The past cannot be changed, but the future is yet in your power.
I didn't sleep a wink. Simon arrived just after the others had finally drifted off, exhausted. In the quiet of the night, Alex let out a cry in his sleep, while Rolo toppled off his chair bed with a grunt. He muttered something unintelligible, crawled back into bed, and went silent again. Rolo occasionally murmured in his sleep, while Des... Des cried. I'd never seen my brother cry before in my life. I was certain his dreams were filled with Alice.
Simon came over to me and sat down beside me on the makeshift bed. For a long while, we simply sat in silence. Then, without a word, he placed his hand over mine, gently pulling my consciousness with his.
In the void of the moment, my heart shrank into a tight, painful knot. I wanted to rush forward, to gather Jo's limp body from the floor, but I stood there in the corner of the cell—invisible, helpless. Time stretched endlessly, the minutes crawling as if they might last forever. Then, Jo stirred, waking up in a daze.
Her eyes flicked around the cold, damp cell. When they landed on my figure, my heart raced. For a fleeting moment, I convinced myself she could see me, that I could speak to her. But as her gaze drifted, unchanged, I had to face the reality—this was merely a fragment of the past. She slowly moved her stiff limbs, clutching her clothes tighter against her body.
A dark silhouette, standing just beyond the threshold of the cell, seemed to wait for her to wake. With a subtle motion, he opened the door and stepped inside. Jo's eyes widened in terror as she saw him. And when he lowered his hood, she let out a scream. He quickly placed a hand over her mouth.
"Shh!" he whispered urgently, "Stay quiet, or they'll know I'm here."
Jo struggled, attempting to shout again.
"I'm not Cain!" the man insisted, his voice trembling with a strange urgency. "I'm not him! Look at me, I'm not him!"
Jo, her breath shallow, studied his face carefully. Something in her expression softened, and her frantic attempts to fight him ceased. Slowly, cautiously, she nodded.
"Who are you?" Jo asked, her voice strained but steady.
The boy shook his head, avoiding her question.
"I've brought you food," he said instead, offering her the bread and bottle of water.
Jo eyed him with suspicion but accepted the items, her fingers trembling slightly.
The boy nodded, his movements quick and deliberate. He stepped back toward the door, locking it behind him. His eyes darted around the cell before he met her gaze once more.
"I'll be back," he assured her, his voice almost too soft. Without waiting for a response, he hurried off.
I allowed myself to step closer, closer to Jo. Her eyes seemed distant, unfocused, as if she were looking through me, beyond the bars of her cage. For a moment, I couldn't recognize her. Her gaze was like broken glass and for a moment I was thinking that she was an entirely different person from the Jo I knew before.
She didn't eat the bread. Perhaps she didn't trust it—didn't trust him. With a sudden, violent motion, she threw it away, across the cell, before pulling her knees to her chest, holding herself tightly as if she could shield her soul from the world. That's when I saw it. A glint of something familiar. My breath caught. When I moved closer I realized that it was the necklace I had given to her.
For a long moment, I just stood there, staring at the necklace. For a moment, I thought that I would crumble. I did not anticipate the outcome that Jo might hate me. As if even the thought of that was impossible. I had been foolish, thinking that if I could just bring her back, everything would return to normal, to the way it had been before.
Nothing would ever be the same.
It was perfectly natural for Jo to hate me. How could she not? Her life had been shattered because of me. Her father was dead, and she had been taken, trapped in this nightmare. All because of me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I'll come for you. Just hold on a little longer."
In that moment, the bitter truth settled in. After that, you can take revenge on me or do anything you want. I won't stop you, I promise.
I smiled bitterly. If you like, I'll give you my heart. I'll carve it out of my chest and place it in your hand to soothe the rage and vengeance in your heart. It's yours anyway, deep down, I always meant it for you. So just wait a little longer.
Yet the girl could not hear my words. Even though I knew it wasn't real, I wanted to touch her. I gently stroked her cheek—or at least I wanted to. As soon as I touched her, her body dissolved like colored smoke and vanished along with the cell.
