The valley slept beneath a veil of mist that drifted slowly through the fields and wrapped around crooked fences and low stone cottages like a wandering ghost.
The birds had not yet begun their morning song when Elira stepped barefoot into the frost bitten grass.
Her skirt was made of plain wool, faded from years of sun and river washing. The hem had been mended so many times that it held more thread than the original cloth. Even so, she carried herself gently, like someone raised with love even if coin had never touched her home.
Behind her, the farmhouse windows glowed with soft honey colored light that spilled across the frost dusted field. The house itself was old, far older than anyone in the valley. Its stone foundation was carved with faint, worn markings that no one bothered to read anymore.
It had been gifted to her family generations ago, back when vampires and humans lived side by side in uneasy but real prosperity. In those days, the stories said, the vampire houses rewarded loyal human families with land and protection. This farmhouse had been one of those gifts, standing stubbornly through decades of changing winds and broken alliances.
Inside, warmth lived in every corner. Her mother was already awake, sleeves rolled to her elbows as she worked bread dough across the worn wooden table. The rhythm of her hands would be steady and practiced, flour dusting her dark braids and the front of her apron as she hummed quietly.
Her father would be near the door where the morning light touched the floorboards, sitting on the small stool he favored while he drew a whetstone slowly along the curved blade of his scythe. The soft scrape of metal against stone would echo through the kitchen, a sound as familiar as breathing.
Upstairs, her little brothers would still be tangled in their blankets like a pile of unruly puppies, limbs thrown over one another as they slept long past the hour their mother would soon come thundering up the stairs to wake them.
It was a good life. Not rich. Not grand. But warm in all the ways that mattered.
Elira bent at the waist and pushed her fingers into the cold earth until they curled around the thick green stems of the carrots. She loosened the soil before pulling them free with a soft pop. Clumps of dark dirt clung to their bright orange skins. She brushed them against the edge of her skirt before placing them carefully into the woven basket at her hip.
The basket was nearly half full now with carrots, turnips, and a few late cabbages her mother would use for soup later this evening for supper.
She straightened slowly and pressed a hand against the small of her back as she looked across the valley.
Morning mist still clung to the fields, drifting between crooked fences and quiet cottages. Smoke rose lazily from a few chimneys as other farmers began their work.
Beyond the far edges of the valley, the mountains rose like a dark wall against the pale morning sky. Their peaks were jagged and uneven, carved by centuries of wind and winter storms. Even in daylight they looked cold and distant, their upper slopes dusted with snow that never seemed to melt. Staring at the mounts she stood silent as the mountains were the ones watching her.
The people of the valley often said the mountains had eyes, that they had been watching long before the first farms were built below them.
Beyond those mountains lay the Northeastern Night Courts. Lands where the vampire empires ruled from cities carved from black stone and iron gates, cities so old some claimed they had stood before the first human kingdoms were crowned. Towers rose like spears into the sky there, and lanterns burned through the endless night while immortal nobles gathered behind walls no human army had ever breached.
Long ago those courts had not been hidden from the world. There had been treaties. Trade. Shared roads between human towns and vampire territories.
Stories passed through Elira's family spoke of the years when vampire lords rode openly through the valleys in velvet and silver, offering protection in exchange for loyalty. Human craftsmen worked in their cities, and in return the great houses gifted land, coin, and safe passage through the mountains.
Her farmhouse was proof of that forgotten time.
But those years had ended long before Elira was born.
Beyond those distant cities stood the great houses themselves. Ancient bloodlines stretching back through centuries of power, rivalry, and quiet cruelty. Families whose names carried enough weight to command armies, break kingdoms, or erase entire villages without leaving more than a whisper behind.
Sometimes, when the wind blew from the east at night, Elira imagined crimson eyes watching the valley from the mountain ridges.
Vampires did not visit farms.
They did not wander dusty fields or stand beside crooked fences like traveling merchants or neighboring farmers. Creatures like them had no reason to walk among places like this swamped with peasants and dirt roads.
If the vampire houses needed something, they did not come themselves.They had servants.
Or slaves.
Humans taken long ago into their courts who handled every small task such as food, errands, messages, even blood to feed on.
At least, that was what the valley stories claimed.
Elira had heard that not all vampires were the same.
Some were half human.
Those born of mixed blood could still enjoy human food such as bread, wine, and roasted meat, though the taste of blood never truly left them. They drank animal blood when hunger struck, and many lived closer to the human world, walking among towns where their nature could be hidden beneath cloaks and careful charming smiles.
But the pureblood vampires were different.
Older.
Stronger.
Colder.
They had no need for bread or wine. Purebloods fed on humans.
