Chapter Text
1789
———————————————————————————————
The Gloomy Forest
———————————————————————————————
The people called this place the Gloomy Forest, and the name was well-deserved. The forest seemed to absorb light, with its dense canopy that barely let any rays through, and in the mornings, a thick, cold fog clung to the trees and tangled in the grass. The air was heavy with the scent of decaying leaves and damp earth, and the silence was so profound that even the slightest rustling of a branch sounded like a warning. People avoided these parts, whispering about curses and evil spirits, but even in their darkest imaginings, they couldn't have imagined the truth.
———————————————————————————————
The Vampire Kingdom
———————————————————————————————
Behind the veil of fog and darkness, there was a city of vampires—not just a gathering of predators, but a well-organized, almost closed society with its own set of rules. At the center, towering over the rooftops, stood a massive, eerie castle—the abode of Count Vladimir. Its walls, made of dark stone, seemed to be a part of the forest itself, as if it had not been built by humans or vampires, but rather by the darkness itself, which had taken the form of a fortress. The arrow-shaped windows looked out onto the city, like eyes that never missed a single movement.
——————————————————————————————
Count Ankwitz Vladimir(381 years)
——————————————————————————————
Count Vladimir was a strict and ruthless ruler, but he was also fair, at least by vampire standards. Every night, he personally ensured that the city remained orderly, making sure that no one trespassed on its borders, attracted unnecessary human attention, or left any traces behind. His word was law, and his gaze was heavy enough to make even the most daring hunters lower their eyes.
———————————————————————————————
Ankwitz Rayman (295 years)
———————————————————————————————
His son, Rayman, was increasingly seen by his side, a young, impulsive vampire who had not yet fully embraced the weight of his legacy, but who understood that power was not only a force, but also a responsibility.
The city's life revolved around the eternal rhythm of the night. Vampires went out hunting, disappearing into the shadows, gliding silently through the trees. They took only what they needed to survive, careful not to leave any extra victims behind, lest they incur the wrath of the humans or the hunters. Sometimes, new ones would join them: a person who had survived a bite and managed to survive became part of their world. Count Vladimir did not reject them, but neither did he welcome them with open arms—he accepted them as an inevitability and gave them a chance to prove that they could live by the city's laws.
———————————————————————————————
Jake (322 years)
———————————————————————————————
But among all these cold, darkness-loving creatures, there was one who saw the world differently. His name was Jake, and he didn't want to kill. He remembered what it was like to be human, to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin and hear the beat of his own heart. Even now, with his body transformed and his bloodlust gnawing at his insides, he sought a different path. Jake hunted animals, studied herbs that could alleviate his hunger, and secretly dreamed of a world where vampires and humans could coexist without becoming enemies.
His views were not widely shared. Many considered him weak, while others saw him as dangerous. Even Rayman, with whom Jake once shared his youthful dreams of freedom, now looked at him in disbelief, asking:
—How can you give up what makes us who we are?
But Jake refused to give up. He believed that there was a solution somewhere, a way to break the cycle of violence. As Count Vladimir fortified the castle walls and the night hunters disappeared into the darkness, Jake quietly searched for a path that could change everything.
Jake studied everything: plants, animals, and insects, and he did so with almost obsessive thoroughness. His worn leather notebook was filled with sketches of leaves, diagrams of butterfly wings, and notes on the behavior of forest animals. He even recorded small details, such as the way the mist clung to the stream at dawn, the way the bark of an oak tree changed color depending on the humidity, and the tracks left by different animals on the damp ground. For Jake, the world was a vast book, and he eagerly read every page.
Often, he ventured beyond their territory, where the forest thinned and the paths widened, where the air smelled of smoke, bread, and human life. He did this not for the sake of danger or audacity, but out of pure curiosity. He wanted to understand the lives of those who did not hide in the shadows, who greeted the dawn without fear, rather than as a condemnation.
He set out early, when the sky was still a dark gray and the air was sharp with cold. He put on an old hooded cloak, which had faded from the rain and sun, but it was comfortable and didn't restrict his movements. The fabric smelled of the forest and the smoke from the campfire, and it felt like a shield, making him feel at home among the trees and on the edge of human territory.
The journey to the village took about an hour. The path first wound through tall pine trees, then descended to a small stream that almost dried up in the summer but bubbled and frothed in the spring. Beyond the fields, there were fields—flat, well-tended fields with neat hedges. The grass was shorter there, and the birds were louder. Soon, he could see the roofs of the houses, the smoke rising from the chimneys, and the distant sound of an axe or a well.
