Sir David The Killer Bee Beats

It began with a birthmark shaped like a spiral, etched just beneath the boy’s collarbone—a mark that pulsed faintly under moonlight, as if it remembered something he did not. The midwife gasped when she saw it, whispering, “Born under the Mourning Star…” and refused to touch him again. The boy, named Cael, grew up in the shadow of that omen. His life energy shimmered differently—animals paused when he passed, clocks ticked slower in his presence, and mirrors sometimes showed him standing beside things that weren’t there. By the time he was twelve, he could hear whispers in the wind that others dismissed as rustling leaves. By sixteen, he could see the spirits that clung to forgotten places, their eyes hollow with longing. He was not the first. Before him, there was the Spirit Detective known only as Virel. Virel had seen the world in stark contrast—light and dark, truth and lie, monster and man. He hunted the wicked with a blade forged from moonlight and conviction. In his time, belief...