Clouds scudded across the late afternoon sky as Hunter and Eli left their hotel. The city's bustle faded the farther they walked from the center, streets narrowing and giving way to older, quieter avenues. Even in daylight, the presence of the forest pressed close—its canopy visible above rooftops, leaves rustling with secrets none of the locals seemed eager to share.
They stopped where the pavement turned to packed earth and moss, the boundary marked by a rusted iron gate. Beyond it, the Central Wood sprawled in tangled silence. Shafts of sunlight caught in shifting green, but shadows pooled deep, impenetrable, between roots and trunks far older than the city.
Eli's nerves buzzed. "So… we're right at the edge, huh?" He stared into the trees, half-expecting something pale-eyed to stare back.
Hunter studied the ironwork latticed with ancient runes, centuries of finger-worn polish on a sigil like a tree's crown. "We check the perimeter now. See if anything stands out or stirs. No entry yet—not without backup."
"Right," Eli said, glancing back over his shoulder. "Don't poke the thing the map says not to poke."
Hunter crouched, brushing his fingers along disturbed earth. Boot prints—fresh, several sets—traced back and forth before vanishing into the gloom.
Photography drones buzzed distantly overhead, mapping construction sites or maybe just searching for a vantage. In this quarter, however, few lingered. Even the birds cut their songs short at the edge of the Wood.
After a few tense minutes, Hunter stood, eyes caught on a slip of paper stuck in the fence: the stylized logo of "Esterhazy's Curiosities"—the antique shop they'd flagged in their research.
"The store isn't far," Hunter said, voice quiet. "It's one of our flagged locations. The last missing person was seen there a day before the blackout."
Eli exhaled, relief mixing with anticipation. "Let's trade trees for trinkets, just for now."
They followed winding lanes that skirted the woods, passing small houses with shuttered windows and wild poppies tangled in their fences. After a few blocks, the storefront appeared—a narrow wedge of dark brick set between a bakery and a shuttered tailor's. The words "Esterhazy's Curiosities & Antiquarian" curled across frosted glass in looping, hand-painted script.
Inside, the bell chimed low. The air was thick with the mingled scents of old paper, lavender, and something deeper—like rain clinging to stone. Dim light spilled from stained-glass lamps and dozens of crowded shelves. On every surface: relics, books with cracked leather bindings, jars sealed with red wax, and shadowed statuary whose shapes seemed to shift in the corner of one's eye.
Eli was already quietly scanning, looking for anything out of place—or anything with fangs.
Hunter stepped resolutely toward the shop counter, where a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and a glint of recognition in her smile awaited.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?" she asked.
Hunter held her gaze. "We're looking into some… old city business. Your store came up in connection with a disappearance. And perhaps something older, tied to the woods."
If the request fazed her, she didn't show it. "If you're searching for answers," she said, her voice just above a whisper, "it's best to know the right questions to ask. Not everything in New Ashara likes to be found."
Hunter and Eli exchanged a glance—half challenge, half understanding.
Outside, a breeze rattled the glass. The trees waited, silent. And inside Esterhazy's, the search for what was hidden had only just begun.
Hunter rested his gloved hands on the glass counter, eyes steady and intent on the woman behind it. "We're not here for trinkets. I want to ask you about the families—the ones tied to bloodlines, old money, and the kind of business that ends in nightfall. Specifically, I need to know about the couple who died last month out by the forest edge, not far from your door. Locals say it wasn't random."
The woman regarded Hunter with silent interest, her gaze sharp but unreadable. Her fingers played lightly over a silver locket on the counter—a nervous habit, or perhaps something more. "People in New Ashara prefer their secrets whispered, not spoken," she murmured. "Death by that forest rarely leaves footprints. But blood families… factions… they leave shadows. Too many kinds, these days. Are you asking about the Mirasaults, or perhaps the Boros? The newcomers don't bother with subtlety, but the old families… they still keep to tradition. And boundaries."
Hunter's jaw tightened. "Both. Witnesses say it looked ritualistic. Forensics pulled strange pollen, stunted thorns from the husband's coat. Tell me—are any of those families feuding, or breaking their own rules?"
A faint smile played across her lips. "New Ashara's oldest boundary is made of thorns. The forest doesn't forgive trespass. Some families dance with it. Others fight. And when vampires war, it's the living who bleed."
