Celeste could barely move. She lay sprawled on the cold earth, her whole body trembling. Her fingers clutched the hilts of her daggers weakly, and her breath came out in sharp, uneven gasps.
The man with the axe raised it again, and in that moment—right before the strike—a younger man stepped in front of her.
"That's enough!" he shouted, voice louder and steadier than Celeste expected. His arms were outstretched, shielding her with his body. "You're going to kill her!"
The older man scowled. "Exactly! That thing isn't one of us. Look at her. Pale, bloody, covered in wounds and filth. That's how they trick you. One night of kindness and you wake up without blood in your body."
"We don't know she's a vampire!" the younger man snapped. "You're just assuming things based on fear. She hasn't hurt anyone."
"She hurt Halvar!" someone shouted.
"She was defending herself!" the younger man said. "He came at her with a sword. Anyone would do the same. I will let her stay in my house."
The crowd was silent for a moment.
Then the older man spat at the ground. "If you let her in the village, I'll kill her myself. If I don't you find your son drained in his crib, don't come crying."
The younger man hesitated. He looked down at Celeste. Her lips were parted slightly, her mouth moving as if trying to form a word, but she couldn't get it out. Her eyes looked… broken.
He looked back up at the crowd. The faces were hardened. Fearful. They weren't going to bend.
He closed his eyes, jaw clenched. Then he gave a shallow nod. "Fine. Let's… let's just cast her out."
The older man grunted and slung the axe over his shoulder. He stepped forward, towering above her. His voice was low and sharp, "And don't come back. I see you again, I won't give you another chance to walk away."
Celeste's didn't answer. She didn't have the strength to. She pushed herself up with her uninjured arm and hobbled away.
Not a single soul followed her. The villagers stood in silence, watching the limping figure disappear into the trees, not one of them offering help. Not one of them offering compassion.
By the time dawn came, Celeste was a wreck.
Her skin was scratched and caked with dirt. Her feet dragged with every step. Her left arm hung uselessly by her side.
And worst of all was the weight in her chest. A quiet, dull pain.
She stopped walking and sat beneath a crooked tree near the edge of a clearing. Her body begged for rest. Her thoughts spiraled endlessly—How much longer does it has to drag? Should I just give up and let myself die here? If I can't fond help even in people.
Then she heard something. A rustle in the grass behind her.
She reached slowly for one of her daggers, her fingers weak and trembling.
"Easy!" a voice said quickly. "It's just me."
Celeste blinked and looked up.
It was the younger man from the village.
Her shoulders sagged in relief, though her hand didn't let go of the dagger.
He raised one hand in a peaceful gesture and placed a small cloth bag on the ground in front of her. "You looked like hell last night," he said, "so I brought you some food."
He stepped back as she reached for it, saying nothing.
She opened the bag, and the moment the scent hit her, her hands shook. She didn't wait. She pulled out the bread, the dried fruit, even a small piece of smoked meat, and started devouring it with a quiet desperation.
The man didn't interrupt. He just watched her with something between pity and guilt.
When she finally slowed, breathing heavily with crumbs on her lips, he said, "I don't know what happened to you. But… I'm sorry it did."
Celeste looked at him. She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Then shook her head.
The man gave a small smile. "You don't have to tell me."
He stood up and adjusted the strap across his chest. "If you head that way," he said, pointing off to the southeast, "you'll reach another village in two days. My cousins live there. They've never had vampire attacks, so they're not as paranoid as we are. If you mention Zurco sent you, they'll probably help."
She looked at the direction he pointed, then back at him. Still, no words.
She just sat there, legs folded, holding the bag of food like it was the last precious thing she had.
Zurco gave a light shrug and turned to go.
But just before he walked into the woods, her voice came. Quiet. Hoarse. "...Thank you."
He paused. Smiled to himself.
Then said over his shoulder, "That's what the Lord wants from us, isn't it? Thank Him. Not me."
And with that, he walked away, disappearing into the trees.
Celeste reached the village just as the sun began dipping lower in the sky.
Zurco's directions had been clear. "Look for the house near the well, just a bit off from the others." And she found it. A small, modest house, with ivy climbing the sides and a simple wooden fence barely waist-high. The structure leaned a little to the left like it had aged with the wind always pushing one direction. A thin line of smoke trailed from the chimney, and a few herbs hung by the window to dry.
