Chapter Text
“They are creatures of pure malice, preying on us, lurking in the shadows of the night, only to emerge from their dark nests to drain our blood!” the old man in the white robe proclaimed, his voice ringing out with fervor. “These merciless beasts have ravaged our town, leaving a trail of death and destruction, and they will not rest until they’ve claimed every last one of us." Although he was old and lived with a cane, his voice was still loud and clear, echoing in the sacred church. In the seats under the podium sat a group of children, with their parents behind them. Father Mark was on stage lecturing to the town's children. This usually happens every Sunday after the service.
Today, some of the youngest children in town are here. They are just old enough to attend the lecture.
"Please tell us what a vampire looks like!” asked a little boy.
“Oh, they are hideous creatures," the old man replied, his expression twisting with disgust. "Pale, lifeless skin, and a mouth full of fangs. They reek of decay—a stench so foul no one could endure it." His eyes swept across the room, gauging the children's reactions.
Then he leaned closer, his voice lowering ominously. "When you encounter them, they’ll lunge at you, sink their fangs into your neck, and drain your blood. The pain is excruciating—beyond what any human could bear." His fierce tone hung in the air like a warning, causing the children to hold their breath. Some of the younger ones whimpered and buried themselves in their parent arms.
"But!" He raised a finger for emphasis, his voice cutting through the tension. "There is one thing that weakens them: the sun. They cannot stand its light. By day, they cower in the darkness, hidden away, and only emerge at night to feed. This is why it is absolutely important—never go outside after night, no matter what.
"Is there no way to beat them?" another boy asked with a shudder.
"Well, the good news is that they are not invincible, and that is precisely our Setra's job."
Father Mark stepped aside, making way for the girl seated next to him. She rose gracefully, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Her chestnut hair cascaded in soft waves, neatly braided and adorned with a pink ribbon that added a touch of playfulness. She wore a soft pink dress that fluttered slightly as she moved. The dress, simple yet elegant, accentuated her slender figure, while the bright red jacket added a vibrant touch to her appearance.
Around her wrists and neck, she wore exquisite bracelets and necklaces that sparkled subtly under the light, drawing attention to her delicate features. Her heart-shaped face was framed by soft tendrils of hair, and her full lips curled into a gentle, almost shy smile. But it was her eyes that captivated the room—large and a striking shade of green, like lush emeralds, full of warmth and purity.
Aerith Gainsborough opened her mouth, her cheeks flushing a delicate shade of pink. "Hi, everyone!" she began, her voice soft but carrying a gentle warmth. "My name is Aerith, and I’m a member of Setra. You might have seen me around—I sometimes sell flowers on the street." Her eyes twinkled as she glanced around the room. "I’m usually at the church, so if you’re ever feeling hurt or need some comfort, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’ll do my best to help you."
She paused, her smile widening as she caught the curious looks from the children. "Oh, and if you’d like some beautiful flowers, you’re always welcome!"
"Yes, Setra has the strong magic that can kill vampires. Meanwhile, Setra possesses a sacred ability to heal injuries. The old man added. Few people in the world possess the same power as she, who hails from the sacred clan. We are lucky to have her help.”
The kids greeted Aerith with admiration and adoration, but she seemed a little nervous. "Haha. Yes, it is kind of like that.”
As the children's eyes remained fixed on Aerith, Father Mark continued, “The Setra bloodline is rare, and those blessed with it are protectors of humanity. They carry immense power and responsibility.”
Aerith smiled awkwardly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze on her. “I…
One of the older children raised his hand. “Have you ever fought a vampire, Aerith?”
Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, and she shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I mostly help people heal and pray for them.
The children's excitement seemed to deflate a little, but Father Mark quickly interjected, “That’s because Aerith’s prayers and magic help to keep the vampires at bay. You see, sometimes the strongest fights are the ones that prevent battles before they begin.”
