Bound by Blood

The lingering chill of the underground chamber clung to Damian's skin long after the whispers faded. His heart still raced, the echoes of what he had seen flickering in the corners of his mind. Faces of ancestors long dead, their eyes hollow... watching him. Judging him.

His legs trembled beneath him, but he forced himself to stay upright. He wouldn't show weakness—not in front of Lucian.

The hunger gnawed at him, stronger than before. It felt like something ancient had been unlocked—a primal instinct buried deep within his blood. Every sound in the room seemed louder, every scent sharper. He could hear Lucian's steady heartbeat, smell the faint copper tang of blood lingering on the man's breath.

It was maddening.

Lucian paced around him, his eyes never leaving Damian—like a predator studying prey.

"The nightshade has opened your senses," Lucian said, his voice calm. "You are no longer bound by the limitations of mortal flesh."

Damian's throat was dry. His heart still pounded against his ribs like a drum.

"What... what did you make me see?"

Lucian's cold smile returned.

"Your lineage. Every Valtor carries the memories of those who came before." He leaned closer, his voice a whisper.

"Their power is yours... if you have the will to claim it."

Damian clenched his fists.

He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't asked for any of it.

"I don't want their power," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Lucian's eyes flickered with something dangerous—amusement, maybe... or disappointment.

"Want has nothing to do with it, boy. This power is your birthright. You cannot outrun what flows through your veins."

Damian's head throbbed. The whispers still lingered, faint and distant.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block them out.

You are Valtor...

You are bound by blood...

"No," he whispered under his breath.

Lucian's voice cut through the silence like a knife.

"Say it."

Damian's eyes snapped open.

"What?"

Lucian's gaze bore into him.

"Say your name."

Damian's heart pounded.

The name had been echoing in his mind since the visions—Valtor.

He didn't know where it had come from... or what it truly meant.

But it felt old—older than any name he'd ever known.

Damian swallowed hard.

"I... I am Damian Valtor."

The moment the words left his mouth, the whispers surged louder—like a thousand voices rising in unison. The air in the chamber seemed to tighten around him.

Lucian's cold smile deepened.

"Good."

The torchlight flickered against the stone walls, casting jagged shadows across Lucian's face.

"Names carry power, Damian. Your bloodline is one of the oldest to walk this earth. Those voices you hear... they are your kin. They have been waiting for you."

Damian's pulse quickened.

Waiting?

"For what?"

Lucian's smirk faded, his eyes turning hard.

"To finish what they could not."

A chill ran down Damian's spine.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Lucian ignored the question. Instead, he stepped back, arms folding behind his back.

"Your first lesson is control. The hunger will never leave you now... but you must learn to bend it to your will."

Damian's heart clenched.

The hunger.

It clawed at him, just beneath the surface—an endless ache gnawing at his insides.

"What if I can't?"

Lucian's cold gaze locked onto him.

"Then it will consume you... and you will become nothing more than a beast."

Damian's breath caught in his throat.

He didn't want to believe him—but some part of him already knew it was true. He could feel the hunger pulling at him with every heartbeat.

Lucian moved to a small stone table at the edge of the chamber. From beneath his coat, he pulled a small silver dagger, its blade gleaming in the dim torchlight.

Without warning, he dragged the blade across his own palm.

Dark red blood welled up, glistening in the firelight.

Damian's breath hitched.

The scent hit him like a wave—thick, metallic, intoxicating.

His heart began to race.

"Do you feel it?" Lucian murmured, holding out his bleeding hand. The crimson drops splattered onto the cold stone floor.

Damian's eyes locked onto the blood.

His throat burned. His breath quickened.

No.

Not again.

He clenched his fists, trying to fight it back—but the hunger was stronger now, louder.

Lucian's voice was a low whisper.

"This is your curse... and your greatest weapon."

Damian's chest heaved. Sweat dripped down his brow. His veins burned beneath his skin.

He could smell the blood—taste it on the air.

"Stop." His voice trembled.

Lucian's cold smirk never wavered.

"Control it."

"I said stop!"

Damian's vision blurred. His pulse thundered in his ears.

The hunger screamed inside him—FEED.

He stumbled forward without realizing, his breath ragged.

Lucian stepped back, watching him like a wolf circling wounded prey.

"Fight it, boy... or let it break you."

Damian's heart pounded. His fingers curled into claws.

He could feel the monster rising beneath his skin—waiting to be unleashed.

But some small part of him—the last piece of who he used to be—clung to the edge.

With a strangled cry, he fell to his knees. His breath came in ragged gasps as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"No... I won't."

The voices howled in protest.

Valtor... embrace it...

Feed...

Sweat dripped down his brow as he clenched his teeth.

He wouldn't let them win.

Not yet.

Minutes passed—long, torturous minutes—before the hunger finally began to fade.

When Damian finally opened his eyes, Lucian was standing over him, arms crossed.

There was a flicker of something... almost like approval in his cold gaze.

"You resisted."

Damian's breath was still ragged. His body trembled with exhaustion.

"Barely."

Lucian's smirk returned.

"Barely is enough... for now."

He turned away, walking toward the stairs.

"This was only the first test. The hunger will grow stronger with every day that passes." He glanced back, his eyes glinting in the torchlight.

"If you want to survive what's coming... you must learn to wield it."

Damian's heart sank.

He didn't know if he could survive this.

But one thing was certain—

He couldn't go back.

He wasn't just Damian anymore.

He was Valtor.

And the whispers would never let him forget.