The first thing Kaelan Draven remembered was the sound.
Not words.
Not screams.
Not even footsteps.
Just the sound — a deep, resonant hum like the world itself was holding its breath.
A vibration rolling through the stone floor, through his bones, through the trembling darkness behind the blindfold tied over his eyes.
He didn't yet know that this sound would follow him for the rest of his life.
Didn't know it would echo behind his heartbeat, whisper inside his nightmares, coil around every moment he tried to feel safe.
He only knew one thing for certain:
Something terrible was about to happen.
---
They dragged him forward by his wrists — cold hands, colder intentions, no hesitation. He felt the air change as he was shoved into a wide chamber, the atmosphere pressing against his skin like fingers.
Even at seven years old, Kaelan could taste fear.
It tasted metallic.
Like something sharp held too close to the tongue.
Whispers moved around him — not frantic or chaotic, but disciplined, rhythmic, ritualistic. He recognized one of the voices: Lord Varaxis, a vampire noble whose presence always made his mother tense.
"Bring the child forward," Varaxis said. His voice was calm. Almost bored.
Kaelan felt his knees hit stone. The blindfold was ripped off, and the world came rushing back in a blur of torchlight and shadows.
He looked up — and his heart stopped.
His parents stood at the center of the chamber.
But they weren't standing freely.
They were held upright by glowing restraints carved into the air itself — magic that pulsed like a heartbeat, wrapping around their limbs, their chests, their throats. His father's black hair hung over his face, hiding his expression; his mother's eyes, bright with runic fire, locked onto Kaelan instantly.
"Kael," she whispered, voice rough but warm. "Don't look away from me, my heart."
He didn't.
He couldn't.
The room around them was full of vampires — nobles draped in crimson and silver, faces carved from stone, eyes shining with cold interest. Their power pressed against him from every direction, heavy and suffocating.
But the center of Kaelan's world was his parents — and the way they stood close enough to touch, yet held apart by magic designed to separate them.
A vampire noble stepped forward — tall, elegant, and mercilessly composed.
Lady Urienne.
"Hybrid offspring of a forbidden union," she announced. "Conceived through the bond of a vampire noble and a rune witch of the Third Circle."
She made their love sound like a crime.
Kaelan's fists clenched.
Lord Varaxis moved beside her. "Do you understand, boy? Your existence is a transgression."
Kaelan didn't answer. His throat was locked. His heartbeat was a trembling animal trying to escape.
His mother spoke, forcing out words through the pressure of the runes binding her:
"He is not a transgression. He is proof of what we—"
A crackling sound cut her off — not flesh, but magic tightening around her in a painful pulse. Kaelan flinched, a cold wave of helplessness sweeping over him.
His father looked up at last, eyes glowing faintly red — not with hunger, but with a fury so contained it was almost silent.
"Let the boy go," his father said, voice low but deadly calm. "He had no part in your politics."
Varaxis tilted his head. "He is the center of it."
Kaelan's father pulled against the restraints. The magic reacted instantly, tightening, silencing him. His body trembled from the force — not from injury, but from the overwhelming pressure crushing his strength.
Kaelan felt something splinter inside his chest.
His mother turned her head toward him as much as she could, her voice softening in a way that made everything hurt even more:
"Kael… listen to me. No matter what they do, you must live."
Her words should have comforted him.
Instead, they felt like a farewell.
---
Lady Urienne gestured, and two armored guards dragged Kaelan forward again. He tried to pull back, but their grip was unbreakable, their strength absolute.
"Place him between them," Urienne commanded.
Kaelan froze.
His breath vanished.
There was no air, no sound, no anything.
He was shoved forward until he stood in the space between his parents — close enough to feel the heat radiating off their bodies, close enough to see the fine tremble in his mother's lips, close enough to see the way his father kept shifting his stance to form a protective angle even while bound.
Kaelan's voice cracked when it finally escaped him:
"Why… why are you doing this?"
It wasn't the nobles who answered.
His mother did.
"Because they fear you."
Her eyes glowed with runic light — a mix of sorrow and pride.
His father spoke next, voice low and steady, like he wanted this to be the last thing Kaelan ever forgot:
"And they fear what you could become."
---
Lord Varaxis stepped forward, holding a ceremonial blade — elegant, curved, humming with power. The metal wasn't stained or jagged, but its presence was worse than anything Kaelan had imagined.
Not because of what it could do.
But because of what they intended to force him to do.
"Because of your mixed blood," Varaxis said, "only your hand can complete the rite."
Kaelan's stomach twisted.
The world tilted.
His knees nearly buckled.
"No," he whispered.
His mother shook her head, tears shining. "Kael, look at me. Only me."
She held his gaze until he couldn't breathe.
"You will survive this," she said. "You will endure. And one day… you will uncover why they fear our love so deeply."
Varaxis reached down and took Kaelan's hand — cold fingers wrapping around his small one — and forced it around the blade's handle.
Kaelan's heart stopped.
His entire body went cold.
His father's voice, normally like steel, trembled for the first time:
"Kaelan. Son. Do not blame yourself for what they force you to do."
The nobles began to chant.
Magic filled the room.
The air hummed again — that same vibration that would haunt him forever.
The blade grew heavier in Kaelan's grip until he could barely lift it.
His mother leaned forward as much as the restraints allowed, whispering—
"I love you."
His father echoed it, voice breaking—
"And I am proud of you."
Kaelan's tears blurred everything.
There are moments in life that last seconds but carve scars that last a lifetime.
This was one of them.
The ritual magic surged.
The room pulsed with power.
The nobles' voices rose.
Varaxis forced Kaelan's hand to move—
And in the next moment, everything shattered.
Light — blinding white — burst from the point of contact between Kaelan's hand, the blade, and the magic binding his parents.
Not pain.
Not force.
Just breaking.
Magic ruptured around him like glass crushed by a fist. The chamber shook, torches extinguished, shadows warped, and power exploded outward in a shockwave.
Kaelan was thrown backward.
The world went silent.
Silent in the way that means something has ended.
When he blinked through the haze, his parents were no longer standing.
The restraints were gone.
The nobles stared, stunned — not at Kaelan, but at him.
Because he was still alive.
Because the ritual meant to erase him… didn't.
Because something inside him had awakened.
His mother's runes—
His father's blood—
Something forbidden, powerful, and uncontrollable.
A ripple of power coiled around his body like spectral fire, then sank into his skin.
The nobles' fear was instant.
"Impossible," Urienne whispered. "He should not have survived."
Varaxis stepped back, expression twisting.
"That boy… is a danger beyond what we imagined."
Kaelan lay on the ground, trembling, hollow, his chest aching with a grief too large to understand.
He knew nothing in that moment except one truth:
He was utterly alone now.
And the people who took his parents were still watching him.
Still wanting him dead.
Still whispering:
"He must be erased."
Kaelan rose slowly, eyes darkening as something ancient ignited behind them.
He didn't scream.
Didn't cry.
Didn't plead.
His voice was barely audible, but it carried through the chamber like a whisper from the grave:
"You should have killed me."
Those words would one day scar the world.
But for now…
they only scarred him.