His family was long gone, leaving behind only a photo on a document archived by the scientists. They said his mother had committed suicide after delivering Q96 and him.
Vampires always had scarce bloodlines, and twins were always a blessing for those families. His family had consisted only of his mother, his father, Q96, and his grandfather, and now they were all gone.
The ancient noble family began to crumble when his grandfather was slain by soldiers after being accused of treason. His mother, along with all their possessions and the family mansion, was taken. Though it was said she had a cousin, that person wanted nothing to do with the situation.
Sylene's fingers brushed the icy rose as if seeking solace in its unyielding chill. The mansion, the legacy, the family—all of it had been stripped away, leaving only fragmented stories and a hollow name.
After Sylene finished his bath, he carefully buried the rose in a mound of snow outside his window before finally stepping into the streets.
The sun had begun its slow descent, casting the border city in hues of gold and shadow. Sylene tugged his hood lower—his silver hair was a rarity he could not afford to display. The market sprawled before him, a chaotic tapestry of colors, sounds, and scents.
Stalls crowded the narrow streets, their tables laden with tools, weapons, and simple wares. The goods spoke of survival—sharp blades, sturdy boots, dried provisions. It was a city perched on the edge of danger, and its people lived accordingly.
Sylene's eyes darted from face to face, wary and alert. There were no others like him here, no glints of silver in the sea of dark-haired or blond-haired humans and hybrids. The weight of his difference settled heavily on him, though he had long grown accustomed to it.
He stopped in front of a small shop tucked between larger buildings. The smell of herbs drifted from within, sharp and earthy. Such a peculiar scent.
Pushing the door open, he stepped inside. The interior was dimly lit, shelves crammed with bottles of varying sizes, their contents glowing faintly. Dried herbs hung in bunches from the ceiling, casting elongated shadows on the walls.
Behind the counter, an old woman with small horns leaned over, eyes sharp behind thick glasses. Her conversation with a cloaked man was tense, their voices rising and falling in a rhythmic argument.
"Are you sure these potions for travel cost this much? Can't you give me a special price? I still need to rent a carriage to the next town!"
The woman looked gentle, but her sharp eyes behind her glasses betrayed her stern nature. "The herbs are scarce in winter, and the ones you picked are the good ones."
"Come on, ma'am. I came here because someone at the inn said this was a good place, but your potions are overpriced!"
"You do know this is a border town, right? Everything is pricey here," the woman replied nonchalantly.
"And as I said before, the herbs are scarce this winter," she said firmly. "One gold, three silver. Take it or leave it."
The man clicked his tongue before grumbling and pulling out his wallet. He counted the coins carefully and slammed them onto the counter. "If these potions weren't sold out everywhere else, I wouldn't have come here!"
The old lady only smiled as she placed the coins into the register. "Thanks for your business."
The man muttered in a dissatisfied tone again, brushing past Sylene and bumping his shoulder as he stormed out of the shop.
Sylene hesitated, wondering if the place was really as bad as the man's reaction suggested. He didn't want to be scammed again like he had been at the cloak vendor. But the old woman, still standing behind the counter, smiled at him.
"What can I help you with, young man?" the old woman asked, her tone softening as her sharp gaze landed on Sylene.
Hesitated, sylene clutching his cloak tightly. "Potions...For small injuries. Um, for frostbite. And... for travel," he added, his voice barely above a whisper.
The woman's eyes softened, and she began gathering supplies. "A sensible choice to travel. This city isn't safe." Her long, bony finger fixed her glasses repeatedly as she scoured every nook for potion supplies. "At least not for a young one like you."
As she worked, she spoke in a cheerful tone, talking about everything that had happened recently in the neighborhood, her words flowing like water—like a familiar grandmother telling stories to her grandchildren. Sylene listened in silence, nodding occasionally. Her kindness was disarming, and for a moment, he allowed himself to feel the warmth of it.