Chapter 3: Ash on the Wind

The wind carried the scent of old blood and ash as Richard walked down the ruined road. Trees bent like broken men, their limbs splintered by age or battle. Blackened bones peeked out from crumbling dirt along the path, and rusted weapons lay forgotten in the grass. He moved in silence, his cloak trailing behind him, sword strapped across his back, and the faint weight of a small pendant thumping softly against his chest with each step.

He didn't look left or right. Only forward.

It wasn't long before he saw smoke in the distance. Not the faint kind from a chimney or traveler's fire—this was thicker, lazier. Vampires.

He moved through the woods and crouched on a ridge overlooking the camp below.

Four vampires lounged around a bonfire. A few humans were locked in iron cages nearby, slumped and pale. One vampire held a bottle of wine, dribbling it on a girl's head as the others laughed.

"You think they'll beg louder when we start peeling skin?" one of them sneered.

"Only one way to find out."

The third vampire turned—then burst into flames with a scream.

The others stood up, confused. That's when Richard walked into the firelight, cloak trailing smoke.

The one with the wine dropped the bottle. "What the—?!"

Before he could finish, Richard was on him. A clean slash of his sword severed the vampire's head.

The third one lunged at him. Richard raised his hand, and a burst of searing orange fire blasted him backward into a tree, burning through armor and skin.

The last vampire fell to his knees, clawing backward. "Wait! Wait, please! I surrender!"

Richard stared for a moment. Then raised two fingers—and the vampire combusted in place, screaming as he turned to ash.

The fire crackled quietly as Richard approached the cages. He opened them one by one. The prisoners didn't speak at first—just stared at him.

A young boy, maybe fifteen, finally stepped forward.

"Th-thank you, sir. Are you with the resistance?"

"No," Richard said flatly.

"Then why… help us?"

He turned, walking away. "I don't like vampires."

He found an abandoned wagon later that evening. Half-eaten supplies. A rusted pan. Inside the broken cart, beneath a torn blanket, lay a small wooden bird toy. The kind that squeaked when you turned its wings.

His daughter used to carry one like that.

Richard stared at it, then tucked it into his cloak without a word.

He camped in the remains of an old roadside chapel. Half a roof. No walls. Just stone and silence. He lit a small fire and sat with his back against a crumbling altar. His sword lay across his lap. He took out the pendant from around his neck—silver, cracked slightly. He held it for a long time before finally closing his eyes.

The nightmare came quickly.

He walked into the village. The streets were empty. No sounds. Just blood.

It stained the walls, soaked the dirt. He broke into a run.

His house—door wide open.

Inside, his wife lay motionless on the floor. His daughter beside her.

"No…" he whispered, dropping to his knees.

Then they stirred.

Their bodies jerked. Heads twisted in unnatural angles. Eyes black with death.

They lunged at him with shrieks, teeth sharp and rotted.

He tried to scream, to move, to fight—but his body wouldn't respond.

Richard woke with a gasp.

He was soaked in sweat. Breath ragged. He gripped the hilt of his sword before realizing he was alone.

"I let this happen," he muttered.

By nightfall the next day, he reached the city gates. The walls rose high above him, torches flickering.

Two guards leaned over the battlements.

"Who's out there?"

Richard stepped into the firelight. His face was shadowed beneath his hood. His coat was scorched, bloodstained.

"You see that sword?" one guard whispered to the other. "That's no traveler."

"Let me in," Richard said. "Just passing through."

They hesitated, then opened the gate.

He walked in without another word.

As he passed, one of them muttered, "Something's off about that guy…"

Inside the walls, the city slept restlessly.

Richard looked up at the dark sky, then pulled his cloak tighter. The pendant hung cold against his chest.

He said nothing. Just walked on.

End of chapter 3