"AYLA!!!"
I groaned, burying my face deeper into the thin blanket. "Lira… it's too early…"
"Too early? It's seven, Ayla! You promised you'd get up on time today!" Her voice cut through the dorm room like a siren.
I was still half-asleep, tangled in sheets, drifting in and out of dreams where I was running through endless corridors of St. Michael's Church, dodging chores and the stern gazes of the nuns.
I peeked one eye open.
Lira was standing at the edge of my bed, hair tied into a messy braid, waving her phone like a flag of war. "You'll be late for class again if you don't get up now!"
I groaned louder. "Five more minutes… please."
"Nope. Zero minutes. Nada. Now!" She plopped onto the bed, poking my side with unrelenting enthusiasm. "Come on, orphan number one! Don't tell me you forgot what happens to tardy students!"
I flinched. "You're not helping."
She smirked. "I am helping. You'll thank me later."
Growing up in St. Michael's Church had taught us discipline, patience, and self-reliance. Orphans like Lira and me didn't have family to fall back on, no one to fuss over us when we messed up or needed guidance. The church provided a roof, meals, and a semblance of structure, but it was Lira who made life bearable, through laughter, chaos, and endless energy that could wake the dead.
Dragging myself upright, I rubbed my eyes, tugged my uniform into some semblance of neatness, and trudged toward the bathroom. Lira, naturally, followed. "Fine, fine. I'm awake," I muttered.
"Finally!" she cheered. "Breakfast is almost over, and you know Father Ben's warnings about skipping morning meals. Or are you trying to get your stomach in trouble too?"
I laughed weakly, brushing my teeth. Our dorm room was small, cozy in a chaotic sort of way. Two beds, two desks, a shared wardrobe stuffed with mismatched clothes, and enough clutter to make any visitor suspicious. But it was ours, and that made it home.
By the time we reached campus, the lecture halls were buzzing with life. Students sprawled on benches, earbuds in, scrolling endlessly on phones, or pacing anxiously, muttering about exams.
Lira dragged me toward the cafeteria. "Food first. You can't think properly on an empty stomach."
I muttered under my breath but let her pull me along. The smell of eggs, toast, and coffee filled the air, comforting in its normalcy. We grabbed trays and settled at our usual corner, perfect for observing campus life while dodging the chaos of cafeteria lines.
"So," Lira whispered, leaning over her tray, "did you finish Professor Vega's assignment?"
I groaned. "Barely. I stayed up late trying to figure out the last question. Numbers, charts… ugh. She does it on purpose."
Lira chuckled. "Figures. You overthink things. You're too smart for your own good."
I smirked. "Says the girl who called me at midnight asking how to spell 'accommodation.'"
"That was one time!" she protested, though her laughter gave her away.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Lira, ever the dramatic one, occasionally gestured at a student passing by or whispered a random comment that made me laugh quietly. Our friendship was full of these little rituals: teasing, inside jokes, and long, meaningless conversations that grounded us in normalcy.
After breakfast, we parted ways. Lira to her classes, me to the library. The campus was bustling with energy. With students rushing to lectures, campus staff calling out orders, the occasional dog barking somewhere in the distance. I walked slowly, letting the city's rhythm seep in, the hum of life calming my senses.
The library was my sanctuary. Tall wooden shelves, rows of neatly stacked books, the faint smell of old paper and polished wood, was my escape. I wandered past familiar sections: psychology, human resources, sociology. My fingers trailed along the spines, occasionally brushing titles that sparked fleeting curiosity.
Then something unusual caught my eye. A thin leather-bound book, tucked oddly on a high shelf: Bloodlines of the Night: Secrets of the Vampire Realm.
Vampires. Really? I raised an eyebrow. Probably a misplaced fantasy novel someone snuck into the "history" section. But… something about it drew me in. The leather was worn, the edges soft and fragile, the title embossed in gold letters that glinted under the library lights.
I pulled the book down and felt its weight in my hands. Heavy. Tangible. Almost alive in a way that made me shiver. The cover carried a faint metallic scent, like iron and old paper.
I sank into a nearby chair, pulling the leather-bound book onto my lap. And then, I curiously opened it.
The first page was filled with gothic illustrations: a pale man with piercing eyes, his cloak flowing in a wind that seemed to come from another century; a castle perched on jagged cliffs under a silver moon; shadowy figures gathering in a forest clearing. The caption read:
The Nightborn: rulers of the shadows, they move unseen and feed in silence. Mortals seldom glimpse them, and those who do… rarely survive.
I shivered. Mortals seldom glimpse them? The writing was dramatic, but it had an odd scholarly tone, with footnotes, old references, and even a map showing hidden territories across Europe and Asia.
Flipping to the next page, a chapter caught my attention: Bloodlines and Hierarchies.
It detailed various clans, each with their own rules and territories. Names like Valerius, Draven, and Selkirk appeared in bold letters, alongside descriptions of their abilities, strengths, and weaknesses. One paragraph read:
The Valerius Clan. Known for cunning strategy and a thirst for control. Masters of manipulation, they rarely engage directly in conflict unless necessary. Their signature is the subtle marking of allegiance, often invisible to mortal eyes.
I paused. Invisible to mortal eyes? My mind immediately flashed to stories I'd read about secret societies, hidden rulers behind governments. My pulse quickened.
Another section, titled The Rules of Engagement, described how these creatures fought amongst themselves:
Conflict is inevitable. Territory is claimed not by brute strength alone, but by intelligence, cunning, and influence over others. War is waged in shadows. Alliances, betrayals, and subtle attacks are far more dangerous than open battle.
