The stench of rotting corpses filled the air; the pestilence spread across the earth and went on for as far as the eye could see. Malformed and grotesque, the bleak reality permeated the air. “What happened here?” a young squire asked.

  “A tear in the veil, boy,” Knight Sergeant Cornelius replied, sadness etched on his face. Cornelius looked at the village, imagining the children playing, laughing, and running through the streets.

  “Sir,” one of the soldiers shouted as he ran to Sergeant Cornelius. “There are horse tracks,” he said, relief evident on his face. Cornelius’s weariness, anticipation, and hope were reflected on his face.

  “Alright, men,” Cornelius said, “let's find these survivors. And let us pray that we make it in time before the beast—or God knows what.” The men mounted their horses and rode off, hoping to grasp any chance of salvation.

  About five days' ride opposite the fief's capital, the sun’s rays pierced through the tree leaves as if condemning John and Camila. Distant sounds were muffled behind the shrubbery and the legion of trees merging with the horizon. Regardless of their direction, they knew they would be facing time itself.

  Sitting by a campfire while John cooked, Camila and John shared a tense moment. “Camila, finding food won’t be an issue. We need to find a river quickly; otherwise—” John broke into tears. “They are all dead.” He tried to regain his composure, but his restraint began to crack. “Mother—Father,” he whimpered. Camila paused and attempted to console

  Cornelius smiled warmly. “Your sister is what we call a vampire—a blood drinker. Some folks who are a bit paranoid call them ‘the terrors of the moonlight.’” Cornelius chuckled at the term.

  “If you read any historical text, you’d find they were said to be descended from the cosmos, from a distant world, and were barbaric. But I believe it's all nonsense. I mean, look at her. I don’t think she’d hurt a fly. But others won’t be so open-minded. After all, humans are tribal, and as far as we’re concerned, her kind is rare.”

  John realized that Camila had never been outside the village, and perhaps that was for the better. Cornelius's face softened. “The second thing is, what is that contraption that was at the blacksmith’s house, and who made it?”

  John pointed to Camila. “She did.”

  Cornelius stated, “Well, with this, she might be able to bargain for her life. But I can't say the same for her freedom.” After their conversation, John fell asleep while Cornelius stood guard.

  Home

  The town was constructed with gothic architecture as if men were trying to claim the heavens for themselves—an evocation of beauty gazing upon the horror of their souls. Thus the town spoke: “This is the will of the human heart. Despite its hideousness, it strives to create heaven on earth so that it may love itself through its designs.”

  Camila and John’s jaws dropped at the sight of such beauty. They looked at Cornelius, who laughed. “I was expecting a more dramatic reaction from country bumpkins,” he said.

  Their jaws dropped at the sight of the town, erected with gothic architecture. As they walked through, they felt it was an evocation of beauty that gazed upon the horror of their souls. Thus, they heard the town speak, “This is the will of the human heart. Despite its hideousness, it strives to create heaven on earth so that it may love itself through its designs.”

  John and Camila stared at him, speechless. Guards surrounding Camila interrupted their moment of awe. Cornelius addressed them. “At ease, men. This young lady is with us. We have been instructed to escort the survivors of Yambleg Village to the magistrate, and these are the survivors. Understood?”

  The men stepped aside. An arbiter greeted them as they approached the town administration building.

  “Hello, my name is Saoirse,” she said enthusiastically. “I am the administrator from the clergy assigned to this fief.” John and Camila looked at Saoirse, puzzled. “What’s a clergyman? What’s an administrator?” Their confusion was evident. John and Camila exchanged looks with Saoirse, then back to each other. The townsfolk began to stare at Camila. Saoirse noticed this development.

  “Well, let’s get you cleaned up and fed,” she said. “And, Sir Cornelius, thank you.” Cornelius balled his fist against his chest and nodded before dismissing himself and his men.

  Saoirse directed the children into the building. “Are you going to ask us about what happened?” Saoirse shuddered. “I am not inclined to make children relive their nightmares. Just know that, for the time being, you are under my protection.” John and Camila stared at Saoirse, confused.

