The hooves of the horses struck the soft earth in steady rhythm, a quiet drum beneath Eva's tense frame. She sat stiffly on Lucy, letting the motion carry her, while Lucarion rode alongside, calm, poised, his horse matching hers step for step. The forest pressed in, cool shadows flicking over moss and ferns, the air scented with pine and damp soil.
"You've seen a lot today," Lucarion said softly, breaking the quiet.
Eva's gaze didn't leave the trail. "Why show me any of it?" she asked, voice tight.
"Because you needed to see it," he replied evenly. "To understand the system—and why I need you beside me."
Her eyes flicked to him, skeptical. "Why would I want any part in that?"
"You wonder at morality," Lucarion said, his voice low. "It is never as simple as right or wrong. The question is consequence. Lives saved, lives lost."
Eva's eyes narrowed. "So the end justifies the means?"
"No," Lucarion said. "But sometimes the end outlives the means. You, of all people, know what victory costs. Blood, command, obedience — all justified in the moment, all condemned later. Tell me, which is the truer sin: cruelty that preserves life, or purity that destroys it?"
She pressed her lips together, gaze locked on the shifting path.
Lucarion leaned closer. "You could lead another army, rage at the world, risk countless lives. Or… you could remain here, beside me. Shape the system from within. Influence how humans live, how they are protected, how power is tempered with care. That is real impact. That is real choice."
Eva swallowed, the horse's rhythm pressing against her chest. Morality and pragmatism collided: the instinct to fight, the temptation to control what she could, the whisper of power and safety intertwined.
"You will say no," he murmured, "because your mind knows only black and white. But I ask you: would your people forgive you if you tore them from their homes, to be beaten and broken again?"
The forest whispered around them, sunlight fading through the trees. Eva said nothing. Her hands tightened on the reins, her heart beating in time with the horses.
The sun dropped lower, shadows threading through the forest. Eva's senses sharpened; every snap of twig or rustle of leaves quickened her pulse. Lucarion rode with precise calm, scanning the edges of the trail.
A shout split the silence. Figures burst from the underbrush, rough garb, blades gleaming.
Lucarion's voice cut through, calm and commanding. "Ride!"
Eva spurred Lucy forward. Arrows hissed past, one grazing bark near her shoulder. She kept her posture tight, controlled.
Lucarion pushed ahead, carving a path. Eva followed, Lucy leaping fallen logs, weaving between branches. Boots pounded behind, shouts echoing, but Lucarion never faltered. He knew the terrain; she matched his lead.
The roar of water rose before them. The river.
Lucarion turned his head just enough for his voice to reach her. "The ford. Stay close."
The horses plunged into the current. For a heartbeat, Eva believed they might cross—until Lucy got struck by a log and reared. The river surged, brutal and cold. Eva lost her grip, the world flipping.
Water crushed her chest. Her limbs thrashed, useless against the pull. Calm calculation ripped away in a flood of terror. She could not swim. The current dragged her under.
Through the spray, Lucarion's hands closed around her. His grip steadied her for an instant, anchoring her against the torrent. "Hold!" he shouted, his voice nearly drowned by the roar.
But the current carried them onward. The thunder ahead grew deafening—water breaking over stone. Eva's eyes widened at the white froth, the sudden edge—
Then they fell.
Darkness.
When Eva opened her eyes, she was wrapped in warmth. A heavy cloak, smelling faintly of earth from the cave floor, of smoke from the fire that flickered ahead—and beneath it, a softer scent of jasmine. She shifted, heart pounding, water still clinging to her skin.
Her fingers brushed her side. The sodden riding cloak and gown she'd worn were gone, along with her boots and gloves. Only her shift clung damply beneath the cloak. Her eyes caught the embroidery along its hem—a delicate silver tree, a tiny constellation woven into its branches. Lucarion's cloak. Her jaw tightened.
