The night Elara's blood woke, the world felt wrong long before it revealed why.
Valenport had always been a city that pretended to sleep. Even after sunset, its streets usually breathed with quiet life—lanterns glowing warmly, merchants packing away their wares, voices drifting from taverns and open windows. Tonight, however, the air hung unnaturally still, as though the city itself had decided to listen instead of speak.
Clouds smothered the moon, pressing low and heavy against the sky. The scent of rain lingered without falling, thick and metallic, clinging to the back of Elara's throat.
She walked alone.
Her cloak was drawn tightly around her, dark fabric brushing her calves with each step. Elara moved carefully, boots tapping softly against damp stone, her posture slightly hunched against the cold. She was not remarkable at first glance—average in height, slender without being fragile, her body shaped by an ordinary life of routine and restraint. There was no visible strength in her arms, no sharp angles or scars that spoke of danger.
Her face, however, carried a quiet intensity.
Dark curls framed her features, loose strands escaping their tie to brush against her cheeks. Her eyes—warm brown in daylight—seemed darker at night, reflective in a way that suggested constant thought. She had the look of someone who observed more than she spoke, who felt more than she showed.
Elara had always been told she was too quiet.
Too withdrawn. Too cautious.
She had never argued.
Tonight, caution crawled beneath her skin like a warning she couldn't name.
She slowed, glancing down the narrow street ahead. The lantern at the corner flickered, its flame stretching unnaturally before snapping back into place. Shadows pooled at the base of the buildings, thicker than they should have been, as if the darkness had weight.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Get home, she told herself. You're tired. That's all.
Then she smelled it.
Blood.
The scent hit her without warning—sharp, rich, overwhelming. Elara staggered, one hand flying to the wall beside her as dizziness washed through her. Her breath came fast and shallow, her pulse roaring in her ears.
She had smelled blood before. Everyone had.
This was different.
It wasn't just a smell—it was a pull. Something deep inside her stirred, coiling tight, responding with frightening familiarity. Her mouth went dry. Her senses sharpened painfully, as though the world had been stripped of distance.
She could hear footsteps three streets away.
She could hear breathing behind her.
Elara turned.
Three figures stepped out of the shadows with deliberate calm.
They were dressed alike—dark armor reinforced with silver inlays, the metal etched with symbols that glowed faintly in the low light. Their movements were disciplined, precise, each step measured. Weapons were visible but not raised, as though they had no doubt about how this would end.
Elara's stomach dropped.
Her instincts screamed.
"Don't run," one of them said. His voice was even, almost bored. "We only need confirmation."
"I—I think you've made a mistake," Elara managed. Her voice sounded thin to her own ears. "I don't know who you are."
The man stepped closer, studying her with unsettling focus. His eyes flicked to her hands, her throat, the steady rise and fall of her chest.
"You will," he replied.
Before she could react, pain flashed across her palm.
A blade had sliced her skin—clean, deliberate, controlled.
Elara gasped as blood welled instantly, warm and vivid against the cold night air. The pain barely registered before something far more terrifying replaced it.
The world stilled.
Her blood shimmered.
The droplets darkened, thickened, hovering for a heartbeat above her skin before dissolving into wisps of shadow that slid back into her veins. The cut sealed itself smoothly, leaving unbroken skin behind.
Silence crashed down around them.
One of the hunters exhaled slowly. "There it is."
Elara stared at her hand, shaking violently. "What… what did you do to me?"
The man's gaze hardened. "We didn't do anything. We proved what you are."
Fear crushed her chest. "I'm human."
"No," he said calmly. "You're not."
The word echoed inside her like a death sentence.
"Blood of the Eclipse," another hunter murmured, reverent and afraid all at once. "Rare. Potent."
Elara's knees buckled.
She didn't wait for them to finish.
She ran.
Her body moved before her mind caught up—feet pounding against stone, breath tearing from her lungs. She darted into the nearest alley, then another, instincts guiding her through paths she had never taken before.
Crossbow bolts slammed into walls beside her, sparks flying. She slipped, caught herself, pushed harder.
Her body felt wrong.
Stronger. Faster. Lighter.