As Hunter pressed for details, Eli drifted through the packed, shadowed shop. He paused by a shelf of old city maps, running his fingertips along their faded routes—some streets never built, some loops that ended abruptly at drawn trees. Nearby, he spotted an ornate set of drawers labeled in cryptic runes, each drawer with a lock shaped like interlocking roots.
In a glass case, Eli found a collection of old photographs. One caught his eye: a blurred image of figures in formal dress gathered beneath a massive, twisted tree. The corner bore a single word—"Sanctuary."
Beneath that, a thin brass seal hung on a chain, marked with the crest Hunter had shown him earlier—crown, root, and teardrop. Eli took out his phone and quietly snapped a picture.
At the front, Hunter was undeterred. "The couple. Why here? And why that night?"
The woman's eyes darkened, her voice softer, almost reverent. "Because the boundaries shift. Sometimes the forest calls those who owe it a debt. The rest… are warnings. If you're chasing answers about the blood, the roots, or the crown, you should pay close attention—trees remember longer than men."
Eli returned, holding the sealed photograph. "Anything you recognize?" he asked Hunter, quietly.
The woman's attention flickered to Eli. "That's from a wake, long ago. The living came for blessing. The dead came for forgiveness. Every family's roots run deep, but none deeper than the Wood."
Hunter nodded, exchanging a glance with Eli. "Thank you," Hunter said, his tone grave. "We may have more questions. If you think of anything, let us know."
The woman inclined her head. "If the forest wants you, you'll find your answers soon enough."
They left Esterhazy's Curiosities with the afternoon sun flickering gold on the threshold, weighed down by a sense of warning—and by more questions than answers.
Hunter rested his gloved hands on the glass counter, eyes steady and intent on the woman behind it. "We're not here for trinkets. I want to ask you about the families—the ones tied to bloodlines, old money, and the kind of business that ends in nightfall. Specifically, I need to know about the couple who died last month out by the forest edge, not far from your door. Locals say it wasn't random."
The woman regarded Hunter with silent interest, her gaze sharp but unreadable. Her fingers played lightly over a silver locket on the counter—a nervous habit, or perhaps something more. "People in New Ashara prefer their secrets whispered, not spoken," she murmured. "Death by that forest rarely leaves footprints. But blood families… factions… they leave shadows. Too many kinds, these days. Are you asking about the Mirasaults, or perhaps the Boros? The newcomers don't bother with subtlety, but the old families… they still keep to tradition. And boundaries."
Hunter's jaw tightened. "Both. Witnesses say it looked ritualistic. Forensics pulled strange pollen, stunted thorns from the husband's coat. Tell me—are any of those families feuding, or breaking their own rules?"
A faint smile played across her lips. "New Ashara's oldest boundary is made of thorns. The forest doesn't forgive trespass. Some families dance with it. Others fight. And when vampires war, it's the living who bleed."
As Hunter pressed for details, Eli drifted through the packed, shadowed shop. He paused by a shelf of old city maps, running his fingertips along their faded routes—some streets never built, some loops that ended abruptly at drawn trees. Nearby, he spotted an ornate set of drawers labeled in cryptic runes, each drawer with a lock shaped like interlocking roots.
In a glass case, Eli found a collection of old photographs. One caught his eye: a blurred image of figures in formal dress gathered beneath a massive, twisted tree. The corner bore a single word—"Sanctuary."
Beneath that, a thin brass seal hung on a chain, marked with the crest Hunter had shown him earlier—crown, root, and teardrop. Eli took out his phone and quietly snapped a picture.
At the front, Hunter was undeterred. "The couple. Why here? And why that night?"
The woman's eyes darkened, her voice softer, almost reverent. "Because the boundaries shift. Sometimes the forest calls those who owe it a debt. The rest… are warnings. If you're chasing answers about the blood, the roots, or the crown, you should pay close attention—trees remember longer than men."
Eli returned, holding the sealed photograph. "Anything you recognize?" he asked Hunter, quietly.
The woman's attention flickered to Eli. "That's from a wake, long ago. The living came for blessing. The dead came for forgiveness. Every family's roots run deep, but none deeper than the Wood."
Hunter nodded, exchanging a glance with Eli. "Thank you," Hunter said, his tone grave. "We may have more questions. If you think of anything, let us know."
The woman inclined her head. "If the forest wants you, you'll find your answers soon enough."
They left Esterhazy's Curiosities with the afternoon sun flickering gold on the threshold, weighed down by a sense of warning—and by more questions than answers.