The children nodded, though a few looked disappointed at the lack of thrilling stories. Aerith offered a reassuring smile, but internally, she felt the familiar twist of uncertainty. How could she be the protector everyone believed her to be when she had never faced one?
"You talk so little, Aerith. You've got to let those kids see who you are," Father Mark said with a sigh as the children and their parents filed out of the church. "We all know you're not usually one to keep quiet. You're often the opposite.”
"I'm sorry, Father Mark," Aerith replied, her voice tinged with awkwardness. "I just got a bit nervous up there. I'm not sure I can do all those things you expected." She hesitated, then added, “You know, I haven't even encountered a vampire since I came here. All I can do is pray at the church every day." Her gaze dropped to the ground. "But... even last year, there were still people going missing.”
Father Mark's expression hardened, his tone growing firmer. "Aerith! You carry the sacred blood of Setra, and you possess magic. Isn't that proof enough of your potential?" His voice softened, though it remained insistent. "Even if I didn’t know your mother, the lineage she left you with is undeniable. If your ancestors could wield their powers to protect, then so can you. Your abilities are a gift, passed down through the generations. Embrace your destiny and have faith in the power that flows within you.”
Aerith's jaw tightened. She had always found it unsettling when Father Mark spoke so forcefully about her mother and her lineage. There was a harshness in his voice that made her uncomfortable, as if her own choices didn’t matter as much as the expectations placed upon her. But rather than argue, she simply nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself.
"Look, Aerith, I'm not criticizing you right now. But the vampires are so scary, like you can't even imagine. Since you started praying, the number of missing people has been much lower than before, and that's why we are all counting on you." The Father Mark spoke seriously.
"I see. Thank you for reminding me. I think I'm going to dinner now, and I'll certainly come and pray tomorrow." Aerith replied. "Have a wonderful dinner, and I’m looking forward to the prayer!”
The old man sighed again, "Well, remember to be on time.”
"All right then, goodbye, Father Mark!” She said with a smile before heading off.
Aerith was glad to be out of trouble. She walked quickly out of the church, her braids bobbing up and down. Aerith was relieved to finally step outside the confines of the church, feeling the tension begin to lift from her shoulders. The moment she crossed the threshold, the cool afternoon air wrapped around her like a gentle embrace, soothing the nerves that had been on edge throughout her conversation with Father Mark. The weight of his words still lingered in her mind, but for now, she was glad to escape the heavy atmosphere that had filled the sacred space.
Her footsteps echoed lightly against the cobblestone path as she walked quickly away from the church, the pink ribbon tied neatly in her hair fluttering in the soft breeze. As she moved farther away, she cast a glance over her shoulder at the towering structure of the church, its tall spires reaching into the sky. The sight filled her with a mix of gratitude and unease—gratitude for the safety and solace it had always provided, but unease at the weight of the expectations that came with being a part of Setra.
Father Mark’s words still echoed in her mind. “You carry the sacred blood from Setra." Aerith sighed
As she walked briskly toward the village square, Aerith’s thoughts drifted to the missing people. There had indeed been fewer disappearances since she began her regular prayers in the church, but was that truly because of her?
Her stomach suddenly growled softly, pulling her from her thoughts. She smiled to herself, deciding that for now, she’d focus on more immediate needs—like dinner. And she still wants to take care of the flowers. After spending the entire day at the church, she finally made her way home.
She hummed softly like a little girl as she walked along the familiar path to the back of the village where she lived with her foster mother, Elmyra. Some distance beyond their small house lay the ruins of a dilapidated church, far cry from the pristine sanctuary she had just left behind.
Years ago, a disaster had sent rocks cascading down from the mountain, crushing the old church and the homes surrounding it. Now, only remnants of its former glory remained, scattered among the debris.
It was while passing by these ruins that Aerith first discovered the lilies. She had been captivated by their fragile beauty, blooming defiantly amidst the decay. There was something about the way the delicate white petals stood out against the broken stone as if they refused to let the surrounding destruction define them. Her heart had stirred at the sight, and she felt compelled to care for the flowers, to help them flourish despite the odds.
