People fear many things. The dark. Insects. Animals. The depths of the ocean. Death, hunger, sickness. But in this age, the thing people feared most could be summed up in a single word: Creatures.
Day 5 — Afternoon
The castle could be felt before it could be seen.
The air was changing — colder, more still, as if this part of the forest had stopped breathing some time ago. There were no birds already, but here there were no insects either, no wind, nothing at all. The forest wasn't just silent — it had been emptied. Every living thing was keeping its distance from this point, and there was a reason for that.
Dean was walking in front. He stopped.
It was visible between the trees. Grey stone walls, tall and thick, with the remnants of an old roof above them. A single tower, its top partially collapsed. The windows were dark — not just dark but covered, sealed, as if whatever was inside didn't want light getting in. The door was rotted wood, the hinges rusted, but it was closed.
"How many inside?" Raphael asked.
"Don't know." Dean looked at the wall. "But if they can send five lessers out overnight, there are at least fifteen, twenty in there."
Brom muttered. "Wonderful."
Lena looked at the castle, counted, assessed. "Are we going in through the door?"
"Through the door." Dean walked. "Stay quiet."
The door opened in one push.
Inside was dark and cold — colder than outside, the kind of cold where moisture had worked its way into the walls and reached the bones. A narrow corridor stretched ahead, stone floor, torches on the walls that hadn't burned in years. The ceiling was low, the kind that would carry sound.
Rowan stopped. "Here."
He pulled the stone from his pack. The violet-black mixture was still there, stable, unchanged.
"Dip your finger in."
Eren went first. The bitterness was the same — burning at the back of the throat, going down, settling in the stomach. But this time the warmth in his chest came faster, stronger. A vibration started in his arms, running from his shoulders to his fingers, unfamiliar but not unpleasant. Like a thin current moving through his body, a river finding its bed for the first time.
Dean took his. Nothing changed in his face, but he opened and closed his hands — slowly, once, then again. Testing something.
Raphael tasted it, made a face, swallowed. He waited a second. "When does it kick in?"
"It already has." Eren looked at his hands. "You can feel it."
Raphael waited one more second. Then he laughed — short, genuine, surprised. "Oh. Yes."
"One hour, maybe a little more. But you're not at full strength at the start — it takes ten, fifteen minutes to settle. Less capacity during that window."
"So for the first fifteen minutes we fight normally." Eren looked down the corridor.
"Yes."
"Fine." He drew his sword. "Then we finish fast."
They found the lesser vampires on the second floor.
Seven of them. Asleep — daytime, even without light the habit held. In a narrow room, leaning against walls, some stretched out on the floor, some in chairs. They weren't breathing, but there was a kind of still waiting to all of them, like leaves suspended in wind.
Dean stopped at the door. He looked back.
Nobody said anything. Understood.
They went in.
The fight started silent and stayed silent as long as possible. The first three went without noticing — Dean, Raphael and Oryn moved without coordinating but at the same moment, each picked a target, done. But the fourth made a sound, half a scream, not quite a full one but long enough. Sounds came from the corridor, footsteps, fast.
"Finish it." Dean turned to the second.
Lena stepped to the door, looked down the corridor, came back. "Two coming."
They came. They saw. They turned — but Brom and Oryn were already there. Short, hard, done.
Nine.
Eren looked at his hands. The potion was settling — denser in the chest, the vibration in his arms more stable. Not full yet, but the difference was felt.
A little more. Get upstairs, buy time.
"Up." Dean stepped into the corridor.
The baron was on the top floor.
When they reached the top of the stairs the door was open — she had been waiting. It was a wide room, the largest in the castle. One window, high ceiling, bare stone walls. No furniture. Only Mira leaning against the wall, hands bound behind her, eyes open and fixed on the door. No fear in her face, no surprise — just that familiar expression, the one that noted everything, assessed everything.
And standing beside her was Agnes Volid Dracule.
She was slim, tall, standing straight. Her clothing was old — it had clearly been quality once, now worn and faded, but there was still something in the way she carried it. Her hair was white, long and neat. Her face looked young but her eyes didn't — too deep, too tired, eyes that had seen centuries, carried centuries.
