The night pressed close against the windows, and the manor seemed to breathe with it. Arin sat on the edge of his bed, unable to sleep. His mind replayed Selene's words again and again. Vampires. The sound of it sticked to him like the chill in the air.
He wanted to believe it was a dream. That he had imagined the crimson eyes, the glass of blood, the way Selene's voice had carried something ancient. But the silence of the manor told him otherwise. Silence that was not empty, but waiting.
Arin stood. His legs felt heavy, but something inside urged him forward. He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The candles flickered faintly, their flames bending as though stirred by unseen breath.
The portraits lining the walls seemed different now. He had noticed them earlier, but in the dim light they were sharper, more alive. Pale faces, noble clothes, eyes painted with unsettling precision. He felt them watching. Not just painted eyes, but something deeper, as if the souls of the dead lingered in the canvas.
Arin walked slowly, his footsteps softened by the thick carpet. The manor stretched endlessly, hall after hall, each one colder than the last. He passed tall windows, but outside was only darkness. No stars. No moon. Just the rain, falling endlessly.
He turned a corner and froze.
A figure stood at the far end of the hallway. Still. Silent. Watching.
Arin's breath caught. He blinked, and the figure was gone. Only shadows remained.
He pressed on, though his heart pounded. He told himself he was imagining things. That exhaustion was playing tricks. But deep down, he knew the manor was alive in ways he could not understand.
He found himself near the grand staircase. The railing was carved with delicate patterns, worn smooth by time. He touched it lightly, feeling the cold stone beneath his fingers. The staircase spiraled upward, vanishing into darkness.
Something whispered inside him: Don't go up.
Instead, he turned toward the lower halls. The air grew heavier. He heard faint voices again, low and calm, drifting through the corridors. He followed them, drawn by curiosity and fear.
The voices led him to a wide chamber. The door was half-open, light spilling out. He hesitated, then pushed it gently.
Inside, the room was vast, lined with shelves of books and relics. Candles burned in tall holders, casting long shadows across the floor. Several figures stood together, speaking in hushed tones. Their clothes were dark, elegant, their skin pale as moon.
Arin's eyes fixed on their hands. Each held a glass filled with dark red liquid. Blood. They drank it slowly, respectfully, as though it were sacred.
Arin's stomach twisted. He stepped back, but the floor creaked beneath him. The sound was small, but enough.
The voices stopped. Heads turned. Crimson eyes glowed in the candlelight.
Arin's breath caught. He wanted to run, but his legs refused.
Then a hand touched his shoulder.
He spun around. Selene stood behind him. Her expression was calm, but her eyes glowed faintly, crimson like the others.
"Arin," she said softly.
He could barely speak. "What… what is this?"
Selene looked past him into the chamber, then back at him. "It is what sustains us."
Arin shook his head. "Blood. You're drinking human blood."
Selene's voice was gentle, but carried weight. "Yes. Because we are what the world fears."
The word returned, heavy and undeniable. Vampires.
Arin stepped back, his chest tight. "This is wrong. I shouldn't be here."
Selene's gaze held him. :You were chosen."
He wanted to deny it, but the way she said it made his heart falter. Chosen. For what?
Selene stepped closer. "You are safe here."
Arin's voice trembled. "Safe? With you bloodsuckers ?"
Her eyes shined. "Safe, because no one would dare touch what belongs to us."
The word belongs struck him like a chain. He flinched, but Selene's tone softened again. "You are more important than you realize."
Arin swallowed hard. "I don't understand."
Selene's expression shifted, concern flickering across her pale features. "Your life was never ordinary."
"I'm just an orphan," Arin whispered.
Selene shook her head. "No. You are something far valuable."
The candles flickered. The shadows stretched. And deep within Arin, something stirred. A faint warmth, burning, alive.
Selene's eyes narrowed slightly, as if she could sense it. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"your blood is not human."
Arin staggered back, his mind spinning. Not human? The words echoed inside him, louder than the storm outside. He wanted to deny it, but the warmth in his chest betrayed him. It pulsed faintly, like a hidden fire.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice breaking.
Selene studied him, her gaze sharp yet sorrowful. "You will understand soon. For now, rest. Tomorrow, you will meet the others."
Arin shook his head. "No. I don't want this. I don't want any of this."
Selene's hand hovered near his arm, but she did not touch him. "I know it is frightening. But you are not alone anymore."
Her words carried a strange comfort, though the truth behind them was terrifying.
Arin turned away, his thoughts a storm. He walked back through the hall, past the portraits, past the flickering candles. Every shadow seemed alive. Every silence seemed to whisper.
When he reached his room, he closed the door quickly, leaning against it. His breath came fast, uneven.
He looked at his hands. They trembled. But beneath the fear, he felt it again, the warmth inside him. A pulse that was not ordinary. A secret he had never known.
He sat on the bed, clutching his bag. The photograph inside pressed against his fingers. He pulled it out, staring at the faded image. A woman's face, blurred with time. His mother.
He had never known her. Never known why she left. But now, questions burned. Was this connected? Was his blood… hers?
The warmth pulsed again, stronger. He pressed a hand to his chest, eyes wide.
Outside, the rain fell harder. The manor groaned softly, as if shifting in its sleep.
Arin lay back, staring at the ceiling. His mind refused to rest. Selene's words echoed endlessly. Your blood is not human.
He closed his eyes, but sleep did not come. Only the storm. Only the silence. Only the weight of a truth he could not escape.
By morning, the rain had stopped. The sky was pale, washed clean, but the manor remained heavy with shadows. Arin sat by the window, staring out at the iron gates. He wondered if he could leave. If he could run. But something told him the gates would not open for him.
A knock came at the door. Soft. Calm.
"Arin," Selene's voice called. "It is time."
He did not answer at first. His hand tightened around the photograph.
"Time for what?" he whispered to himself.
But the warmth inside him pulsed again, stronger now, as if answering.
He stood slowly, his heart heavy, and opened the door.
Selene waited, her expression unreadable. Behind her, the hallway stretched into shadow.
"Come" she said. "The family wishes to meet you."
Arin hesitated, then stepped forward. The door closed behind him.
The manor seemed to breathe again, its silence wrapping around him.
And somewhere deep within, the fire of his blood burned brighter.