Ariella
Thornhill, Vankar island
Northern Isle
Kingdom of Kuria
October 11th 6414
3:55 am
"Run, Ella! Run!" Those were the last words her father had spoken. They echoed endlessly in her mind, a haunting refrain that refused to fade. She had done as he'd demanded, even as her heart screamed against it. She'd fled, leaving him behind among the charred remains of her brothers. The sight of their bodies, burned to unrecognizable ashes, would never leave her. But she hadn't had a choice—her father's orders had left no room for argument. The ring of fire surrounding him was a barrier she couldn't cross, and she knew, even then, that it was the last time she would ever see him.
Her mother was already gone. Her siblings, slaughtered in the most horrific manner their kind could imagine, were beyond saving. In the end, fear had forced her to obey. She'd stumbled away from the blazing hall, choking on acrid smoke that clawed at her throat. Around her, chaos reigned. The clamor of battle, the sharp clash of weapons, the screams of the dying—all blurred into a sickening cacophony. She ran, eyes stinging, the world spinning.
Thud! Thud!
They were all gone.
Thud! Thud!
Everywhere she turned, there was death.
Thud! Thud!
She willed herself not to look at the faces—at least, not at most of them.
Thud! Thud!
Because only one face mattered. Only one person mattered.
Thud! Thud!
And so, Ella ran toward her. As long as she was alive, there was still a glimmer of hope.
Boom!
A crack of thunder pulled me violently from the dream—no, the memory. My heart raced as I sat up, sweat slicking my skin. Lightning lit up the room, followed by another rumble of thunder that shook the windows. The storm raged on, its relentless downpour hammering against the glass. Groggily, I got out of bed and shuffled over to the window. The view was dark, the sky a churning mass of clouds. Rain streaked the glass, distorting the faint lights from the town below.
It had been raining since we arrived, the storm showing no signs of abating. "I wonder why they can't just change this weather," I muttered, though I knew how absurd the thought was. The unrelenting gloom was wearing on me. The gray skies, the chill in the air—it all reminded me too much of Kettlia. I longed for the warmth of sunlight, for the dry heat of home. But home was gone, ripped away from me by those I'd once called family.
Shaking off the thoughts, I turned to focus on Thornhill. This town, the place Sanders had brought us, had always been something of a legend. I'd grown up hearing stories about Thornhill—about the Dungeons that made it famous. For years, Dungeon Raiders from across the continent had been drawn here, chasing the treasures and mysteries hidden inside those ancient structures. The Dungeons were relics of a bygone age, ruins from a civilization long destroyed during the War of Race. When the Old World fell, the New World rose, and with it came these enigmatic buildings of power. They became a cornerstone of society, offering immense riches and untold dangers to those daring enough to enter.
Of course, the Dungeons didn't give up their treasures easily. They were teeming with Demonic Beasts—monstrous creatures born from the Dungeons themselves, designed to keep intruders at bay. Being a Raider was perilous, often deadly, but the rewards could change lives. And now, for the first time, I was determined to enter one myself. I had to face it, no matter what lay inside.
Thud! Thud! Thud! The sound broke my thoughts. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. The air in my room was colder than before, the chill biting at my skin. I stepped out into the hallway, my breath catching as I realized how dark it was. The only light came in brief flashes—lightning illuminating the corridor for fleeting moments, casting eerie shadows before plunging everything back into darkness. Thud! Thud! Thud! I stopped, my head snapping toward the sound. It was distant but persistent. My heightened senses, still new and disorienting, picked up every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of the wind outside. The overwhelming clarity of my new abilities had been difficult to adjust to, but thanks to Sanders' guidance, I was learning to control it. I let out a slow breath and tried to focus, my ears straining to pinpoint the source of the noise.
But no matter how hard I listened, the hallway remained silent. Only the steady rhythm of the rain and the distant rumble of thunder reached my ears. I sighed, frustrated and unsettled. For now, there was nothing.
"Hello? Is anyone here?" My voice echoed through the empty hallway, met only by silence. I glanced up the staircase toward Lil's room, where she'd chosen to settle in. "Lil, is that you?" I called again, but the only response was the heavy, rhythmic sound of THUD! THUD! THUD!—a noise that reverberated through the house, each repetition growing louder.
I hesitated on the stairs, my hand gripping the banister. Some part of me urged caution, to retreat back to the safety of my room. Everything's fine, I tried to tell myself. There's nothing to worry about. Yet the chill creeping along my spine betrayed that thought. It wasn't the cold draft that set my nerves on edge—it was something deeper, something that pulled me downward despite my better judgment.
