The moment I awoke, I found myself devoid of memories, uncertain of who I was or my location. The sensation was eerily similar to being engulfed in the brilliant white light within the forest, yet now I was shrouded in darkness.

Upon realising I wasn’t breathing, I calmly inhaled, the relief akin to quenching a day-long thirst in the field. My dry eyelids peeled open slowly, feeling like they were sliding across sand. The merry trill of birdsong heralded dawn’s arrival, casting a gentle luminescence upon my surroundings.

This was my bedroom… I was home.

Recognition dawning, I shifted my focus from the wooden ceiling to Yuridia—my sister—slumbering in a chair beside my bed, her head nestled on my arm.

Attempting to move proved futile; my body was weighted down and unresponsive. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, wrestling with fragmented memories and striving to reconstruct the events that had occurred. My thoughts were a tangled mess, even the most basic ones becoming an ordeal to sort through.

Why was I feeling like this?

A tight, white bandage enveloped my entire forearm, immobilising my fingers and numbing my arm. My mouth was arid as if I had been chewing on cotton, severely chapping my lips and tongue. Swallowing was an agonising feat, eliciting spasms of pain in my throat.

Yuridia, sensing my discomfort, slowly lifted her head. Her bleary, light-blue eyes met mine, reddened and swollen from tears. A mixture of disbelief and relief crossed her features. She hesitated, squinting at me before pressing her lips together, unable to speak.

I attempted to utter words, but my throat’s dryness stifled them.

Yuridia sprang into action, grabbed a half-full pitcher from the bedside table, and carefully raised my head, guiding the glass to my lips. The soothing sensation of moisture as water flowed over my tongue nearly brought me to tears—if only I had the fluid to spare. My desperate thirst overshadowed my need for oxygen, compelling me to drink incessantly.

When I finally halted, I drew in a heavy breath that startled Yuridia.

Yuridia returned the pitcher to the end table and resumed her seat in the wooden chair, her gaze unwavering. She appeared stunned, as though caught in the limbo between dream and reality. I couldn’t help but notice her hands, stained red, nearly to her elbows.

She looked exhausted.

Time ticked by before Yuridia found her voice. “Kade… you stopped breathing… your heart… it wasn’t beating. You… you were dead.” Her words faltered, and I regarded her with disbelief.

Cheating death seemed beyond the realm of my fortune. I mused on whether Death had taken a liking to me, trying to keep me alive, or if I was somehow eluding her grasp. I didn’t want to provoke her, but if she were indeed failing to claim me, it was rather embarrassing at this point.

My head resumed its position, gazing at the sloping ceiling. “I may be barely alive, but I’m certainly not dead,” I sighed.

A throbbing headache hammered my skull, more intense than the one I had awoken to in the forest. The pain grew increasingly unbearable with each passing minute, making death seem almost preferable.

My thirst had consumed me, banishing any thoughts of hunger. Even after drinking from the pitcher Yuridia provided, my mouth was parched again. I hadn’t eaten in over a day, but water was all that occupied my mind.

Yuridia’s hand came over her mouth. “No, Kade… you were dead. How are you alive? You lost so much blood… it’s impossible.”

She could be so dramatic at times.

Casting off the fur blanket, I attempted to prove my sister wrong by standing. My feet met the frigid hardwood floor, and though I wavered, I managed to balance myself, albeit unsteadily.

“I’m fine,” I said as a note of uncertainty crept in before a sharp pain in my wrist sent me tumbling back to the bed, cradling my arm.

The reality of my injury struck me, shattering my aspirations and leaving me feeling defeated. My future as a hunter lay in ruins. Despair welled up as the realisation that I would never achieve my simple dream.

Under normal circumstances, I would be hailed as a hero—a champion of the village. But my encounter with the monster resulted from my own foolishness. I would be met with judgmental stares instead of admiration.

I couldn’t help but dread that Mother would now have even more time to instruct me—just perfect.

Yuridia stood, her face a mask of disbelief at my survival. Wordlessly, she took the empty pitcher and made her way downstairs, her footsteps echoing in the room’s quietude.