Eva sat up slowly, steadying her breath. Of course he'd taken the liberty. Typical vampire arrogance.
The fire threw restless shadows across the cave walls. Lucarion was nowhere in sight. Only dripping water echoed in the stone.
Eva pushed herself upright, the cloak heavy on her shoulders. Something slipped free and clattered to the ground. A small wooden stake. Her stake. She bent, fingers curling around its familiar weight.
Deeper in, she found her riding gown, boots, and gloves spread neatly across a flat rock, the fabric still damp but no longer dripping. Lucarion's doublet and gloves lay beside them, wrung through yet dark and heavy with water. The air was too cold; nothing would dry here.
Footsteps broke the stillness. She turned sharply as Lucarion entered the cave. Damp hair, composed expression, his eyes scanning her with quick precision.
"How do you feel?" he asked, voice low, even.
Eva studied him, suspicion flashing before her shoulders eased. "I've just woken," she rasped. "What happened?"
Lucarion stepped closer to the firelight. "We were attacked by remnants of the old guard—a sect of purists. Most have been hunted down, but the few who remain are cautious… difficult to draw out." His gaze lingered on her, unreadable. "Your presence was enough to stir them."
Eva rolled her eyes, a sharp breath escaping her nose. "Naturally, there was a hidden agenda."
Lucarion didn't rise to the jab. "You haven't answered my question. How do you feel?"
"I'm fine," she said briskly. "We should look for the horses, get back before dawn."
The words scraped. A cough clawed at her chest, and she fought it down.
Lucarion's eyes fixed on her. "You're holding it in."
Her jaw tightened.
"Just cough." He moved to a pack near the wall, drew out a flask, and held it toward her. "You'll breathe easier."
The fit broke free, sharp and ragged, burning her throat. She hated the helpless sound.
Lucarion waited until she took the flask.
Eva sipped, the cool water easing the burn. She exhaled, steadying herself, and handed it back.
"We can't return yet," Lucarion said. "My men are sweeping the forest. Until they've cleared the remnants, we stay hidden." He unrolled a heavy quilted length near the fire, its surface thick enough to blunt the stone's chill. "Get comfortable."
From a small pack, he drew out bread and smoked meat, the scent curling through the cave. He looked to her, calm, unreadable. "Sit. Eat. You'll need your strength."
Eva lingered a moment before stepping toward the fire. She studied him as she sat down by his side. Breaking the silence, she said, "So… vampires feel no cold," her eyes flicked to his bare tunic, the firelight catching the smooth lines of his shoulders. "Not a fable, then?"
Lucarion smirked faintly, tearing a strip of meat and tossing it into his mouth. "We do feel cold—or hot—but only for a moment," he explained, leaning back slightly. "Our bodies adapt. There's a brief adjustment period, then we match the environment perfectly. It's similar to what you do when adjusting to a sudden chill. A shiver, then your body finds equilibrium. We simply do it faster, and with far greater range. Once adjusted, it's… effortless."
Eva nodded slowly, tugging the thick fabric tighter. "Thanks… for this," she said quietly, a hint of reluctant gratitude. "It seems treated somehow. It didn't get wet."
"It's been reinforced," he said simply, "though I don't need it."
She let her gaze drift to her damp clothes. "And the rest?" she asked, nodding toward the gown and cloak. "I take it you thought it necessary to… strip me down."
"It was," Lucarion said evenly. "With sodden clothes, hypothermia would have pulled you under. You'd be dead before morning."
Eva let her gaze linger on him, noting the evenness of his expression. He showed no flicker of surprise or discomfort, no hesitation in his voice. That cold detachment was exactly what she needed to see. More importantly, she felt no stirring of the protective, violent urge she was trained to sense around those with impure intent—a reassurance that, despite having undressed her, his actions had been purely pragmatic. She exhaled slowly, letting her shoulders relax for the first time since the river, and allowed herself the faintest curve of a smile as she settled against the cave wall.