The darkness enveloping the staircase wasn't an obstacle. My sharpened sight cut through the shadows with ease. Faint outlines of ornate details etched into the old wooden railing caught my eye, and along the walls hung faded, timeworn portraits. The images were difficult to make out completely, their details obscured by the passage of years and the lack of proper lighting. Who were these figures gazing down from cracked frames? Who had called this mansion home before us?
Sanders had remained tight-lipped about the origins of this place. No explanation on how he'd acquired it or with what funds. Ever since our escape from Yorkside, he'd managed to secure resources and accommodations far beyond what one would expect of runaways. But now wasn't the time to dwell on those mysteries.
A sudden slam broke my reverie, the sound sharp and jarring. My head snapped toward it. The kitchen. The noise came from behind the kitchen door. I stepped closer, the floorboards creaking faintly beneath me. My hand reached out to the doorknob, my fingers hovering just above it. An odd tension thrummed through me, instincts firing a warning I couldn't quite define. The stillness in the air seemed to grow heavier, as though the very house was holding its breath.
"What's the worst it could be?" I muttered under my breath, trying to steady myself. Slowly, I turned the knob and pushed the door open. The kitchen, at first glance, was just as I remembered it—lined with shelves of neatly arranged pots and pans, everything untouched and gathering dust.
But then my eyes fell on a shape near the oven. At first, it was just a dark outline, hidden in shadow. But as it shifted, stepping into a thin shaft of moonlight, I saw it clearly: a little boy. My breath caught. He couldn't have been older than nine or ten.
He stood there silently, dressed in an old-fashioned cardigan and gray shorts. His wavy brown hair was streaked with something dark, something wet—blood. The metallic tang hit my nose before my mind fully registered what I was seeing. A slash marred the boy's neck, blood seeping from the wound in steady rivulets. The air felt suddenly sharp, the atmosphere closing in.
What froze me more than the sight of his injuries was something else. There was an unnatural quality to him. His outline seemed to flicker, his form faintly translucent. I could see the shapes of the cupboards behind him, distorted as though viewed through rippling water.
He raised a hand, reaching toward me with slow, deliberate movements. My heart pounded so fiercely it hurt, my mind racing to make sense of what was happening. How did this boy get in here? What was he? The answers were beyond me. All I knew was that, as he stepped closer, the air grew colder, and the steady noise that had drawn me here seemed to fade into the pounding of my heartbeat.
"Ariella." Lily's voice cut through the fog in my mind, sharp and grounding. I jumped, spinning toward the kitchen doorway. She stood there, framed by the dim light from the hallway. She wore a plain white T-shirt and black shorts, her midnight-black hair tumbling down her back in a soft cascade. There was something steadying about seeing her there.
"Lil," I murmured, feeling a mix of relief and confusion. "Did you see him?" I glanced back into the kitchen. The boy was gone. The oppressive scent of blood that had filled the air moments before had vanished as if it had never existed. My eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of him, but there was nothing. Just empty space.
"See what, Ella? Are you alright?" Lily asked, her voice calm but tinged with concern. She walked over to the fridge, pulling it open with a slight frown. "Really?" she muttered, holding up a blood bag as if it were an offending article. "Hector knows not only Vamps live in this mansion." She replaced the bag with a quick motion and turned to face me. Her frown softened into a small smile. "Looks like I'll have to do some grocery shopping."
"Sorry about that," I said, my voice still a little shaky. "I'll talk to Hector—make sure he's more mindful."
"Don't worry about it." She waved it off, shutting the fridge and walking closer. Her eyes searched mine, and I focused hard on keeping my thoughts away from hers. That was one small comfort of my Vampirism—Lily could no longer read my mind so easily. Even though she was human, I'd long suspected she wasn't entirely ordinary. There was something unique about her, something special. Maybe even something more than me.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Lily said, her tone light, but her gaze flicked around the kitchen as if trying to spot what had unsettled me. "What are you doing down here, anyway?"
"Nothing. I couldn't sleep." I rubbed the back of my neck. "I thought I heard voices."
Lily's smile widened—her pale scar, which stretched from her lip down her jawline, became more visible when she smiled. It had always been a curiosity to me. She'd had it for as long as I'd known her, yet she couldn't remember how she got it. She reached out and took my hand, her fingers warm against mine.