Simon showed me another memory, this time of Coffee. The vampire girl was locked in a plain, windowless room. The walls were marked with deep craters and jagged claw marks, evidence of her desperate attempts to escape. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that some kind of magic was at play, something that protected the room from the full fury of a vampire's wrath.
"Let us go," Coffee demanded, her voice low but firm. "Both of us."
The ruler seated across from her merely smirked and took a casual sip from his cup of blood. Coffee had not touched the drink set before her, and I suspected that the half-blood king had used some dark magic to force her to remain seated at the table with him.
"Unfortunately, I can't," he replied smoothly.
"Why?" Coffee snarled, her voice laced with venom. For the first time, I saw pure rage flicker in her eyes.
The whites of her eyes darkened for a moment, her pupils flashing red. I thought she might lose control then and there. Yet, remarkably, she held herself in check and instead hurled her cup at the half-blood king.
Ephraim dodged the clumsy attack effortlessly, not even bothering to glance back as the cup clanged loudly against the wall. All the while, his gaze never left her.
"This red color," Ephraim remarked, his voice oddly calm, "It's my favorite. It reminds me of my mother's eyes."
Coffee hissed in fury, and I could tell she was on the brink of attacking. Ephraim seemed to sense it too, as his next words came out like a well-prepared answer to her rage.
"I can't let you go yet," he said, his voice unfazed as he took another sip. "If I let you go now, my son would have no reason to come to me."
Coffee's reaction was immediate, her eyes widening in shock, and for a brief moment, she looked almost... vulnerable. Ephraim's smile was indulgent, like a cat toying with its prey.
"Yes, your friend is my son."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. I had never thought I'd see Coffee so confused. It was as if her world had shattered in that single moment. And I was left helpless, watching as the proud vampire princess was brought to her knees by a revelation she had never anticipated.
I wanted to scream, to deny Ephraim's words, to lie to her just to spare her from the truth. But I couldn't. I could only stand there, watching her unravel before me.
Ephraim's grin widened, a cruel glint in his eyes. "I hope you don't mind staying in my hospitality for a while longer."
Coffee's eyes burned with hate, but I could see the confusion still lingering in her expression.
I stepped toward Ephraim, my movements swift and deliberate. He didn't look at me, his gaze was fixed on Coffee. My claws burrowed into his essence in an instant.
His form dissolved into a mirage, and I glanced one last time at Coffee, just as I was engulfed by a kaleidoscope of memories.
"I'm sorry."
Though she couldn't hear my voice, I needed to say it. And then, the next moment, everything faded, and I found myself back in reality. Simon had let go of my hand.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice almost lost in the still air. The boy gave a small nod.
"Can I ask you for one more thing?" I blurted out.
Simon raised his lightless, dead eyes to meet mine.
"Could you help me sleep?"
"Sure," the ghost replied, his tone flat, yet somehow reassuring. I moved toward the bed and lay down.
For a long moment, we simply stared at each other. Simon's face remained as impassive as ever, his eyes devoid of compassion or pity. I could feel the weight of my exhaustion pressing down on me, I knew I must have looked like shit. I knew because when Simon brushed his hand across my forehead, his touch was incredibly light and gentle. And I felt, for a dangerous, fleeting moment, that I wouldn't have minded if he sucked all the life force out of my body.
(...)
In the morning, Des left to track down the rest of the family, the ones he hadn't yet informed about the meeting the afternoon before.
Rolo, barely awake, slouched over his half-cold cocoa, his eyes occasionally drooping into a doze. It seemed like sleep had become a distant memory for all of us.
Alex didn't fare much better. When I tried to wake him, it felt as though nothing short of dynamite would pry him from the covers—until, of course, Hajnal arrived, and with a swift command, she practically launched him out of bed.
The wolf still lingered by the wall half an hour later, trying to disappear into the shadows as if the very act of blending in could shield him from the wrath of the boss lady. When Hajnal finally decided to make a few phone calls, the wolf let out a sigh so deep I was convinced he'd been holding his breath for an eternity.
Afterward, he fed the cat. He was determined to coax some affection from the demon cat, much to its visible displeasure. The cat, who would rather have preferred the cold, damp darkness of the chamber to the company of a werewolf.