In the village, Jake didn't approach too closely. He didn't want to startle the people, and he wasn't quite ready for the encounter. Instead, he hid in the bushes at the edge of the village, perched on a fallen tree, or settled in the tall grass, observing from a distance. He watched the women carrying buckets, the boys chasing chickens, and the old man mending a fence, muttering to himself. Sometimes he saw someone stop, as if sensing his gaze, and Jake would freeze, blending into the shadows until the person moved on.
He usually returned in the afternoon, when the sun was high in the sky and the forest was filled with the sound of crickets and birdsong. At such moments, he was acutely aware of the difference between the two worlds: there, among the people, life was noisy, open, and governed by its own rules; here, in the forest, everything was quieter, deeper, and more ancient. Yet he could not choose between the two. It seemed to him that the truth lay somewhere in between, at the point where the two worlds met.
One day, upon his return, he found a folded note on the threshold of his modest home. Written on rough paper in a sloppy handwriting, it read: "You've been visiting people again. Don't be a fool." There was no signature, but Jake knew who had left the note. Count Vladimir didn't tolerate frivolity, and he considered curiosity almost a crime. But Jake just chuckled, tucked the note into his pocket, and pulled out his notebook, where a fresh page awaited his observations.
Jake tucked the note into his pocket, but its words echoed coldly in his mind. He knew that Count Vladimir did not throw his words around lightly. But his curiosity was stronger than his fear. That evening, as the castle settled into its nightly routine and Rayman set out to patrol the borders, Jake slipped back out to the edge of the forest—but this time, instead of heading towards the village, he ventured deeper into the woods, where the paths were lost among the roots and rocks.
He was not going at random. In his notebook, he had sketches of a map: faint marks connecting strange places—a clearing where flowers grew even in winter, a stream that seemed to glow in the dark, and an old tree with symbols carved into its bark that he couldn't decipher. Jake believed that by understanding the forest, he could understand the vampires themselves—and perhaps find a way to reconcile the two worlds.
Near midnight, he reached the ruins of an old chapel, half-buried beneath the roots of centuries-old oaks. It was rumored that the hunters of evil had once hidden here, but now only the wind howled through the empty windows. Jake sat down on a moss-covered stone, took out his notebook, and began to write: "The shadows here are different. They're not cast by the moon, but by something within..." Suddenly, he froze.
Rayman emerged silently from the darkness, his cloak billowing as if it were made of the night itself, and his eyes reflected a dim light that shouldn't be present in such a remote location.
—You're taking a risk again, Jake,— he said softly, but there was weariness in his voice, not threat. — The Count is right: curiosity can cost you your head.
Jake slowly closed the notebook, but did not hide it.
— And if I find something that will change everything?—. he asked, looking directly at Rayman. — If there is a way to live differently? Lucian (Jake's grandfather) believes in it. I'm starting to believe it too.
Rayman closed his eyes for a moment, as if fighting something inside himself.
—Lucian is a dreamer. And dreams don't feed the hungry. Have you seen the way old Victor's hand trembles when he hasn't drunk for a week? Have you heard the boy who became a vampire a month ago screaming with thirst? We can't just 'live differently.' We are predators.
—But we can choose who we hunt,—Jake insisted.—We can learn to control it. You've seen it yourself: I live on the blood of animals, and I'm fine. Maybe this is the way...
Rayman stepped closer, and for a moment, there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, but it was quickly extinguished.
—If the Count finds out that you're encouraging others to rebel against nature, he won't listen. Do you know what he did to the man who tried to teach the young ones to 'restrain' themselves? He was banished from the forest. One. Without protection.
Jake clenched his fists, but his voice remained calm.
—Then I'll be more careful. But I won't stop.
Rayman looked at him for a long time, then sighed and reached out, not to strike, but to help him up.
— Okay. But if you go back to the people, at least tell me. I'll go with you. Not because I believe in your ideas, but because I don't want you to get caught by the hunters. Or worse, become the very thing they're looking for.
They made their way back, trying to move silently, but the forest still responded with rustling sounds: a branch cracked somewhere, an owl screeched in the treetops, and in the distance, almost inaudible, came a low, long howl, as if the forest was warning them: this was no place for dreamers.
When the castle's lights appeared in the distance, Jake stopped and turned back to the dark forest where the chapel and his unfinished notes remained.
