The villagers pulled back in a frightened circle, murmuring prayers and clutching charms as they stared at the dead bandit's body. No one dared touch him. Even the bravest men—hunters, fishers, fathers with arms strong from years of labor—stepped away from the symbol carved into his chest.
Only two people moved closer.
Lysandra.
And the creature who had saved her.
Kael crouched beside the corpse, his cloak brushing the mud. He swept his fingers lightly over the burned-in symbol. A faint hiss rose from the dead flesh, as if the mark disliked being touched.
"It's recent," he murmured. "Done after he fled."
Lysandra swallowed hard. "By who?"
Kael stood slowly, his gaze sweeping the treeline, the rooftops, the sky—as if expecting something to strike from all directions.
"Not who," he corrected. "What."
The villagers shivered at his tone.
"Kael," she whispered, "what does the symbol mean?"
He didn't answer.
Not at first.
Instead, he took a step back from the body, his jaw clenched tightly. He looked older suddenly—not physically, but in a way that suggested memories long buried were being pulled back into the light.
Then he spoke.
"Long ago, there existed an order of priests who served a forgotten god. They believed that true power came only through suffering… through blood. Their rituals were cruel. Their magic darker than anything the kingdoms knew."
Lysandra felt a cold wind slip down her spine. "What does that have to do with me?"
Kael's eyes met hers.
The answer lived inside his silence.
"The Bloodmark," he continued, "was their sign. Carved onto the chests of those they judged… valuable."
"Valuable how?" she asked, though part of her didn't want to hear.
Kael stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Healers were rare even then. But healers whose gifts came naturally… were almost impossible."
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
Lysandra's heartbeat thudded painfully loud in her ears.
"You're saying they marked him for—"
"For being near you," Kael finished. "They know someone awakened last night."
She staggered back a step, but Kael steadied her with one hand on her elbow. His touch was cold, but grounding.
"Why would priests care about me?" she asked. "I'm just a healer."
Kael shook his head. "No. You are something far more dangerous."
Lysandra felt her palms heat again, the golden glow threatening to escape her skin. She hid them in her cloak.
"We must leave," Kael said quietly. "You are not safe here."
The villagers bristled.
"She belongs with us!" a woman cried.
"She's our healer!" a man shouted.
"What is that creature trying to take her for?"
Kael's eyes flashed—not anger, but an old instinct sharpened by centuries of survival.
"I am not taking her," he said coldly. "I am keeping her alive."
The crowd fell silent.
Lysandra looked around at the familiar faces she had healed her entire life—children she had delivered, men whose fevers she had broken, elders whose pains she had eased. Her own community. Her home.
Leaving them felt like tearing roots from the earth.
But the dead man in the mud was a truth she couldn't ignore.
"Please," she said softly to the villagers, "just give me time."
Kael turned to her sharply. "Time is what we do not have."
"I won't run without understanding," she insisted, meeting his gaze.
Something flickered in his expression—respect? Annoyance? Admiration? She couldn't tell.
But he exhaled slowly. "Then we must speak alone."
He led her into the shadowed forest, away from the prying eyes and fearful whispers.
⸻
The deeper they walked into the trees, the quieter the world became. The marshland hummed softly beneath the morning breeze. Birds stirred in the branches, and somewhere water trickled through moss-covered stone.
Lysandra stopped when the village disappeared behind a wall of trees.
"Tell me the truth," she demanded. "Tell me what I am."
Kael turned to face her fully.
For once, there was no coldness, no indifference, no distant predator's calm.
Only a man—immortal, damaged, dangerous—trying to speak a truth he feared.
"Your gift," he said, "is not human."
Lysandra shook her head. "But I am."
"Human in soul," Kael allowed. "Not in power."
Her fingers trembled. "What are you saying?"
He took a breath—slow, steady, preparing himself for a confession older than both of them.
"In ancient times, healers were believed to be born from a sacred lineage tied to the First Light—the only force strong enough to oppose the god the priests served. Your blood carries that light, Lysandra. I felt it when I tasted you."
Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.
"Your blood awakened something inside me," Kael continued. "Something my curse has crushed for centuries."
"You… changed," she whispered.
"Yes."
"How?"
Kael stared down at his hand. He opened his palm.
A faint red glow shimmered beneath his skin—her glow, mirrored inside him.
"You restored a piece of my humanity," he said. "A piece I thought lost forever."
Lysandra stumbled backward.
"No," she whispered. "That's impossible."
"Nothing about you," Kael said gently, "is impossible."
She pressed her hands to her temples. "I don't want to be some prophecy. I don't want priests hunting me. I just want my life back."
Kael stepped closer.
"Lysandra," he said softly, "your life was never simple. You simply did not know the weight you carried."
She looked up at him, eyes filled with fear and anger and something she could not yet name.
"Why me?" she demanded. "Why was I chosen for this?"
Kael's voice lowered.
"I do not know. But I swear this—" He placed his hand over his heart, something no vampire ever did lightly. "I will not let them take you."
Her throat tightened. "Why do you care?"
Silence.
Then—
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But I do."
Lysandra opened her mouth to respond—
—but a shrill scream tore through the forest.
Both of them spun toward the sound.
It came again. Higher. Sharper. Close.
Kael's eyes darkened. "Run."
Lysandra hesitated. "Kael—"
"Run!" he commanded.
She obeyed.
As she sprinted toward the village clearing, branches whipped at her cloak. Her lungs burned. Fear pounded through her veins.
She burst through the trees—
—and froze.
At the edge of the village stood three figures draped in crimson robes.
Priests.
Their hands glowed with symbols of blood and fire.
And in the center of their circle…
…a child floated helplessly in the air, screaming as red light wrapped around her like serpent coils.
Lysandra gasped, horrified.
Kael emerged behind her, face carved in fury.
"They're here," he whispered.
The priests turned slowly toward them.
And the leader smiled.
"Found," he hissed. "At last… the Healer of Light."