Once, there was a radiant soul.
A young man—bright in spirit and strong in will—whose life came to a quiet end in the world of men. But death was not his undoing; rather, it was his beginning.
By divine edict or cruel design, his soul was selected, rewritten, and bound to a higher order—the Book of Fate, of Life and Death, of Time, and the Imprisoned World. Reforged through its mystic pages, he was cast into a new realm, reincarnated not as man but as something other.
A vampire.
Yet not one of bloodthirst and decay. No—he was born of splendor.
Blessed with flawlessness, his beauty was beyond mortal or celestial measure. His youth eternal, his form divine, he was a creature sculpted as if by the longing dreams of forgotten gods. Even the stars might shy away in envy of his light.
He awoke in silence, among the remnants of ash, the soot of some forgotten place. Alone. Until the thread of fate—unseen yet ever pulling—wove another soul into his presence.
She came like a shadow fleeing the sun.
Silver-haired and breathless, a dark elven woman limped through the hollow corridors of ruin, her clothes torn by thorns and claws, her wounds barely knitting together. Each ragged breath was a cry for survival, each step a prayer unanswered.
Behind her echoed the growls of savagery.
"Where is she?!"
"Find her! Bring that filthy harlot to me!"
The bellow came from a giant of a man—bald, thick-bearded, a brute made of rage and muscle. His presence consumed the space around him. His followers scurried like rats behind their lion.
The woman pressed her back against a cracked stone wall, her hands glowing faintly as her wounds struggled to close. But her magic—exhausted—was failing her. Her breath trembled, and tears welled up beneath defiant eyes.
The footsteps drew closer.
Guided by instinct and desperation, she slipped through a shattered archway, entering a forgotten chamber shrouded in dust. And there—in the center—was the impossible.
A child.
Lying in a bed of ash, untouched by soot or shadow. He was glowing, radiant even in stillness. His silver-opal hair shimmered with a halo-like sheen, his violet eyes open and serene, locked onto hers with piercing clarity.
In that gaze, she felt stripped bare—seen not as prey or fugitive, but as a soul. His eyes were ancient and yet newborn, holding the weight of something far greater than time.
She approached, trembling.
His skin was milk-pale and perfect, free of blemish, like porcelain carved by starlight. His nails—a vivid, bleeding red—sent a chill down her spine. They reminded her of her own cursed blood… and of the ancient bloodlines forbidden in the holy tomes.
Still, her arms moved. She lifted him.
And the moment she did, the very room awakened. Runes once dead ignited beneath the ash. Symbols pulsed with ancient magic, light surged through the ruins, and a wind howled—not of weather, but of power released.
"Boss! She's in here!" a voice cried.
But as the soldiers stormed the corridor, a blinding radiance exploded from the chamber, striking with force and divinity. They were thrown back as though by a god's wrath.
Then—darkness.
When the woman opened her eyes, all was different. The ash was gone. The ruin had vanished.
She stood atop a high cliff, beneath emerald leaves and golden light filtering through a dense rainforest canopy. The child slept in her arms, his small chest rising in calm breaths.
She gazed down and saw a vast crater below, where once the edifice stood. Now—emptiness.
A teleportation spell? she wondered, stunned. Yet this was no spell she had ever known, and she was no novice. She had studied in the ancient towers, learned from voices long since turned to dust.
And yet… this child…
He had done what no magic of hers ever could.
---
Time passed.
The crater filled with rain and tears of the earth. It became a lake with no name, a forgotten wound healed over by nature's gentle hand. The men who hunted her were never seen again. Their bones were not found. Their names were not remembered.
It was as though they had never existed at all.
The vampire child grew swiftly.
He was no ordinary being. By ten winters he appeared no older than six—but his mind, his grace, his silence… spoke of something far more profound. He watched the world not with curiosity, but with knowing. He learned without being taught. Spoke little, but when he did, the forest stilled to listen.
The elven woman, who now called herself his mother, cared for him deeply. And though she often smiled, in her eyes lived questions she dared not ask aloud.
She knew—because her gift would not let her forget.
She was the last of a dying clan, born with the Eyes of Truth—sight that pierced through illusion and form, revealing the soul's true nature. It was this gift that cursed her people, for kings and tyrants had hungered for such power.
She saw it in him.
He was not merely a vampire. He was something ancient. Something divine and imprisoned in mortal skin.
But she said nothing.
They lived in the forest, far from men and monsters. And for the first time in either of their lives, love blossomed—quiet, tender, and real.
The child, once cast from one world into another, felt the warmth of belonging. He laughed in his awkward, beautiful way. He cried when he scraped his knee. He called her Mother with a voice so soft it could break stone.
Until the day she did not return.
---
He waited.
Night fell, and still she was gone.
He searched the forest, calling her name beneath a sky that refused to answer. His voice cracked with fear, his bare feet bloodied by roots and stone.
Then he found her—collapsed beside a pool of silver water, her hand clutching her chest, her breath shallow.
She smiled as he approached.
"I'm sorry… if I made you wait, my dear son…"
"No," he whispered, falling to his knees.
"If I can no longer stay by your side…"
Tears stained her cheeks. Her arms trembled as they reached for him, brushing his face one last time.
"Live on, my dearest child. Your journey… has only just begun."
Her body shimmered—like a dream returning to the stars. Her last smile lingered, a ghost upon her lips.
And then… she was gone.
"No… Mother!!!"
He screamed, a cry not of a child, but of an eternity screaming through mortal flesh.
"Please… don't leave me!"
The forest answered with silence.
The light in his violet eyes dimmed. Grief swallowed him whole. His heart—once warmed by her embrace—grew cold.
And so, the boy, neither man nor monster, walked into the woods.
Alone again.
But no longer the same.
His story had begun.