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Chapter Three: Shadows in Kalaw
The shrill whistle of the steam locomotive pierced the quiet dusk of Kalaw.
The train hissed to a halt, smoke coiling like serpents around the platform. The townspeople, already scarce in the fading light, vanished into their homes as the first passenger stepped out.
Valerius.
He didn’t just walk—he glided, the tails of his dark coat whispering over the wooden planks. His skin glowed pale under the amber gaslights, and his eyes shimmered with ancient hunger. Behind him, a woman descended the steps with feline grace. Her lips were as red as blood yet untouched by it. She wore silks embroidered in gold, her vanity rivaled only by her thirst.
Her name was Seraphine.
“Smells fresh,” she whispered to Valerius, brushing her long nails over her own lips as if already savoring a taste. “Like untouched fruit.”
Valerius said nothing, but a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.
Trailing behind them was Augustus, the oldest among them, a vampire forged in centuries of battle and thought. His presence commanded silence. Beside him was the half-blood, Lucian, eyes sharp with both resolve and resentment. The hybrid bore his dual nature like a chain—never accepted fully by either world.
Last came the Twins—Caius and Calista—pale as moonlight and cruel as frost. Their laughter echoed in the empty station as they stepped off the train, mocking Lucian with each glance.
Kalaw had never known shadows like these.
The vampires did not waste time. As night fell, they scattered through the town. One by one, they turned the locals—quietly, discreetly. A young man who worked in the bakery. A widow with no kin. A night watchman lulled into eternal sleep.
It was slow at first. Controlled.
But Augustus disapproved.
“They’re not like us,” he warned Valerius. “They’re wild. Starved. They don’t understand what it means to be eternal.”
Valerius replied coolly, “They don’t need to understand. They only need to obey.”19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7UE5AiQnS4
Far across the hills, Father Gabriel watched the stars that night with furrowed brows. He had sensed it—the change in the wind, the trembling in the air.
Strangers had come to Kalaw. And they were not human.
He began packing quietly that night, whispering old prayers he hadn’t used in decades. He knew this day would come. Noel had to be taken away—again.
But it was too late.
The newly turned vampires could not contain their thirst. One attacked a child. Another was caught in the market, blood dripping from his chin. Panic surged through the town like fire. Kalaw was no longer safe.
Gabriel had no choice. He sent a message to Rangoon.
Three days later, they arrived—hunters, cloaked in old leather, their weapons kissed with holy silver. Among them was Father Anselm, a priest carrying a relic wrapped in silk.
The Scroll.
The scroll Noel was destined to read.
Gabriel's heart sank at the sight of it. It meant the Church knew. And if the Church knew, it wouldn’t be long before Valerius did too.
That very night, Valerius summoned Lucian.
“You’ll lead the raid,” he said. “Take the turned ones. Find the scroll. Do not fail me, Lucian.”
Lucian bowed, his jaw clenched. This was his chance. His moment to prove himself.
But everything went wrong.
The local vampires, in their frenzy, charged blindly into the church grounds. Screams filled the air. The sacred grounds lit their skin like fire. One by one, they burned—hissing, screeching, falling to ash.
Lucian fought hard—too hard. His blade danced in the moonlight, his body soaked in sweat and blood, both human and not. He managed to strike down two hunters, but the others came at him with fury and precision. A spear grazed his ribs, holy water seared his skin.
He barely escaped.
With broken breath and battered pride, Lucian fled through the outskirts of town. The pine forest welcomed him with eerie stillness, the scent of sap and damp earth mixing with the iron tang of his blood. He stumbled through roots and thorns until his legs gave out. The world tilted.
He collapsed, his blood darkening the moss.
Above, the stars blurred. His heartbeat slowed.
And then—footsteps.
Soft ones.
A light flickered through the trees. Lantern glow.
Noel.
Returning from the nearby village, where he’d spent three days helping rebuild a schoolhouse, Noel followed the faint trail of blood with a strange pull in his chest. Something had guided him—intuition, fate, or perhaps something older.
He gasped as he found the boy lying in the shadows, torn and barely breathing.
Lucian opened his eyes.
They were no longer fierce, no longer proud. Just tired. Lost.
Noel knelt beside him, eyes wide with both fear and pity. He didn’t know who this boy was—or what he was—but something in his heart refused to walk away.
Lucian whispered hoarsely, “Don’t... leave me.”
Noel looked at him.
And in that moment, a decision was made.
Not by fate.
But by Noel.
He took Lucian’s arm around his shoulders and began dragging him home, unaware that this single act of kindness would change the tides of everything to come.
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