Her legs carried her farther than they ever had. Her lungs burned, but they did not fail. Her senses screamed warnings seconds before danger struck.
She turned a corner—
And ran straight into darkness.
Not empty darkness.
Living darkness.
Shadows folded inward, thickening until they formed a solid shape. A figure stepped out of them, tall and still, his presence bending the night around him.
Elara skidded to a halt.
Behind her, the hunters froze.
The man before her was impossibly tall, his build lean and powerful, his silhouette sharp against the faint glow of distant lanterns. Shadows clung to him unnaturally, curling around his boots and shoulders like obedient creatures.
He did not rush.
He did not raise a weapon.
"Leave," he said quietly.
His voice was low, controlled, carrying an authority that made the hunters hesitate despite themselves.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then he did.
The space between him and the hunters vanished.
Steel rang. Shadows surged. One hunter collapsed unconscious before he could even shout. Another was disarmed in seconds, his weapon clattering uselessly to the ground. The third fled, terror breaking discipline.
Silence returned.
Elara backed away, trembling.
The stranger turned toward her.
Moonlight broke through the clouds just long enough to reveal his face—pale, sharp-featured, and unnervingly beautiful in a way that promised danger rather than comfort. His dark hair framed his face, and his eyes glowed a deep, ancient crimson.
His gaze dropped to her chest.
Something faintly glowed beneath her skin, right over her heart.
"So it has begun," he murmured.
Her voice shook. "Who are you?"
He met her eyes.
"My name is Kael."
The ground seemed to tremble beneath their feet.
"And if you stay here," Kael continued, stepping closer as shadows curled protectively around them both, "you will be dead before dawn."
Elara swallowed hard. "And if I go with you?"
His expression darkened.
"Then your blood may change the fate of this world."
She followed him anyways
Elara did not remember deciding to follow Kael.
One moment she was standing in the ruins of her ordinary life, heart hammering, blood humming beneath her skin—and the next, she was moving, feet falling into step behind him as though the choice had been made long before she understood it.
Kael led without looking back.
He moved through the city like a shadow given purpose, taking paths Elara had never noticed despite having lived in Valenport her entire life. Narrow passageways opened where she would have sworn there were walls. Doors she had always believed abandoned creaked open at his approach, then sealed shut behind them as if the city itself were conspiring to erase their trail.
Elara struggled to keep up.
Not because he was fast—though he was—but because her senses were unraveling.
Every sound struck her too sharply. The distant drip of water echoed like thunder. The scrape of her boots against stone grated against her nerves. She could hear her own heartbeat, loud and uneven, and beneath it… something else.
A second rhythm.
Not her own.
She pressed a hand to her chest, breath stuttering. The faint glow beneath her skin pulsed in time with the unfamiliar beat, sending a shiver down her spine.
Kael stopped abruptly.
Elara nearly collided with his back. The moment she was close, she felt it—cold, calm, controlled power radiating from him like a held breath. He turned slowly, crimson eyes narrowing.
"You feel it," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," she whispered. "It's like… something is trying to wake up."
Kael's jaw tightened. "It already has."
They emerged onto a bridge overlooking the river that cut through Valenport like a dark vein. The water below churned sluggishly, reflecting fractured lantern light. Kael rested one hand on the stone railing, his posture tense, alert.
"Listen to me carefully, Elara," he said. "From this moment on, nothing about your body—or your life—will behave the way it used to."
Her throat tightened. "You make it sound like I'm already lost."
His gaze softened—just barely. "No. But you are changing."
A sharp pain flared behind her eyes. Elara winced, staggering slightly as the world seemed to sharpen again. Colors deepened. Shadows stretched. She could see every crack in the stone beneath her feet, every ripple in the water far below.
"I can see too much," she whispered.
"You will learn to control it," Kael said. "In time."
"And if I don't?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he reached out—slowly, deliberately—and took her wrist.
The moment his skin touched hers, Elara gasped.
Cold flooded her veins—not painful, but startling, like plunging into deep water. Her racing heartbeat steadied. The overwhelming tide of sensation pulled back, settling into something manageable.
Kael released her at once, as though the contact burned him.
"You see?" he said quietly. "Your blood responds to mine."
