COSMIC BLOODLINE 🛸

1.THE KIRGUN HEIR

  Author's pov...

The Kirgun mansion sat on the highest hill overlooking the city, an estate wrapped in iron gates and silent menace. Its marble halls had witnessed more blood and secrets than the world outside could ever imagine. People spoke of it in whispers: the house where the most feared mafia boss lived with his five children, where wealth and power coiled like serpents around every corner.

Inside, the morning moved like clockwork. Servants moved quietly, arranging breakfast, setting papers in neat stacks, polishing silver until it gleamed. They barely made a sound—because in this house, silence was survival.

Jes Kirgun, the eldest, was already seated at the long dining table. Thirty-six years old, the empire’s CEO, and heir to the Kirgun mafia throne. He was the man everyone feared in the boardroom, the one rivals watched with terror in their eyes. Jes carried himself with sharp precision: jet-black suit, silver tie, eyes like glass that reflected nothing back. Even at the family table, he held a file in one hand, flipping through numbers as though breakfast were merely a distraction.

He did not notice the smell of fresh bread. He did not touch the eggs, the fruits, the delicate arrangements of food laid out before him. His world was work, duty, the empire that never let him rest.

Then the silence broke.

“Jes, at least look at the food. You’ll wither into smoke one of these days.”

It was the only voice that could cut through his walls—soft, warm, endlessly patient. Papa Type, the man who had given birth to Jes and all his siblings, walked into the room balancing a tray of tea. His glasses slid down his nose, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and his hair was a mess that refused to stay neat. He was clumsy, scattered, often late to his own thoughts—but he was the heart of this family.

Jes finally lowered the file, just slightly. “Papa, you don’t need to bring that yourself. We have staff.”

Type smiled, setting the tray before him. “And yet none of them know how to make tea the way you like it. Let me have my pride as Papa, hm? Besides—” He leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin. “If I leave you alone, you’ll live on coffee and air.”

Jes pressed his lips into a line, but he picked up the cup without argument. For all his coldness, he never disobeyed his Papa’s requests.

Before peace could settle, chaos arrived.

“Papa! Papa! She stole my notebook again!”

“No, I didn’t! She hides things and blames me!”

The twins, May and June, burst into the room like a storm. Both fifteen, identical in face but not in temperament. May was mischievous, loud, always stirring trouble, while June was quieter, sharp-tongued, her calmness often a mask for her tricks. They shoved at each other, bickering as if the world revolved around their fight.

Behind them trailed Bright, the third son, twenty-seven, composed and intelligent. He held a teacup in one hand, his eyes crinkling with amusement at his younger sisters’ antics. And last, Mile, the second son, thirty, with charm dripping off him like cologne. His shirt was half unbuttoned, his grin careless as he stole a piece of bread straight off the table.

The quiet mansion suddenly buzzed with noise.

“Sit before Dada hears you,” Bright said lightly, sipping his tea.

“Dada’s not here,” May muttered, though she obeyed, flopping into her chair.

Mile leaned forward, grinning at Jes. “Brother, you should smile once in a while. You’ll scare away every possible lover.”

Jes’s glare silenced him instantly.

The laughter of the twins bubbled louder until it died abruptly at the sound of heavy footsteps echoing from the hall. The air changed. A chill rolled across the room, and all five children turned toward the door.

Dada Tharn Kirgun entered.

The mafia king. The man feared across continents, whose mere name made clans tremble. Dressed in black, his eyes sharp as blades, his presence filled the room until it felt as though the walls themselves bowed.

“Good morning, Dada!” Papa Type greeted cheerfully, unfazed as always.

The children sat straighter. Even Jes, who feared no one else in the world, held himself with tighter posture under that gaze.

Tharn’s eyes swept over the table, pausing on each child before locking on Jes. “Your board meeting is at nine. Don’t be late.”

Jes nodded once. “I won’t.”

Papa poured tea into Tharn’s cup, fussing like he was serving an ordinary man instead of the underworld’s ruler. “Dada, please eat more vegetables. I told the cook to prepare them. Coffee and cigars are not food.”

Tharn’s lips curved faintly. The tiniest of smiles, visible only to those who knew him best. “You worry too much, Type.”

“And you work too much,” Papa scolded, and the twins giggled behind their hands.

The mansion, for a brief moment, felt like any other household. Laughter, scolding, chatter filling the air. But beneath it all lay the shadow of blood and power, the reality that every person at this table lived with a target on their back.

Jes finished quickly, standing before anyone else. “I’ll leave first.”

“Already?” Papa tilted his head, pouting. “You’ve barely eaten.”

Jes avoided his eyes, adjusting his cufflinks. “Work doesn’t wait.”

As he strode toward the door, Dada’s voice followed him, low and commanding. “Jes. The empire is yours to hold. Do not falter.”

Jes paused, then inclined his head slightly, but said nothing. The weight of his father’s words sat like iron on his shoulders.

Outside, the chauffeur waited with the black car gleaming in the driveway. Jes slid inside, the city opening up before him as the mansion receded into the distance.

For a moment, Jes closed his eyes. And in the darkness, something strange flickered.

A face.

Soft, unfamiliar. Eyes that seemed to look at him not with fear, not with reverence, but with something else. Something he couldn’t name.

Jes’s eyes snapped open. His chest tightened, though he dismissed it as fatigue. He had no time for illusions, no space for faces that didn’t exist.

Yet the vision clung to him, haunting him as the car carried him into the city where the Kirgun empire reigned.

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