Monday mornings were always his favorite, the ones he eagerly anticipated. He sat casually at the wooden dining table, staring intently at the front door. The clock had already passed eight. Was tardiness a required trait for mailmen? He despised the way the minute hand moved past scheduled times, and his temper flared if the hour hand dared to budge as well. Finally, after seven minutes, the mailman knocked. He leaped from his chair and sprinted to answer.
"Good morning. I have a package for Mr. Dai Shulyak. Could you call him, young man?"
"You're speaking to him right now, Sir Late Mailman."
Dai's eyebrows were raised, his hazel eyes piercing the mailman with a look of displeasure that made the man's face tighten in anger.
"Apologies for the delay, but this package is from the Institute of Medicine and Anatomy in the capital. I didn't expect it to be addressed to an arrogant ten-year-old."
Dai smiled—a smile devoid of childish innocence—as he signed the required papers.
He rushed to the backyard, carrying the foul-smelling rectangular package into a small building with several rooms. He opened the last door in the hallway, then the windows, climbed onto his tall stool, and eagerly unwrapped the ice-filled package. The stench was unbearable, but he didn't care. What could be more thrilling than a two-headed wild squirrel?
His eyes meticulously examined the dead animal. This was always the first step before dissection. He pulled out his pen and began jotting down every observation in his large notebook—what his eyes saw, what his nose smelled, and his theories on what might have happened to this squirrel.
His focus was so absolute that he didn't notice his twin sister entering the room half-asleep, tugging at his shirt. He ignored her, continuing to write as if alone. She yanked harder.
"What do you want, Haley? I'm busy."
He still didn't look at her. Then he realized he wouldn't know what she wanted unless he tore his gaze from the squirrel.
He glanced at her and saw his reflection in her eyes—his hazel irises, light bronze skin, and wavy brown hair that reached his ears. A reflection he'd known since birth.
Identical in appearance, yet fundamentally different in essence—and luck.
He had inherited his parents' sharp eyes and keen hearing, allowing him to detect the pulse of living creatures without touching them. She had inherited nothing—born mute, with a frail, trembling body that couldn't manage life without assistance.
Haley had grown accustomed to the stench of corpses, so her hands danced in the air, signaling that their parents hadn't returned from town yet and that she was starving.
Dai submerged the two-headed squirrel in formaldehyde to preserve it, then headed inside to prepare breakfast for his sister. Normally, he didn't mind helping her, but Mondays were different. It was the day his father's friend from the capital sent bizarre specimens the medical institute no longer wanted—specimens Dai found utterly fascinating. He loved dissecting them, sketching their abnormal anatomies, and studying them so intensely that he'd spend entire days in his lab.
Yet, as mesmerizing as these creatures were, he pitied them. They were asymmetrical, discordant—as if they existed solely to make humans appreciate the normal creatures of the earth.
The same logic applied to humans. The existence of his mute sister and others like her made people value their own normalcy, their superiority merely by being ordinary and uniform.
And that led to his greatest obsession.
The presence of the impaired and the normal left nature to define another category of humans—absolute purity and unnatural power, embodied in the ancient royal family.
The Primords.
His eternal subject of fascination.
His parents entered the house after he finished serving Haley breakfast. They carried bags filled with old books, the dust making him sneeze as it spread through the air.
His mother kissed Haley, hugging her. "I can tell what day it is by the stench in the house. Dai, why didn't you open the windows after getting your toy for the week?"
"Sorry, but I need to finish my work."
He dashed toward the backyard, but his father stopped him. "Wait, little researcher. I have a surprise for you."
His father pulled out a massive black book with red trim.
"Theories on the Cessation and Shortening of Lifespans in the Ancient Royal Family," Dai read aloud, his eyes widening in awe.
A book about the Primords!
This was his natural reaction to anything related to the ancient royal family. Books about their history and legends were widespread, but scientific analyses were rare. The royal court considered such studies an invasion of privacy. They were the source of governance, inspiration, and distant admiration—not specimens for the curious like Dai.
He sprinted back to his lab, eyes glued to the book, not uttering a word to his parents. Words were unnecessary now. He needed solitude and silence to study and analyze this rare find. The two-headed squirrel could wait.
Being born into this family—a lineage that had inherited the study of biology for generations—meant he had access to endless sources to fuel his curiosity. His parents were experts in embryology and genetics, the field that had brought them together, as his mother often said. They had authored numerous scientific books and conducted astonishing experiments, just like their ancestors.
Oddly, his father's and mother's families were distantly related by blood, which explained their somewhat similar features. They had tried to instill their love of embryology and genetics in Dai, but they'd failed.
Dai had shown interest in the Primords ever since he first heard of them as a child.
And his fascination had intensified two years ago—on the day the entire Western Continent eagerly awaited.
The Bright Day.
