Myhra stood on the hillside temple, a sacred place where the deceased were honored and her ancient royal family's vaults lay buried deep within the earth from whom she had inherited the blood magic. She wondered why she was again standing before these forbidden grounds. She had started her journey towards the temple but this place was calling to her like devote calls upon his Gods.
The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of burning incense and the distant whisper of chanting monks. This hallowed ground was forbidden to commoners, yet it felt intimately familiar to her—as if the very stones beneath her feet recognized her presence.
The gates before her were wide open, their intricate carvings of dragons and phoenixes illuminated by the golden glow of the moon playing hide and seek behind drifting clouds. Myhra tilted her head, a cascade of dark hair falling over her shoulder, as she pondered the unusual sight. How could the guardians of such a sacred place neglect their duty so carelessly?
Perhaps they didn't forget her, she mused, a mixture of curiosity and unease swirling within her. Despite having renounced her royal lineage and bound the bloodline's influence within her, the pull of her heritage was undeniable tonight. It was as if the temple itself was calling out to her, urging her to return to what she had willingly left behind.
A nervous flutter rose in her chest. She touched her bare neck and collarbone, her fingers tracing the rapid pulse that throbbed just beneath the surface—as if some dormant part of her was stirring to life. "What's happening? And why here?" she whispered into the night, her breath forming a delicate mist that mingled with the surrounding fog.
The dreamlike atmosphere was disorienting yet strangely comforting. She sensed the lingering presence of ancient magic, perhaps even the influence of the vampires she so often encountered. But deeper than that was a connection to this place—a resonance that defied explanation. Compelled by an unseen force, she took a step forward down the worn stone stairs.
Winter mist curled around her ankles, cold and ethereal. The clouds above shifted, and the moon cast intermittent beams of light that danced across the landscape. Giving up on the capricious moon, Myhra directed her gaze toward the cemetery nestled on the downslope of the hill—a place where silence reigned and shadows held memories long forgotten.
The night was breathtakingly beautiful. A sweet, mysterious fragrance hung in the air, and an inexplicable bliss seemed to permeate the atmosphere. Something is different tonight, Myhra thought, her eyes scanning the surroundings with a restless energy. The usual barriers she kept so carefully constructed felt paper-thin, and emotions she had long suppressed threatened to surface.
She paused, contemplating the irony of locking the outer gates when intruders could so easily scale the walls to access the inner sanctum—the very heart of what was meant to be protected. She knew all too well the allure of forbidden places, especially to those drawn by curiosity or mischief.
Unbidden, words slipped from her lips. "Brina, stay put... I won't be long," she called softly, her voice carrying a hint of affectionate admonition. The name felt foreign yet natural on her tongue, like an echo from a forgotten dream. And she saw the form of a girl moving ahead on the path to the temple.
As Myhra carefully made her way down the stairs, ensuring her flowing dress didn't hinder her steps, she couldn't shake off the oddity of the scene before her. It was peculiar, even rare, for anyone to venture into this cemetery. Reserved exclusively for the ancient royal family, it bore the weight of a tragic history, with tales of a massacre that had occurred in Silver ages.
The outskirts of the town, where the cemetery lay cradled among ancient trees, were seldom could not be disturbed. They remained untouched by the clamor of daily life, visited only during solemn ceremonies by members of the royal delegation—her former family.
Steeling herself, Myhra pushed open the outer gates and crossed the threshold. The crystals adorning her bracelet chimed softly with each movement, their delicate music echoing in the stillness. As she grasped the latch of a smaller gate leading deeper into the grounds, a sudden rush of warmth enveloped her, stark against the chill of the night. She halted, startled by the intensity of the sensation. It was a warmth that emanated from within, igniting a spark she thought she'd extinguished long ago.
The familiar tremors of unease coursed through her, more potent than ever before. Her senses sharpened; every rustle of leaves, every distant hoot of an owl amplified in her ears. She cast a wary glance around, her heart pounding as she tried to pinpoint the source of this awakening.
Then she saw him.
A young man knelt in silent reverence a short distance away, his figure bathed in the silvery light of the moon now fully revealed from behind the clouds. His attire was simple yet elegant, hinting at nobility. With palms pressed together in solemn prayer, he bowed his head before a blackstone statue—a guardian deity that watched over the royal lineage. His presence here, at this hour, was as unexpected as her own.
The wind stirred, carrying with it the mingled scents of incense and blooming night jasmine. As it swept across the slope, it tousled his hair and brought a flush to Myhra's cheeks. An inexplicable intuition washed over her—a sense that their meeting was no mere coincidence.
As the wind surged once more, a strange intuition washed over him, stirring his awareness of another's presence nearby. His gaze lifted, drawn inexorably towards her, and as their eyes met, time seemed to stand still. Her breath caught in her throat, her heart skipping a beat as his piercing gaze locked onto hers, holding her captive in its intensity.
In the midst of the swirling mist and the wild dance of the breeze, their connection felt palpable, transcending the physical realm as his eyes continued to hold her in their unwavering gaze.
Myhra's throat tightened as she swallowed nervously, her hand trembling slightly as she brushed aside the strands of her raven hair that cascaded freely around her. The moonlight caught the waves of her locks, illuminating them in a lustrous halo that framed her figure in an ethereal glow. Clad in a vibrant red dress that seemed to shimmer with its own radiance, she stood poised, her gaze locked with his in an unspoken exchange that transcended words.
