The words were barely out of his mouth when, this time, it was Eiran and Aria who drew in a sharp breath at the same time—panic flashing in their eyes as they turned toward their father.
Without a word, Tharen tossed the leather bag in his hand toward Aria, drawing a long silver blade from within it in one smooth motion.
"Father—No!" Aria gasped, the word breaking from her lips like glass. It was suicide, and they all knew it—but Tharen paid her no mind. His attention was fixed solely on the gleaming weapon in his hand, a blade that had clearly been polished and sharpened with care. It shimmered ominously beneath the flickering lantern light as he spoke.
"Eiran! Take your sister out. Use the back door!"
His voice was urgent, clipped. Every word felt like an order carved in stone.
"Find Selira and Liora and keep them safe!" he added, his gaze heavy with meaning as he looked up at both of them. For a brief moment, he reached a hand toward Aria, his fingers twitching like he was about to say something else—something important. But instead, he stopped. His lips shut. His hand fell away.
Aria's vision was so blurry with tears that the world in front of her might as well have been painted in water. She wiped furiously at her cheeks, fighting to hold her cries inside, her chest trembling with the effort.
"I'll do as you said, Father! You can leave it to me!" Eiran said, giving a firm nod. His voice was strong, determined—but Aria wanted to scream.
All she could think of was how she had chosen her mother's path—sewing, healing, cooking—while Eiran had trained in the fields, learning swordplay beside their father. Now she wished she had followed him instead.
Just as Tharen turned around and began to stride toward the front door, Aria dashed forward and grabbed his arm.
"Father, please! You don't have to go!" she cried, her voice shaking, desperation lacing every word. But he jerked his arm away with such force it was as though she had burned him.
Tears streaked down her face as she stumbled backward, and yet he didn't glance at her again.
"RUN!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. Then he was gone—out the door, sword clutched so tightly in his bloody grip that Aria could almost hear the creak of his muscles straining beneath his skin.
For a moment, Aria stood frozen—unable to move, her body locked in place.
But Eiran wasn't frozen. He grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the back of the house, kicking open the rear door with his boot.
But the moment they stepped outside, both of them stopped in their tracks—shocked into stillness.
The night was in chaos.
Flames danced on rooftops, licking the sky with red tongues. The glow of burning homes illuminated the night like a second sun.
And worse—the scent of blood was thick in the air, heavy and metallic, filling their lungs with every breath.
"What the—"
"What's going on?" they gasped, one after the other, their voices barely audible over the crackling of fire and distant screams.
Eiran's grip on Aria's wrist tightened as he slung the bag over his shoulder and pulled out a shorter blade, eyes narrowing with grim focus. Without a word, he ran in the opposite direction, leading them toward the edge of the village.
Aria's heart pounded wildly, thumping like a drum against her ribcage, as though it might explode.
The faster they moved, the louder the screams became. Panic clung to the air like smoke. The path they took twisted and turned through the chaos, always changing direction as they dodged fallen beams, scattered belongings, and frightened villagers.
Their goal was clear—the trail that led out of the village, hidden by the thick vegetation that surrounded it on all sides.
Aria was terrified—but the fear was like fire in her veins, pushing her legs to move faster. She matched Eiran's speed, the need to flee stronger than the instinct to collapse in fear.
But just as they reached the very edge of the village, something pulled at her—an instinct, a gut feeling, or perhaps just the fragile hope that still lingered in her chest.
She tore her hand from Eiran's grip and turned back.
Maybe it was the need to catch one final glimpse of her father. Maybe it was something deeper.
Her eyes scanned the battlefield, wild with desperation. And then she saw him.
Her father moved like a force of nature—swift, brutal, and efficient. His blade flashed as he cut through men dressed in black, their bodies falling one by one until the silver of his weapon was stained with blood.
He was magnificent.
But even she could see it—the tide was turning. His movements slowed as wounds opened across his body, red blooming across his tunic. The enemy was too many.
Aria's breath caught in her throat. Her hopes began to unravel.
She had wished that once it was over, he could catch up with them—that they could all run away together. But now, the truth was too clear.
He wouldn't make it.
And then—
"STAY HERE!" Eiran's voice rang out beside her. She turned in surprise as he shoved the leather bag into her arms. His eyes were fierce, his grip on the sword tight with purpose.
He was going to help their father. He was going back.
Aria nodded, her body trembling, but her chest swelling with a strange sense of relief.
She watched as her brother dashed forward, his strides long and swift. She stood at the edge of the village, right where the forest began, her eyes locked on her brother's figure.
He joined the fight with stunning speed, his blade flashing through the air like a streak of lightning.
Aria couldn't help the small smile that crept onto her face. Together, they looked unstoppable—father and son, warriors born of the same blood.
'They're a little weak for vampires,' she thought to herself as she watched the black-clad attackers fall one after another.
Her confidence swelled. She thought of the stories, the warnings—the rumors she had always assumed were exaggerated.
They had to be.
Her smile grew wider as she watched her father and brother defeat the last of them. They stood side by side, bloodied but smiling. Her father clapped Eiran on the shoulder, a proud gesture that made her chest tighten with warmth.
Despite the carnage and the scent of blood in the air, she felt it—relief.
But she was still smiling to herself, still basking in the feeling of knowing that they were alive when a soft rustling sound came from behind her.
It was faint—so faint she almost didn't register it.
Her first thought was that it was nothing—just a squirrel in the underbrush or the wind playing tricks with the leaves. Certainly nothing worth diverting her attention.
She stayed focused on the village, watching, waiting for them to return.
Until—
A voice.
Deep. Male. Calm.
"WHAT'S SO FUNNY?"
It came from right beside her.
Aria jerked sideways, her breath catching, blood roaring in her ears. Terror spiked through her like lightning as her whole body tensed, her heart thudding wildly.
The voice hadn't been threatening—There was something in the tone. Something cold. Curious. And utterly unnatural.
She looked up.
The man was massive—tall and broad-shouldered—but she couldn't see his face. A dark hood cloaked his head, shadowing his features.
What stopped her from running was how still he stood—unnervingly still.
His eyes were fixed ahead, toward the village. He hadn't even turned to look at her.