Soon, the sound of raised voices drifted up from below. It wasn’t long before my father’s old friend, Richard, and his son, Dale, entered the room alongside my mother. Each bore the same astonished expression as Yuridia.

Everyone had dried blood on their clothes, but surely it couldn’t all be mine. I couldn’t possibly have lost that much blood.

Yuridia approached me, her face a blend of disbelief and joy, bearing a tray with a pan of water and rags. My mother, her eyes red-rimmed, stared at me and handed Yuridia the pitcher of water she carried. Yuridia set it on the bedside table next to the other items and finally allowed herself to smile.

I offered the group a nervous wave, but their unrelenting stares made me uneasy, prompting me to fidget on the rope bed.

Could there be truth to my sister’s claim that I had died?

Yuridia’s enthusiasm for my recovery was heartening. Often, I felt like a nuisance to her. Her eye rolls and head slaps seemed less than affectionate when her face flushed with anger. I knew I had much to make up for, but I was glad she wasn’t upset with me for now.

Richard ran his fingers through his greying blonde hair, exhaling in relief. “I see this as a win—I mean, he was dead. His body was getting stiff.”

Mother frowned and elbowed him sharply in the side. “You’re going to scare him. Stop.”

Richard knelt beside me, his weary brown eyes examining my face. Although exhaustion marked his features, he seemed less shocked by my revival than the others. He appeared pensive, as if looking through me rather than at me.

He stood and gave me a gentle pat on the head. “I’ve seen men turn purple on the battlefield and recover.”

Richard’s words carried a note of concern that left me uneasy. Despite his attempts to conceal it, I sensed something troubled him. The glimmer of hope in my family’s eyes was welcome, but Richard’s words cast a pall over their joy. It was as though he harboured a secret that eluded them, and it made me anxious.

What was happening?

Dale shrugged. “See, he’s good. Nothing but a scratch.”

Mother’s hand found its way to violence once more, smacking Dale atop the head, much to his irritation. It seemed those around her enabled her appetite for physical violence, allowing her to throw hands without fear of consequence.

Yuridia had picked up this unfortunate habit from our mother, and I worried the men in the village would grow weary of her aggressive tendencies. Though, it wasn’t too much of a concern, since every young man in town seemed to seek her approval.

My sister’s silver-blonde hair, inherited from our mother, and light blue eyes from our father, were considered the epitome of Valkyrie beauty. A sign of being touched by our saviours.

This blessing didn’t work for me.

Women paid me no mind, even though my silver hair and dark blue eyes were just as unique as my sister’s. My stature left something to be desired, and my social skills quickly deteriorated around anyone attractive, making me awkward.

The odds should have been in my favour, as the village had a two-to-one ratio of women to men, yet I still couldn’t seem to pique anyone’s interest. Unlike my tall, rugged father with his long beard, I merely blended in as average.

Not that I sought anyone’s attention. All the girls in this village irritated me.

Yuridia stepped in front of everyone, her brown dress stained with dried blood from the night before. “This is a blessing. Let’s not question it.”

My mother nodded, her hands folded on her beige skirt, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I agree. Everyone out so I can tend to him.”

Richard, Dale, and Yuridia left, closing the creaky door behind them. Mother stripped me and proceeded to clean me like a child. Her disregard for my modesty at sixteen, almost seventeen, was exasperating—she didn’t treat Yuridia like a five-year-old.

I could have told her to let me bathe myself, but that would have fallen on deaf ears. When Mother was set on doing something, there was no stopping her. She was the head of this household, even when Father was home.

Mother hardly spoke as she washed me and had yet to ask why I returned so late. An aura of concern emanated from her, making me suspicious. She didn’t bother changing my bandage, which struck me as odd, but I didn’t question her decision.

Everyone acted odd when I thought they should be rejoicing in my survival.

After helping me change my clothes, she offered a faint smile and planted a kiss on my forehead before heading for the door.

“Is something wrong?” I asked as her hand grasped the brass door handle.

She paused for a moment before looking back with a smile. “No, sweetie. Just rest. You’ve had an eventful night.”

