At the verge of war

The air outside was thick with the scent of blood and silver. The towering steel gates of the human stronghold loomed ahead, their jagged edges gleaming under the harsh glow of ultraviolet floodlights.

Ariel's boots crunched against the dirt road as she approached, her arms wrapped around a small, fuzzy figure nestled against her chest.

Damon, the so-called tiny hamster, twitched his nose, his beady red eyes glancing up at her before sweeping over the fortress ahead.

The place was a fortress of desperation and ruthlessness.

Massive steel spikes jutted from the walls, some still coated in dried blood—gruesome remnants of past battles. Barbed wire curled along the ground, glistening faintly with silver. Deep trenches filled with holy water shimmered beneath the moonlight, an impassable moat for the undead.

Above it all, the iron gates loomed like a beast's gaping maw, warning all who dared to approach. The words scrawled in blood-red paint above it made the message clear:

"NO SANCTUARY FOR THE DAMNED."

The guards at the checkpoint stood rigid, weapons clutched tightly in their hands. Their faces shifted from exhaustion to disbelief the moment they recognized her.

"She's alive?!" one of them blurted, stepping back as if he had seen a ghost.

"No way—Luiss said they found a body!"

Ariel didn't slow her pace. The murmurs around her grew louder, but she walked with the unwavering confidence of someone who belonged here.

One of the guards, a grizzled man named Jareth, stepped forward. His eyes swept over her, searching for wounds, for proof that she had clawed her way out of death.

"You were supposed to be dead," he finally said, his voice tinged with awe and suspicion.

Ariel smirked, shifting the hamster in her arms. Damon yawned, his tiny mouth opening wide, playing his part as the harmless pet.

"Yeah?" she said, tilting her head. "Well, I got tired of being a corpse."

Jareth narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

After a moment, he stepped aside, nodding toward the entrance. "Elder Marcus will want to see you. Immediately."

Ariel didn't hesitate.

Without another word, she bypassed the last of the security checkpoints, ignoring the hushed whispers trailing behind her.

Damon remained curled in her grasp, silent but very entertained.

Oh, this is going to be good.

The council chamber was dimly lit, its torches casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. The moment Ariel stepped through the heavy wooden doors, all conversation ceased.

Marcus sat alone in his chamber, a half-empty bottle of aged whiskey resting beside his hand. The strong scent of alcohol mixed with the faint traces of silver dust that clung to his sleeves.

He hadn't been drinking to celebrate.

No, tonight, he drank to numb the ache in his chest.

There's no way she would have survived alone... No... No...

Each time a flicker of hope tried to ignite in his chest, he drowned it with another sip.

Ariel was smart and strong but not invincible.

He had lost too many already. He refused to let himself believe in miracles.

Then, the door slammed open.

Marcus jolted up, nearly knocking over the bottle as the blacksmith's apprentice skidded to a stop before him, panting heavily.

"Sir Marcus! She—she has returned!"

His drunken haze vanished instantly. "What?"

"Ariel Lockhart—the Vampire Huntress! She's alive!"

For a moment, Marcus could only stare at the boy as if his mind couldn't process the words. Then, he was on his feet before he realized he had moved.

The room blurred around him as he stormed toward the meeting hall, his heart slamming against his ribs.

No. This has to be a mistake...

But the moment he reached the elders' chamber and saw her standing there, steady, determined—

—his breath caught in his throat.

She stepped forward, her every movement purposeful, and knelt before the elders.

"Ariel Lockhart, reporting back."

Marcus barely heard the murmurs of disbelief spreading through the room.

No wounds. No limping. Not even a sign of fatigue.

It was impossible.

Yet here she was.

"Ariel..." His voice was rough, and he had to clear his throat before speaking again. "No need for formalities. You're fine... but why did you come straight here? You should've gone to the medical facility."

Ariel smirked. "As you can see, I'm perfectly fine."

She reached for her backpack and, with one swift motion, unloaded her haul onto the long oak table.

Gasps echoed through the room.

Wolf eyes, valuable herbs, rare flowers, high-grade pelts, and—

The Boss's eyes.

The glowing crimson orbs rolled onto the wooden surface, casting an eerie gleam against the candlelight.

Stunned silence followed.

Even Marcus, who had seen countless mission reports, felt a rare chill crawl down his spine.

Ariel's earnings alone surpassed the combined haul of the entire team.

His sharp eyes flicked to Luiss's report from earlier—the pitiful sum they had returned with.

Then, back to the wealth of spoils before him.

Slowly, he exhaled.

"Luiss reported you dead," Viktor, one of the senior elders, finally spoke, his tone laced with accusation. "His entire team backed his claim. And yet, here you stand—very much alive. Explain how this is possible."