The morning air carried the scent of damp earth, burning wood, and something far worse, fear. It clung to the villagers like an unseen mist, suffocating, inescapable.
Xavier has just gotten back from his morning hunt for rabbits, he stood at the back of the gathering crowd, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms. The Elven Bloodwardens had arrived before sunrise, marching through the dirt-packed streets of his village like a divine force delivering judgment. Their silver-lined cloaks barely stirred in the morning breeze, their expressions stern beneath polished helmets.
He had never seen so many elves in one place before.
They moved with a grace that defied the grime of the village roads, their pristine boots untouched by the mud. Each one carried a weapon, be it a long, curved blade or a staff of High Magic. They did not bark orders. They did not need to. Their very presence commanded obedience.
But obedience would not save his family.
Xavier's breath hitched as he saw them, his mother, his father, his younger brother, and sister… All kneeling in the center of the square, their hands bound behind their backs. Their faces were cast in the soft glow of the torches lining the perimeter, shadows dancing across their skin.
His father knelt tall, shoulders squared, jaw tight. He met the gaze of the High Inquisitor standing before him, refusing to bow his head. His mother was motionless beside him, her face unreadable, but Xavier knew she was listening, waiting, calculating. His younger siblings trembled, their small frames stiff with fear.
The villagers whispered among themselves, their voices a tangled mess of shock and quiet horror. Some clung to their loved ones, others watched in rigid silence, but none dared to step forward.
The High Inquisitor unrolled a parchment and raised his voice over the murmurs.
"By decree of the Elven High Council, these humans stand accused of treason against the Dominion. Their crime… Harboring the corruption of the vampire bloodline."
A ripple of tension spread through the crowd. Some gasped, others stiffened, their gazes darting toward the accused before quickly averting their eyes.
Xavier felt his stomach twist.
Vampires. The word alone was enough to invoke terror.
The stories painted them as nightmares given flesh, monsters that lurked in the shadows, feeding on the innocent, tainting the bloodlines of mankind. The Elves, in their infinite wisdom, had spent centuries purging the abominations wherever they were found.
And now they had claimed his family was among them.
His breath quickened. No. No, this was wrong.
His father wasn't a monster. His mother wasn't some blood-drinking fiend. His siblings weren't…
The Inquisitor continued, his voice sharp and final.
"The penalty for this crime is death."
Xavier felt the world tilt beneath him.
It was happening too fast. The words had barely left the elf's lips before one of the Bloodwardens stepped forward, unsheathing a gleaming silver blade.
The first strike came swiftly.
His father let out a sharp breath, then crumpled forward as the sword plunged into his chest. Before he could even fall, flames erupted from the wound, unnatural and consuming. They swallowed him whole, burning brighter than any normal fire.
And then, just as suddenly, the fire vanished.
He turned to Ash.
That was all that remained of his father. The wind carried the remnants away, scattering them across the square.
Xavier's breath turned to ice in his throat.
His mother was next. The blade found its mark, and again the flames erupted, devouring flesh and bone, reducing her to nothing.
No body. No blood. No trace.
Only dust.
His younger brother sobbed, twisting in his bindings, desperate to escape the fate awaiting him. The elf raised his blade. One clean stroke. Fire. Ash. Gone.
His little sister screamed, her voice piercing, raw with terror. Then the flames took her too.
Xavier bit down hard on his knuckles to silence the cry rising in his throat.
This couldn't be real.
This couldn't be happening.
His entire family had just been erased from existence.
And he still didn't know why.
The High Inquisitor cleaned his blade with a cloth, then turned his gaze to the silent crowd. His eyes scanned the gathered villagers, lingering on those who trembled the most. Searching for signs of defiance.
"Let this be a lesson," he said, his voice eerily calm. "The Dominion does not allow abominations to exist."
Then, just as quickly as they had come, the Bloodwardens turned on their heels and walked away. Their pristine armor remained untouched, their expressions indifferent, as if the execution had been nothing more than another routine task.
The crowd stayed where they were, unmoving, waiting for something, anything to break the terrible silence.
Nothing did…
Xavier could barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears. He turned, stumbling away before his legs could betray him. His fingers dug into the fabric of his tunic as he forced himself to breathe.
He needed to leave.
He needed to run!
…The sun dipped lower, stretching the shadows across the village as Xavier slipped between the buildings, moving quickly, moving blindly.
His father's hunting knife was still strapped to his belt, the handle worn and familiar beneath his grip. It was useless against elves, but it gave him something to hold onto.
He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care.
All that mattered was that he put as much distance between himself and the village as possible.
The Bloodwardens would come back. Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but they would return.
He wasn't safe here.
He wasn't safe anywhere.
The woods swallowed him as he left the last buildings behind, the dense canopy overhead blocking out the last hints of daylight. The weight of exhaustion and grief pressed down on him, his body aching, his mind a chaotic mess of unanswered questions.
Why had they been accused?
Why had they burned?
Why was he still alive?
His breaths came quick and shallow as he pressed forward, forcing one foot in front of the other. His limbs shook, his head throbbed, but he didn't stop.
He couldn't stop.
Because if he did, if he let himself truly think about what had happened, he would break.
And there was no one left to help him pick up the pieces.
…The village square lay empty once more, save for the execution post, its wooden beams stained with the memory of death.
A lone raven perched on top of it, tilting its head as it surveyed the remnants of the purge. Its black eyes reflected the fading light, unblinking, unwavering.
Then, with a slow stretch of its wings, it took flight, following the path of the young man who had disappeared into the trees…