—Thank you, Rayman,— he said quietly.
He just nodded, but there was more to that nod than just agreement. It was a promise: for now, he'd be there to cover his back.
And Jake knew that was enough to take another step forward.
The next evening, the castle was in an unusual state of turmoil. Servants whispered in the corridors, and the guards at the gates exchanged tense glances—Count Vladimir had called a council, and no one knew what it would be about. Jake, hiding his notebook in the folds of his cloak, slipped along the wall, trying to remain unnoticed, but he could feel the air thickening, as if before a storm.
The elders and the Count's closest advisors gathered in the main hall. Rayman stood by the pillar, his arms crossed, looking as if he were trying to hold back an invisible storm. And in the center, towering over them all, stood Count Vladimir, as grim and still as a statue of black stone.
—There's been something amiss in the forest lately,— the count's voice was quiet, but each word fell like a hammer blow. —The hunters are getting closer. The villagers are whispering about tracks that don't look like animal tracks. And one of our own... is too often at the human borders.
Jake froze, pressed against the wall. He knew it was about him.
—We can't afford to make mistakes, —the Count continued, looking around the room. —If the humans realize that there's a whole city of vampires living among them, they'll come with torches and stakes. And then there'll be no saving us, no matter how strong or cunning we are. We need to show them that we're not a threat. But not a weakness.
One of the elders, a wizened vampire with gray hair, leaned toward the Count.
—Perhaps we should increase the patrols? Or even... remove those who draw too much attention.
The Count closed his eyes for a moment, as if holding back a burst of anger.
—Removal is the last thing we should do. But we need control. Rayman, you will be in charge of the borders. And for those who like to wander the forest without permission.
Rayman nodded slightly, but his gaze flickered towards where Jake was hiding.
The council ended quickly. The elders dispersed, whispering among themselves, and the count left for his chambers, leaving a heavy silence in his wake. Rayman lingered at the exit, as if waiting for someone.
When the hall was empty, Jake stepped out of the shadows.
—You heard,—Rayman said softly, not looking at him. — Now I will keep an eye on the borders. That means I'll see everything.
—And now what?— Jake asked, clenching his fists. — Will you report on me?
Rayman finally looked at him, and there was no anger or contempt in his eyes, just weariness.
— I will not report. But I can't cover for you forever. The Count doesn't forgive disobedience. If he finds out that you're looking for a way to live without blood... he'll think you're a danger to all of us.
Jake lowered his head, but then raised it again, his stubbornness flaring up.
—What if I find something important? What if there's a way to protect everyone—both vampires and humans? Is that a crime?
Rayman sighed and ran a hand over his face.
—Crime or not, the Count decides. But... if you find something, come to me. Come to me first, and don't hide it in a notebook.Agreed?
Jake nodded, feeling a strange warmth spreading inside—not from joy, but from the fact that he now had an ally.
— Agreed.
They left the hall and found themselves in a long corridor where shadows from torches danced on the walls. Somewhere far below, in the castle's cellars, a chain rang hollowly—a reminder that not all stories end with hope here.
—I'm going to the ruins of the chapel again today,— Jake said softly as they stopped at the stairs. — There are symbols on the stones. I almost understood their meaning.
Rayman frowned, but didn't argue.
—Then I'll come with you.Not for the sake of your ideas, but so that you don't fall into a trap. And so that no one can say that I did not follow the count's orders.
They walked down the corridor, fading into the shadows, as twilight began to fall outside the windows, and the night returned, promising secrets that not everyone would be able to uncover.
Dusk descended on the Gloomy Forest like a heavy velvet blanket, and with every passing minute the shadows became deeper and the sounds quieter. Even the wind, which usually rustled in the trees, seemed to hold its breath, giving way to the silence of the night.
Jake and Rayman walked along a barely noticeable path that wound between the roots and fallen trunks. Rayman moved silently, like a shadow, his gaze gliding around, noting every broken branch, every dislodged stone. Jake walked a little ahead, clutching a notebook in his hand, and stopped from time to time to check his notes against what he could see around him.
—Are you sure this is the right path?— Rayman asked quietly as they turned off into a section of the woods where the trees were particularly dense, almost touching overhead.
—I'm sure,—Jake nodded.—Look, there's a rock with a crescent-shaped indentation. I marked it. From here, you need to head due north until you see a fallen spruce with a burnt trunk.
Rayman squinted into the growing darkness.
— Good. But if there's a hunter's trap or something... I won't risk it because of your symbols.