Seeing that the usual tactics weren't working, the cat adopted a new strategy: playing dead. It did so with such expertise that I genuinely thought it had succumbed to rigor mortis. However, when it finally managed to slip from the wolf's grasp, I realized it was still very much alive.
The cat then made a hasty retreat to the liquor chamber, its trademark snorts and snarls filling the space. Alex watched it go, his expression one of quiet sorrow, the kind that could break your heart. I couldn't help but think that if I had eaten anything that morning, that expression alone could have made me vomit—luckily I hadn't had breakfast.
As for me? Well, I was in a mood so foul, I could have been described as hating the world from the very depths of my soul. It was time to stop brooding and transform that moody bastard, the one sulking in the chair into some version of Shay.
Luna barely spoke, just a quiet hello. She didn't try to comfort or embrace me, as if she understood that words weren't what I needed. I gave her a silent nod, then motioned toward the office. Without a word, she vanished behind the dark wooden panel, slipping out of sight.
Des had wanted to visit Alice several times, but Hajnal wouldn't let him. None of us asked why, we just resigned ourselves to the fact that it was better not to see him now. Hajnal looked utterly drained—pale skin, haggard features, and dark circles under her eyes. I'd never seen her like this. If Alice left such a mark on someone who barely knew him, what would happen to us?
We all knew the answer. We'd probably storm the Fifth's lair and tear him to pieces with our bare hands, rushing headfirst into our deaths. And so, we accepted Hajnal's decision without protest.
What do you wear when you're about to face the most intense mental battle of your life? I rummaged through the sportsbag and managed to spill the contents of the shoebox that heldmy treasures. A good start to the day. Great.
Birth certificates, and report cards from primary school, I tossed everything carelessly into the box until I came across a crumpled envelope.
The wax seal, once red and emblazoned with the crest of a lesser-known hunting family, had long since been broken. My hand trembled. Without fully knowing why, I opened the letter—one I'd kept buried in the box for seven years.
It contained only two lines:
[The Crosspherat wants to capture your son and execute him after their tests. You are accused of blood treason. Flee, Lorett, while you still can.]
The letters were written with shaky, hurried strokes, evidence of the writer's frantic haste. This letter had been given to my mother on the day everything fell apart.
Parts of the paper were missing, charred edges forming a delicate black lace—a grim reminder of the day I pulled it from the flames. My mother didn't know I was hiding under the tablecloth of one of the dining tables—Des and I had been playing hide and seek. Even as a child, I sensed the letter's importance, the way it drew my eye, compelling me to read it.
The next memory was of a woman's scream, piercing and raw. I dashed down the stairs, the metallic tang of blood filling my nostrils. I didn't dare enter the kitchen. Des grabbed me, and we fled the house together—I was frozen, my mind shutting down. The house burned to the ground, unnoticed by the world, isolated as we were with no neighbors within a twenty-kilometer radius.
After that day, none of us remained the same. We barely spoke, and Des avoided me as if I were a curse. Once, he never minded sharing a bed, but now he preferred the floor, distancing himself from even the smallest touch.
I knew the time had come. As Des closed his eyes that night, I slipped out of bed and approached him. The monster inside me stirred, observing the familiar face as if trying to recognize the boy he had once known. I knelt beside him, leaning close to his shoulder.
I inhaled deeply, drawing his scent into my lungs—the scent that had been home to me since childhood. I etched it into my memory, pressing it into the core of my being, so I would never forget. Gently, I lifted his shirt, revealing the inflamed wound on his side.
The beast within me stirred at the smell of his blood, rich and spicy, alluring even beneath the taint of sickness and decay. Saliva pooled in my mouth, my throat parched. I traced my fingers over the angry red and purple skin, barely making contact. For the first time, I acknowledged the craving that had been festering within me—the monster thirsting for Des's blood. The monster inside me knew, with a chilling certainty, how irrevocably human Des was.
Yet, the beast did nothing but inhale that intoxicating scent, savoring it as if to preserve it forever—because that monster was me. I pressed a finger to my lips, the skin splitting under my teeth, a droplet of dark, viscous liquid oozing forth. It resembled human blood, but thicker, more fragrant. I dragged my finger across his wound, a parting gift imbued with whatever healing I could offer.
