Taxis swarmed the arrivals curb outside New Ashara International, darting between luggage carts and shuttle buses in a choreography of honks and shouted greetings. The city's sprawling airport—a labyrinth of gleaming glass, twisting ramps, and looping overpasses—buzzed with neon signs flickering in half a dozen languages. As their driver weaved away from the jostling crowd, the last echo of jet engines softened behind them.
Eli pressed his face to the window with boyish delight, narrating every shift in scenery. The tangled arteries of freeway untwined, giving way to the breathing openness of downtown: tall buildings gleamed glass and chrome above wide boulevards, but it was the emerald canals that stole the show. Sleek riverboats—and the occasional market barge—darted between the streets, their wakes shimmering beneath pedestrian bridges draped in willow branches. Roads knotted through neighborhoods, while waterways braided the city's heart.
"Look at that—actual canals in downtown! We have to try the seafood by the wharves. And those old-school arcades I read about! The jazz club in Old Harbor! Hunter, we could be legends here. Legends with very full stomachs," Eli enthused, fogging the glass with excited breath.
Hunter barely glanced up, fingers moving in precise flicks over a slim tablet. The glow of mission details reflected off his lenses: classified sightings, cryptic photos, local reports tinged with fear. "There are five leads within city limits," he said quietly, scrolling. "Tiny café in the east quarter, club named Sable, a florist near the forest edge. Remember why we're here."
The taxi hummed along the last stretch, entering New Ashara's green district. Their hotel arose—a modern marvel wrapped in pale stone and vertical gardens. Ivy and wisteria threaded its facade, framing glass balconies that peered into the emerald wilderness: the great Central Wood, a protected forest older than the city itself, rising defiantly at the city's core. Moorings on a side canal bobbed with canoes and sleek water taxis ferrying guests and groceries alike.
Inside, sunlight poured through a vast atrium, dappling the reception desk in shifting leaf-shaped patterns. A young woman with braided silver hair tapped at her screen, brow furrowed. "I don't see a reservation under… Anamnesis Consulting?"
Hunter slid a slim, weighty badge across the counter—a black keycard inscribed with a silver sigil, intricate as a fingerprint. The device hummed faintly in the filtered sunlight.
The clerk's casual smile vanished, replaced by a flicker of caution, then quickly smoothed in deference. "Let me call the manager."
Moments later, a sharply dressed man emerged with practiced politeness—his eyes keen, gaze sharpening when he caught sight of the badge. His deference was immediate. "Gentlemen, please—right this way. Your suite with forest view awaits. If you require anything, don't hesitate to ask."
As they followed the manager down sunlit corridors, Eli nudged Hunter with a grin. "Glad you remembered the magic words. Now—who's up for some street food after we hunt monsters?"
Hunter grunted in response, eyes fixed on the forest visible through broad windows—shadow and sunlight weaving in the leaves, ancient promises whispered on the breeze.
Their suite was a quiet sanctuary, glass walls offering an unhindered view of the heart of Central Wood. Shafts of sunlight filtered through leaves overhead, splashing the polished wood floor with flecks of green light. With an amused grin, Eli threw his bag on the couch, nearly toppling over a welcome basket filled with local fruit and chocolates.
"Hunter, this place has elderflower soda in the minibar. They even left binoculars for birdwatching. How many vampire hunters can say they've had breakfast with a view of wild deer?"
Hunter silently unpacked and arranged his gear with methodical precision—silver-polished implements, worn tomes, velvet-lined holsters holding sleek handguns, travel-worn medical kits. His every movement was a quiet ritual of preparation and focus.
Eli leaned against the glass, watching the forest sway. His reflection merged with the shadows of branches and sunlight—a young adventurer caught between wonder and the weight of duty. "We could be local legends here. Not just for work, but for living a little."
Hunter finally looked away from his gear, the emerald glow reflecting in his lenses. "We are here to find what's hidden," he said, voice low but carrying a subtle note—warning, or perhaps hope.
Eli dropped onto the ottoman near the broad window, propping his chin in his hand. "Which is… what, exactly? Every report on this place sounds like the city itself is hiding something. Or maybe it's hiding from something. You think all the weirdness really comes back to the woods?"
Hunter glanced at the treetops swaying in the wind outside. His jaw worked tight for a moment before he answered. "We know New Ashara's history is full of blanks—vanished records, old cases sealed abruptly, witness statements that changed for no reason. Look at the pattern of events: disappearances, murders, entire city blocks turning over every few decades. All in a ring around that forest. Always starting at the edge, never deep in the city, never far out in the rural zones. And it's not new. The oldest stories—they talk about a tree at the center. A landmark, or maybe… a wound."
Eli's brows shot up. "'A wound'? Like something left open?"
"Maybe. A place where the boundary's weak, or a thing that shouldn't have survived but did." Hunter's gaze turned distant, as if measuring the weight of his own words. "Half the encrypted notes in the Marshal's files mention the Tree in code names. Root, Crown, the Hollow King. It's like every major power in this city is either circling that forest or desperately pretending it doesn't exist."
Eli sat up, animated. "But what about the vamps? I mean, I know you hate speculation, but there's got to be more than 'strange local politics' going on, right? Every report about missing people, weird deaths, centuries-old bloodlines—most cities, they're just rumors. Here, it's like open secret theater. How do they tie in?"
Hunter's lips pressed into a flat line. "If Old Ashara legends are right, the 'blood families' didn't just move here—they grew here. They've always clustered around major crossings, sources of water, ley lines—and, almost always, ancient wood. Here, that means the Central Wood and whatever's at its heart. Someone's keeping them in check, or they're keeping something else locked down. Either way, the forest sits at the middle of every migration, every incident. When things escalate, so does activity in the Wood. Maybe to feed, maybe to protect. Maybe both."
Eli whistled softly, running a hand through his hair. "So you're saying that tree isn't just a landmark—maybe it's the reason for all the cover-ups…and for the vamps playing shadow games? Like the city itself is orbiting whatever's out there."
Hunter nodded, his expression grave. "I've seen similar patterns. Not as large scale, never this persistent. That Tree is a nexus—or a wound, like I said. Something spilled here, a long time ago, and nothing's healed since."
A silence stretched between them, thick as the glass that separated the room from the wild tangle outside.
Eli broke it first, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. "We hunt monsters, but maybe the real monster's the forest, huh? Or whatever it hides."
Hunter allowed himself a thin, almost wry smile. "Or whoever protects it. Don't trust appearances here, Eli. The city changes those who linger…and not always for the better."
Eli tapped his temple, thoughtful now. "Message received, partner. Watch where we step. And maybe… don't take shortcuts through the trees at night."
Hunter turned back to his weapons, methodical once more. "Especially not on nights when the leaves move against the wind."
Eli shivered, but the excitement never faded from his eyes. Outside, the green sprawl of Central Wood seemed to breathe, indifferent and endless.