Over time, what began as a small patch of lilies grew into a vibrant field under Aerith’s tender care. She watered them, nurtured the soil, and watched as they multiplied, turning the ruin into a hidden sanctuary of life and color. The abandoned church soon became her favorite spot, a place where she could shed the expectations and pressures. Here, she was not a healer or a saint—just a girl who found comfort in the company of flowers.
When she was bored or overwhelmed, Aerith often visited the Lilies, speaking to them as if they were close friends. Yes, she liked to talk to flowers, no matter how strange or whimsical others might find it. To her, the flowers seemed to respond, swaying gently in the breeze as though acknowledging her words. She was certain they could feel her emotions, just as she sensed their quiet joy when they basked in the sunlight and her companion. It wasn’t just her magic that created this connection—there was something deeper, something that made her feel understood in a way that people rarely could.
Perhaps it was because Aerith had never truly fit in. Since childhood, others had viewed her as different, distant, or even odd. Establishing friendships had only grown more difficult as she discovered her magical abilities and her identity as a member of the Setra became known. People sought her help, admired her, and sometimes worshipped her, but that only made her feel more isolated. She wanted to help others and was glad to be of service, yet the reverence with which people treated her placed her on a pedestal, making it hard to form genuine connections. In their eyes, she was a figure to be admired, not a friend to chat with.
That was also a reason why the flowers had become so important to her. They didn’t see her as someone set apart or extraordinary; they simply accepted her presence without expectation or judgment. Caring for the lilies grounded her, reminding her that life’s beauty lay in its small, simple moments. The flowers never demanded miracles—they only needed water, sunlight, and a little care. Those fragile blossoms were almost a reflection of her own journey—delicate yet resilient, thriving even in the midst of the wreckage.
“What did Mom cook today?” Aerith wondered, her mouth already watering at the thought. She quickened her pace, her footsteps light as she neared home, eager to find out what awaited her. Elmyra always seemed to know exactly what Aerith needed after a long day, filling their home with the comforting aroma of stews, freshly baked bread, or roasted vegetables.
Elmira, who had adopted her when she was very young, was a wonderful mother, and Aerith didn't know how to thank her. Having lost her husband at an early age, she had cared for Aerith alone since childhood, and in Aerith's eyes, Elmyra was another birth mother. She could be a little overprotective at times, but it was out of love for Aerith, which she always knew.
'I'm back! Aerith quickly took off her boots and went into the living room.
"Welcome back, Aerith; you're a little late." Elmyra was filling a bowl with freshly made food from a pot.
"Sorry, Mom, there were a little too many people here today, so Father Mark said more.”
"That's all right, but don't make me worry too much about you. You know I tend to do that," Elmyra said as she emerged from the kitchen, carrying a steaming pot of stew. Her tone was gently reproachful, though her eyes held warmth. "It’s not safe out there, Aerith, just like Father Mark keeps reminding us.”
Aerith chuckled, brushing off the concern with a playful grin. "Oh, come on, Mom. Have you forgotten who I am? I’m here to kick their butts!" Her voice was light, the joke brightening her face.
Elmyra’s smile turned a little more serious, though still fond. "Aerith," she gently chided, "you pray during the day; you help people, and that’s more than enough. Keep away from any real danger, alright?" She set the stew down on the table, giving Aerith a quick, appraising look. "Now, did you succeed in your duties today?”
"I think so. I've been getting better at it lately." When Aerith prayed, she would scatter her magical power around town. She didn't know if it was strong enough to keep the danger away, but she really did her best. Aerith hoped that they would provide some level of protection for the people in her community.