  “So you’re adopting us?” Camila asked.

  “Well, I can’t in good conscience let a creature of the night roam the streets unaccompanied,” Saoirse teased Camila. Camila scrunched up her face. “What do you mean by ‘creature of the night’?” she asked, emphasizing the words.

  The bell tolled with each strike, resonating throughout the town from a tower that seemed to scrape the cosmos. It reminded men of their mortality and ignited a spark from which all thoughts and feelings emanated.

  John couldn’t resist laughing. “Sister, I’m sure that’s not what she means. She’s probably referring to your origins,” he shouted over the bell.

  Saoirse nodded. “I believe that conversation is long overdue, but a bath is a more pressing matter,” Saoirse said as they entered the building.

  After their baths, John and Camila were greeted with plump chicken whose aroma stirred their most primal instincts. They tore into the meal, and if Saoirse didn’t know any better, she might have mistaken them for a pack of ravenous hounds. When they finished, they sat unabashed by their gluttony, for what is a heart’s worth if it does not want?

  Saoirse smiled warmly, and John and Camila felt her radiance. Suddenly, they blushed, becoming aware of their own sincerity.

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  “Now that you’re all fed and content,” Saoirse said, “I’m going to have a meal of my own.” Her tone shifted to seriousness. “Camila, I believe it's time we addressed what you are.”

  Camila wiped the blood from her mouth and smiled innocently. Saoirse looked at her. “I’ll be blunt—unbecoming of myself, but necessary for the situation. The original vampire was a parasite that had washed up on the shores to the west some time ago. It possessed its host, merged with it, and then assumed control. Camila, this process happened to you when you were a fetus. Everything about you is completely ethereal. Vampires are smarter, stronger, and can achieve resonance far easier than the average human due to their seemingly closer ties to the seven pillars of reality. But because of their nature, they cannot reproduce their own blood.” She paused. “And thus the nature of the conflict between humans and vampires. Naturally, humans won in the end, being more self-sacrificing due to their larger numbers and empathy. We made advancements and eventually hunted your kind to near extinction.”

  “Any questions?” Saoirse asked, returning to her usual warm smile.

  Camila, her resolve set, addressed Saoirse. “I’ve come to the conclusion, after the last five weeks, that I am a vampire and not a human, and I am content with that.” Camila felt a sense of closure, knowing that whatever she once was was now a part of a greater whole.

  Saoirse smiled with understanding. “Very well, but for your own good, I must ask you to wear a veil. The less you are seen, the better.” Camila nodded in agreement.

  Saoirse looked at Camila as if her heart were gutted and laid out on the table before her. “So,” she asked, “if I asked you to kill and hunt your own kind to prove your loyalty to humanity, would you do it?”

  Camila turned her gaze away, a look of shame crossing her face. “I’ve never killed anyone before, not even an animal.”

  “You will need to serve many years before the king and the clergy recognize you as a citizen,” Saoirse replied. “But I believe in you, Camila. Although your kind is extinct in this country, they run rampant, terrorizing the land in less developed vassal states. You’re the only one of your kind I have seen who isn’t, for lack of better terms, animalistic. But I see you for who you are as well, not just what you are.”

  Camila nodded. “Thank you.”

  “We will begin training you and your brother in the martial discipline of this nation tomorrow.”

  John said, his eyes glazed to Saoirse, “Will I have to relive what happened at the village again?” The silence loomed over them, bringing the world's malcontent. Saoirse reciprocated John's inner turmoil. “Every day… every day,” she whispered.

  Looking down, he asked himself if he had the correct constitution for this lifestyle as he looked to Camila to ease his distress, but where he expected relief, he found hatred, for she reminded him of the cosmic indifference towards humanity.