Mother had left, and I lay down for a while, recovering my strength. Even with assistance, these simple tasks, like bathing and dressing, left me drained. Once I felt somewhat restored, I realised I needed to retrieve my satchel. It contained my knife and several rabbits. The cold weather meant they were still fresh unless something had gotten into the bag. I detested wasting animals after killing them. Taking their lives wasn’t pleasant, and letting their deaths be meaningless troubled me.

Having rested for an hour and drained the jug of water, I decided it was time to venture downstairs. I laced up my leather boots and slipped on my grey fur coat over my linen shirt.

I retrieved the knife my father had given me from the bedside table. Though too large to fit in my pocket and requiring a strap, I believed it would offer better protection than the small blade I used to dispatch rabbits when the traps failed.

As I fastened the knife’s holster around my waist, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

Something seemed off about my appearance.

Approaching the mirror for a closer look, I saw that my skin appeared paler, and the blue in my eyes seemed to have faded. It was subtle and nearly imperceptible, but I noticed it.

Returning to my bedside table, my silver pocket watch sitting in the open drawer caught my attention. This family heirloom had always been off-limits outside the house. However, I was torn between the fear of losing it and my need to make it home before nightfall. I didn’t want to be humiliated again and keeping track of time felt responsible.

Sighing, I tucked the watch into the pocket of my ivory trousers. I felt embarrassed about how I had let everything spiral out of control. The worry I had caused everyone was unnecessary, and I had been immature for not returning home with Yuridia.

Sure, I had killed a nightstalker. Once my father returned from the war, he might be proud… for the first few minutes before realising I could have avoided this situation. Everyone treated me like a child because… I was one.

How depressing.

Setting aside my embarrassment, I headed downstairs, each step on the creaky stairs echoing through the silent house. I reached the last step and hesitated, gripping the worn wooden railing. Everyone was seated at the table in the centre of the room, enveloped in an eerie silence. My gaze drifted to the large, ominous bloodstain that led to the back door, intensifying the palpable tension in the room.

I hoped that wasn’t my blood.

After nervously swallowing, I spoke up. “That’s a lot of blood.”

Dale turned his head in my direction. “That’s all of it. We couldn’t stop the bleeding.”

Richard sprang up from his seat and gestured for me to follow.

Mother and Yuridia’s expressions were a mix of happiness and worry, reflecting their joy that I was alive but disappointed in my actions. I felt like a burden, an unnecessary complication to their already challenging situation with Father gone.

It was evident they had been discussing something before I entered as Richard strode across the room, exuding agitation with every step. I was going to get disciplined. Father had never laid a hand on me, but that didn’t mean Richard wouldn’t. He might feel obligated to punish me now that my father was away.

We exited the front door and descended the porch stairs as the sun began rising. Richard and I walked to the old wooden barn, where the bloody nightstalker corpse lay outside, its head severed by the door.

The creature’s skin was a ghastly grey, its ears pointed, and its dark black eyes were wide open, adding to its unsettling appearance. Its limbs were disproportionate to its torso, making it even more unnerving. The body was devoid of clothing and looked as though a wolf or bear had brutally attacked it. Deep, claw-like wounds marred its skin.

It had already been injured when I encountered it. Of course, this made my triumph less impressive.

“So, that’s a nightstalker?” I asked, and Richard nodded, slipping his hands into the pockets of his overalls.

“Your father and I thought we had killed them all. We told you there were still some around to keep you alert,” Richard answered as I continued to gaze at the head. “And that was the right choice. No one died because we were prepared.”

“How did I manage to kill something that gave you and Father so much trouble?”

Richard shrugged. “The angle must have been just right with the axe, because I remember them taking a couple of shots to the neck before dying”—He rubbed his white stubble—”If there’s one, that means there’s a daywalker nearby, and that means there’s a nest,” Richard said, walking away.

I stood staring at the body and the pool of dried black blood beneath it. A faint vapour rose from the corpse as the nearby snow melted.

A few minutes later, I approached the front of the house, where Richard was seated on the weathered wooden porch steps, drawing on a smoke. Tobacco use was reserved for special occasions in our village. It was a scarce commodity, purchased in small quantities during the men’s trips to the harbour town. The trade for tobacco was expensive, and we prioritised more essential goods like iron and fabrics over it.