—I'm not asking you to take any chances,— Jake replied quietly. —I'm just asking you to be there for me. So that, if anything, we can leave.
They walked for about half an hour more, until a clearing appeared in front of them, framed by dilapidated masonry — what was left of the old chapel. In the center of the clearing stood a fragment of a column, covered with strange carved signs. Jake came closer and ran his fingers over one of the symbols—the thin lines seemed to glow in the dark with a faint silvery glow.
—Here they are,— he whispered, taking out a notebook and hurriedly sketching. — I've seen similar ones on the bark of an old oak tree by a stream and on the rocks by an underground passage. It's not just jewelry. It's... a language. Or a map.
Rayman looked around warily, listening to the silence.
—A map of what?
—I don't know yet,—Jake admitted, his eyes still fixed on the carvings. —But I think they point to something important. Maybe a source of power that feeds our forest... or a way to protect ourselves from hunters. Or even... a way to live without blood.
Rayman snorted, but there was no hardness in the sound.
—Too many 'or's. You're building theories on a couple of scratches on a rock.
—Would you rather just wait for the Count to order increased patrols and forbid any sorties? —Jake objected, looking up. — We can't hide forever. Sooner or later, people will find us. And then…
He didn't finish, but they both knew what would happen then. Torches, stakes, fire. And no one can stop this wave.
Suddenly, Rayman raised his hand, ordering silence. A branch snapped somewhere nearby, too loud for the beast. A figure in a dark cloak flashed through the shadows of the trees, then another. Hunters.
—This way,— Rayman commanded in a whisper, grabbing Jake by the sleeve and pulling him over a piece of wall. —Don't move.
They froze, merging into the darkness. A few moments later, three men came out into the clearing with torches and long stakes. Their faces were hidden by hoods, but their movements betrayed experience and confidence. One of them bent down to the stone, ran his finger over the symbols, as if trying to read them.
—Someone was here recently,— he muttered.— And these signs… I saw them on the map. This place is the key.
The second hunter raised his head, peering into the darkness.
—Maybe they're still here. We need to check it out.
Jake's heart was pounding so loudly that he was afraid he would be heard. Rayman barely noticeably moved closer, covering him with himself, ready to rush forward at any moment.
But before the hunters could take a step, a long, chilling howl came from the depths of the forest—the same one that Jake had heard last night. The hunters froze, looking at each other.
—It’s a pack of wolves,— one of them muttered, but there was fear in his voice. —Or… something worse.
—Let’s go,— the first one commanded sharply.—We’ll return with reinforcements.
They turned quickly and disappeared into the darkness, leaving only the smell of smoke and a sense of danger.
When the footsteps stopped, Rayman exhaled slowly and lowered his hand.
—Did you see that?— He whispered, looking at Jake with darkened eyes. — That's why the count is right. People aren't just afraid of us—they're hunting. And they're getting smarter.
Jake nodded, not out of fear, but out of realization.
—Then what I'm looking for is all the more important. If there is a way to protect us... not by force, but by knowledge.…
Rayman looked at him for a long time, then shook his head, but without anger.
—You're stubborn.And maybe crazy. But... I'll go on with you. Until the count finds out.
They came out of hiding and approached the stone again. Jake carefully circled one of the symbols with his finger, as if trying to feel its essence.
— These signs are repeated. There are too many of them to be a coincidence. They're leading somewhere. And I'm going to find that place.
Rayman chuckled, but there was no trace of his previous skepticism in his voice.
— Okay. But next time we'll take Lucian with us. If we are looking for a way to live without blood, let those who believe in it be there too.
Jake smiled for the first time in a long time—not broadly, but barely noticeably, like a man who has finally found an ally in his mad quest.
— Agreed.
And they moved back, leaving behind the ruins of the chapel and the secrets that were just beginning to be revealed. The night was deepening, but now there was a faint glimmer of hope, so fragile that it was easy to overlook. But Jake saw it. And that was enough.
Days turned into weeks, and Jake and Rayman disappeared more and more often into the depths of the Shadow Forest, following paths known only to a few. They explored the ruins, looking for recurring symbols, comparing them to the notes in Jake's tattered notebook, and listening to the whispers of the wind and the creaking of the old trees, as if the forest itself was trying to tell them something. Every time they returned before dawn, they melted into the shadows of the castle, trying not to attract attention, and every time Jake caught Rayman's heavy gaze, as if he was weighing how much longer he could protect his friend without breaking his father's will.
