The Thirst That Never Ends

Weeks had passed. At least, I thought they had. Time blurred in this place—a suffocating loop of blood and fear, each day bleeding into the next until I couldn't tell them apart.

Surviving in the vampires' castle wasn't living. It was enduring. Existing.

Every morning began the same way. The cold clang of iron doors echoed through the stone halls, yanking me from restless, haunted sleep. Guards would appear at the cell door—their faces as cold and lifeless as the metal bars that trapped us. They'd shove the door open, barking orders we didn't dare disobey.

Our days were spent in small, barred rooms—four kids crammed into each one like animals in a cage. The walls pressed in on us, the damp stone cold against our skin. There was nowhere to hide from the weight of despair. The only reprieve came in the form of an hour—just one hour—when we were allowed to wander a restricted section of the castle. It was during one of these rare moments of freedom that I found Ryo.

We sat in a shadowed corner, our voices barely above whispers.

"I can't take this much longer," Ryo muttered, his eyes darting around nervously. "This place… it's killing us slowly."

I nodded, the weight of exhaustion heavy on my shoulders. "But we're still here. That's something."

Ryo snorted. "Is it? Surviving isn't living."

"Maybe not," I admitted, "but as long as we're breathing, there's a chance. A chance to fight back. To escape."

Ryo looked at me, something like hope flickering in his tired eyes. "You really think we can?"

I didn't know. But I had to believe it. "We have to try." But even then, the looming presence of our captors made it impossible to breathe freely.

And then came the worst part of the day.

Every afternoon, without fail, they herded us into the grand hall—the hall of blood. Rows of metal beds lined the vast, shadowed space. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the faint, acrid sting of fear. We lay on those cold slabs of metal, unable to fight as the tubes sank into our veins, drawing out between one to two liters of our blood.

The first time, I thought I would die.

But they wouldn't let us.

After the draining, they forced us to drink a "special" concoction. It came in murky plastic bags with grimy caps, the kind you'd expect to see filled with something far worse. Holding it felt like gripping a piece of decay itself. The taste… God, the taste was worse than anything I could have imagined. Bitter, sour, like drinking rot mixed with metal shavings. It clawed at my throat, leaving a burning trail all the way down. But the worst part wasn't the flavor—it was knowing we needed it.

Without that vile liquid, we wouldn't survive the daily bloodletting.

I'd seen it happen.

Some kids couldn't stomach the taste. They'd gag, spit it out, refuse to drink. And within days, their bodies gave out. They'd waste away, their skin turning a sickly gray before they finally collapsed, never to get up again. I'd seen the light leave their eyes—seen how quickly the vampires disposed of them like trash.

I drank every drop.

No matter how much it burned, no matter how much my stomach twisted, I forced it down. Because I had to survive. I didn't know why—not really—but some part of me refused to let go.

After we finished the drink, they'd march us back to our rooms, locking us behind those iron bars once more. The cycle repeated. Day after day. Week after week.

But it wasn't just the bloodletting or the bitter drink that wore me down.

It was the hopelessness.

One night, as we lay in the dim light, Kaito broke the silence. "Do you think anyone's coming for us?" he whispered.

Souta shook his head, his voice low. "No one's left to come."

"Then why are we still trying?" Kaito's voice trembled, frustration masking fear.

I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their words. "Because if we give up," I said quietly, "they win."

The way they moved—sluggish and defeated—was like watching puppets with their strings cut.

In our cell, there were Kaito, a tall kid with sharp eyes and a quick temper; Souta, who was quiet but observant, always thinking; and Theo, the youngest, who had once been full of hope. Haru was younger than me—maybe twelve. The first week, he'd talked about escaping, about finding freedom beyond these walls. He clung to that hope like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

But hope doesn't last long in a place like this.

Over time, Haru stopped talking. Then he stopped eating. And eventually, he stopped drinking the vile concoction altogether.

I tried to convince him. We all did. But his eyes had that faraway look—the one that said he was already gone, even if his body hadn't caught up yet.

One morning, I woke up to find him cold and still, his small body curled in the corner of the cell like he'd just fallen asleep and never woken up.

We weren't allowed to grieve. The guards came in, dragged his body out without a word, and locked the door behind them. Just like that, Haru was gone.

And we were still here.

That night, as I lay on the hard floor staring at the ceiling, I wondered how much longer I could keep going. How long before the weight of this place crushed me too?

But I couldn't give up. I wouldn't give up.

It was after one of those routine evenings—after the bloodletting, after choking down the bitter drink—that something changed.

I was lying on my cot, the metallic taste still clinging to my tongue, when I heard it.

Voices.

Not the usual harsh commands of the guards, but hurried, excited whispers.

I pushed myself up, moving to the bars of the cell, straining to hear.

"Did you hear?" one vampire hissed, his voice tinged with excitement. "We found it. The Black Flame Demon."

My heart skipped. Black Flame Demon?

Another vampire's voice responded, equally thrilled. "Finally. Now we just need the White Flame Demon."

I froze, my mind racing. Demons? What the hell are they talking about? My thoughts spiraled. What do they want with demons?

The words echoed in my mind, mixing with the exhaustion and fear until I couldn't tell if I was awake or dreaming.

But one thing was clear.

Whatever they were planning… it was far from over.

And somehow, I was still here, caught in the middle of it all.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I didn't know what the Black Flame Demon was, or why they needed the White Flame. But something deep inside me whispered that this wasn't just about survival anymore.

It was about finding answers.

And maybe, just maybe, finding a way out.