Fear and wonder twisted together in her chest. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Kael replied, "that your lineage is older than you realize. And far more dangerous."
Before she could ask more, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
Kael spun, shadows surging around him.
"Down," he ordered.
Elara dropped just as a bolt embedded itself in the stone where her head had been moments before.
"They followed us," she breathed.
"Yes," Kael said grimly. "And they won't stop."
More figures emerged at the far end of the bridge—hunters, their weapons raised, expressions hardened by certainty. Symbols flared along their armor as they advanced.
Kael stepped in front of Elara without hesitation.
"Stay behind me," he said. "No matter what you see."
The first hunter lunged.
Kael moved like nightfall itself.
Shadows exploded outward from his body, forming blades, tendrils, barriers—shapes that should not have existed, yet moved with deadly precision. He disarmed one attacker, struck another unconscious, and sent a third flying back with a force that cracked stone.
But there were too many.
A bolt struck Kael's shoulder, silver-tipped and glowing with enchantment. He barely reacted, snapping it in half and tossing it aside, though Elara saw the brief flash of pain cross his face.
Something inside her snapped.
"No," she whispered.
Power surged.
The glow beneath her skin flared violently, darkness racing along her veins. The air around her trembled, responding to her fear, her anger, her refusal to lose the only protection she had.
Kael turned sharply. "Elara—don't—"
Too late.
The shadows answered her.
They surged outward in a wave, slamming into the hunters with raw, uncontrolled force. One was thrown from the bridge entirely, his scream cut short by the river below. The others stumbled back, terror breaking their formation.
Elara gasped, collapsing to her knees as the power drained from her, leaving her shaking and weak.
Kael was at her side instantly.
His hands hovered over her, uncertain. "You can't do that again. Not yet."
"I didn't mean to," she whispered. "It just… happened."
"I know," he said. "That's what makes you dangerous."
Sirens echoed in the distance—human guards drawn by the chaos.
Kael didn't hesitate.
He lifted Elara effortlessly into his arms.
She should have protested.
Instead, she clung to him, overwhelmed by exhaustion and fear. His strength was undeniable, his grip steady, protective. Shadows wrapped around them both as he leapt from the bridge, landing silently on the riverbank below.
As they fled into the forest beyond the city, Elara's consciousness wavered.
The last thing she felt before darkness claimed her was Kael's voice, low and fierce against the night.
"Hold on," he murmured. "I won't let them take you."
And for the first time since the blood woke—
Elara believed him.
Elara drifted in and out of consciousness as Kael carried her into the forest.
She was vaguely aware of movement—swift, silent, impossibly smooth. The ground no longer jarred beneath her; every step he took was measured, controlled, as though the earth itself softened in his presence. Cool night air brushed against her face, carrying the scent of damp leaves, moss, and something darker… something ancient.
When she finally stirred, the first thing she noticed was the quiet.
Not the peaceful quiet of safety, but a deep, listening silence—the kind that belonged to places untouched by civilization. The forest stretched endlessly around them, massive trees rising like pillars of a forgotten world. Their bark was scarred and twisted, roots breaking through the earth like veins.
A fire crackled softly nearby.
Elara blinked, her vision slowly clearing.
Kael sat across from her.
Up close, in the firelight, he was even more unsettling.
He was built like a creature designed for war—tall and broad-shouldered, his frame lean but dense with coiled strength. Every line of his body spoke of balance and lethality rather than brute force. His armor had been partially removed, revealing a dark, fitted tunic beneath that clung to his torso, outlining the powerful structure of his chest and arms.
His skin was pale—unnaturally so—but smooth and unblemished despite the countless battles he had clearly survived. It reflected the firelight faintly, giving him an almost sculpted appearance, as though he had been carved rather than born.
His face was sharp and striking, defined by high cheekbones and a strong, angular jaw. There was no softness to him—no roundness, no excess. Even at rest, his features held tension, as if he were always bracing for something unseen. His lips were narrow, usually set in a firm line, though now they were slightly parted in thought.
Dark hair fell loosely around his face, thick and slightly wavy, catching the firelight in subtle shades of deep brown and black. It framed his features in contrast to the hard planes of his face, making his eyes stand out even more.
Those eyes.