But one day, their luck turned.
They were walking along an old ravine where a river once flowed, but now there were only dry beds and sharp rocks. The path was narrow, squeezed between steep slopes, and every movement echoed. Rayman led the way, his ears attuned to the silence, when three men in dark cloaks—hunters—emerged silently from behind a boulder. They had no torches, only their weapons and their calculating gazes.
—Do not move,—one of them rasped, brandishing a spear with a dull glint.
Rayman tensed instantly, but he didn't launch an attack; the passage was too narrow, and there were too many opponents. Jake froze, his fingers clenching tightly around the notebook, as if he could use it as a shield.
One of the hunters, a tall and muscular man, stepped closer, clearly aiming at Rayman. He reached out abruptly, attempting to grab Rayman's shoulder, but Rayman dodged with almost inhuman speed, although he didn't fully evade the attack. The hunter, realizing that he was losing his grip, threw the knife. The blade whistled through the air and bit into Rayman's wrist, leaving a deep cut.
The blood came out almost instantly, but to Jake's horror, it didn't disappear in the blink of an eye, as it did with vampires. The wound did not heal.
The hunters, noticing this, exchanged glances with a triumphant grin and, without wasting time, retreated into the shadows, disappearing among the trees as silently as they had appeared.
When the last steps had faded, Rayman lowered his hand, squeezing his wrist, and looked at Jake with dark eyes.
—It’s lead,—Jake said quietly, almost inaudibly, stepping closer and gently touching the edge of the wound with his fingertips. —I read it in old records. Lead slows down regeneration. Sometimes it blocks it completely.
Rayman gritted his teeth, holding back the pain, which was almost unusual for a vampire, because usually their wounds disappeared in a matter of seconds.
—So we need to hide it,— he said hoarsely, looking around as if expecting the hunters to appear out of the darkness again.—If the count sees... if he realizes that I was outside the forest…
Jake nodded, his mind racing. He tore off his scarf, which was thick and faded from the rains, and quickly but carefully wrapped it around Rayman's wrist, trying to press the cloth against the wound to stop the blood and hide the cut.
—Let's say you got hurt in the castle,— Jake whispered quickly. — In the basement. It's full of rusty chains and old bars. No one will be surprised.
Rayman smiled wryly, but there was no humor in that grin.
—My father's not stupid. He sees everything.
—But he doesn't know we're going to the ruins. He doesn't know about the symbols. Not yet.
They started walking back, trying to walk at a steady pace, not to show any urgency. Rayman kept his hand pressed against his side, as if he were just tired, as if the weight of the night had taken a toll on him. Jake walked alongside him, ready to catch him if the pain became too much.
The castle was in its usual nighttime bustle, with servants moving silently through the corridors, guards talking in low voices, and the deep voice of Count Vladimir coming from the hall as he discussed new patrols with his advisors. Jake and Rayman slipped past without looking up, heading towards Rayman's chambers.
Only when they closed the heavy oak doors behind them did Rayman allow himself to exhale and lower his hand. The fabric of his scarf was already stained with blood.
—We need to clean the wound,— Jake said decisively, looking around for clean water and rags. — And process it with something. Maybe there is something that will help regeneration…
Rayman sat on the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees.
—There are some old scrolls in the count's library. About poisons, metals, and antidotes… But you can't just get there.
Jake froze for a moment, and then his eyes flashed.
— I know who can help. Lucian. He studied herbs, looked for ways to relieve thirst... surely he knows something about lead.
Rayman wanted to object, but instead just nodded wearily.
— good. Find him. Just be quiet. If someone finds out…
—No one's going to find out,— Jake promised firmly, already moving toward the door.— I'll be back. And we'll find a way to fix it.
He slipped out into the corridor, disappearing into the gloom, and Reyman was left alone, clutching his injured hand and staring into the darkness, which suddenly ceased to be his ally — and began to remind him how fragile even eternal life can be.
Rayman pulled his sleeve up so that the fabric was tight around his wrist, and tried to move as usual, without making any sudden gestures or fussing. When the maidservant Sarah entered the room, her face was calm as always, but there was a hint of concern in her eyes.
—Mr. Rayman, Count Vladimir is waiting for you for dinner. He doesn't like to be kept waiting,— she said quietly, bowing her head slightly.
Rayman nodded briefly, trying to conceal his tension.
—I'm coming. Thank you, Sarah.