Celeste swallowed dryly and raised her hand, rapping gently on the wooden door. A moment passed.
When the door opened, a middle-aged woman stood there. She had a cloth wrapped around her head and a cooking apron across her waist, flour still dusting her hands. Her brown eyes scanned Celeste, and then, all at once, her hand flew to her mouth with a sharp gasp. Her expression wasn't fear, though—it was shock, maybe a little horror.
"Oh dear child… what in God's name happened to you?" Her voice trembled with concern.
Celeste swayed slightly, legs weak from the walk. "Zurco… told me to come here…"
The moment she heard the name, the woman blinked, her expression shifting from stunned to welcoming in an instant. "Zurco?" she repeated, voice lifting. "Our cousin?" She opened the door wide. "Come in, come in."
Celeste stepped into the house slowly. It was warm inside, the air filled with the smell of stew, herbs, and a faint touch of something sweet—maybe baked apples. The wooden floor creaked beneath her steps. A small fire crackled in the hearth.
"Sit, please," the woman said, already pulling a chair back for her at the kitchen table. "Let me get you something. You look like you're going to fall over."
Celeste sat, stiff but grateful. The woman moved quickly, placing a plate of crusty bread and a bowl of hot soup in front of her, along with a cup of water. Celeste didn't wait for manners; she began eating the moment the bowl touched the table, her hands shaking as she held the spoon.
The woman sat across from her, watching with a quiet, maternal concern.
"My husband's out in the fields," she said softly. "Should be back in a few hours. He'll want to meet you too, once he hears who sent you."
Celeste kept eating, but her movements slowed. A part of her still didn't trust this kindness. But the warmth of the food, the gentle tone, and the calm atmosphere began to soften the coil of tension in her chest.
The woman gave her a moment before speaking again. "If you don't mind me asking, sweetheart… what happened to you?"
Celeste was quiet for a long time.
She stared down at the half-eaten bread in her hand, then slowly placed it down. Her amber eyes looked distant, hollowed out by days of pain and fear. "I had an accident," she said softly.
And then, word by word, she told her everything. From the moment the cart went over the cliff, to her bones cracking as she slammed into the valley floor. The healing spell that barely worked. The wolf, the monsters, the aimless nights without food or safety. The town that mistook her for a vampire, that nearly beat her to death and cast her out. How Zurco saved her life with a simple act of kindness, and how she found her way here.
When she finished, she didn't realize her eyes had watered again.
The woman listened in silence, her face full of sorrow and understanding. When Celeste stopped, the woman reached across the table and gently held her uninjured hand.
"Oh, my dear girl…" she whispered. "What you've endured…"
Celeste looked down. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring trouble here."
"You brought no trouble," the woman said quickly. "You brought pain that shouldn't have been yours in the first place."
Celeste's voice cracked. "They thought I was a vampire. I just wanted help."
The woman's face softened even more, though she looked tired—like the weight of the story had sunk into her bones. "Please forgive them," she said gently. "That village… they've lost people. More than a few. And vampires… they don't always come as monsters. They disguise themselves. Young, starved girls. Wounded. Helpless. Easy prey for sympathy. It's… It's not right how they treated you. But I understand why they did."
Celeste didn't answer. The weight of those words sank in.
Back in the first village, the mood had shifted.
A group of soldiers had arrived—ironclad, well-armed, and clearly carrying authority. Their leader, a tall man with a scar down the side of his face, stood in the middle of the town square as the villagers gathered around.
"So," the soldier said, "describe this vampire."
The man who'd led the charge against Celeste stepped forward. "She was a girl… young. Couldn't have been older than twenty. Auburn hair, though tangled and wild. Eyes like fire, gold and sharp. Her body was starved. Bloodied. Looked like she'd been torn to pieces and stitched back together."
The soldier's brow furrowed. "And you just let her go?"
Another villager said, "She didn't seem like a vampire. Just a wounded girl. But we weren't going to take chances."
The soldier turned to one of his men. "Take note. A girl of that description, traveling on foot. Might be a rogue. Maybe she uses illusion magic to hide her fangs."
One of the soldiers muttered, "She could've died in the wild, if she was really human."
The commander's face remained hard. "And if she wasn't?"
There was silence.
The commander stepped back and waved a hand. "Spread out. Search the nearby villages. If she's real, and she's a threat, she won't have gone far."