Richard’s smoking made it clear that he was under a great deal of stress. I glanced down at Richard’s boots, stained with dried blood—likely mine—before I sat beside him. He handed me the roll, and its herbaceous, woody aroma filled my nostrils.

“Killing a nightstalker on your own earns you a smoke,” Richard said, and I took it, inhaling deeply before returning it to him as I coughed, patting my chest.

That was awful. Why did people enjoy inhaling that heavy smoke? All it did was remind me of the crystal’s air burning me from the inside out.

Once I regained control of my cough, I spoke. “Mister Johnson, what should we do?”

“I told you months ago to call me Richard.” He flicked three-fourths of the roll onto the stone path leading to the front gate.

Strangely, he didn’t finish it, but I didn’t question him as we watched the orange-tipped paper burn out.

“Richard, who do we inform about this? Who can help us kill the daywalker? Perhaps a paladin from the ministry could help?” I asked, and he chuckled.

“Son, we’re about to burn the body and pretend this never occurred. All we can do is hope the daywalker doesn’t drop by for a mid-day snack,” Richard patted his thighs before standing up. “The ministry won’t bother coming out here. They have bigger concerns, like losing the war to the Sahscans.”

I wasn’t sure if I should mention it because I might sound insane, but I needed to know. “Did you see that light in the sky yesterday morning? A deafening noise came from the forest and brought wind with it.”

He stared at me for a moment. “No, I’m… not sure what you’re talking about.”

Richard appeared to understand my implication, but he seemed to have difficulty recalling it, as if the memory was stolen from him.

I nodded, signalling that I wouldn’t pursue the matter further. As I turned to head for the front door, Richard’s arm shot out in front of me, stopping me.

Richard shook his head slowly, a serious expression on his face. “You shouldn’t touch anyone right now.”

His words puzzled me.

“Huh?”

Richard’s gaze softened. “Vampirism is a curse, son, and you were dead last night. There’s no denying that. We encountered some ‘stalkers during the war and had men who died and came back. We think that if you get some blood in your mouth or a wound”—Richard gestured at my arm—”you’ll become one if you die.”

Fear washed over me before I stammered the words out. “What... what happened to them?”

Richard let his arm fall to his side. “They became mad, like rabid animals, and we had to kill them,” he looked towards the backyard. “But they never advanced that far. In most cases, nightstalkers resemble normal, pale corpses. This was a monster.”

I glanced down at my hand, wrapped tightly in white bandages. “Thanks for not killing me, I guess.”

“You have some time before you lose your mind,” Richard paused. “I can offer a quick death, or you can leave and try to get as far away as possible.”

So, there was no chance of me surviving? I felt overwhelmed by my emotions and struggled to process them. Everything seemed numb and confused. I knew I needed to sort out my feelings, but that wasn’t happening now.

“Understood.” I nodded and spun around, staring at the wooden front gate.

Feeling a profound sense of disappointment, I realised that I had survived everything just to face the impossible decision of leaving. I couldn’t stay; I had to go for the safety of Yuridia and Mother. When the vampirism took hold, I could simply walk into the sun and die. The thought of such a death was agonising, but at least it would be over quickly.

I didn’t want to die.

I approached the gate, my throat tight with emotion and my feelings plainly visible on my face. I told myself this was for the best, yet a part of me longed to stay regardless of the inherent danger.

“Son,” Richard said as my hand touched the top of the gate. “If you didn’t contract the curse, come back, alright? Give it a few weeks, and if you seem fine, return home.”

“Understood”—I looked back at him—“Should I at least say goodbye to them? I’m unsure of what to do.”

Richard shook his head gently. “I think it’s better if you leave without saying anything. I’m uncertain how the curse works, and those two headstrong women would likely try to chain you up. They didn’t believe me when I mentioned the curse.”

“I’m sure they’d be reckless and keep me here.” I managed a small smile. “You’re right. I should leave, even if I don’t want to.”

I would miss them terribly—even their theatrics.

Richard offered a weak smile. “Hopefully, this all works out. Better safe than sorry—meet me at the shrine. I’ll bring you supplies for your journey away from home.”

I nodded, pushed open the gate, and started down the dirt road, my head bowed in sorrow.

This sucked.