She looked at them. Counted them one by one. Nothing moved in her face.
"Seven." Her voice was level, its tone sinking deep, like an old song. "Safe Haven Hunter Academy candidates." She tilted her head slightly, not politely — with curiosity. "Different this year."
"Agnes Volid." Dean drew his sword. "Release Mira."
Agnes looked at him. For a long time, without any hurry. Then something appeared at the corner of her mouth — not quite a smile, but close to one. Tired, old, genuinely amused.
"No." Her voice hadn't changed.
She took one step forward, toward the center, slowly. "Do you know who I am? You probably don't. I don't appear in Academy books — such a small island, such a small clan." She stopped. "Agnes Volid Dracule. I have lived on this island for one hundred and seventy-two years. Your exam delivers this island to us every year — once a year, one week. Then you leave." She looked around at the walls, the ceiling. "One hundred and seventy-two years. Every year. Do you understand?"
"We understand." Raphael stepped forward. "You're still going to release Mira."
Agnes looked at him. Her eyes stayed on Raphael, one second, two. Then moved to Eren. Then to Dean.
"A potion?" Something was in her voice now — recognition, calculation. "Yes. The smell is there. Slightly different but the same base." She tilted her head. "You came prepared. Truly different this year."
She took one more step. "But it won't be enough."
The fight began with her step.
Agnes was fast — a different speed from the lessers, calculated, controlled, like someone who knew where to put their strength. Raphael lunged forward, sword coming down — Agnes stepped sideways, one step, the blade cut air. She didn't counter, just moved and came around behind him.
Raphael turned. Agnes was waiting.
"Strong." Agnes's voice was level. "But you don't have the speed yet. The potion hasn't settled."
Eren fired — two shots, fast. Agnes deflected the first, sidestepped the second. The third caught her in the shoulder. She turned and looked at Eren.
She noticed.
"A pistol." She looked at her shoulder, black blood seeping. "Not silver, but good aim." She kept talking without turning. "I've always wondered how the Academy trains you. The exam is the same every year, the candidates are always different." She was moving now, not toward Raphael but left, tracing a wide arc. "I don't actually want you to die. We're just hungry. People come once a year and we—"
Dean came in from the left, sword straight and fast, aimed at the neck. Agnes turned, blocked with one hand — the blade glanced off the wrist. But Dean didn't pause, turned, elbow came, landed in Agnes's chest.
Agnes went back two steps. The first time.
Her eyes changed — still calm but something had hardened inside.
"Guilliman." Her voice recognized it. "Noble blood. Yes." She looked at Dean. "You're more dangerous."
"I know." Dean advanced.
This time Agnes waited — he came, came, at the last moment she twisted left and caught Dean's arm. She spun him, drove him into the wall. Dean rebounded but didn't fall, caught himself, turned immediately.
Raphael came from behind. Agnes heard it, turned —
"LEFT!" Mira's voice filled the room.
Lena had already moved, blocked Agnes's left attack, pushed her back. Agnes stumbled. Oryn released two arrows — one missed, the second went deep into the arm. Agnes's right arm dropped for a second.
Eren fired at that moment. Shoulder, same shoulder, second hit. Agnes shuddered.
Taking damage. Slowing down.
The potion had fully settled now — Eren felt it in his chest, dense and stable, the vibration in his arms quiet but strong. He took the sword in both hands and moved forward.
Agnes fell back, toward the corner. Still calculating — her eyes moved across the group, looking for weak points. Went to Brom, to Lena, to Rowan. Stayed on Rowan.
She noticed.
She lunged at Rowan suddenly — speed sharp and sudden, direction changed. Rowan stepped back, the staff came up but Agnes pushed it away easily. A hand went for Rowan's collar —
Talia stepped in.
Full build, full speed, shoulder into Agnes. There were two meters between them but Talia closed it and Agnes lost her balance. She didn't go down but she had slipped.
