- Leo -
Weeks had passed. Or at least… Leo thought they had.
Time no longer felt real in this place. It blurred and twisted, days bleeding into one another like smeared ink. There was no sun, no stars, no rhythm to mark its passing—only a loop of blood and fear, again and again, until even his dreams forgot what freedom felt like.
Surviving inside the vampires' castle wasn't life.
It was endurance. It was breathing without living.
Every morning began the same.
Clang!
The cold, metallic scream of iron doors echoed through the stone halls like a bell tolling doom. It ripped Leo from restless, broken sleep, every time leaving him breathless and disoriented.
The guards appeared outside their cell—tall, silent figures with faces like stone, expressionless and cruel. Their glowing crimson eyes scanned the children with terrifying focus, tracking every twitch, every breath. Like predators watching cattle.
The door would swing open without warning, and with it came barked commands. Sharp. Cold. Non-negotiable.
They were herded like cattle.
Each cell held four kids—crammed into narrow stone rooms, the walls damp and always cold to the touch. There was no privacy. No quiet. Just breathing, shaking, and the constant awareness of being watched.
The only relief—if it could even be called that—came in the form of a single hour.
One hour each day where they were allowed to move through a restricted corridor of the castle. No windows. No exits. But at least there was space to walk. It was during one of those bleak hours that Leo found Ryo again.
They sat together in a shadowed corner, knees pulled to their chests, their words barely more than whispers carried between breaths.
"I can't take this much longer," Ryo muttered, his eyes scanning the corridor with a paranoid edge. "This place… it's killing us slowly."
Leo nodded, the weight of exhaustion slumping his shoulders. His body ached all the time now.
Every step feels like I'm dragging a part of myself I don't even want anymore.
"But we're still here. That has to count for something."
Ryo let out a short, bitter laugh. "Is it? Surviving isn't the same as living."
"Maybe not," Leo said quietly, but it's all we have left. "As long as we're breathing, there's a chance. A chance to escape… or fight."
Ryo turned toward him, and for the briefest moment, something flickered in his eyes. Something Leo hadn't seen in a while—hope.
"You really think we can?"
Leo hesitated. His gaze dropped for a second—then rose again, steady.
He didn't know what he believed anymore. But he forced himself to look Ryo in the eye and say,
"We have to try."
Because if they didn't… then all they had left was waiting to die.
But hope was short-lived here.
Because every afternoon, they brought them to the hall of blood.
A name the kids had started whispering when they thought no one was listening. Leo didn't know who said it first, but once he heard it, it never left his mind.
It was a fitting name.
The hall was enormous and cold, its high ceiling swallowed in shadows. The scent of blood hung in the air, thick and metallic, layered over something sour and chemical. Rows of metal beds stretched out like a battlefield of corpses, and every child who walked in knew they would leave weaker than when they arrived.
Leo lay down each time like a puppet on invisible strings. He didn't resist. None of them did.
What's the point of fighting if you can't even lift your arms anymore?
The tubes slithered toward his skin like snakes. They pierced without warning—straight into the veins. Cold. Precise.
I'm not even a person to them. Just a source. Just a number.
One to two liters of blood drained from each of them daily.
The first time it happened, Leo had thought he would die.
His vision had gone white. His limbs numb. He remembered trembling on the table, unable to breathe, thinking this is it. They're killing me.
But they didn't let them die.
Not yet.
Because after the bloodletting, the guards shoved into their hands a small, grimy plastic bag filled with a thick, foul-smelling liquid. The kind of thing that looked like it belonged in a trash chute, not inside a human body.
They called it a "nutritional compound." Some of the older kids had other names for it: sludge, poison, puke juice.
But Leo knew what it really was.
Their way of keeping us alive just long enough to keep draining us.
I hate this. I hate that I need it.
But I hate dying more.
The first time he drank it, he nearly vomited. The taste was an abomination—bitter, sour, almost rancid, like metal and mold blended into one thick, clinging nightmare. It scorched down his throat and burned in his stomach like rot.
But worse than the taste… was the knowledge that he needed it.
He couldn't survive without it.
None of them could.
He'd seen it happen. And it haunted him.
Leo forced the sludge down every day, no matter how much it burned, no matter how violently his stomach twisted. Because he'd seen the consequences.
Some of the kids couldn't do it.
They gagged. They cried. They pushed it away…
Leo remembered their faces. The ones who faded too fast.
The ones he couldn't help.
The ones who were here yesterday—but not today.
He remembered how their skin had turned pale, then gray.
How they stopped standing.
How one by one, they faded—quietly, slowly—until they stopped breathing altogether.
And when they did… the vampires didn't say a word.
They simply came in, dragged the bodies away like scraps, and moved on.
Just like that.
Like trash.
Like trash.
Leo drank every drop.
Even when his throat screamed and his stomach recoiled. Even when every instinct in him wanted to spit it out and scream. He drank.
Because he still refused to give up.
Even when giving up would've been easier.
After the daily bloodletting, they were marched back to their cells—cold stone boxes with rusted bars and no escape. Leo's cellmates changed over time, but eventually the rotation stopped. He was stuck with the same three kids for what felt like an eternity.
There was Kaito—tall, sharp-eyed, with a temper that burned hotter than most. He was angry all the time, and Leo understood why. Anger was his armor.
Then there was Souta, quiet and calm. Always thinking. Always watching. He rarely spoke, but when he did, it mattered.
And finally, Haru.
The youngest.
Just a kid. Maybe twelve.
Haru had started out with fire. With light. In that first week, he talked about escape. About freedom. He whispered to Leo at night about his older siblings—how they were still out there, somewhere beyond the mountains, and how he'd find them again once this nightmare ended.