Elmyra smiled softly as she set the bowl of stew on the table, the warmth from the pot filling the cozy little home. "You’ve always done your best, Aerith. No one can ask for more than that. But still, I can’t help but worry. You're so special, and that puts you in danger sometimes." Her voice softened as she said the last part, her eyes lingering on Aerith with maternal concern.
Aerith pulled out a chair and sat down, the scent of the freshly cooked meal making her stomach growl. She gave Elmyra a reassuring smile. "I know you worry, Mom, but I’ll be careful. Besides, there’s nothing to worry about tonight. The sun’s still out, and Father Mark’s sermons about the vampires usually keep people vigilant.”
Because vampires and other monsters inhabit the forests, people rarely go far, and hunters or lumberjacks return home on time before dark.
Elmyra sat across from her, resting her chin on her hand for a moment before speaking. "It’s not just the vampires, you know. I worry about the people, too. They put you on a pedestal, and sometimes, I fear they’ll forget that you’re just one person. You deserve to live your life, not just be the town’s guardian." Her voice carried a quiet plea, as if she wished Aerith could be free from the expectations placed upon her.
Aerith sighed softly, stirring her stew. "I know, Mom. But helping people is what I want to do. Even if it’s hard sometimes, I feel like it’s my purpose. Setra has this power for a reason, right? It’s not something I can just ignore." She looked down at the food, her mind drifting for a moment. There was a part of her that longed for the simplicity of a normal life, but she knew that wasn’t her fate.
Elmyra reached out, placing a gentle hand on Aerith’s arm. "You’re right. I’m proud of how you use them. But promise me you’ll still take time for yourself and for the things you love. Don’t let the weight of their wish crush that beautiful spirit of yours." She smiled warmly, her eyes full of the unconditional love that only a mother could give.
Aerith looked up, her heart swelling with gratitude. "I promise, Mom." She knew Elmyra was right.
They ate quietly for a few minutes, the clinking of silverware against plates the only sound in the room. It was a comfortable silence, one that spoke of years of familiarity and love between mother and daughter.
After dinner, Aerith helped clean up, washing the dishes while Elmyra dried them. The evening sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the room. As Aerith handed her mother the last dish. Elmyra’s expression softened, her heart aching for her daughter. "I know it’s not easy, sweetheart. But you are more than just the setra to me. You’re kind and caring, and you have this light in you that draws people in. And one day, you’ll find others who see you for who you really are—friends who understand you, not just your powers.”
Aerith nodded. "Thanks, Mom. I hope you’re right." She dried her hands and gave Elmyra a quick hug. "I’m going to take a walk to the church before dark. The lilies should be blooming even more now.”
Elmyra smiled knowingly. "Go on, then. Just be back before nightfall, all right?”
"I will!" Aerith grabbed the tools and her red jacket, then headed for the door, her steps lighter now that she had talked things out with Elmyra.
She holds a water jug, a shovel, and a bamboo basket while humming a soft tune as she walks, the sound echoing through the empty streets. She jumped gracefully from one piece of gravel to another.
The path to the ruined church was familiar, almost second nature to her by now. The afternoon sun shines on the ground, casting long shadows across the ground. The warm glow of the sunlight creates a peaceful and serene atmosphere, as does the occasional rustle of leaves as the wind blows gently through the trees. As Aerith walked, she couldn’t help but think about what had said. Maybe one day she would find someone who truly understood her, who didn’t just see her as the Setra. But for now, she would be content with the company of her flowers.
As Aerith continued her walk, she passed by piles of debris—remnants of homes, mud, and jagged rocks that bore silent testimony to the scale of the disaster that had once struck this area. It was a haunting sight, yet also a testament to her town's resilience. Though remote from the city, her town was no small village, and its people had banded together to rebuild, creating new homes in safer areas and restoring a sense of community amid the devastation.
