"We'll complete it tonight," Luc Trac said.
"Will it keep my soul here?" she asked, voice trembling.
"No," he replied. "It will bind your soul to mine. No one will be able to separate us ever again."
She stared at him.
And in his eyes, she saw something beyond love — a devotion so deep it had become obsession. A longing that had defied death itself.
"And if I refuse?" she asked quietly.
He paused.
Then, softly:
"I'll let you go.
But he won't."
At that moment, the left candle went out.
The air turned icy. The talismans rustled. The blood circle began to crack.
A voice echoed from the darkness:
"Too late… You already belong to me, Nguyet."
Duong Khai Minh.
A violent gust of black wind burst through the stone door, scattering everything. Linh Nguyet was thrown to the floor — her cut reopened, blood spilling into the circle.
Luc Trac pulled her close, shielding her.
"Nguyet! Look at me!"
"You have to choose!"
Before her were two paths.
One — the blood circle glowing with crimson fire, painful, but with him.
The other — a shadowy hand reaching out from the void, promising comfort with sweet, poisoned words.
She closed her eyes.
Slashed her hand.
Pressed it against Luc Trac's palm.
Their blood mixed. The circle ignited.
A blinding red light erupted, swallowing the darkness whole.
Duong Khai Minh's enraged scream tore through the chamber…
Then faded into nothing.
When silence returned, Linh Nguyet collapsed into Luc Trac's arms.
She whispered:
"I didn't choose this because you forced me.
I chose it… because this is the only place I've ever truly felt alive."