Crimson.
Not glowing fiercely now, but smoldering—deep, layered, and impossibly old. They held intelligence sharpened by centuries, pain buried beneath discipline, and a restraint so absolute it felt fragile, as though one wrong moment could shatter it entirely.
Elara swallowed.
She became suddenly aware of herself.
She lay on a bed of cloaks and leaves, her body feeling heavier than it ever had. Her limbs were slim, still human in shape, but there was a subtle difference now—an unfamiliar tension beneath her skin, as though strength waited just beneath the surface. Her hands trembled when she lifted them, veins faintly shadowed, pulsing with a dark glow that faded as she focused on them.
Her skin was warm, flushed with life, a stark contrast to Kael's cold stillness. Her chest rose and fell quickly, heart beating fast and strong, echoing loudly in her ears. Her dark curls spilled messily around her shoulders, framing a face pale with exhaustion but alive with emotion.
Kael noticed her watching him.
"You shouldn't have used your power," he said quietly.
"I didn't know how to stop it," Elara replied, her voice hoarse.
"I know."
He stood, and the movement drew her attention immediately.
Kael rose to his full height—taller than she had realized, his presence dominating the small clearing. His movements were fluid, controlled, every step silent. He crossed the distance between them in seconds, crouching beside her.
Up close, she could feel it.
His aura.
It pressed against her senses like deep water—cold, heavy, vast. Shadows shifted subtly around him, responding to his nearness. The firelight dimmed slightly, as though reluctant to touch him.
"You are changing faster than you should," he said, studying her with unsettling focus. "Your body is adapting to the blood."
"What does that mean for me?" she asked.
"It means your senses will sharpen. Your strength will grow. Your body will begin to reject weakness."
Her stomach twisted. "And my humanity?"
Kael's expression darkened.
"That," he said slowly, "depends on you."
She looked down at her hands again. They still looked like hers—slender fingers, familiar scars from small, ordinary mistakes. But they felt different. Stronger. More aware.
"And you?" she asked softly. "What are you becoming?"
For a long moment, Kael said nothing.
Then he turned his head slightly, allowing the firelight to illuminate the faint markings along his neck and arms—dark, intricate symbols that looked like living shadows etched into his skin. They pulsed faintly, responding to something unseen.
"A curse," he said. "Bound to me centuries ago. It fused shadow to blood, hunger to duty."
Elara's breath caught. "Does it control you?"
Kael met her gaze.
"Only when I lose control."
A chill ran through her.
Despite her fear, she noticed something else—something unexpected.
He kept his distance.
His hands never lingered. His gaze never lingered on her pulse, her throat, her warmth. Every instinct in him seemed locked behind iron restraint.
"Why help me?" she asked.
His jaw tightened. "Because your blood does not belong to them."
"Does it belong to you?" she whispered.
Silence fell between them, thick and charged.
"No," Kael said at last. "It belongs to you. And that is why they fear you."
The forest stirred.
Branches creaked. Shadows shifted.
Kael straightened instantly, his body going rigid, senses flaring.
"We're not alone," he said.
Elara felt it too—a pressure at the edge of her awareness, watching, waiting.
Kael stepped in front of her without hesitation, shadows curling around him like armor.
"Stay close," he murmured. "What's coming won't care that you're still human."
Elara rose shakily to her feet, standing beside him.
Two figures—one of blood, one of shadow—framed by firelight and darkness.
And somewhere deep within Elara's chest, her blood answered the night.
The forest went silent in a way that felt deliberate.
Not the gentle quiet of night creatures hiding, but a hollow stillness—like a held breath stretched too long. Even the fire behind them seemed to hesitate, its flames shrinking as shadows thickened at the edges of the clearing.
Elara felt it first.
A pressure pressed against her senses, heavy and suffocating, as though the air itself had grown dense. Her skin prickled. The faint darkness tracing her veins pulsed once… twice… responding.
"Kael," she whispered.
"I know," he replied softly.
He shifted his stance, placing himself fully in front of her. His shoulders squared, spine straightening as though something ancient had clicked into place inside him. The shadows around his body deepened, crawling up his legs and arms, weaving into a second skin.
