Farm

Elyn carefully tended to the two dark elf children in the days that followed. He had only 10 to 12 potent healing potions left—not the highest grade, but effective enough to mend their battered bodies. Alongside them, he used bandages inscribed with healing runes, enhancing their recovery.

He gave two potions to each of them, ensuring they had the strength to heal properly. Though still wary, the boy was visibly less fearful now, his eyes no longer filled with pure terror. The girl, having suffered more internal injuries, was still weak but steadily regaining consciousness.

Once both were awake, he relocated them to a cave far from the battlefield, ensuring they were safe from any potential threats.

There was a crucial reason for the sudden move.

.....

Once he had regained control over himself, Elyn's eyes narrowed as he inspected the two dark elves. A wound on their necks caught his attention. The Mark of Vampiric Servitude pulsed faintly on their necks.

Two elongated, razor-sharp punctures marred the skin, their edges tinged with an eerie glow. Traces of dried blood trailed from the wounds. It would not heal.

His expression darkened.

This wasn't just any curse. It was an ancient binding—a peculiar form of control designed specifically for dark elves. The vampires had long since perfected their method of enslaving them, ensuring obedience without complete domination.

Unlike other species, dark elves had minds too intricate for direct manipulation. If a vampire tried to force complete control, the elf's mind would implode, their brain matter bursting from within. A failsafe of nature itself, preventing true subjugation.

But that didn't mean they were free.

The curse allowed partial influence—the vampires could plant thoughts, distort emotions, and weaken resistance. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't need to be.

Because no one ever escaped.

That was the core of their confidence.

Even though the Serendells were of lesser vampire house, they didn't care if their control was imperfect because no one would dare challenge them.

Every escapee was hunted. Every rebellion was crushed.

And even if—by some miracle—a dark elf slipped through the cracks, what then? Who would save them?

No sane faction would dare challenge the entire vampire aristocracy.

To rescue dark elves was to declare war on the night itself.

Still, he couldn't afford to dwell on it now.

He had work to do.

His fingers moved swiftly through the air, tracing the structure of a custom-made seal—one that would not remove the curse, but suppress it.

A perfect erasure was impossible for now. If he tried to break the mark all at once, it would harm the elves and could alert the vampires. But by masking its presence and slowly draining its power over time, he could render it harmless.

The runes took form, glowing faintly as they interwove into a seamless design. A seal specifically crafted to latch onto the Mark of Servitude, shrouding it while gradually dismantling its functions.

He pressed his palm against the boy's neck first, the seal sinking into his skin, embedding itself into his very being. The magic flared for an instant before vanishing. The child flinched but held firm.

Then, he did the same for the girl.

Elyn could feel the curse weaken just slightly. The tracking was completely blocked, and the control dampened. They were safe—for now.

But something was off.

Elyn frowned. The mark felt... weak. Suppressed, yet not by his doing. He had only masked its effects, but even before his interference, its strength had already waned. That shouldn't have been possible.

The only logical explanation was that the one who controlled the curse was either dead, gravely injured, or something else had severed their influence. If they were still alive and well, the mark should have resisted him. It should have fought back.

Then, Elyn turned his attention to erasing every trace of what had happened.

With the help of his insect swarm, he meticulously destroyed all possible evidence, ensuring that no one could find them. He went further, manipulating wild beasts, luring powerful predators to the area.

By the time he was done, the battlefield was a chaotic, blood-soaked mess of animal carnage, masking all signs of his involvement.

Satisfied with his work, Elyn summoned Albert who had been away on a critical mission of his own.

.....

Once the two kids were stable enough to talk, Elyn finally asked them about their origins.

The simple question made the boy flinch as if struck. His frail body trembled, his breath ragged. His fingers curled into fists so tight that his nails pierced his skin, drawing thin streams of blood. His lips parted, but no words came. The weight of his past clung to his throat like a noose.

Finally, he forced himself to speak.

"F-Fa… Farm…"

Elyn's gaze darkened.

The boy's voice was hoarse, brittle—like something shattered yet still trying to hold together.

"It's a secret underground facility, controlled by the Serendell family… I don't know where exactly—it's too deep below the surface… but it's real. And it's hell."

Beside him, the girl trembled violently, clutching her arms, her nails scraping against her skin as if trying to rip away something unseen—memories crawling under her flesh.

The boy swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.

"That place…" his voice barely held together, "it's where they slaughter elves. That's why those monsters are so powerful."

Elyn said nothing. But the air around him grew suffocating.

The boy inhaled sharply, then continued.

"There were… sections. A breeding section. A nurturing section for children." His face twisted, but he kept going. "Elves… raised like cattle."

His breath hitched, his voice trembling.

"Vampires only consume the flesh and blood of children. The moment we turn fifteen… we are harvested."

The words echoed.

A terrible, unnatural silence followed.

Elyn didn't react. Not outwardly.

But the cave itself felt heavier.

The boy clenched his teeth, his nails dragging against the ground as if grounding himself to reality. Then, he spoke again, his words faltering.

"The breeding elves… after producing 1,000 offspring… they're—"

His voice cracked. His lips trembled.

"…Burned. Or tortured to death."

The girl couldn't hold it in anymore. She sobbed, her frail body curling inward, her fingers gripping her tattered clothes as if trying to shrink away from existence.

And then, the boy spoke again, voice hollow, haunted.

"The ghouls… they are the ones who guard the Farms."

Elyn's mind wandered to the ghouls.

The lower-class vampires, but no less terrifying. The ghouls were brutes, grotesque humanoid monsters that served as frontline enforcers, guarding every facility, every breeding ground, every hidden den. Unlike noble vampires, ghouls lacked elegance—what they had instead was raw, overwhelming might.

Abnormally strong. Unnaturally fast. Cunning in their own right.

Even a seasoned hunter wouldn't last long against a pack of them.

Elyn exhaled slowly.

That word alone made the children pale.

The boy's hands twitched, gripping his legs as if the mere mention of them would summon them from the shadows.

"They're not like vampires… but they're worse." His voice was shaky, barely above a whisper. "They're monsters. They don't just follow orders… They enjoy it."

The girl shuddered, her fingers clawing into her arms.

"They… They don't kill quickly," she said, her voice choked with fear. "They play with us. Hunt us inside the Farm like… like it's a game."

Elyn stayed silent, absorbing the horror of their words.

The boy let out a shaky breath.

"If a child tries to escape… the ghouls don't kill them right away. They drag them back. They peel their skin off piece by piece. They make the others watch. And when they finally die, they… they just throw them away like rotten meat."

His breath hitched. His voice dropped lower.

"They eat the ones they like."

The girl let out a quiet sob.

Elyn didn't move.

But the shadows around him seemed to thicken, darken, as if responding to something inside him that had begun to stir.

"…Do you have names?"

The boy hesitated. Then, with quiet shame, he whispered,

"No… We were never given names."

The girl shook her head as well, wiping her tears with the back of her trembling hands.

"What were you called?"

The boy lowered his gaze.

"DE-4444."

The girl's voice was barely a whisper.

"DE-4445."

Something about hearing it made Elyn's stomach churn in disgust.

Numbers. Not names. Just numbers.

Like livestock. Like things.