He clung to hope like it was oxygen.
But hope doesn't last long in a place like this.
It gets chipped away. Bit by bit.
At first, Haru stopped talking. Then he stopped eating. Then, even worse, he stopped drinking the sludge. No matter how much Leo begged. No matter how much they all pleaded.
His eyes lost their shine. His body grew thinner by the day.
And then, one morning—
Leo woke up and Haru was gone.
Not physically. Not yet.
He was just lying there in the corner of the cell, curled up like a child asleep after a long night of crying. But his chest wasn't rising. His lips were pale.
And he was cold.
Leo crawled toward him, calling his name again and again. But there was no answer.
He reached out with trembling fingers, pressing them gently to Haru's neck, hoping—praying—for the faintest sign of a pulse.
Nothing.
His vision blurred. His chest tightened.
Leo shook him again, harder this time.
His voice came out low, cracked at the edges.
"You were just talking to me…"
His breath hitched.
"You said we'd get out… you said your older siblings were still out there… that you'd find them."
He stared at Haru's face, pale and still.
"So why… why aren't you breathing?"
Silence. Cold. Stillness.
Souta sank to the floor and sat cross-legged, staring down, unmoving. His lips moved in a whisper—Haru's name, over and over—barely audible, like he thought maybe if he kept saying it… Haru might answer.
Kaito turned toward the wall. His shoulders trembled. Then, with a sharp grunt, he slammed his fist into the stone.
Thud.
Again.
Thud.
Blood splattered across his knuckles.
"Why him?!" he choked, voice ragged. "Why the hell him?!"
No one answered.
Because there was no answer.
No one came to check on them. Not until the usual hour.
The next morning—
Clang!
The cell bars groaned open with a violent screech, ripping Leo from shallow sleep. He blinked, disoriented—until he saw the guards at the doorway.
No… not now. Not him.
They were here for Haru.
Leo's heart stopped. He scrambled forward, launching himself across the cell floor and wrapping his arms tightly around Haru's small, cold body.
"You can't take him!" he shouted, voice cracking. "He's not… he's not just—!"
Two vampires stepped inside.
One stayed at the doorway. The other moved toward him.
No words. No warning.
The vampire raised a boot and slammed it into Leo's ribs.
Crack!
The impact sent Leo sprawling across the floor with a choked gasp. Pain exploded through his chest.
Through blurry vision, he watched as the vampire approached Haru, grabbed the small body by the leg… and began dragging him toward the exit like a sack of meat.
"No!" Leo shouted, forcing himself up.
He staggered, half-falling, half-running toward them. "I won't let you take him!" he screamed, voice raw with pain and fury.
He lunged, arms locking around Haru's torso, pulling back with every ounce of strength he had left.
The vampire stopped.
Turned.
Then—
Bam!
A brutal kick slammed into Leo's stomach, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the far wall. His back struck the stone with a sickening thud, and he crumpled in a heap, paralyzed by agony.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
All he could do was watch.
Watch as the vampire dragged Haru's body away.
And did nothing.
Again.
No… not again.
Not again.
Why can't I do anything?
Why can't I save them… even when they're already gone?
He stared at the open gate, vision swimming.
I couldn't save Milo… and now Haru too.
Even his body… I couldn't protect even that.
I need to get stronger.
I have to.
The bars slammed shut behind them.
And Leo was left alone. Crushed. Cold. Defeated.
That night, Leo lay on the hard floor, his eyes fixed on the cracks in the ceiling above. His body was weak. His veins ached. His soul… felt thinner somehow.
How much longer can I do this? How long before I fade like Haru?
Maybe that wouldn't be so bad.Maybe fading is easier than fighting.At least fading doesn't hurt like this.
He blinked slowly, the silence of the cell pressing in from every side. The others were already asleep, their breathing faint in the dark.
No…Leo, get a grip. You have to pull yourself together.You have to be strong. You have to get stronger.But how? How…?
But then—something shifted.
Leo heard voices.
Not orders.
Not yelling.
Whispers.
Low. Urgent. Not meant to be heard.
He turned his head slowly toward the bars, every muscle protesting the movement.
...What is that?
He pushed himself up on trembling elbows and crawled across the stone floor, wincing at the ache in his knees. He pressed his ear to the cold iron bars, holding his breath.
"...Did you hear?" one voice hissed. A vampire's voice—undeniable. But it wasn't cold or cruel. It was electric.
"We found it. The Dark Flame Virtue."
Leo's heart stopped.
Dark Flame… what?
"What?" another vampire whispered, trying—and failing—to mask his shock.
"Seriously? Where?"
"Doesn't matter. The higher orders confirmed it. It exists."
A pause.
"Finally," the second voice breathed.
"Now we just need the Bright Flame Virtue."
Leo's skin prickled.
Bright Flame Virtue? What are they talking about? What the hell is this?
Their footsteps began to fade, swallowed by the endless stone corridors… but their words remained. Burned into his mind like fire against paper.
Dark Flame Virtue. Bright Flame Virtue.
He slid back from the bars slowly, lowering himself until his back hit the wall.
His breath was shaky. Shallow.
They're not just draining us for blood…
They're searching for something. Something ancient. Something powerful.
The words swirled through his thoughts like smoke, impossible to grab, impossible to forget.
I don't know what it means… but something deep inside me stirred. If it's important to them—then it needs to be important to me. If the Dark Flame Virtue is real… and if there's another called the Bright Flame…
Then this nightmare is only the beginning.
He clenched his fists, nails digging into his skin, anchoring him to the now.
I need to know what they're planning.
I need to know why I'm still alive.
He looked toward the ceiling, toward the darkness beyond the stone.
I'm not just going to survive anymore.
I'm going to find the truth.