Blackthorn Village was a place that even maps had long ceased to mark. Nestled between ancient, untamed forests and long-forgotten ruins, it existed like a stubborn scar upon the land — a relic of darker times. The people who remained lived in fear, bound by old superstitions, and haunted by stories of blood-soaked nights.
Lucian Duskbane had never known the warmth of family. Orphaned before he could speak, raised by a caretaker who vanished one stormy night, he was left to fend for himself. In Blackthorn, status meant survival. Nobles ruled, merchants schemed, and the poor were little more than shadows.
That night, the village was bathed in a sickly silver glow, the moon hanging low and bloated, half-hidden behind churning clouds. Fog coiled around crooked buildings and warped streets. It felt as though the world itself was holding its breath.
Lucian ran.
His breath came in ragged gasps, feet stinging against cold, uneven stones. His thin, battered clothes clung to his body, damp with sweat and dirt. He could still hear them — the sons of Blackthorn's wealthy families, their laughter sharp and cruel, their heavy boots striking the ground like war drums.
He knew these streets better than anyone. Every shortcut, every hidden path. Yet tonight, it seemed the village itself had turned against him, alleys closing in, shadows deepening.
A voice, mocking and cruel, cut through the night.
"Run faster, little worm! Maybe the ghosts'll get you before we do!"
Lucian's chest burned, his legs numb, but he refused to stop. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
Then — he stumbled.
A jagged stone sent him crashing to the ground. Pain flared in his wrist as he hit the earth, but before he could scramble away, hands grabbed him. Merek, the ringleader, grinned down at him.
"End of the line, rat."
Lucian glared up, refusing to beg. "Go to hell."
A fist drove into his stomach, stealing the breath from his lungs. The others circled, laughing.
"No one will miss you," Merek sneered. "You're a stain, Duskbane. Always have been."
They dragged him toward the forest's edge. The Bloodwood. Its name alone made even the bravest men shiver.
"Leave him there," someone said. "Let the beasts feast."
Lucian's heart pounded. Not the forest. Anything but that.
They shoved him into the gloom, the trees closing around him like the jaws of a predator. The last thing he saw was their sneering faces before they vanished.
Then — silence.
The woods whispered secrets older than time. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of old blood and damp earth.
"Blood… calls to blood…"
Lucian froze. The voice wasn't his imagination.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Tall, robed, and impossibly pale. Eyes gleaming crimson beneath a heavy hood.
"You are unclaimed," the being spoke, ancient power in its voice.
Lucian backed away. "Stay away!"
The figure extended a hand. "Your blood is not meant for this world. It belongs to something greater."
A burning pain erupted in Lucian's chest. His vision swam. The darkness around him seemed to pulse.
"You will become what they fear."
He collapsed, the world fading as an ancient hunger stirred within.
The darkness was absolute.
Lucian's consciousness floated in a cold void where time stretched and twisted. Pain had abandoned him, replaced by a strange warmth coiling in his chest, like smoldering embers waiting to ignite.
A voice, ancient and terrible, spoke in his mind.
"You are chosen… Blood remembers…"
He gasped awake.
The world was not as it had been. His senses screamed with unbearable clarity. The scent of wet earth, the soft padding of nocturnal creatures, the whisper of wind through brittle leaves — all of it thundered in his mind.
His skin was deathly pale, his limbs no longer weak, his wounds… gone.
"What… am I?"
A figure emerged from the gloom — tall, draped in a cloak that seemed woven from the very night itself. The being removed its hood, revealing a face both beautiful and monstrous. Pale skin like porcelain, crimson eyes aglow, lips stained faintly with old blood.
"I am the Harbinger of your rebirth," the figure said, its voice ancient, echoing with power.
Lucian's mouth was dry. "Why… me?"
"Because your blood is not like theirs. You carry a lineage forgotten, cursed… and coveted."
Memories flickered — a dream of a dying mother whispering ancient words, a mark upon his chest, a name no one else dared speak.
"Bloodbound…" Lucian murmured, the word tasting both sweet and bitter on his tongue.
"Yes," the Harbinger confirmed. "An unturned, natural-born of the ancient line. Rare. Precious. Hunted."
Lucian's body trembled, not with fear, but with something deeper — purpose.
"What do you want from me?"
"Nothing," the Harbinger said. "The choice is yours. You may crawl back to your pitiful village… or claim the strength that is yours by right."
Lucian thought of Merek, of the endless humiliation, the constant hunger, the crushing weight of powerlessness. His hands clenched.
"I will not crawl," he said.
The Harbinger smiled, sharp and cold. "Then rise, Lucian Duskbane, blood of kings and monsters. Walk the path of dominion."
The moment the words were spoken, Lucian felt it — a searing burn in his chest as ancient power awakened. His eyes blazed, his heart slowing to a steady, inhuman rhythm.
"I feel… alive," he whispered.
"No," the Harbinger corrected. "You feel… eternal."
A surge of strength unlike anything he had known filled his body. He could hear the world itself breathe, taste the scent of fear lingering in the air.
"What happens now?" Lucian asked.
"Now, you prove you are worthy. Your first trial awaits. Survive… or perish."
And with a gust of shadow, the Harbinger was gone.
Lucian stood alone — but no longer the frail, beaten boy of before.
No… something far older had taken root within him.
The night was alive.
