The wind that blew through the borderlands of Caer Thorne carried no blood, no screams—only the crisp scent of pine and the soft hush of leaves. It was the kind of quiet Seraphina hadn't known in years. No war horns, no whispered plots, no sharp glint of treachery behind polished fangs.
And yet, it felt wrong.
She stood on a rocky bluff overlooking the village of Duskwatch. Smoke curled from hearths below, where mortals lived again without fear. Children laughed. Merchants bargained. Life, as it used to be.
But Seraphina knew better than to believe in stillness. Peace, she'd learned, wasn't something given. It was a lull between storms.
Her boots crunched gravel as she stepped away from the overlook. A long crimson cloak hid her armored silhouette, the sigil of the old Dominion burned from the clasp. She moved like a shadow—deliberate, watching. Always watching.
A raven cawed above. Her fingers twitched instinctively toward her blade.
Paranoia. She hated how much it felt like home now.
At the village's edge, a boy chased a dog through the muddy road. A guard leaned lazily against a well, half-dozing, his pike resting uselessly at his side. When Seraphina passed him, he straightened, startled.
"Stranger," he muttered, uncertain, eyes flitting to her sword. "You passing through?"
She paused. Her hood concealed most of her face, but her voice needed no mask.
"I'm looking into the disappearances," she said. "Three villagers gone this week."
The guard flinched. "No offense, miss, but that's Council business. We sent a bird two days ago. Someone will come."
"No one's coming," Seraphina said quietly. "Not from the Council. They're fractured. Half want to dissolve, the other half want to crown themselves gods."
She left him gaping, walking on.
Inside the village inn—The Thirsty Elk—a nervous hush fell as she entered. Farmers and hunters glanced up, hands tightening around mugs. Seraphina removed her hood.
Murmurs rippled across the room. Someone stood abruptly, almost spilling their drink.
"You're her," he whispered. "The Crimson Blade. The one who killed the High Council."
Seraphina's mouth tightened. "I killed the war," she said. "That's all."
A woman behind the bar stepped forward, wiping her hands on a cloth. "My husband was taken last night," she said. "Please. If you've come to help, we'll tell you everything."
"I'm not here for coin or fame," Seraphina said, voice low. "I just want the truth."
They gathered around her table as the sun dipped below the trees. The missing had all vanished the same way: no signs of struggle, no blood, no sounds. Just gone. Always at night. Always near the forest.
"Vampires?" someone asked.
"No signs," another said. "No blood, no bite marks. It's too clean. Too… wrong."
Seraphina's eyes narrowed. "They're feeding in different ways now. Hiding it."
A silence fell.
And then an old man, hunched in the corner, spoke: "They're gathering. Not like before. Quiet. Smarter. They've learned from their mistakes."
Seraphina looked at him sharply. "You've seen them?"
He nodded once. "Not with my eyes. But I feel them. In my bones. And in dreams."
That night, Seraphina stood at the forest's edge, her sword strapped across her back, eyes scanning the shadows between gnarled oaks.
She didn't wait long.
A faint rustle. A breath. Then—silence.
She spun, drawing her blade.
From the trees emerged not a beast—but a young woman.
Her skin was pale, her eyes wide with fear. "Help me," she whispered. "They're coming."
Seraphina took a cautious step forward. "Who's coming?"
The girl trembled. "The Nightborn. Not nobles. Not ferals. Something… in between."
A snap of a branch.
Too late.
The girl's mouth twisted into a cruel smile, her eyes going black. A flicker of shadow coiled behind her. Seraphina didn't hesitate—she slashed forward, but the figure dissolved like smoke.
Something struck her from behind.
She rolled with the impact, blade flashing, catching a glint of metal—claws?—before her attacker vanished again into mist.
"Show yourselves!" she snarled.
Laughter echoed through the trees.
Three of them stepped out from the shadows—vampires, but wrong. Twisted. Mutated. One had elongated arms, the other bore runes carved into his face. Their leader wore crimson armor etched with sigils from the old Dominion.
"You were right to come," the leader said. "We've missed you, Seraphina."
She circled them warily. "What are you?"
"We are what your war created," the armored one hissed. "The forgotten. The broken. The ones who thrived in silence."
They lunged.
The fight was brutal. Fast. Seraphina ducked a clawed swipe, spun low, slashed across the nearest one's leg. Another came from behind—she pivoted, stabbing upward through his ribs.
Magic pulsed in the runes etched into their skin. One struck her with a blast of energy, throwing her against a tree. Her ribs cracked. Blood filled her mouth.
She wiped it away and rose.
Golden fire licked at her fingers—unbidden, wild.
Not now.
She crushed the surge, breathing hard, then moved.
Her sword flashed—precise, furious. One fell. Another retreated, howling. The armored leader snarled and disappeared into the forest.
When it was over, Seraphina stood bloodied but alive, her breath ragged, heart pounding.
She looked down at her shaking hand.
The golden fire still flickered.
Later, as dawn broke over the trees, she knelt beside the village well, washing blood from her hands. The water ran red, then clear.
The old man from the inn appeared beside her.
"You found them?"
"They're not gone," she said. "Not yet. They're evolving. Hiding. Becoming something new."
He looked into the woods. "Peace never lasts."
Seraphina stood, her gaze distant.
"No," she said. "But I'll fight for it anyway."