"Having a hard time sleeping again?" she asked gently. I nodded, feeling my cheeks warm as she pulled me closer. Her embrace was comforting, steady. She rested her forehead against mine, the scar faintly brushing my skin.
"Do you want me to stay with you?" she offered. The question took me by surprise. We hadn't shared a bed since our childhood, back before everything had changed. Back then, it had been a monthly tradition—sleepovers that felt like a small, safe haven. As we grew older and circumstances became more dire, that habit faded. And yet, here she was, offering it again. A quiet warmth spread through me at the thought.
"Sure," I said, stifling a yawn. It wasn't just sleep I needed—I needed the comfort of not being alone. Of leaving behind the unsettling images and strange visions that had been haunting me. Together, we left the kitchen, Lily leading the way back to my room. The feeling of her presence beside me soothed the lingering tension.
Once we settled into bed, I turned toward her. "Are you awake, Lil?" I whispered, my voice barely breaking the stillness.
"Unfortunately, I'm awake," she replied with a faint sigh. "I don't think I can sleep in this house."
"Is it your headaches?" I asked softly, watching as she shifted to face the ceiling. I could sense her discomfort, see the subtle furrow in her brow. Her headaches were rare, but they reminded me that she was human in a way I no longer was.
"It's this storm," she murmured after a pause, then rolled back onto her side. She gave me a small smile, the kind that hid more than it revealed. "You should get some sleep." Her hand brushed gently over my hair, tucking a stray strand behind my ear. The touch was soothing, reassuring.
I tried to speak, but a yawn interrupted me. My eyelids grew heavy, and the tension in my chest began to ease. As sleep began to pull me under, the fear of my recurring nightmares faded. With Lily so close, I felt protected. Safe. Nothing could hurt me as long as she was here.
*
I awoke to the faint scent of synth blood and the sight of Hector standing at my bedside, a tray balanced in his hands. He inclined his head in a small bow before setting it down on my lap. The tray held a simple but satisfying breakfast: a glass of synth blood beside a plate of scrambled eggs and sausages. Lil was nowhere to be seen. The bed on her side was still neatly made, as though she hadn't spent the night there, but her faint scent lingered on the pillow. I felt a pang of longing, followed by a sharp, burning sensation in my throat as the blood's aroma grew stronger. Without thinking, I took a sip from the glass, the warm liquid easing the discomfort.
"Thank you, Hector," I said, setting the drink down and biting into a sausage. The flavor was rich and savory, a far cry from the meals we had endured in the South. "Have you seen Lil?"
Hector made a noncommittal noise, glancing toward the window. Curious, I crossed the room and peered outside. The rain had stopped, but a blanket of dark gray clouds still covered the sky, casting the grounds in a muted, silvery light. Lil was outside, crouched beside a motorcycle. She wore blue jeans and overalls over a white T-shirt, her hands busy adjusting something on the engine.
"Where did Lil get that bike?" I asked.
"From the garage, my lady," Hector replied. "She found it while exploring the property."
I squinted at the vehicle. "It looks pre-war."
Indeed, even after four millennia had passed since the Old Civilization fell, relics from that lost era still surfaced. The motorcycle was one of them—a time-worn machine from a bygone age. Its metallic frame had a weathered gleam, and though it was battered, it seemed sturdy enough. I returned to the bed and took another bite of my breakfast, savoring the eggs. I hadn't had a proper meal like this in what felt like ages.
"It's quite the relic," Hector remarked dryly. "No self-driving features, no auto-stabilization. It's barbaric, really."
I smiled, amused. It was just like Lil to find something so old-fashioned and immediately take to it, if only to irritate Hector.
"You went shopping this morning, then?" I asked as I reached for the glass of synth blood again.
"Yes, my lady. Much as I might prefer to let the Kain girl starve, I must consider your needs as well." He flashed a sharp smile. "You can't subsist on synth blood alone—not if you don't want to end up one of those gaunt creatures from the capital."
I arched an eyebrow. "You do remember that I'm awakened now, don't you? Mortal food isn't exactly a necessity."
"Yes, I remember," Hector replied with an air of nonchalance. "But I also remember how much you enjoy my cooking."
Before I could respond, Sanders' voice echoed from downstairs. "HECTOR!" With another bow, Hector left the room, leaving me to finish my meal. I drained the last of the blood and went to the bathroom to freshen up. I had insisted on unpacking my belongings myself, with Lil's help, rather than relying on Hector. Though I still appreciated his presence, I'd grown accustomed to handling my own affairs over the past few months. It felt... freeing, in a way.
