"Everything has its price. The question is—whether you are willing to pay it?"
The Blood Moon hung over Ashendel like a wound in the sky—oozing red light that spilled across the decaying rooftops, painting the streets in shades of death. Fog curled between buildings like fingers searching for something lost.
Vale Ashwood stood in the middle of a cracked cobblestone street, coat fluttering in the wind, hands in his pockets. He had seen the Blood Moon many times before.
But tonight, for the first time, he thought it beautiful.
His black-and-white suit was worn thin—patched, frayed, stained with past mistakes. Beneath the coat, pressed tight against his ribs, was not just a revolver, but something far more dangerous: a hunger he hadn't named yet.
A rare smile graced his lips.
Then he saw them—children crouched around a corpse, pale and starved. They tore into the body in silence, black hair tangled, skin ghostlike, and eyes—dead. They didn't even blink when Vale passed.
The smile disappeared.
If kindness could feed me, I'd be a saint.
This suit? My only one.
There are no gifts in this world.
If I must kill to survive—if I must lose myself—
Then so be it.
That's justice.
A voice interrupted the fog.
"Vale Ashwood?"
He turned slowly. A woman stood beneath an iron archway, golden eyes glowing faintly in the red haze. Her voice was soft, melodic—and unreadable.
"I'm Juli," she said. "The Hunter's Association is expecting you."
Vale looked at the children again. Then up—at the crimson moon that burned in his reflection.
Survival is enough, he thought.
And stepped through the gate.