Erevale, Virelia — Early Morning
Joseph woke before the alarm.
That alone told him it was going to be one of those days.
For a few seconds, he didn't move. He lay flat on his back, eyes open, staring at the faint crack running along the ceiling of his apartment. Pale morning light filtered in through the thin curtains, painting the room in muted Gray and Gold. Somewhere outside, a vendor shouted, his voice rough and rhythmic, followed by the distant HONK of a car horn and the low, constant murmur of the city waking up.
Somewhere beyond the thin walls of his apartment, Erevale was stirring—
a city built between old stone and modern steel, where narrow streets met glass towers, and history hid comfortably beneath progress.
It was the kind of city that never truly slept... only pretended to.
A city in Virelia, where legends were considered folklore, and monsters were things people no longer believed in.
Everything felt... normal.
Comfortably so.
And yet, his body felt heavier than usual.
Not pain.
Not sickness.
Just a deep, quiet fatigue—like something inside him hadn't fully rested, no matter how long he slept. It clung to his limbs, weighed down his chest, made the act of breathing feel just a fraction more deliberate.
Joseph exhaled slowly and pushed himself upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet touched the cool floor, grounding him.
"Guess I'm getting old," he muttered, the words barely louder than the HUM of the ceiling fan.
A faint smile tugged at his lips; more habit than humor.
He moved through his morning routine with practiced ease.
Bathroom.
Sink.
Mirror.
The man staring back at him looked ordinary enough—sharp but calm eyes, dark hair still slightly messy from sleep, pale skin that most people attributed to long hours indoors and too much caffeine.
No scars.
No glowing eyes.
No monstrous features.
Nothing that would make anyone look twice.
He brushed his teeth carefully, as he always did. Old habit. One ingrained so deeply he didn't remember when it had started. His fangs stayed hidden, perfectly controlled, just another part of him he'd learned to keep in check.
Half human.
Half vampire.
The words had long since lost their weight.
He'd known what he was for as long as he could remember, and after a while, questioning it had simply felt pointless. The human world had accepted him easily enough.
He had a job. A routine. A life that fit neatly within the boundaries of normalcy.
More or less.
Even the gaps in his memory had become something he lived with.
Faces without names.
Places he couldn't recall ever visiting.
Dreams that ended just before they made sense.
Sometimes they came as flashes—brief and disjointed. A corridor made of stone. The echo of footsteps that didn't belong to him. A voice calling his name in a language he didn't recognize.
They never lingered.
Messy memories, that's all.
Everyone had them.
Joseph rinsed his mouth, wiped the mirror clean of steam, and turned away. He dressed neatly, pulling on a dark shirt and coat, movements precise and unhurried. There was comfort in routine, in the predictability of each step.
He checked his phone.
No missed calls.
No urgent messages.
For a brief, fragile moment, he allowed himself to believe the day would pass quietly.
He poured himself a cup of coffee, black, no sugar. The aroma filled the small kitchen as he leaned against the counter, eyes half-lidded, letting the warmth seep into his hands. Outside, the city continued its slow awakening, unaware of him and his quiet existence within it.
Joseph took a sip.
Something flickered behind his eyes.
Not a thought.
Not a memory.
Just a pressure.
Faint.
Distant.
Like something brushing against the edge of his awareness before retreating again.
He frowned slightly, then shook his head.
Too early for overthinking.
He finished his coffee, set the cup aside, and reached for his keys.
The phone rang.
The sound cut through the apartment, sharp and immediate, shattering the fragile calm.
Joseph froze for half a second before answering.
"Sir Joseph."
Miss López's voice was crisp and professional, just as it always was—but there was something else beneath it this time. A tension she hadn't bothered to hide.
"I'm listening," Joseph said, already slipping his coat on.
"There's been an incident," she said. "Late last night."Joseph's fingers tightened briefly around the keys.
"Go on."
"A hotel downtown," Miss López continued.
"Patrol officers secured the area, but... it doesn't look ordinary."
Joseph paused mid-step.
The word settled in his chest.
Ordinary.
"How not ordinary?" he asked.
There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.
"Multiple casualties," she said carefully. "Witness statements don't match. And the condition of the bodies..."