The hot water of the shower was a welcome relief, soothing my sensitive skin and washing away the lingering tension of the morning. Afterward, as I blow-dried my hair, there was a knock at the door. I called for the visitor to come in, and Lil entered. She paused at the sight of me still wrapped in a towel, her cheeks flushing slightly.
"Should I come back later?" she asked hesitantly.
"Don't be silly," I said, walking to the bed where I'd laid out my clothes—a soft, V-neck sweater paired with an A-line skirt. I dropped the towel, quickly dressing before asking, "Can you grab my boots from the closet?"
She opened the closet doors and let out an exaggerated groan. "I still don't get how you can have so many shoes." She pulled out my favorite knee-high boots and handed them over. They were the same ones she had given me on my fifteenth name day—what she'd called "gogo boots." Lil had a fascination with pre-war relics, and her knack for unearthing these artifacts was one of the things I loved about her. I'd adored the boots from the moment she gave them to me, and they'd carried me through countless memories, both good and bad.
"You know what I always say about clothing," I teased.
"'You can never have too much,'" she muttered, rolling her eyes. She gestured to the empty glass on the tray. "Hector's cooking for you again, huh? Must be nice to have him around."
I giggled, taking the glass from her and setting it back on the tray. "It makes him happy, you know, looking after me."
Lil's expression softened. "How are you feeling? The hunger..."
"It's not as bad as I thought it'd be," I admitted. "Though it's different than I expected. It's like this itch in my throat—constant, but manageable. The training helps."
"I still don't like that you awakened so early," Lil said, her brow furrowing. My awakening had come sooner than anyone had anticipated, triggered by the chaos that had uprooted our lives. While it allowed me to cultivate my newfound powers, it also brought challenges that neither of us had been prepared for. I reached for her hands, holding them gently.
"It's fine," I said softly. "I'm learning. And besides, I have you." I lifted her hands to my lips, brushing them lightly against her fingers.
"I'm sorry we moved here because of me," I murmured, staring down at my hands. "I know you were starting to settle in back in Kettlia, and now…" I trailed off, letting the unfinished thought hang in the air.
Lil halted mid-step, turning to me with a frown. "Hey! Wait up. You know it's not your fault we're here," she said, her voice firm but not unkind. "Stop it with the blame game."
"Lil—"
"Seriously," she interrupted. "Besides, I was getting pretty sick of the city too. Crowded streets, too many eyes...this place might be better for us." She paused, her gaze softening. "Look at it this way: the R.E.T.U will never think to look for us here."
A cold shiver ran down my spine at the mention of the R.E.T.U. The Royal Enforcement Taskforce Unit's reputation preceded them. They were relentless and merciless, even toward former princesses who'd once stood at the heart of the royal court. They wouldn't stop until they had what they wanted, and the thought of them catching up to me… well, it was better not to dwell on it.
"Thanks for that," I said softly, appreciating her attempt to ease my guilt. "I was actually thinking—maybe we could head into town? Check it out together."
Lil's expression shifted to something between amusement and exasperation. She pulled her hand away from mine, shaking her head, though the corners of her mouth twitched as if she were fighting off a smile. "Yeah, no thanks."
"Come on," I urged, grinning now. "You've probably already got that bike fixed. We could take it out and see what the town's like. Maybe even spot a few Adventurers."
She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, the bike's fixed. Wasn't hard to get it running." She hesitated, glancing out the window. "But I don't know. Maybe we shouldn't rush out there just yet. We've only just arrived. Shouldn't we wait and scope the area out first? Get a sense of who's around?"
I narrowed my eyes at her, tilting my head in that way I knew would make her cave. She huffed out a dramatic sigh, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. Whatever. It's not like I have anything better to do."
I beamed at her. "Great! Go take a shower and put on something nice. I'll meet you in the kitchen."
_
Royal Palace of the Ashtarmel FamilyYorkside Region,Pandaemonium, Capital of the Kingdom of AshtariumAugust 3rd, 64066:25 pm
The dining hall was vast, its high-vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate chandeliers that cast a soft, golden light over the long, polished table. Velvet draperies embroidered with the Ashtarmel crest hung at the tall windows, their heavy folds lending an air of quiet grandeur. Each chair at the table was carved from dark wood, its edges inlaid with shimmering silver filigree that caught the candlelight. Tonight, as on every evening, the royal family gathered for dinner—a rare moment when the King could spend time with them all.