He descended the spiral staircase, feeling the weight in his chest growing heavier with each step. Candles were already burning in the dining hall, casting long shadows on the stone walls, and the smell of roasted meat mingled with the aroma of herbs, but today it did not evoke the usual response in Rayman. He sat down without looking up and picked up his fork mechanically.
Count Vladimir sat at the head of the table, straight and motionless, as if carved from stone. His gaze swept across the room, taking in every detail, every nuance of his subjects' behavior. When his eyes rested on his son, Rayman felt a chill run down his spine.
Vladimir tilted his head slightly, as if listening not to the words but to the silence between them.
—You are pale, my son,— he said calmly, but there was a ring of steel in his voice.—Or are you burdened by something other than the coolness of the night?
Rayman gripped his fork a little tighter than necessary and forced himself to look his father in the eye.
—I'm just tired. The patrols... the forest became restless.
The Count slowly ran his finger along the rim of the glass, without taking his eyes off his son.
— Worry is a luxury that we cannot afford. Especially when it hides behind downcast eyes.
And before Rayman could come up with another evasive phrase, Vladimir abruptly, but without too much haste, reached out and grabbed his son by the wrist. The sleeve fabric stretched and slipped slightly, revealing a dark band of bandage that showed through the fabric.
The room instantly became quieter, as if even the candlelight had stopped. The servants froze, holding the trays, the elders exchanged glances, and Rayman felt the ground give way under his feet.
—What is it? The count's voice didn't rise, but it made it sound even scarier.
Rayman took a deep breath, realizing that now any word would have the weight of a verdict.
—The wound. Hunters. Jake and I... we were looking for signs in the ruins of the chapel. We wanted to understand where these symbols lead. We thought we could find a way to protect everyone.
Vladimir slowly released his son's wrist, but his gaze turned icy.
—You've ventured beyond the forest. Without my knowledge. With someone who gathers rumors and draws maps like a man who has forgotten who he is.
—We didn't mean to harm anyone,— Rayman said, trying to keep his voice steady.—We wanted to help.
—Help,—the Count repeated, and there was a hint of bitter disappointment in his voice.—Do you realize that your wound is more than just a cut? Lead. They know how to hurt those who are stronger than they are. They're learning. And if they've figured that out, they'll figure the rest out soon.
The gray-haired elder coughed quietly.
—We need to strengthen our border defenses. And punish those who put us at risk.
The count didn't respond immediately. He looked at his son again, for a long time, intently, as if trying to see in him the old boy who listened to his stories about honor and duty, and not the stubborn young man who defied danger.
—Jake,— Vladimir finally said, and the name sounded like a sentence. — He keeps records. He's looking for a way to change our nature. It's not just curiosity, it's a threat to the order I've been building for decades.
Rayman involuntarily leaned forward, forgetting about caution.
—He's not an enemy. —He wants to find a way where we don't have to kill.— Is it bad?
The Count slapped his palm sharply on the table, and the dishes clattered softly.
—The bad thing is that you're putting our entire people at risk for someone else's dream! We're vampires. We survive as best we can. And while hunters are learning to kill us with lead, we must become more cautious, not seek utopias!
The room fell silent. Even the shadows on the walls seemed to shrink in tension.
—I will punish Jake,—the count said, and each word fell like a stone into dark water. — He would no longer wander through the forest and write down his theories. His notes will be seized. And you... you will patrol the borders with the guards. Under supervision. So that I know where you are and what you are doing.
Rayman turned pale, but not from fear— but from impotence.
—Father, please... don't.—He meant no harm to anyone.
—What if his 'good' leads the hunters right to our door?— Vladimir asked harshly. — I can't take any chances. Not by you. Not by our people.
Rayman lowered his head, feeling everything inside him shrink from the weight of the inevitable. He hadn't told her about the notebook, and now he realized that it hadn't saved Jake. On the contrary: without evidence, his ideas looked even more dangerous.
When the meal was over, Rayman stood up from the table, feeling his father's heavy gaze on him. He left the hall without looking back, heading towards the corridor that led to the servants' quarters and the secret passages, where he could find Jake before the Count's guards could capture him.
He had very little time. He had to warn his friend.
Vladimir walked down the corridor with a firm, measured stride, followed by four guards, who moved silently like shadows—four strong vampires with cold eyes and naked blades at their belts. The air was tense, heavy with the anticipation of a storm, and even the servants who crossed their path pressed themselves against the walls and lowered their eyes, as if afraid of drawing the Count's attention.