From the scent alone, I knew Des wouldn't have died from the injury, though it would have taken him years to heal without intervention. I didn't understand why he refused elixirs or treatment, but now I think that wound was his reminder—a scar from the night our mother died. A reminder that nothing would ever be the same.
I licked the mixture of our blood from my finger, the blend a heady, intoxicating concoction. Looking up at the full moon, I resolved to decide both our fates the next day. Des couldn't make that decision alone, so it fell to me.
That night, I watched my brother's sleeping face, fearing that if I closed my eyes, he might vanish. As dawn approached and he began to stir, I slipped into bed, feigning sleep.
Des approached, standing by the bedside, observing my steady breathing and closed eyes. After a long pause, he sat on the edge of the bed, gently stroking my hair as if to say goodbye. Perhaps, in his heart, he sensed that this would be the last morning he could do so. The beast inside me almost purred under his touch—painfully warm, heartbreakingly tender.
Then Des stood and left the room. I opened my eyes, staring at the smooth wooden door for hours. Finally, with a heavy sigh, I made up my mind.
When Des re-entered the room, his gaze fell immediately upon the scene before him: I held the fading life of a hunter in my hands. He froze, the weight of the moment crashing down on him.
Then, in a heartbeat, he was at my side, tearing my fingers from the man's throat, his voice a harsh command for the hunter to flee. The man stumbled out, and even slammed the door behind him, as though that flimsy barrier could contain the demon child left in the room. Silence engulfed us. We stood there, motionless, each burdened by the enormity of what had just transpired. Des, who had slain countless monsters, had never taken a human life.
"Why..." Des's voice broke the stillness, a whisper of disbelief. "Why did you do this?"
I met my brother's gaze, and something in my expression must have been unfamiliar, something he had never seen before. Des's eyes darkened, as though he was seeing the monster in me for the first time.
"I chose," I said, my voice light, almost carefree.
I chose that day to be a monster.
Des's hand curled into a fist at his side. His face twisted, as though he had long feared this moment. Yet, deep down, we both knew it was inevitable. Des had always sensed the darkness in me; he simply refused to acknowledge it.
We didn't speak for days after that. Des rarely stayed in the hotel room, his presence marked only by the food he left behind. It was clear he had made his choice. When he finally returned, he wasn't alone. A dark mage accompanied him, and I knew then it was goodbye.
Des lingered in the doorway, perhaps wanting to say something, perhaps not. Without a word, he stepped through, leaving me in the dim silence of the room.
I should have been distraught by the turn of events, yet the monster inside me remained unnervingly calm. I had always feared the day Des would leave me, dreaded it in secret. Yet when it finally happened, I felt no panic, no anger, no desperation. The weight of that fear lifted, as though a thousand years of dread had been shed.
The beast within me had always known this day would come. I clenched my jaw, but the ache in my chest was unlike anything I'd ever felt. I had believed, as long as Des was by my side, I could survive anything. In that moment, I realized I would survive his absence too.
I held no hope for his return, yet I remained in the hotel room until I was forced to leave. I wanted him back, even if I knew that I had made the right choice. I made that decision because of the oath. If we stayed together, the Crosspherat would have hunted us relentlessly. The oath would have made Des unable to fight them. And they wouldn't have stopped until both of us were dead.
That was the only option. So I chose. I pushed him to the edge, knowing it was the only way he would leave. It was a cruel mercy, but it was the only way he could live.
A week later, I read an article on Kaleidoscope. The hunting community offered its condolences to Paladin Dénes Roubál, who had lost his mother in a tragic fire.
When the young hunter returned from his latest mission, all he found were ruins and the charred remains of his family. The Crosspherat identified the bones and laid his mother to rest.
Everyone knew the truth: our mother had been killed by the Crosspherat. And everyone knew Des could offer only one thing to save his life—mine. The hunting community believed it. No one suspected a thing. Why would they? It was a brilliant plan. They simply cursed the hunter who would sacrifice his family for his own survival in whispered tones.
But today, the hunters will know that I survived. Seven years of quiet, where they could convince themselves that the threat was gone, the monster extinguished.
But monsters don't die so easily.