She hesitated. "I thought you should see it yourself."
The fatigue inside him sharpened, condensing into something focused and alert.
"I'm on my way," Joseph said.
He ended the call and stood still for a moment longer, listening to the hum of the city outside. The quiet no longer felt comforting.
It felt like the calm before something else.
Something he couldn't yet name.
Joseph stepped out of the mansion building and locked the door behind him.
The city felt different the moment Joseph stepped outside.
It wasn't something he could point to—not the sky, not the buildings, not even the people moving through the streets with their usual morning impatience. Everything looked the same. Too much the same.
And yet, the air felt heavier.
Colder.
Joseph locked the door behind him and started down the stairs, his footsteps echoing softly in the stairwell. With each step, his senses sharpened without his permission. Sounds grew clearer—the SCRAPE of tires on asphalt, the murmur of conversations bleeding through open windows, the distant WAIL of a siren that faded almost as soon as it appeared.
He told himself it was nothing.
A long night.
A rough case waiting ahead.
That was all.
The drive to the hotel passed in silence. No music. No radio. Joseph preferred it that way. Silence let him think—though this morning, his thoughts refused to settle. Images drifted in and out of focus as he drove: a corridor lined with stone pillars, moonlight spilling across cold floors, voices layered over one another in a language that tugged at something deep inside him.
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
"Focus," he muttered.
The images faded, leaving only the road ahead and the dull ache beginning to press behind his temples. Not pain. Just pressure. Like standing too close to a locked door with something pushing from the other side.
He ignored it.
Downtown Erevale emerged ahead of him, its streets widening, traffic thickening as the business district woke fully. Hotels, offices, cafés places meant for routine and safety.
Places where things like this weren't supposed to happen.
The incident hotel came into view as the sky brightened with early morning light. Yellow tape fluttered lazily around the entrance, cordoning off the building in sharp contrast to its otherwise welcoming facade. Police vehicles lined the curb, lights off but engines idling. Officers moved in small clusters, their expressions tight, voices low.
Joseph parked across the street and stepped out of the car.
The moment his boots touched the pavement, his instincts screamed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
He froze mid-step.
The scent hit him a heartbeat later—so faint a human would never notice it, but unmistakable to him.
Old.
Rotten.
Wrong.
It clung to the air like a stain, threading itself through the morning breeze.
Joseph's expression shifted.
The calm gentleness he wore so easily slipped away, replaced by something colder. Sharper. His posture straightened, every muscle subtly coiling as his senses fully awakened.
His head throbbed.
Just once.
A sudden flicker—too fast to grasp. Blood soaking into fabric. Fire licking stone walls. Screams that didn't sound human.
Joseph sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, forcing the images back down.
Not now.
"Sir Joseph?"
An officer approached, his face pale beneath the harsh daylight.
"We've secured the area, but... I've never seen anything like this."
Joseph nodded once, eyes never leaving the building.
"I'll take a look."
He ducked under the tape and crossed the threshold to move in the building.
The air inside the hotel was worse.
Stale. Thick. Heavy with something that did not belong.
Joseph took two steps forward and stopped.
His instincts surged again, louder this time, clearer.
This wasn't human.
He closed his eyes briefly, letting the sensations settle into something he could understand. The smell. The residue clinging to the walls. The way the silence pressed against his ears.
DEMONS.
The word didn't come from memory.
It came from instinct.
His jaw tightened as another wave of pressure pulsed behind his eyes—stronger than before, sharp enough to make him wince. A fragment of something tried to surface. A voice. A name. A promise whispered long ago.
Then it vanished.
Joseph opened his eyes. His gaze hardened.
"This is not just a normal crime scene," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
The officer swallowed. "Sir?"
Joseph stepped forward, every sense alert now, the world narrowing to the corridor ahead.
"I will go on the main floor to check with Ms. Lopez!"
Whatever had happened here wasn't random.
And whatever had done it hadn't chosen this place by accident.
As he moves in the building, the doors closed behind him with a soft, hollow THUD, Joseph had no idea that this case would be the first crack in the life he thought he understood—
No idea that the memories he dismissed as messy fragments were anything but accidental.
Only that something ancient had returned.
To be continued...