Whispers of the Hunt

The forest at night was a different world.

Kaelen had grown up among trees, but never like these—here the trunks rose tall and black, their crowns blotting out most of the stars. The undergrowth tangled his boots, while every snapping twig sent his heart racing. He kept glancing at Elira, moving like a ghost ahead of him despite the arrow still lodged in her side. How could she be so quiet, so steady, when he felt like a thunderstorm crashing through the brush?

“Stay light on your heels,” she whispered once, glancing back at him. “You sound like a drunk bear.”

Kaelen muttered under his breath, but he tried. He didn’t want to admit she was right.

They had left the ruined village hours ago, guided by Elira’s sense of direction more than Kaelen’s fumbling instinct. The smoke was long gone from the air, replaced by damp earth and the faint sweetness of moss. Still, Kaelen couldn’t shake the feeling that the forest itself was listening.

His suspicion proved true just before midnight.

They had stopped by a small stream to drink when the whisper came. It wasn’t a sound, not exactly. More like a thought pressed against his mind, cold and oily. The words were not spoken aloud, yet he heard them all the same:

The boy is awake. The bloodline stirs. Find him.

Kaelen jerked upright, water spilling from his hands. “Did you hear that?”

Elira was already standing, bow drawn, her violet eyes scanning the trees. “Stay behind me.”

The whisper came again, closer now, echoing through the forest like smoke drifting between the branches. Kaelen’s stomach knotted. Shapes emerged from the shadows—tall, slender figures with skin pale as moonlight. Their eyes glowed faintly red, and their smiles revealed teeth far too sharp.

“Vampires,” Elira hissed.

Kaelen stumbled back a step. “Here? I thought—they’re just stories—”

“Everything you thought was just a story is now hunting you,” she snapped, her voice low and controlled. “Do as I say, or you’ll be dead before dawn.”

The vampires moved with a terrible grace, drifting between the trees like they weighed nothing. There were four of them, each dressed in dark finery that looked absurdly out of place in the wilderness. Their leader, tall and lean with hair black as ink, tilted his head at Kaelen.

“So it is true,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “The Thorne line survives.”

Kaelen’s blood turned to ice. How could this stranger know his name, his family, when even he had only learned of it hours ago?

Elira shifted her stance, arrow trained on the speaker. “You will not have him.”

The vampire laughed softly. “Elf, do not waste yourself. The boy’s blood is older than you can fathom. He belongs to us, as was promised.”

Kaelen’s chest tightened. “Promised? By who?”

The vampire’s eyes glittered. “By your ancestor, the one who bound us in chains of blood. But blood chains can be broken. You are the key.”

Before Kaelen could speak, Elira loosed her arrow. It whistled through the air, striking the vampire cleanly in the chest. For a moment, Kaelen thought she had killed him—then the creature looked down, plucked the arrow free, and smiled wider.

“That was unkind,” he murmured.

The others moved then, rushing forward in a blur of speed that made Kaelen’s breath catch. He raised the iron poker, ridiculous weapon that it was, and braced himself. The same fire that had exploded within him before sparked at the edges of his mind, hot and wild.

But this time, it didn’t come freely. It clawed against him, demanding more—more fear, more rage. He tried to summon it, and the world flickered with sparks of light, but nothing erupted.

The nearest vampire lunged, claws bared. Kaelen stumbled back—then Elira was there, her dagger flashing silver as she slashed across its arm. The creature hissed, retreating.

“Kaelen!” she shouted. “Focus! The fire is in you—command it!”

“I’m trying!” he yelled back, panic rising.

The lead vampire advanced, his red eyes locked on Kaelen. “Your power is not yours to command, boy. It is ours. It will always be ours.”

Kaelen’s vision swam. Something inside him recoiled at the words, yet also resonated with them—as if a part of him recognized the claim. His chest burned, not with heat this time but with something darker, heavier, like chains tightening around his ribs.

Elira stepped in front of him, her body tense. “Over my dead body.”

The vampire smiled cruelly. “That can be arranged.”