The sun has only just risen when the warm morning light stirs the elderly village chief from his sleep.
Even before opening his eyes, his thoughts drift toward the mysterious vampire woman he met the previous night.
He lets out a long, weary sigh.
"She never came back either… I knew it — I should've kept her in the dark about Don Dargot. And yet, the strength and confidence that woman carried almost made me believe that, this time, someone truly would free us from that tyrant. I was a fool for thinking anyone could possibly defeat Tristan Borrin…"
But the moment the old village chief opens his front door, it bumps into something. A sack.
As the sack topples over from the impact, the severed heads of Don Dargot and Tristan Borrin roll across the ground beneath his horrified stare.