However, the area of destruction remained a dangerous, uncertain place, a no man's land that few dared to enter. Elmyra had often warned her of the risks, cautioning her that the ruins could collapse at any time. The broken structures, weakened by time and the force of the past disaster, were unstable and treacherous. Yet despite the danger, Aerith’s curiosity and sense of adventure continued to draw her to the abandoned site. And thanks a lot to her curiosity, she was able to find something incredibly beautiful, she thought happily. Until she had stepped on a loose tile with perfect precision on the hillside down to the church. As her foot touched the edge of that old, loose tile hidden beneath overgrown weeds, the ground shifted beneath her. Time seemed so slow. Aerith’s breath hitched in her throat as she felt the earth give way under her boot. The tile skidded down the hill, and in that split second, her arms flailed out in search of something—anything—to grab hold.
The basket slipped from her grasp first, tumbling down ahead of her. Then the water jug flew out of her other hand, its contents spilling out as it rolled down the slope. Aerith tried to steady herself, but it was too late. Her body twisted awkwardly as she lost her balance, the ground rushing up.
She let out a startled gasp as her body pitched forward, tumbling violently down the hillside. Her hands scraped against sharp stones, and a jagged branch snagged her sleeves, tearing the fabric. The world spun around her as gravity pulled her mercilessly down. Her heart pounded in her chest, panic rising as Aerith successfully used her head and landed hard at the bottom of the hill with a painful thud. Tools to take care of the flowers were spread around, and Aerith lay unconscious among them not far from the church.
- - -
With another sharp headache, Cloud Strife felt empty from the inside out. It's like a million bugs crawling around. He needs to drink some blood immediately. But he could smell the smut, the unbearable stench that surrounded his castle. There are werewolves in his castle, scavenging for anything they can find and eager to tear apart their owners.
He staggered a few steps, trying to clear his head again. He twitched his nose and sniffed carefully. There should be only one or two on the first floor. On a full stomach, dealing with them is easy. The problem is that he has just woken up from the coffin and has not drunk blood for an unknown amount of time, making him undoubtedly vulnerable. How long was this interrupted sleep? Cloud guessed that he had been asleep for only several months.
After a long sleep, he should have easily found a variety of wildlife nearby to replenish his body, but a ray of late afternoon sunlight coming through the dark curtains discouraged him.
Suddenly, the loud noise of the wood's destruction interrupted his thoughts. He realized that they had gone up to the second floor and that one more floor would reach his bedroom. Without hesitation, Claude acted simply and rudely. Good thing they didn't break in on a full moon. He took the heavy black giant sword from the side of the wall, his body already weak enough to make the process almost exhausting. He began to move gently forward on tiptoe. He knew that his strength was fading fast, but he was determined to protect his home at all costs. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for what was to come.
“Stop! I smell it. The vampire is in here.” One of the werewolves suddenly stops his companion and looks around cautiously.
Damn it, he's done everything in his power to prevent them from finding him, including sprinkling the house with a special powder that disrupts the werewolf scent. Reflecting on Yuffie's exaggerated description of their usefulness, Cloud pondered why he had been foolish enough to trade her one of his favorite materia. He couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for failing to realize that little girl’s cunning nature once again.
"He ought to be upstairs. Keep your voice down." They had clearly underestimated his sense of hearing, and it was definitely not because the floors in his castle were too shabby for soundproofing." Cloud calmly analyzes the situation. The werewolf who spoke was making his way up the third flight of stairs, and his companion was nearby. So he moves slowly to the top of the wolves behind.
Suddenly, the werewolf, who had just walked on the stairs, heard a loud noise behind him. With the falling of shattered planks and the wailing of his companions, the blond, black-robed vampire landed from the ceiling. Cloud's piercing gaze met the werewolf's startled eyes as he calmly stated, "I suggest you keep your voice down next time."
The werewolf's surprise quickly turned hostile as he snarled back, "Or what?”
"Or you'll end up like your partner," Cloud sneered.