Raphael came in at that moment. Sword down, to the arm, a cut. Agnes turned, pushed Raphael back — but she was slower now. She was gripping one hand, black blood running faster from her shoulder.
Dean from the left, Eren from the right, at the same time. Agnes couldn't see both of them at once.
She chose Dean — blocked, deflected — but Eren's sword went into her side. Not deep, but real. A sound came from Agnes's mouth — the first sound, the uncontrolled kind.
She fell back. She was in the corner now. She could feel the wall behind her.
Her eyes swept the whole room — seven people, every one standing, energy still there.
Agnes's face didn't change.
She looked at the window.
Then she jumped for it.
One motion, no hesitation. The glass exploded outward, cold air flooded the room. Eren ran, reached the window, looked down —
Agnes wasn't on the ground. She was in the forest, running, disappearing between the trees. She was holding her shoulder, slower than before, but running.
"She got away." Raphael's voice came.
Eren looked for one second. Then turned. "Mira."
Mira had already been trying to work through her bindings — her hands were numb, her fingers weren't responding. Lena came over, pulled out a knife, cut through the ropes.
Mira stood up. She opened and closed her hands, blood coming back. Her face still wore that expression — noting, assessing.
She looked at Rowan. "Was that a potion?"
"Yes."
"Good thinking." A pause, then she added: "You were late."
Raphael laughed. "Sorry about that."
"You let her jump out the window."
"We didn't expect that."
"You should have." Mira picked up her sword. "Where did she go?"
"Into the forest." Eren picked up his pack. "She might be waiting for us."
"She's waiting." Mira walked to the door. "Move fast."
They had ten minutes left on the potion when they entered the forest.
It was felt — the warmth in the chest was cooling slowly, the vibration in the arms was fading, that stable strength was dissolving. Eren noticed and picked up his pace. Dean had noticed too, his steps had quickened. Raphael understood without being told.
"How much time do we have left?" Brom whispered.
"Not much." Rowan kept his voice low. "Five minutes, maybe."
"Agnes—"
"I know."
They pushed harder. The forest was thickening, the ground sloping, branches hitting their faces, roots catching their feet. The potion was dissolving — four minutes, three.
Then the potion ran out.
Eren felt the exact moment. One last vibration in the chest, then nothing. His arms grew heavy. Breathing became harder. His steps slowed.
He stopped.
The forest had gone quiet.
The wrong kind of quiet. Not empty — full. Something was moving around them, in more than one direction.
"We're surrounded." Dean drew his sword.
Agnes stepped out of the forest. She had bound her wounds — not well, blood was still seeping, but she was standing. Shapes appeared behind her, red eyes, from every direction.
The rest of the clan.
Agnes advanced, unhurried. She stopped five steps away. She looked at them — tired faces, heavy arms, the emptiness the potion had left behind.
"It's over." Her voice was flat. Not angry, not triumphant. Just a statement. "You fought well. Genuinely." She was still holding her right arm. "In one hundred and seventy-two years on this island, no candidate has pushed me this hard."
Eren held his sword. It was heavy. He'd used everything — the castle fight, the running, the energy the potion gave and the exhaustion it left behind. He was standing, but barely.
Dean was beside him. Raphael on the other side.
Agnes took one more step.
Then a sound came from the east.
A single person's footsteps.
Slow, measured — but nothing was breaking in the forest with those steps, no leaves rustled. As if the forest didn't notice them, or noticed and made way.
The red eyes turned that direction. The lesser vampires pulled back — one step, then two, then completely. Agnes turned.
A skeleton stepped out of the forest.
Old scraps of leather, arrows lodged in the skull, a greenish light in the eye sockets. It moved with a sway — as if it would fall apart with every step. It didn't.
Agnes froze.
Silence settled into the forest. The lesser vampires had gone — every direction, silently, no longer there. Only Agnes remained, and the skeleton, and the space between them.
The skeleton looked at her. Just looked. It said nothing, took no step. It stood there and looked at Agnes.
Something happened in Agnes's face — that calm, tired expression changed. Something was underneath it, very old, very deep. Not quite fear. Recognition.