I leaned back, running a hand through my hair. The book didn't read like fiction. It was as if someone... somewhere... had meticulously recorded centuries of secret wars. My stomach flipped at the thought.
This is insane… completely impossible… and yet…
A smaller, handwritten-looking note caught my eye in the margin:
Those born between worlds neither fully mortal nor fully Nightborn, carry the potential to change the course of war. They are rare and unpredictable, often unaware of their true nature until tested.
I frowned, tracing the words with my finger. Between worlds? Rare and unpredictable… unaware? I shook my head. Nonsense, of course. Pure fantasy. But a small shiver crawled down my spine.
Turning the pages carefully, I discovered descriptions of their abilities: speed, strength, heightened senses, and longevity. Illustrations showed shadowy figures leaping across rooftops, eyes glowing faintly in darkness.
One passage, marked with a red symbol, seemed almost like a warning:
Never underestimate curiosity. Mortals who pry too deeply often find themselves entwined in the unseen and some do not return.
I laughed nervously, closing the book briefly.
"It's just a story. Just a story," I whispered to myself.
Yet curiosity gnawed at me. The names, the clans, the maps, was all so detailed, so vivid. I imagined the Nightborn moving silently through city streets at night, hidden from human eyes, carrying out conflicts invisible to the world. The idea thrilled me more than it should have.
I flipped further, finding a chapter called Legends and Myths Among Mortals. It detailed how humans had always recorded tales of creatures that fed on blood, often dismissed as superstition. There were old woodcut illustrations, diary excerpts, and poems warning of pale strangers with hypnotic eyes.
Mortals may write and whisper, but never truly see. The Nightborn are patient, moving silently, watching, waiting. Only the curious and the foolish, catch glimpses of their existence.
I bit my lip, trying to keep my pulse steady. Curious… and foolish. Definitely me.
Hours passed as I turned page after page. By the time I reluctantly closed the book, my heart was racing, not from fear, but excitement.
Vampires… impossible.
But the details, the depth, the history, made me wonder. Maybe it was just fiction. Or maybe not. And that made me want to see more of it later. Maybe I'll curl up on my bed with a cup of tea and read a few more chapters, just for fun.
I tucked the book under my arm and left the library. Campus was alive with chatter, laughter, and the rustle of students leaving for the day. Lira caught up with me, her backpack bouncing against her shoulder as she prattled on about her latest drama with a group project.
"Seriously, Ayla, you would not believe how clueless half of them are! I mean, I had to practically do the research for them—again!" she said, flopping onto a bench by the fountain.
I smiled, sliding down next to her and adjusting the book under my arm. "Sounds… exhausting," I said casually.
I didn't mention the book. She probably wouldn't understand why I found it interesting anyway.
Lira frowned, squinting at me. "You're awfully quiet today. And don't tell me you're thinking about homework again. I can see the gears turning in that head of yours."
I shook my head. "Nope. Just… thinking." Which was mostly true, if by thinking I meant wondering what it would be like to stumble across something exciting in an ordinary day. Something… different.
"Uh-huh," she said, raising one eyebrow. "Thinking, huh? Must be serious if you're ignoring me. Or maybe—" she grinned.
I laughed, shrugging. "I guess you caught me. Here... look at this."
I tilted the book so she could see the cover. Leather-bound, a little worn, the title glinting faintly in the sunlight: Bloodlines of the Night: Secrets of the Vampire Realm.
Lira's eyes widened. "Vampires? Seriously? You're reading this?" She reached over and flipped it open, peering at the illustrations of pale figures under moonlight and shadowed castles. "Whoa… these drawings are actually kind of… dramatic. And look at these footnotes!"
I grinned. "I know, right? I just found it in the library and thought, why not? Fun to read while walking around."
She flipped a few more pages, humming in appreciation. "I gotta admit, it's… detailed. Whoever wrote this really went all out. Clans, secret wars, hidden territories… that's some serious imagination."
"Exactly," I said, leaning back on the bench. "It's like someone tried to make the most elaborate vampire universe ever. I just… like reading it for fun."
Lira shook her head, laughing. "You're ridiculous. Only you would take a dusty vampire book seriously enough to show it off, but not seriously enough to, like, worry about it."
I chuckled, flipping to a page with a diagram of shadowy figures leaping across rooftops. "It's just… entertaining. Makes the day a little less boring, that's all."
She leaned closer, whispering dramatically: "You know, if we keep reading these together, we might accidentally summon a vampire."
I laughed so hard I almost dropped the book. "Then I hope they're friendly!"
We spent the next few minutes casually flipping through pages together, pointing out illustrations, laughing at some of the more over-the-top descriptions, and speculating wildly about the clans and Nightborn mentioned in the footnotes.
But in the back of my mind, the Nightborn lingered. The clans, the wars, and that fleeting mention of beings between world.
I closed the book one last time, tucking it snugly under my arm. Lira flopped onto the bench beside me, yawning dramatically.
"Alright, fun reader," she said, stretching. "You and your vampire obsession are officially exhausting me."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Not obsession. Just… curious. It's a fun story, that's all."
She snorted, clearly unconvinced, and we walked back to the dorm together, the sun dipping behind the city skyline. But just as we reached the dorm, a sudden gust of wind swept past us, unnaturally cold for the early evening. The pages of the book fluttered in my arms, and I instinctively hugged it tighter.
Lira glanced at me, frowning. "Ayla? You okay?"
I forced a laugh. "Yeah… just a little breeze."
Yet something in the corner of my vision made me pause. A shadow moved but when I looked directly, there was nothing there. My pulse quickened, and a strange sense of being watched crawled over my skin.
"Probably just my imagination," I whispered to myself...