Jake's house stood on the outskirts of the vampire city, at the very edge of the forest — a small building made of dark wood, with carved architraves and a rickety gate that Jake always forgot to fix. The door was opened by his mother, a woman with tired but kind eyes and gray hair that barely touched her dark hair. For a moment, she froze when she saw the count and the guards in front of her, and there was a flicker of bewilderment mixed with anxiety in her gaze.
—Mr. Vladimir...— she said, bowing her head slightly, but then straightened up again, as if trying to hide the tremor in her voice.—To what do I owe it?
The Count did not delay. His voice sounded flat, without malice, but that made it even scarier.:
—I need to search your son's room.— He went outside the forest, collected information, took notes.— This endangers the security of our entire people.
The woman turned pale, her fingers clenching on the edge of the door.
—Jake? But he’s just curious. He studies plants, he takes notes—he didn’t mean to hurt anyone!
—Curiosity can cost us our lives,—Vladimir replied harshly.—The hunters are getting smarter. They’re using lead. And your son’s drawing maps and collecting symbols that could lead them straight to our homes.
The guards slipped past the woman without asking permission and disappeared into the dimly lit rooms of the house. Jake's mother wanted to run after them, to stop them, to shout at them, but her feet seemed to be stuck to the floor. She looked helplessly at the Count, and there were tears in her eyes that she refused to shed.
—Please... don't hurt him. He's not evil. He just wants to understand...
Vladimir closed his eyes for a moment, as if the request had caused him pain.
—I don't want to hurt him. But I can't let him risk all of us. He will remain under house arrest. Guards will be on duty at the house day and night. He won't leave the door until I decide the danger is over.
At that moment, one of the guards came out of Jake's room, holding a battered notebook in his hands—the one with sketches of leaves, symbols, and neat notes in the margins. He handed it to the count. Vladimir took the book, slowly flipped through the pages, peering at every line, at every sketch.
—That's the danger,— he said, without looking up. — Not malice. Not betrayal. And naivety, which can ruin us.
Jake's mother sobbed softly, but then pulled herself together.
— Let me at least say a few words to him. He'll be frightened if he sees the guards at the door.
The Count paused, as if weighing her request, then nodded curtly.
—Five minutes. No more.
She slipped into her son's room. Jake was sitting on the edge of his bed, as if sensing that something was amiss, and looked up as the door opened. When he saw his mother, he tried to smile, but the smile froze on his lips when he noticed her face—pale, tense, and with trembling lips.
—Mom? What happened?
She came and sat beside him, taking his hands in hers—warm, familiar, and so familiar.
—Hush, my son. Don’t be afraid. Count Vladimir is here… he thinks your notes might be dangerous. You’ll be left at home, under guard. But don’t be afraid.” I will be near.
Jake sat up abruptly, his eyes wide with horror and confusion.
—But I didn’t mean to hurt anyone! I was just looking for a way to protect us! I was trying to find something that would help…
—I know, sweetheart,—she whispered softly, stroking his hair as she had when he was a child and woke up from nightmares. —But sometimes even good intentions can look like a threat. The important thing right now is not to argue. Not to anger the Count. Do you understand?
He wanted to protest, to talk about the symbols, the ruins, and the fact that he had almost solved the mystery, but the words stuck in his throat. He nodded, feeling a sense of helplessness.
When they left, the Count was waiting in the doorway. He looked at Jake with a long, heavy gaze, not with hatred, but with the weariness of a man who had to make difficult decisions for the sake of those he loved.
—You will stay here,— Vladimir said, and his voice no longer sounded like a sentence, but like a bitter necessity. — I'll keep your notes until I'm sure they won't do any harm. The guards will remain at the house. If you try to leave, they will stop you. Not out of spite. Out of debt.
Jake clenched his fists, but didn't argue. He nodded curtly, trying not to look at the empty doorway, where the guards now stood—not as protection, but as a wall between him and what he so desperately wanted to find.
The Count turned and walked away, fading into the night, while Jake's mother remained by his side, shielding him as if she could protect him from the weight of the world.
And somewhere deep in the forest, hiding in the shadow of an old oak tree, Rayman looked at Jake's house and clenched his fists, feeling anger and guilt burning in his chest. He knew that he should have warned his friend earlier. And now he had to find a way to make things right. Even if it meant going against his father's wishes.