At the head of the table sat Rafael Ashtarmel, King of the realm. Though the weight of his crown never left him, this time was sacred. He had decreed that no matters of state were to interrupt dinner; it was the one time of day when duty yielded to family. Opposite him, the Queen sat in her place of honor, her graceful posture and serene expression a counterpoint to the lively conversations and movements around her. To their sides were their children.
The two eldest sons leaned toward one another, deep in discussion about the ongoing trade negotiations with the southern kingdom of Xibalba. Their cousin, Isaiah, chimed in occasionally, his tone both animated and insightful. Further down the table, the younger sons were entertained by the King's youngest brother, their laughter punctuating the room. At the far end, Delilah sat quietly, engrossed in her book, her finger idly tracing the gilded edges of the pages. She seemed oblivious to the lively chatter, her mind elsewhere.
Seated next to the King was his youngest and dearest child, Ariella. At just eight years old, she had yet to undergo her awakening and remained as mortal as Delilah. Rafael cherished this time—watching her grow, hearing her laugh, and seeing her healthy and full of life. He had fought hard for these moments, for her existence itself. The memory of her birth still haunted his dreams. Vampire births, especially for those of New-blood lineages like her mother, were fraught with danger. The sterility rate among their kind had grown over the years, making every successful birth a miracle.
Ariella's silver-blonde hair caught the light, the soft strands framing her pale, fair skin. Her indigo eyes, a hallmark of the Ashtarmel bloodline, sparkled with curiosity and determination. She was smaller than others her age, a trait inherited from her mother's side, but her diminutive size belied a budding strength. In her hands, she turned over a small dagger, a gift from her father on her name day. With deft movements, she spun it carefully, her technique already showing promise despite her youth.
"Papa, how did I do?" she asked, glancing up at her father with a mix of pride and hope.
Rafael smiled warmly, a rare expression that softened his otherwise regal features. "That was quite impressive, my little one. It seems your sessions with Sanders have been productive."
Ariella's face lit up. "Papa, where is Sanders? He's been gone a while—"
Before she could finish, the door to the dining hall opened, and General Nehemiah Ashtarmel strode in. Unlike his usual practice of changing into more informal attire for dinner, tonight he wore his black military uniform, every detail crisp and perfect. His face was set in a grim line. Ariella adored her uncle. He treated her with a rough honesty that she found refreshing—never coddling her as others did. He crossed the room and leaned close to whisper in the King's ear.
Rafael's expression darkened slightly, though he quickly masked it. Only those who knew him well, like his wife and children, could see the fleeting worry that flickered across his face.
"What is it, my love?" Queen Marie Ashtarmel asked. She had been half-listening to court gossip from her sister-in-law, Yelena, while feeding her youngest, Chloe. However, her sharp eyes had been on Ariella, noting how the girl handled her dagger with skill well beyond her years.
"Nothing to worry about," Rafael said, rising gracefully from his chair. He towered over those gathered, his presence commanding and otherworldly. As a member of the illustrious Ashtarmel bloodline and a veteran of the Long War, Rafael exuded power and elegance. His every movement was deliberate, his demeanor both regal and intimidating. To Ariella, he was a figure to aspire to—an image of strength and wisdom. Even at her young age, she dreamed of growing up to be like him.
The room fell silent as Rafael addressed his daughter. "Come with me, Ariella."
Every head turned. For a moment, the air in the hall grew still, heavy with curiosity and uncertainty. Ariella hesitated only briefly before hopping down from her chair. She began to wave goodbye to Delilah, but the Queen caught her hand before she could reach her father's side.
"What does Ariella have to do with court business?" Marie's voice was calm but firm, her gaze fixed on her husband.
Rafael took her hand in his, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "This isn't court business, my love. This is something for our daughter. Trust me."
Marie's lips pressed into a thin line, her protective instincts warring with her husband's reassurance. She looked down at Ariella, who returned her gaze with wide, trusting eyes. Finally, she released her hand.
"Just be careful with her. She's still a child," the Queen said, her voice low.
"I will," Rafael replied, his tone gentle. "I always will."
Ariella moved to her father's side, taking his hand. Though she didn't know what awaited her, she felt a rush of excitement. Whatever it was, it had to be something important if Papa wanted her to come along. With her small hand in his, she walked confidently beside him, ready to prove she could handle whatever lay ahead.