Stories whispered that many kept slaves within their estates, unfortunate souls whose only purpose was to be fed upon whenever their masters wished.
But it was only what little Elira understood. She had never seen either kind with her own eyes. Everything she knew came from old stories told around winter fires and warnings muttered by older farmers whenever the mountains were mentioned.
Even so, no one in the valley wandered toward the eastern mountains once the sun began to fall.
Elira shivered and brushed the soil from her hands before lifting the basket against her hip.
The morning had grown brighter while she worked her farm duties and chores. Thin bands of sunlight broke through the mist, turning the frost along the garden rows into tiny glimmering sparkling crystals.
From the farmhouse came the faint sounds of movement, wood shifting, a cupboard door closing, footsteps crossing the floorboards.
Elira walked towards her home and pushed open the wooden door and stepped inside.
Warmth wrapped around her immediately.
The kitchen glowed with golden light from the hearth where a low fire crackled beneath the hanging iron kettle. The long wooden table in the center of the room was dusted with flour. Beside it, her mother steadily continued to work, sleeves rolled past her elbows as she kneaded soft dough.
Flour streaked across her cheek and loose strands of hair had escaped the braid down her back, but her hands moved with practiced ease.
Without looking up she said, "You're finally back."
Elira set the basket down with a quiet thud.
"The ground was stiff with frost," she said. "The carrots didn't want to come out." Wiping her hands on her skirt.
Her mother glanced at the basket and nodded approvingly before dusting her hands against her apron.
"That will do nicely for supper." Her mother said with a tight smile which did not meet her eyes.
Upstairs something thumped loudly, followed by the groggy complaint of one of her younger brothers.
Her mother rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.
"Those boys could sleep through a thunderstorm."
Elira laughed faintly. Her two brothers were Eric who was 5 and Edward who was 3.
The kitchen smelled rich and comforting bread rising beside the hearth, herbs drying along the beams, and the clean scent of flour in the air.
Her mother pressed the dough flat one last time before covering it with cloth.
"I need your help today," she said.
Elira who was turning to go upstair turned back looked at her mother.
Her mother gestured toward the rows of round loaves resting near the fire.
"I have more bread than the valley will buy this week, and I cannot leave the house today."
"Why not?" Elira frowned slightly.
Her mother nodded toward the stairs.
"Your youngest brother woke with a fever during the night."
Elira eyebrows knitted while she glanced toward the ceiling again. She knew her brother Edward struggled to recover from illness ever since he was born.
"He will be fine," her mother added quickly, though worry showed in her eyes. "But I will not leave him alone."
Elira nodded with quiet understanding. If they did not sell the extra bread this week, the family might struggle for coin. Understanding this she thought of how she could sell on the path to the travelers going by! "Mother I - "
"I need you to take the loaves into town without myself or your father."
Elira froze mid sentence and blinked. "Into town...alone?"
Her mother nodded as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
"The market will be busy today. Farmers from the northern fields will be there, and the miller always buys a few loaves for his workers." She wrapped the warm bread in cloth and stacked the loaves neatly into another basket. "You will get a fair price for fresh bread this early."
Elira hesitated. She did not mind the market. She actually liked watching the bustle of wagons, traders, and farmers. But she had never gone alone.
Her father noticed the worry on her face and looked up from his scythe.
"The roads are safe," he said with a reassuring smile. "The Western Royal Guards will be patrolling today."
Elira nodded slowly without a change of expression.
The Western Guards were known across the valleys for their dark blue cloaks stitched with the silver crest of the western crown. They patrolled the trade roads regularly, especially on market days when merchants and travelers passed through the valley.
They served the Western Kingdom, the only human kingdom that still openly maintained relations with the vampire courts.
Unlike the northern and eastern empires where fear and silence ruled, the western crown believed the old alliances could be rebuilt. The vampire king himself was said to support the effort, sending envoys and courtiers to negotiate fragile understandings between their worlds.
Many villagers did not trust those agreements.
But the Western and Southern Kingdoms remained the only power actively protecting the human settlements scattered across the valleys.
Their village market stood where several trade roads crossed, a meeting place for farmers, traders, soldiers, and travelers. Where trade flowed, guards followed. Which meant the roads between the farmhouse and town would be watched today.
Her mother tied cloth over the basket and slid it across the table.
"Sell what you can," she said. "If anything remains, the innkeeper will buy the rest." Her mother walked over, placed Elira's shawl over her shoulders, and kissed her cheek.
"And try not to spend all the coin on sweets before you come home."
Elira laughed softly despite herself. "Yes, Mother I will be back before sunset."