The silence hanging between the children was so heavy.
That even the rustle of leaves in the night wind felt like a scream.
The older boy, who had been measuring Len with blunt curiosity, stepped back slightly.
He narrowed his eyes, searching Len's calm face once more.
"The Palace?" the boy whispered, the word tasting bitter in his mouth.
"Everyone inside those walls has a name. What is yours?"
Len didn't hesitate.
"My name is Len," he said, his voice clear and unwavering.
The boy paused for a heartbeat, his eyes flicking over Len's fine attire.
"And who do you live with in the Palace?" he asked directly.
A trace of unease beginning to seep into his tone.
Len's gaze drifted toward the distant spires that pierced the night sky.
"I live with Astria."
No recognition flickered on the boy's face.
To him, 'Astria' was just a name, as common as any villager's.
He shrugged, looking at Len with genuine confusion.
"Astria? Who is that? Is she your mother or a servant?"
Len looked at the boy, realizing he needed to use the words he had heard echoing through the palace corridors.
"I don't know who she is to me... but everyone in the palace calls her the Queen."
The moment the word 'Queen' left Len's lips, the blood drained from the boy's face.
His eyes widened, and he recoiled as if he had been struck.
Behind him, the other children began to tremble, scurrying to hide behind one another.
"The Queen?" the boy's voice hitched, a tremor running through his frame.
He scrambled back two more steps, pointing a shaking finger at Len.
"Do you... do you really live with the Queen?"
Len watched as the curiosity in their eyes was instantly replaced by a haunting fear.
The title 'Queen' wasn't a symbol of protection for this village; it was a shadow of terror.
As the children recoiled, a ripple of confusion crossed Len's features.
He took a single step forward, but the movement caused the group to shrink back even further into the shadows.
"Why... why are you all backing away?"
Len asked, his voice laced with genuine bewilderment.
"Did Astria do something?"
The older boy swallowed hard, his voice still trembling.
"You don't know?" he whispered, as if the wind might carry his words back to the palace.
"That Queen... she is heartless. She has no mercy for anyone."
"We've heard she doesn't even blink before drawing blood with that blade of hers."
Len stood frozen.
In his mind, he saw the Astria who watched over him while he slept, the one who tended to his wounds.
He couldn't reconcile the 'cruel monster' they described with the woman who held his hand.
"How... how do you even live with someone like that?" the boy asked, finding a shred of courage.
"Does she punish you? Does she keep you in fear?"
Len paused, thinking of the heavy silences and the locked doors.
"No," he said softly, "she doesn't punish me. It's just... she gets angry with me sometimes."
The boy narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Len with renewed intensity.
"Then who are you to her? What is your place in that palace?"
Len recalled the deep, resonant voices of the armored guards that echoed through the stone corridors.
He repeated the titles he had heard a thousand times.
"The guards there... they call me 'Fiance' or 'Young Lord'."
The boy's brow furrowed in surprise.
"Fiance? Do you even know what that means?"
A soft, radiant smile blossomed on Len's lips.
The kind of smile one reserved for a precious secret.
A spark of warmth lit up his eyes.
"Yes. Fiance means marriage. She is my very best friend."
But then, the smile tilted, losing some of its brilliance.
He looked up at the night sky and then back toward the looming walls.
"But... she won't let me come out. She says it's dangerous out here."
"She says there are bad people everywhere."
He looked at the dusty, shivering children before him.
And wondered if these were the 'bad people' she had warned him about.
"You should leave... now!"
The boy's voice cracked.
He pointed a trembling hand back toward the towering silhouettes of the palace.
"Go back where you came from!"
Len took another step forward, the confusion etched deeply into his brow.
"But why?" he asked softly, his voice carrying a strange, hollow desperation.
"I don't know how long I've been behind those walls..."
"I don't even remember the last time I felt the open air. This is my first time out here."
"Did... did I say something to offend you?"
As Len moved closer, the boy's panic peaked.
He stumbled backward, losing his footing on the uneven ground.
He collapsed hard onto the jagged earth, his palms scraping harshly against the sharp stones.
A sharp hiss of pain broke the silence.
Fresh, crimson blood began to seep from his palms, dripping onto the dry dust in rhythmic, heavy droplets.
Len froze. Seeing the boy fall made his heart sink.
His gaze dropped in dejection, and a profound sadness clouded his features.
He slowly sank to his knees, looking like a broken child.
He had only wanted to reach out, yet his very presence had caused pain.
But then, the atmosphere shifted.
The boy was preoccupied with his wounded hands.
But the three smaller children standing behind him had changed.
The metallic tang of fresh blood had awakened something primal within them.
In the flickering amber light of the torches, their eyes suddenly ignited.
The soft colors of childhood vanished, replaced by a haunting, predatory crimson.
Their pupils constricted as they stared at the bleeding palms with a frantic, hunger-driven intensity.
Len looked up, his breath catching.
Their faces were no longer familiar.
Their red eyes glowed in the dark like dying embers.
"Are... are you all Vampires too?"
Len asked, his voice filled more with wonder than fear.
The older boy, his palms still weeping blood, looked up at Len with those same burning red eyes.
Gritting his teeth, he spoke in a voice strained with a mixture of hatred and hunger...
Len paid no heed to the glowing crimson eyes fixed upon him.
He crawled closer, his movements deliberate, until he was within arm's reach of the injured boy.
Dust coated his knees, but his focus remained solely on the bleeding palms.
With a tenderness that felt out of place in the dark, he took the boy's trembling hands into his own.
In that instant, something shifted deep within Len.
The light in his eyes vanished.
The irises expanded until they were swallowed by a vast, hollow, and pitch-black void.
A darkness so dense it looked like a piece of the midnight sky had taken root in his sockets.
He became unnervingly still, his very breath seeming to suspend in time.
Len brushed his thumb lightly over the jagged tear in the boy's flesh.
The moment his skin made contact with the wound, a silent energy rippled through the air.
In a matter of seconds, the deep gash and the weeping blood began to dissolve like mist.
The torn edges of the skin knitted together seamlessly, leaving behind nothing but smooth, unblemished flesh.
The cruel mark of the stone was gone.
Len slowly rose to his feet.
As he straightened his posture, the suffocating darkness in his eyes receded, returning to their normal, tranquil state.
The boy and the children behind him—their eyes still burning red—stood frozen.
Watching Len as if he were a phantom.
They couldn't comprehend what they had just witnessed; it was a power that defied everything they knew.
Len turned his head slightly, but his voice was now heavy with a lingering sorrow.
"You had to suffer because of me..." he murmured, his words nearly swallowed by the night wind.
"You were hurt because I was here. Please... forgive me for that."
He averted his gaze from the children.
The taste of freedom had suddenly turned bitter in his mouth.
Turning his back to the village, he began to walk toward the dark, jagged spires that loomed on the horizon.
He set his course back toward the Palace.
The very place he had fled just hours ago, now feeling like the only sanctuary left.