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Chapter Two : Whispers Beneath the Cross
The old bell of Saint Meran’s Church rang out softly over the sleepy hills of Kalaw, its sound weaving through the pine trees and echoing off moss-covered stone. Inside the church, sunlight spilled in golden shafts through the stained-glass windows, dancing across wooden pews and flickering over the face of a boy who read aloud with a gentle cadence.
“…T-h-e. The. C-a-t. Cat,” Noel guided patiently, his pale fingers trailing along the pages of a worn book as a group of curious local children echoed after him.
At nineteen, Noel looked like he had stepped out of a dream—skin as pale as snow, soft dark hair falling into his eyes, and a voice that always calmed the room. Dressed in a pressed white shirt under a vintage vest, he sat cross-legged on the cool stone floor, surrounded by giggles and hopeful eyes. To the townspeople, he was the orphan boy with a heart of gold. To Father Gabriel, he was something much more.
From a shadowed doorway, Father Gabriel watched silently, arms folded. The man, a grizzled figure with eyes heavy from the weight of old sins, had long cast aside the sword and stake of his past life. Now, he wore the collar of a priest and the mantle of an orphanage head. But he never let his guard down—not with him under his care.
Noel was not an ordinary child.
He had been born under the light of a rare blue moon, a celestial event whispered about in sacred texts. His gift was unlike anything Gabriel had seen in his decades as a hunter: the ability to read holy scriptures that remained invisible to ordinary eyes. In the wrong hands, such a power could unravel the balance between good and evil.
Years ago, when the vampire clans caught wind of this miracle child, they came for him—ruthlessly. His parents, once respected scholars of the Church, died protecting him. The night had been soaked in blood and fire, but just before the blade fell, Gabriel had arrived—banishing the bloodthirsty assassins with holy fire and cold steel. He didn’t hesitate to carry the boy away, nor did he falter when the dying mother whispered her final plea:
"Hide him… from the Church… and from the shadows. They will both devour him."
So he ran—to the far reaches of the world, to Kalaw, a hidden hill town nestled among Burma’s emerald forests. There, he built a life in quiet anonymity, raising the boy as his own, far from the eyes of the Church and the fangs of the undead.
And Noel grew—kind, curious, radiant. But unaware. Unaware of the fire that pulsed in his blood. Unaware of the ancient scrolls locked beneath the altar. Unaware that both the Church and the monsters he was hidden from were still watching, waiting. That the peace he knew was a thread stretching thin.
Gabriel's grip tightened as he looked at the boy, laughter in his eyes and ink on his fingers. He deserves better than fate.
But fate rarely shows mercy.
And as the sun dipped lower and a hush fell over the church, outside, in the distance, a pair of crimson eyes blinked open.
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