She stepped back.
The skeleton moved then.
It wasn't fast — but Agnes had been caught unprepared, or she hadn't been unprepared but something had happened inside her, something had frozen. One motion. Agnes went down and didn't get up.
Silence.
The skeleton turned.
Green eyes moved to Eren. To Kayra. To Raphael. To everyone. One second, just one second — did it count them? Did it recognize them? Impossible to know.
Then it turned. It walked into the forest. With every step it looked like it would fall apart.
It disappeared into the dark.
Nobody breathed for a moment.
Oryn lowered his bow. Brom kept holding his weapon, not knowing what for anymore. Lena looked at Agnes, then looked where the skeleton had gone, then looked at Eren.
Raphael spoke. His voice was low. "What was that."
Nobody answered. Because nobody knew. Or they knew but weren't sure whether saying it was the right thing to do.
"We're moving." Kayra walked.
* * *
They found Azrael near the shore.
He was leaning against a tree, alone. His robe was torn — from the left shoulder, long and deep, not a cut but the mark of an attack. Above his left eyebrow was split open, blood had dried, gone purple. He was holding the silver-headed cane, but leaning his weight on it, for support rather than by choice.
His eyes were closed.
Kayra stopped. The others stopped behind her.
Azrael opened his eyes. Still sharp, that look — but the color in his face had changed. This wasn't tiredness. It was deeper, older. Not from after a fight, but from the weight of something carried for a long time.
He looked at them. He counted. He searched for something — and found it, it wasn't there.
"Is everyone alright?" His voice was normal, heavy and measured, but something was underneath it.
"We're alright." Kayra's voice was flat.
"Mira?"
"With us."
Azrael gave a single nod. He tried to straighten, stopped. He leaned more weight on the cane.
"Listen. There's no time." He took a breath. "The island isn't safe. You already know that. But right now it's far more dangerous than I expected." He paused, as if weighing something. "Rest — two hours, no more. Then go to the shore without sleeping. There's an evacuation at dawn."
"What about you?" Eren asked.
Azrael looked at him. A long look, assessing, recognizing.
"I'm here."
He said nothing else. He closed his eyes.
Kayra looked at his face — the wound, the torn robe, that deep exhaustion. She thought about their encounter with the skeleton. She thought about the thing that had deflected Azrael's Hell Ray with a single lazy motion. She thought about these wounds.
She didn't say it.
But she understood.
They reached the shore before dawn.
Other teams were there — not all of them, but most. Faces were tired, some had wounds, nobody was talking much. One team was missing. Maybe two. Nobody counted, or someone did but didn't say.
When the sky began to lighten, a sound came.
A motor. From above, from the west. Silver hull, the Safe Haven emblem, ropes hanging from below. The airship came over the shore, a platform descended, guards were waiting.
The candidates boarded.
Eren looked back at the island one last time. The forest was dark, the castle wasn't visible, the skeleton wasn't visible, Agnes wasn't visible. Nothing was visible.
But something was felt — heavy and stable, the way it always was.
The island is its. We are guests.
The platform rose.
In Safe Haven, in a large room, Thorian Flint was sitting.
His red hair was long, wavy, the kind that fell freely to his shoulders — as if it had seen wind or never been combed, somewhere between the two. He wore noble clothes but his sleeves were rolled up, buttons open. On the table there were maps, reports, sealed envelopes — studied through the night, edges curled. He was sitting in his chair but not leaning back, bent forward, elbows on the table.
A knock at the door.
"Come in."
A guard entered. In his hand was a letter — sealed, Azrael Solarius's seal, clearly written in haste, the ink not quite dry.
Thorian took it. Turned it over. Looked at the seal.
He opened it.
He read.
His face didn't change. Level, stable, the same as always — the same as when he was weighing options over maps, the same as when he was reading reports. Only something very small appeared at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile. But the closest thing to one — cold, accepting, the kind that recognizes something old.
Only one line from the letter was visible.
"Thorian, my friend, our greatest nightmare has come true."
Thorian closed the letter.
He turned back to the maps.