Elysia walked through the late-night fog that blanketed her quiet neighborhood, her senses heightened, her instincts whispering a familiar warning she couldn't quite place. It had been weeks since the battle with the Shadowsworn, and she was eager to settle into some semblance of normalcy. But normal felt as elusive as ever; instead, a creeping sense of unease shadowed her every move, tugging at the edge of her thoughts.
Lucian and Giselle had noticed it, too. They were growing restless, questioning her reluctance to share everything she knew. But how could she explain something she didn't yet understand? All she had were these strange symbols, markings left in places she frequented: the cafe on Main, her favorite spot by the lake, and even the alleyway behind her house. Each symbol—a delicate loop intertwined with a dagger-like line—was foreign yet oddly familiar. She had traced its patterns in her dreams but had no idea what it meant.
Tonight, though, she felt watched, the sensation prickling at the back of her neck. She turned sharply, eyes scanning the empty street. A shadow shifted in the distance, barely visible through the thick mist. Elysia's heart raced, her fingers tingling as they prepared to summon her strength.
"Elysia," a voice whispered from the shadows, low and rough.
She squinted, trying to make out the figure, but it was only when he stepped forward into the hazy glow of a streetlight that she saw him. He was tall, with dark hair streaked with hints of silver, his eyes gleaming with a predatory glint that made her skin crawl. Around his neck hung an iron amulet engraved with that same dagger symbol she'd been finding. The amulet was unmistakably old, its edges worn, but its meaning was as sharp as the gleam in his eyes.
"Who are you?" Elysia demanded, her voice steady but cautious. She didn't move, but her posture shifted into a defensive stance.
"My name is Ronan," he replied, his tone calm, almost disarmingly so. "But names are trivial, aren't they, Elysia? It's what we are that truly matters. And you, you're a mistake that should never have existed."
His words hit like a punch to the gut. A mistake? She was used to hunters, knew that they existed even if they rarely crossed her path. But Ronan's presence was different—deliberate, focused. He wasn't just here to observe. He was here to erase her.
"And what do you think you know about me?" Elysia's voice was ice.
"Enough to know you're a threat. The Sanctum has been watching your kind for centuries, especially the rare ones like you." His eyes flashed with contempt. "A daywalker with ancient blood. Dangerous and unnatural."
The words stung, and yet, they awoke something deep within her. She'd always known she was different, that her powers had developed in ways even Adric couldn't fully explain. But this? Being targeted for what she was? It was a chilling revelation.
"I didn't choose to be this way," she said, steady but seething.
"It doesn't matter. You exist outside the natural order. And my job is to bring that order back." Ronan stepped forward, his hand moving to his side, where a long, obsidian dagger gleamed under his coat. She could sense it was more than just a weapon; it pulsed with an energy that felt ancient, lethal.
But Elysia was faster. Before Ronan could react, she surged forward, using her speed to close the gap between them in the blink of an eye. She caught his wrist, twisting it with a force that would have shattered bone in a mortal. Yet, Ronan barely flinched. He countered with surprising strength, shifting his weight and breaking her hold in a fluid movement that showed he was no ordinary hunter.
"Impressive," he said, his voice almost amused. "You're stronger than I expected. But so am I."
They clashed, her vampiric strength against his uncanny resilience. As their struggle intensified, Elysia realized that Ronan was skilled not just in combat, but in the precise methods needed to counter vampires like her. His blade was tipped with silver, and his movements were designed to anticipate her speed and strength. Every feint, every shift in position, was calculated to bring her down.
In a swift motion, he managed to nick her arm with the dagger. The wound burned, a strange sensation that sent a shock through her veins. She staggered back, gritting her teeth against the pain, but quickly steadied herself, her mind racing as she calculated her next move.
"This isn't over," she hissed, her voice low and venomous. Ronan simply smirked, wiping his blade with a handkerchief as if this was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"No, it's not," he agreed. "But I wanted you to know what's coming. And I wanted you to understand that the Sanctum won't stop until every one of your kind is erased. Daywalkers don't belong in this world."
With that, he vanished into the mist as swiftly as he'd appeared, leaving Elysia standing in the silence of the street, her mind racing with the implications of his words. The Sanctum. The ancient hunters who'd only ever existed in rumors, tales Adric had shared to caution her about the dangers of immortality. She'd never expected to confront them, much less be their target.
Clutching her injured arm, Elysia headed home, her thoughts a tangle of fear, anger, and a strange sense of purpose. This was a battle she hadn't sought, but now, it seemed inevitable. And she knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would not face it alone.