Up close, Elara could see it clearly now—his transformation when danger neared.
Kael was no longer merely a man.
His eyes burned brighter, the crimson glow intensifying until it reflected off the surrounding trees. The markings etched along his arms and neck flared to life, shadow-symbols pulsing like a second heartbeat beneath his pale skin. His presence became heavier, colder, pressing outward like a warning.
The forest answered.
Branches cracked.
Something moved between the trees—slow, deliberate, massive.
Elara's breath caught as a shape emerged from the darkness.
It was tall—taller even than Kael—but its proportions were wrong. Its limbs were elongated, joints bending at unnatural angles. Its skin was dark and stretched tight over its frame, veins glowing faintly with corrupted magic. Where its face should have been was a hollow mask of bone and shadow, eyes burning with dull red light.
A Revenant.
Elara didn't know how she knew the name.
She only knew the certainty that settled into her bones.
"It's drawn to you," Kael said quietly. "Your blood is calling it."
"I'm not calling anything," she whispered.
"You don't have to," he replied. "It hears you anyway."
The creature let out a low, vibrating sound—not quite a roar, not quite a voice. The ground beneath their feet trembled.
Kael moved.
He stepped forward, shadows peeling off his body and forming a blade in his hand—long, curved, and impossibly sharp. The air around him warped as though reality itself bent away from his presence.
"Do not move," he ordered Elara. "No matter what happens."
The Revenant lunged.
The impact shook the clearing.
Kael met it head-on, shadows colliding with corrupted magic in a burst of force that sent leaves and dirt spiraling through the air. His movements were precise, devastating—each strike calculated, each step perfectly balanced.
Elara watched, frozen.
She had never seen anything like this.
Kael fought like someone who had done this a thousand times—no wasted motion, no hesitation. But she could feel it now, clearer than before.
The cost.
Every time he struck, the shadow-markings on his skin spread further, crawling higher, darker. His restraint strained, stretched thin by the power he was unleashing.
The Revenant adapted quickly.
It slammed Kael into a tree with brutal force, cracking bark and sending splinters flying. Kael hit the ground hard—but rolled, already rising, already fighting.
Elara's heart hammered painfully.
"Kael!" she cried.
The Revenant turned toward her.
Its gaze locked onto her chest—onto the blood burning beneath her skin.
"No," Kael snarled.
He moved faster than she thought possible, intercepting the creature mid-stride. Shadows exploded outward, wrapping around the Revenant's limbs, slowing it.
But the creature resisted.
It reached for Elara.
Something inside her broke.
Fear turned sharp. Desperate. Protective.
The blood surged.
Elara screamed as power tore through her veins—not controlled, not gentle. The ground beneath her feet cracked, shadows rising instinctively to shield her. The glow beneath her skin flared violently, racing up her neck and arms like living darkness.
The Revenant recoiled, shrieking as the air around Elara warped.
Kael froze.
"Elara—stop!" he shouted. "You don't know what you're doing!"
She didn't.
But her blood did.
Dark energy slammed into the Revenant, tearing it apart in a violent burst of shadow and corrupted magic. The creature collapsed into ash and bone fragments that scattered across the forest floor.
Silence followed.
Elara dropped to her knees, gasping.
The power drained from her all at once, leaving her weak, shaking, terrified of herself.
Kael reached her in seconds.
He stopped short—hands clenched at his sides, breathing controlled but heavy. The markings on his skin were darker now, more extensive, creeping dangerously close to his jaw and temples.
"You cannot do that again," he said tightly. "Not like that."
"I didn't mean to," she sobbed. "I just—"
"I know," he interrupted, forcing his voice calm. "And that's why this is dangerous."
He knelt in front of her, close enough that she could feel the cold radiating from him. Up close, his restraint was almost painful to witness—his crimson eyes fixed away from her throat, her pulse, her warmth.
"My curse feeds on chaos," he said quietly. "On blood and power out of control."
Her breath hitched. "And me?"
"You are temptation," he admitted. "And hope. Both."
The honesty in his voice frightened her more than the monster had.
Kael stood abruptly, turning away as shadows receded reluctantly back into his body.
"We leave now," he said. "Before more come."
Elara pushed herself to her feet, legs unsteady but determined.