  In the morning, the halls echoed with the weight of Saoirse's steps, mirroring the desolate expanse of her heart, which no song or jest could fill. It was a muted strength, her heart sung, with the pitch of a bird that was once free but now relegated to the confines of bureaucracy. Thus she sung:

  At breakfast, Camila and John sat there awkwardly. Camila tried to break the silence. “I heard you singing this morning as you were walking through the hallways, Saoirse. It was beautiful.”

  The silence did not waver. “I hope you kids are ready for your lessons,” Saoirse said, resuming her enthusiastic demeanor as she clapped her hands together, her hood veiling her puffy eyes. “You have reading, arithmetic, and my favorite, alchemy.”

  "Today," Saoirse said enthusiastically, "I'm going to teach you about the basics through a series of lectures." Camila and John looked at her, confused. Then they realized what Saoirse was referring to.

  "You're going to teach us magic?" they said, their eyes lighting up like a bag of gunpowder.

  Saoirse smiled. "Don't get ahead of yourselves," she said, giggling at their excitement. "But for now, I need to see what I'm working with." She pulled two wooden swords from behind her back. "This is not a test of skill but a test of intuition. I don't expect you to know how to wield one." Saoirse approached John and Camila, calmness radiating from her posture. She handed each of them a sword, then promptly returned to her position.

  John and Camila picked up the wooden swords.

  When they were in position, Saoirse instructed them to begin.

  John immediately assumed ox guard. In response, Camila went to longshot guard, attempting to gauge John's reaction and keep him from rushing in. John took note of this and, respecting his sister's blade, moved his sword down toward his foot, attempting to butt Camila's weapon down so he could assume ox guard. He then thrust his weapon forward to finish the duel, but Camila retreated her guard to behind her in the tail guard. As they began feeling each other out, they circled around each other slowly.

  "All right, I've seen enough," Saoirse chimed in. "Whoever taught you must have been very good."

  "That leaves a large portion of combat out of the way, but what about the discipline of the four limbs?" John and Camila looked at each other, confused. "I'm kidding; we don't actually call it that. We call it wrestling or grappling. I will give you the basics."

  Saoirse instructed Camila and John on mount, side control, north-south, and guard. She then instructed them on their respective transitions, and at the end of it all, she lectured them on everything they could expect to learn going forward.

  "It's all about positioning and getting into the correct position," Saoirse said. "I liken it to a game of chess where each move, position, and variation of said position opens up an array of moves one can do; some moves even open up an array of fallback moves. But just as the battle is waged through essence, the material, the battle is also waged through the mind, the immaterial. Everything I just described applies in the general's tent regarding warfare, as well as diplomacy and negotiations; all of these are interlocked with each other. And at the core of every conflict, every fight, is a resource within the space you and the adversary are occupying. The most essential part of any confrontation is recognizing which resource you are trying to occupy and acknowledging whether it will aid you or harm you to obtain it. Right, that concludes this morning's lessons; it's time for lunch."

  As they were eating, Camila asked John why he didn't joke around with her. She said that she was his older sister, and a man doesn't speak to lasses like that.

  Camila responded, "Oh, but murder is fine," she said bitingly, letting it slip in front of Saoirse.

  Saoirse inquired into what happened without judging the two.

  Camila told her John murdered two girls when he was ten.

  "And what did these girls do?" Saoirse asked.

  John said they beat Camila up every day, and one day they took it too far.

  Camila said, "He made me into the monster they imagined I was in reality."

  John said, "And one day they would have killed you, and then they would be seen as the monsters they always were."

  Saoirse chimed in, "I don't believe martyrdom should be indulged in at such an early age, and I don't believe murder should be indulged in at that age either. However, Camila, John, I have killed far more than you will have within the coming decade, not because I'm right or wrong or any reason like that, but to protect the things I love, and that includes myself. And I think that self-preservation is the most natural of instincts. You wouldn't do it for yourself, so somebody did it for you. Never let anyone make decisions about yourself for you, Camila. You have to set the tone and assert your will; otherwise, the people in the world will sort you according to their own will, and as a result, you will never know the joy of knowing yourself. And John, it would do you well to learn the boundaries of your will and the cost of asserting it."