Chapter 4: Children of Blood and Ash

The heavy steel door groaned as it opened, flooding the dark room with sterile, white light.

Santiago, trembling, blood on his lips and guilt burning in his gut, turned his head toward the sound.

She stepped through the doorway with the grace of royalty.

Tall. Pale as moonlight. Hair like woven silver, cascading down her back. Skin flawless—almost too flawless. Eyes glowing faintly with a light that wasn't human.

And when she smiled, it was warm.

Too warm.

"Hello, newborn," she said softly, her voice like a lullaby sung through glass.

"Welcome to your new life. My name is Tina. And I—"

Santiago snarled, blood still thick on his tongue. His fangs bared, he lunged—

but Tina didn't move.

She stood in the doorway, serene. Pale as frost, radiant as moonlight. Her white hair flowed like silk, her eyes calm, unreadable.

"You're fast," she said softly. "But not faster than me."

Santiago froze mid-step, something deep in him—instinct maybe—telling him not to strike again. Not yet.

He backed away, shaking. "What are you?"

Tina stepped inside, letting the door seal behind her with a hiss.

"I'm like you," she said. "Only older. Stronger. More… aware."

He blinked. "A monster."

"No." Her voice remained steady. "Not a monster. A tool. A guardian. A soldier in a war that's lasted longer than you've been alive."

Santiago narrowed his eyes. "The Void. I know."

Tina tilted her head. "You think the Void is the only threat?"

He said nothing.

She walked past him, gesturing for him to follow. "Come. The others need to hear this too."

They followed her into a larger chamber—dimly lit, stone walls humming with strange energy. The other two children looked up, fear and confusion still etched in their new faces.

Tina stood before them like a priestess.

"Your names will be forgotten by history," she began, "but you will remember this: we are AOLAL. The Army of Light and Life."

Santiago clenched his fists. "The ones who protect the Republic."

Tina gave him a thin smile.

"No. The ones who control it."

Silence.

"You think we fight the Void to win?" she continued. "We don't. We fight so the Last Republic survives. Not to thrive. Not to reclaim. Just to exist. Barely. Enough to hold the line." "Why?" one of the kids whispered.

"Because true victory would end the war." Tina's voice softened. "And without the war… the Republic wouldn't need us."

She looked at Santiago.

"That's the truth. We're not angels. We're not saviors. We're balance. We are the reason the Republic lives in fear—and the reason it hasn't fallen."

Santiago's stomach turned.

"And you turned me into this… for that?"

Tina stepped closer, her voice now barely a whisper.

"You were chosen because you're strong enough to see what others can't. And one day, Santiago… you'll decide what kind of monster you want to be."

The training yard was a hollow shell of an old military hangar—cold metal walls, flickering lights, and silence that pressed down on them like a heavy blanket.

Santiago wiped blood from his mouth, breathing hard. Across from him, the two other kids—Noah, a skinny boy with jittery hands, and Lira, a girl with sharp, feral eyes—were just as exhausted.

They had been at it for hours.

Fighting. Falling. Getting back up.

Again and again.

Santiago threw down the dull training blade they had given him and sank onto a cracked bench.

"This is insane," he muttered. "I'm not a soldier. I'm not some… vampire freak."

Noah sat beside him, clutching a bruised rib. "You think I wanted this? They dragged me out of my bunk at night. Next thing I know, I'm drinking…" He trailed off, face going pale.

Lira didn't sit. She stayed standing, arms crossed, her wild hair sticking to her sweat-slicked forehead. "It doesn't matter what we wanted," she said flatly. "We're theirs now."

Santiago glared up at her. "You're just gonna roll over and accept it?"

"You got a better idea?" Lira shot back. "Go ahead. Tell me how you plan to fight an army of things stronger, faster, and smarter than us."

For a moment, no one spoke.

The metal ceiling creaked overhead.

Finally, Noah broke the silence. "Maybe... we stick together. Watch each other's backs."

Santiago looked between them—Noah, trembling but determined; Lira, angry but alive.

Stick together.

He thought of John and Johnna. Thought of the moment their hands had slipped away from his. Thought of their tears—and their fear.

He clenched his fists.

"Fine," he said. "We stick together. But we don't become like them."

Lira snorted. "Little late for that."

"No," Santiago growled. "We still get to choose who we are."

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of it all pressing down.

Then—

A loud clang echoed through the hangar.

A new figure entered, dressed in black training armor, face hidden behind a mirrored mask.

The trainer.

Without a word, they tossed three new weapons onto the ground—long, wicked-looking spears tipped with something that glowed faintly blue.

"Again," the trainer barked, voice cold and metallic. "Faster. Stronger. Smarter. Or you die next time."

Noah picked up his spear with shaking hands.

Lira spun hers in a tight arc, testing its balance.

Santiago rose slowly, fingers curling around the weapon's shaft.

As he stood, something inside him shifted—a low, burning fire, deep beneath the fear and anger.

Not acceptance.

Not yet.

But purpose.

He glanced at the others, and without a word, they moved into formation—three broken pieces trying to fit themselves back together.

The trainer charged.

They met him head-on.

Santiago's spear clashed against the armored fist, sparks flying.

Pain lanced up his arms—but he held the line.

He wasn't fighting for the Republic.

Not for AOLAL.

Not even for survival.

He was fighting for himself.

For Noah.

For Lira.

For whatever future they could carve out of this nightmare.

Together.