As they moved deeper into the forest, she glanced back once—at the ashes, the shattered earth, the proof of what she had done.
She was no longer running from danger.
She was becoming it.
S 7
They did not stop running until the forest thinned into a narrow ravine carved deep into the earth.
Stone walls rose on either side, ancient and jagged, shielding them from sight and sound. A thin stream cut through the center, its water cold and clear, reflecting faint starlight from the fractured sky above. The place felt old—older than the city, older than memory.
Kael slowed at last.
The moment he stopped, Elara's legs gave out.
She sank to the ground beside the stream, breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Her entire body trembled, exhaustion crashing down on her all at once. The power that had surged through her moments earlier was gone, leaving behind a hollow ache that settled deep in her bones.
Kael stood several steps away, rigid and unmoving.
His back was turned to her, shoulders tense, hands clenched so tightly at his sides that his fingers shook. The shadow-markings along his arms had not fully receded. They pulsed faintly, creeping like dark veins beneath his pale skin.
Elara noticed something else too.
He was breathing.
Not because he needed to—but because he was forcing control.
"I didn't know it would be like that," she said softly.
Kael did not answer.
"I didn't even know I could do that," she continued, staring down at her hands. They looked normal again—human, harmless. The faint darkness beneath her skin had faded, but she could still feel it. Waiting. "I thought I was going to die."
Kael finally turned.
Up close, she saw the strain etched into his face. His sharp features were tighter now, his jaw clenched hard enough to ache. His crimson eyes were darker than before, clouded with something dangerously close to hunger.
"You almost did," he said quietly.
The words stung—not with cruelty, but with truth.
Elara swallowed. "And you?"
For a long moment, he only watched her.
Then he stepped back, increasing the distance between them.
"My curse responds to blood," Kael said. "To fear. To loss of control."
He looked down at his hands as though they no longer belonged to him.
"When you unleashed that power, it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff," he continued. "One step forward, and I would have lost myself."
Elara's chest tightened. "Lost yourself how?"
Kael hesitated.
Then, slowly, he removed the last pieces of his armor, setting them aside. As he did, the shadow-markings spread more clearly into view—intricate, twisting symbols etched into his skin like living ink. They wrapped around his arms, traced his collarbones, and crept dangerously close to his throat.
"This curse was placed on me to make me a weapon," he said. "It binds shadow to my blood. It amplifies my strength, my speed… my hunger."
Elara's breath caught. "Hunger for what?"
Kael lifted his gaze to hers.
"For power," he said. "And for blood like yours."
Silence settled between them, heavy and charged.
Elara should have been terrified.
She was—but beneath the fear was something else. Understanding. The same loss of control. The same fear of becoming something monstrous.
"I didn't choose this either," she said quietly.
Kael studied her, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
"I know," he said at last.
He crouched near the stream, dipping his hands into the cold water. Steam rose faintly where it touched his skin. He did not drink. He did not need to.
"This ravine will hide us for a few hours," he said. "Rest while you can."
Elara nodded weakly.
She curled closer to the stone wall, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. Her body ached, but her mind refused to quiet. Images replayed behind her eyes—the monster, the power, the way the shadows had answered her.
"Kael," she said after a moment.
"Yes."
"If I lose control again…" Her voice trembled. "Will you stop me?"
He did not answer right away.
Instead, he looked at her—really looked at her. Not as a weapon. Not as a prophecy. But as a frightened girl sitting on cold stone, trying not to break under the weight of destiny she never asked for.
"Yes," he said finally. "No matter the cost."
Her chest tightened. "Even if it costs me?"
His expression hardened.
"I won't let it," he said. "I've lost enough already."
She didn't ask what he meant by that.
The silence that followed was different—still tense, but no longer hostile. The forest above them whispered softly, unaware that something ancient had shifted beneath its roots.
Elara's eyes slowly drifted closed.
As sleep claimed her, she felt it again—that second heartbeat, faint but steady. Not inside her this time.
Beside her.
Kael remained awake.
Watching.
Guarding.
Fighting the shadows clawing at his restraint.
Because he knew now what the hunters already suspected—
Elara was not just powerful.
She was a beginning