When the heavy door closed behind the count, silence fell in the house — so thick that you could hear the soft crackle of a burnt log in the fireplace. Jake's mom looked at her son, her eyes filled with worry, misunderstanding, and fear for him. She seemed to want to say something, but the words stuck in her throat.
Jake exhaled, trying to stop his hands from shaking, and spoke softly:
— Mom, please sit down. I'll tell you everything. Honestly. You have to know why I made those notes... and why I went to the ruins.
She sank slowly to the edge of the bench, her fingers clenching at the edge of her apron as if the rough fabric might keep her from leaping up and running for the door, trying to stop what had already happened. Jake sat across from her, leaning forward, and spoke quickly, but carefully choosing his words so that he didn't sound like a stubborn boy, but like someone who truly saw the point of his search.
—I didn't mean to hurt anyone, really. I just... I looked at the forest and realized: we live in the shadows, we hide, and the hunters are getting smarter. They already know about lead. What will happen next? Silver? Special signs? Spells? If we just hide, one day they'll find us. But if we understand this forest, these symbols, maybe we can find a way to protect ourselves. Or even live differently. Lucian believes it's possible to avoid killing people. I want to believe it, too.
My mother listened without interrupting, her fingers clenching and unclenching as if she was trying to hold back tears.
—And Rayman?— she asked softly when Jake paused for a moment to catch his breath. — Is he involved in this too?
Jake nodded.
- yes. He doesn't believe in my ideas as much as I do, but he... he wants our people to be safe. And he's been covering for me whenever he could. Today, he wanted to warn me, but he didn't have enough time.
The woman shook her head, and there was a hint of a bitter smile in her eyes.
—You've always been like this. Even as a child, if you saw a bug with its legs turned upside down, you'd try to turn it back. If you heard a stranger's child crying, you'd run to comfort them. Your kindness is not a weakness, son. But here... in our world... it could be seen as a danger. Count Vladimir is not thinking about you. He is thinking about all of us. About how to maintain order when there are so many threats around us.
Jake lowered his eyes, feeling a sense of injustice and understanding at the same time.
—But is it a crime to seek knowledge? Is it wrong to want to ensure that no one dies because of us?
—No, it's not bad,— she replied softly, reaching out and touching his cheek, as she did when he was little and had terrible dreams. — But sometimes the world is not ready for such desires. Sometimes you have to pay for them.
A quiet, steady step was heard outside the window — the guards took their places at the gate and on the sides of the house. The sound was barely perceptible, but there was an inflexibility in it: It was not a defense, but a boundary.
Jake stood up, went to the window, and carefully pulled back the curtain. The two vampires stood motionless, like statues, their cloaks blending into the darkness, their eyes fixed forward, oblivious to everything else.
—They won't leave,—he whispered, more to himself than to his mother.
She came to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close, as if she could shield him from whatever was coming.
—They won't leave. But I'll be here. And we'll figure out what to do next. Maybe Rayman can talk to his dad. Maybe the count will hear…
Jake closed his eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of herbs and smoke that always hung in their house, the smell of comfort that now seemed fragile, like thin ice.
—Rayman won't plead for me. He had already risked too much. But there is one more person who can help. Lucian. He knows about herbs, about antidotes, about how to ease thirst. If he can find a way to weaken the effects of the lead... or if he knows something about these symbols...
Mom pulled back slightly, looking at him seriously, without her usual gentleness.
—If you think Lucian can do something, let him try. But you, do you hear me? You won't try to escape. You won't look for secret passages or risk your life. Let others take the risks if they want. And you... you'll stay here with me. At least for today.
He wanted to protest, to say that he couldn't just sit idly by, but he saw so much fear for him in her eyes that the words died on his lips. He nodded, feeling the weight of a promise he was making not so much to her as to himself.
— good. I'll stay tonight. But if there's even the slightest chance...
—We'll consider it,—she interrupted softly but firmly. —Together.
They sat by the fireplace, listening to the silence, broken only by the occasional footsteps of the guards outside the window. And in that silence, Jake suddenly realized that house arrest wasn't just about not going out the door. It's also a challenge to stay yourself when you're not allowed to move forward.
And somewhere in the darkness, among the trees, Rayman was still standing, hidden by the shadows, and clenching his fists, looking at the lighted window of Jake's house. He knew his father would not forgive him for openly disobeying him. But he could not leave his friend alone. He had a plan—a risky, almost insane plan. And he had to start with Lucian.
The night dragged on slowly, each moment filled with anticipation of who would make the first move.