Chapter 12: Blood and Ashes
Ethan's boots crunched over the charred ground as he moved through the wreckage, the eerie silence broken only by the occasional crackle of fire. The village—once a modest but lively settlement—was now a graveyard. Shadows danced across ruined walls, the twisted shapes of fallen beams and scorched wagons casting grotesque silhouettes.
His senses, sharpened by his vampiric nature, picked up faint sounds beyond the devastation—the rustle of a breeze through broken windows, the scurry of frightened animals seeking refuge from the horror. And then, beneath it all, the shallow, labored breaths of someone clinging to life.
Kieran.
Ethan's heart clenched. He had known the boy was brash, impulsive—qualities that had driven him to charge into the chaos despite the overwhelming odds. And now, somewhere in this desolation, Kieran lay dying.
A strange, commanding voice echoed in Ethan's mind, soft yet insistent. Save him. You know what to do. The words were neither a suggestion nor a plea—they were a directive, undeniable and absolute.
The voice didn't just demand action; it carried a weight of authority that defied reason. It wasn't Ethan's voice, nor was it the guilt-ridden echoes of his conscience. This was something deeper, ancient, and primal, whispering from the shadows of his newfound existence.
Ethan quickened his pace, weaving through the remnants of the village. His eyes, now accustomed to the darkness, scanned every shadow, every pile of debris. And then he saw it—a crumpled figure near what remained of the village square.
Kieran.
The boy's body was twisted at an unnatural angle, his clothes torn and stained with blood. His chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, each breath a battle against death. A long gash ran from his shoulder to his hip, the wound glistening with dark, almost black blood in the moonlight.
Ethan dropped to his knees beside him. "Kieran," he whispered urgently. "It's me."
The boy's eyelids fluttered, and a faint groan escaped his cracked lips. His face was pale, far too pale, and Ethan knew without doubt that he was moments away from losing him.
Desperation clawed at Ethan's mind. He had seen death before—in his previous life, in this brutal new world—but this felt different. Kieran wasn't just some nameless casualty. He was part of their strange, fractured family now.
Ethan clenched his fists, torn between horror and resolve. There was one way to save him. One way to cheat death.
But it was a curse as much as it was a gift.
His mind raced through the implications. Kieran, just a boy, forced into a life of darkness, of endless thirst and secrecy. Could he condemn him to that existence? Was it even his choice to make?
The voice returned, more insistent now. Do it. Save him. He's worth it.
Steeling himself, Ethan drew his sword. The blade gleamed in the firelight, a cruel instrument of survival now repurposed for salvation. Without hesitation, he pressed the edge to his wrist and sliced deep. Dark crimson welled up, rich and thick.
"Drink," he commanded, his voice rough with urgency. "Kieran, you have to drink."
The boy's head lolled weakly, his eyes barely focusing. Ethan gritted his teeth, lifting Kieran's head and pressing his bleeding wrist to the boy's lips.
For a moment, nothing happened. And then—
Kieran's body convulsed violently, his throat working instinctively to swallow the thick, metallic blood. His fingers clawed weakly at Ethan's arm, driven by a primal hunger that overpowered his injuries.
Ethan held steady, ignoring the searing pain in his wrist. The transformation had begun.
Kieran's breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling in frantic rhythm. His eyes snapped open, glowing faintly with a crimson hue before fading back to their familiar shade. The boy gasped, choking on a sob as the pain of his injuries receded, replaced by a new sensation—one that Ethan knew all too well.
The thirst.
Ethan pulled his wrist away, watching as Kieran shuddered violently. The boy's wounds had already begun to close, the torn flesh knitting together with unnatural speed. His skin regained a hint of color, though it was now tinged with the faint pallor of undeath.
Kieran's voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. "What... what did you do?"
Ethan exhaled slowly, the weight of his decision settling heavily on his shoulders. "I saved you," he said simply. "But it came at a cost."
Kieran's gaze flickered with confusion, fear, and something else—a dawning understanding. He touched his chest, where moments ago a mortal wound had threatened to claim his life. Now, there was nothing but smooth skin.
"I'm... different," Kieran murmured, his voice filled with disbelief.
"Yes," Ethan admitted. "You're like me now."
The boy's expression twisted into a mix of shock and horror. "You made me a monster?"
Ethan flinched at the accusation but forced himself to meet Kieran's gaze. "I made you live," he said firmly. "What you do with that life is up to you."
Kieran shook his head, his eyes wide with terror. "What are we? What... am I?"
"I don't know," Ethan admitted, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily on him. "I'm still trying to figure that out myself."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken fears and questions. The village lay in ruins around them, a testament to the cruelty of the world they now inhabited. And yet, amidst the ash and ruin, there was a spark of something new—hope, perhaps, or simply the stubborn refusal to surrender.
Ethan stood, extending a hand to Kieran. "Come on," he said. "We need to get back to the others."
Kieran hesitated for only a moment before taking the offered hand. His grip was stronger than it had been before—firm, unyielding.
Together, they walked through the remnants of the village, two shadows against the backdrop of destruction. The road ahead was uncertain, fraught with danger and impossible choices.
But they would face it together.