I returned to the village at the break of dawn. As the first rays of morning slipped past the horizon, Frans' influence left me like a fever breaking.
All the emotions I had suppressed surged back, and my skin crawled when I realized how drenched in blood I was. The vivid memories of the slaughter made my stomach twist. I cringed inwardly at the thought of having lost my hands and legs several times through the night.
Frans' murderous instincts—and the twisted pleasure he took in shedding blood—still lingered in my mind like an unwanted stain.
It took me a moment to snap out of my thoughts and notice that the early-rising elves had gathered around.
They stared, not only at me, but at something over my left shoulder.
I turned my head and nearly jumped. In my vampiric frenzy, I had carried back the severed head of that strange serpent as a trophy. The thing was massive, as large and heavy as a boulder. I immediately dropped it to the ground.
"Is that… is that the mother snake?"
"I think it is… look at the wings by the ears!"
"By the gods… he's done it!"
Their reactions confused me. I couldn't tell if the gasps were from awe, disbelief, or fear—perhaps all three.
The elven chieftain's approach through the crowd was a welcome sight.
"Your Highness, was it you last night?" he asked, glancing between me and the grotesque head.
I nodded. "Yes. Do you know what kind of serpent this is? It's… different from the rest."
He crouched to inspect it, and a slow, amazed smile formed on his lips. "Yes… a mother snake."
"But how did you do it?" He looked up at me. "A mother snake never leaves her lair. They say even getting inside is impossible—the air alone is so toxic that no one survives more than a second. And the entrance is guarded by dozens of serpents."
I told him everything: how I found the clearing, slaughtered the serpents, discovered the crevice, and bombarded it with solar beams until the mother serpent emerged. He seemed to lose me at the "solar beams" part, but he understood enough.
"You've freed this part of the forest from the serpents, High Prince. For centuries, no one has managed that," the chieftain said in awe. "First you cure my daughter, and now this… I don't know how to thank you."
I raised an eyebrow. The last I'd heard of his daughter, she had been unconscious but safe. "And where is your daughter now?"
"As you know, she cannot leave the house during daylight," the chieftain said. "But she awoke a few hours ago. We spoke. I must thank you—for not taking her heart and mind."
In truth, a vampire had no control over that. Whether a turned subject retained their sanity depended on their mental fortitude and physical resilience. She must have survived because she was an elf.
"Chieftain! Lysandra!" a voice called—Floren, the same elf from before, sprinting toward us.
"What is it? What happened?" the chieftain asked, worry in his voice.
"Come! You have to see it for yourself!" Floren said, smiling.
The crowd followed him toward the chieftain's home, leaving the serpent's head behind. There, in front of the house, we saw Lysandra kneeling in the yard, blissfully tending to the flowers. Sunlight poured over her back, yet it did nothing—only gave her dark hair a golden sheen.
"My Lysandra!" the chieftain cried, rushing forward to embrace her.
The confused girl returned his hug, then blinked at the sight of the cheering elves. She clearly didn't yet understand the situation. But when her gaze found me, it froze. Recognition flashed across her face—she knew what I was.
"This is the man who saved you, Lysandra," her father said. "You owe him your life."
I approached her, and she didn't look away. She was now a lesser vampire—a "created" vampire. Such beings possessed heightened senses, greater strength and speed, and an affinity for the night. Unlike greater vampires like Frans, who were born into the bloodline, they couldn't transform into bats or sire others with their blood.
Still, something was different about her. Lesser vampires had eyes as black as pitch. Hers remained hazel brown, ringed with a faint golden glow.
I shouldn't have been surprised. If I—a vampire—could survive sunlight, then it was only natural that those born of my blood could too.
"I am Lysandra," she said, meeting my gaze. "And I think I'm in love with you."
That was nothing unusual. Infatuation was a common side effect among female subjects.
"About your question, chieftain," I said, turning back to him. "I think I know the answer."
He frowned slightly. "What question, Highness?"
"How to thank me," I replied. "And I think you already know the answer."
He paused, studying me. "I don't know who you really are…"
I braced myself for what he was about to say. I wasn't sure if the vampire lord in me could handle rejection. I didn't think the day nor the elven runes would be enough to dampen Frans' vampiric rage if his fragile ego was touched.
"But I do know who you're not," he continued. "You cannot be the former lord of the Crimson Woods. I saw him, long ago—cruel, heartless, and bound to darkness. He and his kind couldn't stand the sun."
He met my eyes. "You are different. You walk in daylight. You've shown mercy. You could have watched us perish yesterday, but you didn't. You saved my daughter. You destroyed the serpents that have tormented us for generations."
I stood there, a bit taken aback by the praise. It wasn't as selfless as he believed—but I'd take it.
Then, the chieftain dropped to one knee. Lysandra quickly followed, and Floren, after a brief hesitation, did the same. Soon, the rest of the elves knelt as one.
"You are an immensely powerful being, High Prince," the chieftain said solemnly. "I don't know why you would want the service of our humble village—but if you do, then I am yours. And so is my people."