For a timeless moment, they remained suspended in that silent communion, two solitary souls drawn together by the magnetic pull of fate, with only the golden moon to bear witness to their shared intensity. Then, with a deliberate motion, the mysterious intruder lowered his hands and shifted his stance, turning to fully face her direction, his intent clear yet his motives veiled in enigma.
Unfathomable, a sense of enigmatic certainty washed over Myhra, compelling her to take a step back instinctively, a flutter of apprehension stirring within her. In that fleeting moment, as the mysterious figure hesitated in response to the sudden breeze, a dawning realization dawned upon them both.
In unison, they remembered the peculiarity of their encounter, the shared recognition that they were but strangers to each other. With a silent acknowledgment of this newfound awareness, a palpable tension hung in the air, shrouded in the mystery of their chance meeting amidst the moonlit stillness of the cemetery.
Her eyes fell on a bunch of white jasmine flowers withering in the wind on the blackstone as she smelled them along the reeking mystifying fragrance in the air and she wondered whose monument it was. The young man followed her eyes to the grave near his feet which gave a jolt of reality and he stepped back as if he had just recalled something. And he had to leave.
Myhra's grasp, a shiver coursing through her as if her courage had suddenly abandoned her. With a hesitant push, clutching the folds of her dress as she descended each step cautiously.
Meanwhile, he shook his head, his gaze fixed on the ground as if trying to evade an unseen force. Slowly, he retreated, his eyes flickering back to her face, his steps mirroring his uncertainty, each movement a silent hesitation and intrigue. He took a step backwards, and another, still keeping his eyes on her.
Just then, he abruptly turned and began to walk away, vanishing into the mist the dense fog trailed behind him, the air shifting toward the southern slopes of the mountain.
Myhra rushed down two steps in the haste of following, her feet feeling heavy with the urgency of catching up to him. In that fleeting moment, she longed to call out to him, to plead for him to stop a moment and wait for her...but she knew nothing of him. What a familiar yet strangely strange.
In a hurry, she stepped on the front of her dress as a staggered, and shocking sound escaped her lips. He stalled, looking over his shoulder. With a sudden gust of wind, she felt an unseen tug on her wrist, swiftly regaining her balance. Grateful for the fleeting moment of whimsy, rationality returned to her. After all, he was merely an outsider paying respects to an unknown grave and she had get back to home.
Surrounded by clarity, Myhra stood still for a while before turning and slowly making her way back towards the mountain peak. She shouldn't have walked here on a whim. Absentmindedly clutching the front of her dress, she resolved not to glance back in the direction the young man had disappeared. They walked quite a distance with their back to each other. One descending the mountain while the other ascending it.
As she walked in silence, an eerie sensation enveloped her, heightening her senses and thickening her skin against the cold. Despite the rising temperature, an inexplicable chill lingered, And it was all too subtle for her ears. Her mind swirling with questions. If he had also entered through these gates, why had he chosen to venture into the dense forest in the opposite direction? Was he not afraid? Rumors of wild creatures of unmatched power lurking within the jungle echoed in her thoughts, adding to her perplexity.
Before starting to walk toward the temple she heard something jingle and a roar in the distance as she gave into an overwhelming whim to turn around. And in that same instant, at an ample distance away, the young man turned too.
Myhra's gaze sharpened, narrowing in on the boy as her senses flickered. She blinked in disbelief—how could she see him so clearly, as if her vision had sharpened in the dark, something akin to the perception of a creature of the night? No need for blood magic. No incantations. Just an unnatural clarity. Since when had she developed such an ability? Her breath caught for a moment, the confusion creeping into her thoughts as she looked at the pale, fragile figure before her.
In the dim light, she could barely make out his features, but she caught the faintest twitch of his lips—the smallest pull upward, like the ghost of a smile. His eyes, glowing with an eerie light, pierced the darkness, sending a shiver down her spine. Her own heartbeat quickened, as though some unseen force was tugging at her, resonating in harmony with the young man's quiet, strange movement.
Then, without warning, the ground beneath seemed to shift. A cloud of mist rose from the earth, swirling like liquid fog, thick and dense. It moved slowly, yet with terrifying purpose, creeping upward and enveloping the his frame, swallowing him bit by bit. Myhra's chest tightened in response to the sudden change.
A deep instinct stirred within her—something ancient, something primal. Her eyes never left the spot where the mist was consuming him, the air growing heavier with each passing moment. She raised her hand without thinking, instinctively touching the crystal bracelet on her wrist. She felt its smooth, familiar surface beneath her fingers, but it offered no comfort in this moment. Something was wrong.
The mist, thick and relentless, continued to spiral around him, obscuring his form entirely. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the mist began to evaporate, fading like smoke in the wind. Myhra blinked, the air growing cold and empty where he had once stood.
She looked down in a daze. Her wrist—empty.
Her fingers tightened, searching for the bracelet that had vanished without a trace. A faint, burning sensation lingered on her skin, and when she looked closer, she saw five red imprints—sharp, deep marks left by the fingers of a hand that had gripped the crystal. The marks seemed to glow faintly, as though burned into her very flesh, evidence of something far darker, far more unnatural than she had anticipated.
Myhra stared at the red imprints in stunned silence. The eerie feeling of loss and the faint echo of the his presence hung in the air, leaving her with no answers, only questions.