---
Every seven years, a tradition emerged since the unification of the Western Kingdom. It was said the first king himself had decreed it.
The ancient royal family ruled the continent yet remained imprisoned in the royal palace, unseen by the public except in emergencies—like war.
Thus, the Bright Day was born.
On this day, the king and his family emerged every seven years in Lucidem's vast Sunrise Square. The king would greet his people, deliver a brief speech, then vanish for another seven years—leaving the masses waiting until the continent reunited in that circular plaza once more.
The memory of his first Bright Day still haunted his sweetest dreams.
He had been eight. His parents had taken him and his twin sister to the capital—a two-week carriage ride from their village.
That morning, the capital was crowded with snow and people—nobles, the wealthy, the bourgeoisie, peasants, the poor, the working class—all gathered in a circular plaza surrounded by buildings. At its center stood a Victorian structure with a wide balcony overlooking the plaza from seven stories up. A long black carpet stretched through the square, flanked by royal knights, providing the king's path to the balcony.
His parents had secured a spot in the third row, close enough to see the king when he appeared above.
"Don't get your hopes up, son. You know the king has been depressed since the prince disappeared six years ago. I doubt the queen will attend this time."
His father lifted him onto his shoulders, ignoring the protests of those behind them complaining about the blocked view.
"I know. But I still want to see King Chris, no matter his state."
True. The prince had been kidnapped after his first birthday. Many believed the Primords' reign would end with King Chris's death.
But Dai was certain the prince would return, despite rumors of a curse keeping him from the truth. Dai trusted the power of the ancient royal bloodline. The idea of their downfall was absurd—as if people were declaring the Western Kingdom's demise in another form.
The massive crowd stood as soldiers blew trumpets, announcing the royal procession's arrival. Cheers erupted.
Dai's small heart pounded violently.
He focused on the golden carriage door, as if reading something inscribed upon it.
A knight in distinctive attire dismounted and opened the carriage door.
The crowd fell silent—abruptly, without warning.
Dai's eyes widened as King Chris stepped out, adjusting his black robe with quiet dignity. His footsteps were heavy, the silence so profound they echoed across the plaza.
His blue eyes radiated sorrow, his face a mask of grief layered over strength, pride, and supremacy—enhanced by his swept-back blond hair.
Dai's heartbeat steadied as the king walked past him.
Time seemed to freeze, allowing him to sear this moment into his soul.
This was purity incarnate—flawless, untainted.
The king took his place above. The crowd remained silent, their reaction hinging on his words. Seven years ago, his speech had been inspiring, earning fervent cheers.
This time, no one cheered.
And Dai realized the king preferred it that way.
"The curse will break. He will return to me in the end. Fear not the future."
A whispered promise to the missing prince—a reassurance of his rightful return to his father, to the throne.
Was the prince here to receive his father's message?
Dai couldn't guess. The prince would be seven now—perhaps in another land, another continent. No one knew.
The king's words captivated the people. Strangely, they breathed easier, reassured of their future.
That single sentence was all King Chris spoke before departing in silence, allowing Dai another close glimpse.
On their way back, Dai muttered the king's words, wishing he could deliver them to the missing prince himself.
---
Night fell over the village.
Dai remained in his lab, voraciously reading his new book.
Its subject was a mystery that had baffled everyone since the Primords' emergence.
Time froze for them at twenty. They didn't age, their bodies thrumming with youthful energy until forty, when weakness set in—though their appearance remained young. They died within three or four years.
The longest-lived king had perished at forty-six. Stranger still, their wives died within days—sometimes the same day. And of course, they retained their youth until their shared demise.
A captivating scientific enigma.
His mother flung the lab door open, slamming it against the wall.
Dai didn't flinch, still reading and jotting notes.
His mother scowled, waiting for a reaction that never came.
"Dai," she said sternly, clearing her throat, "it's past midnight."
"Hmm?" His eyes stayed glued to the pages.
She snapped the book shut and yanked him up by his arms.
"W-What are you doing? I didn't bookmark my page!"
"No matter. You're a smart boy—you've memorized everything you've read. Now, bedtime."
"But you and Father are still working in the lab! Why should I sleep when you're awake?"
"You're a child. We're adults. Accept nature's laws for sleep times."
Dai flopped onto his bed, watching his sister's peaceful face beside him.
Innocent. Tender. Strangely... docile.
Was that even a trait assigned to humans?
They shared a bed due to their cramped room, though their parents earned plenty from their research. But the money vanished instantly—spent on books, lab supplies, and other necessities, leaving them with a modest life.
Dai turned to the open window on his left, watching the full moon cast silver light into the room.
Could he unravel the mystery shrouding the royal family?
Would he see the king up close again?
Would the missing prince truly return?
Could he even—
His endless questions lulled him to sleep, his hand instinctively clutching his twin's.