Lucian stood at the heart of the forest, his senses drowning in a sea of new sensations. The damp soil beneath his feet felt rich and teeming. The rustling leaves spoke in hushed voices, and the cool night air carried a thousand hidden scents.
He felt… unstoppable.
But with that power came something else — an insatiable hunger.
It gnawed at his insides, twisting like a serpent made of cold fire. A need far beyond mortal hunger. It wasn't for food. It wasn't for water.
It was for blood.
Lucian's body ached with it. His gums throbbed, and he instinctively ran his fingers over his teeth. They had changed — sharp, elongated, predatory.
"No," he whispered to himself, a tremor in his voice.
But the world's scents betrayed him.
A heartbeat. Strong. Steady.
His head snapped toward it, the sound ringing in his ears louder than thunder. Through the shadows came a man, holding a lantern, its dim light flickering against the trees.
Lucian's breath caught. His stomach twisted.
The blood called to him.
The man walked slowly, unaware of the predator nearby, humming a soft tune. A simple traveler, returning from some late errand.
Lucian's new instincts surged.
Feed.
The word wasn't spoken, but it might as well have been.
Lucian gritted his teeth. "I… I won't."
But his feet moved.
Before he could register it, he was standing in the man's path, swift and silent. The traveler let out a startled gasp, dropping the lantern.
"Who's there?!"
Lucian's mouth was dry, his voice hoarse. "Go… leave."
The man's eyes widened as he stumbled back, terror blooming on his face.
But Lucian could hear it — the blood, rushing, warm, alive. It sang to him.
"Please…" Lucian's voice trembled.
His body betrayed him.
The hunger clawed its way to the surface, stripping away hesitation. His heart pounded in rhythm with the man's panicked pulse.
He took a step forward.
"No… no, no, no…"
But the hunger was merciless.
Lucian's struggle was a losing battle.
His mind screamed in defiance, but his instincts were older, stronger, more primal than reason. The hunger was no longer a whisper — it was a beast roaring in his veins, commanding him to act.
The traveler's face was pale with terror. He stumbled back, his voice trembling as he cried out, "Stay away!"
But Lucian moved with unnatural grace, his feet silent, his figure nothing but a blur in the darkness.
The man's trembling hand held up the broken lantern, as if the dying flame could protect him from what lurked in the shadows.
"Please… don't hurt me…"
Lucian's throat burned, his fangs throbbed. Every instinct screamed one thing.
Feed.
The man stumbled on a root and fell to the forest floor, his breath ragged. The lantern's flame sputtered and died, leaving them bathed in darkness.
But Lucian no longer needed light.
He saw everything.
The frantic rise and fall of the man's chest. The racing pulse in his throat. The scent of blood from a shallow scratch on his hand.
It was unbearable.
Lucian dropped to one knee, hovering over the man, his hands shaking.
"I don't want to do this," he gasped, but his body disobeyed.
The man whimpered. "Please…"
A single tear rolled down Lucian's cheek as the last of his control snapped. He gripped the man's wrist and sank his fangs in.
The first taste was a revelation.
Warmth. Power. Life itself.
It poured into him, filling the emptiness inside, dulling the ache that had driven him to the edge. The man's struggles weakened as Lucian fed.
He could feel it — the pulse slowing, the spark of life dimming.
Reality crashed down.
Lucian jerked away, blood staining his lips, horror filling his heart.
The man lay limp, barely conscious.
"What have I done?" Lucian whispered.
His stomach churned. His limbs trembled. He stared at his bloodstained hands as if seeing them for the first time.
This was real.
He had tasted human blood.
He had become… a monster.
Lucian knelt beside the unconscious traveler, a storm of guilt and horror churning within him. The man's pulse was weak, his breathing shallow — but he was alive.
Barely.
Tears blurred Lucian's vision as he clutched the man's bloodied hand. "I… I didn't mean for this," he whispered, his voice raw.
The forest was deathly silent.
The scent of blood still hung heavy in the air, mingling with the earthy dampness of the woods. The world felt both vast and suffocating — a prison of his own making.
He looked down at his hands, stained with the life he had stolen.
A rustle broke the silence.
Lucian's head snapped up. His enhanced senses immediately picked out the approaching footsteps — light, hurried, accompanied by the metallic scent of weapons and bitter herbs.
Hunters.
Panic surged through him.
If they found him here — a blood-soaked monster crouched over a victim — they wouldn't hesitate. They'd strike him down without question.
Lucian's mind raced.
He gently laid the traveler down, arranging him to look like he'd merely collapsed. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, but a part of him — a sliver of his old humanity — made him hesitate.
Then he heard a voice.
"There! Over there!"
A flicker of torchlight cut through the trees, and four men emerged from the darkness. Their faces hardened at the sight of the fallen traveler.
"He's still breathing!" one barked, rushing to the man's side.
Another cursed, scanning the shadows. "What the hell did this?"
Lucian's muscles tensed. He could see the hunters' weapons glinting in the firelight, feel their unease.
He couldn't stay.
Turning away, Lucian slipped deeper into the forest, moving with unnatural speed and silence. The darkness embraced him like an old friend.
As he ran, a bitter truth settled in his heart.
He could never go back.
The man he had once been — Lucian Duskbane, the ordinary, forgotten soul — had died the moment his fangs pierced flesh.
He was something else now.
Something cursed.
And the road ahead would be dark, treacherous, and soaked in blood.