"Is it? He saw the werewolf's horrible fangs change into a creepy smile. When Cloud quickly lowered his head, he was shocked to see that the werewolf at his feet was biting him with his wide open mouth, despite his sword having almost completely pierced him from head to toe. Realizing the werewolf's resilience, he quickly retreated, but it was too late. The sharp teeth pierced his ankles and calves. The severe piercing pain struck him immediately. At the same time, another werewolf pounced; the sharp-taloned from his paw was already in front of him. He had to shield his arms in front of him because the sword was still deeply embedded in the other werewolf's body beneath him. The sharp claws tore through his flesh, causing blood to flow freely.
“You're dead!” The werewolf let out a roar and waved his other paw towards his head. Powerful forces bring up the sound of an air explosion. Cloud immediately kicked him hard in the stomach with his uninjured leg, forcing the werewolf to fall back slightly. Sharp claws brushed against his hair. He grasped the hilt of the sword and swung his wrist, finally splitting the werewolf's body in two and loosening his teeth.
"That's not sure yet," he stated with a fierce tone.
The werewolf roared and pounced as a pair of blood-red eyes stared hard at him.
- - -
The setting sun turned the blood-stained curtains orange, and the smell of blood filled the room. Slowly, Cloud approached the werewolf with severed legs. Various body fragments scattered on the ground made a sticky sound with each step.
"You know we have others around. It won't be long before they find me. If you kill me, they will put you into pieces!" Said the dying werewolf bitterly.
"You're so confident, huh?" Cloud suddenly collapsed on top of him, opened his lips, and his two sharp teeth plunged deep into the veins beneath his fur. The werewolf's eyes hollowed, and his skin began to shrivel. Cloud stopped and smacked his lips with a painful expression. “Still can't get used to such a nasty taste.”
Cloud wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the foul blood werewolf still lingering on his tongue. He could feel the faint surge of strength returning to his limbs, but it was far from enough. The foulness of the werewolf’s blood did little to quell the gnawing hunger that had been festering inside him since he woke from his coffin. Still, it was a start.
He took a deep breath, his chest rising with the effort as his senses sharpened again. His mind raced, assessing the situation. If what the werewolf had said was true, more would be coming, and soon. He needed to act quickly before he was overwhelmed, especially in his weakened state.
Cloud staggered slightly as he pulled himself upright, wincing at the pain in his ankle where the werewolf had bitten him. He glanced down at the wound; it was deeper than all the others, but he had no time to tend to it. The healing properties of werewolf blood were slow and incomplete, but it was enough to keep him moving for now.
With a groan, Cloud scanned the room, assessing his next move. Staying in the castle wasn’t an option anymore; the werewolves’ numbers had grown far beyond what he could handle. He needed to escape, and fast, before more of them tracked him down. He had to abandon the castle that was once a nice residence.
Cloud forced himself to move, hobbling toward a narrow hallway that led deeper into the castle. The distant sound of claws scraping against stone echoed in the air—his enemies were already regrouping. His every instinct told him to run, but his body could only manage a limping sprint. The bite on his ankle throbbed, sending jolts of pain up his leg with each step, but he paid them no mind. All that mattered now was reaching that place.
His thoughts drifted to Yuffie for a moment—her sly grin always destroyed his plans. He had traded one of his prized materia to her for a concoction that was supposed to mask his scent from the werewolves. It had worked for a time, but now he could only curse his desperation for trusting her trickery. He grated his teeth. I’ll get it back from her someday. He headed for the bottom of the wooden staircase, the dark tunnel his few chances of escape.
As he walked, a soft breeze hit his face, signaling the exit was near. His heart raced with anticipation. But just as he reached the mouth of the tunnel, the unmistakable stench of wet fur and iron hit his nose. They were already outside, waiting for him.
Cloud’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword as he stepped out into the open. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow across the forest that bordered his once-great castle. His gaze darted around, searching for the source of the stench, and then he saw them—three werewolves standing in the clearing ahead, their eyes glowing with the hunger to finish what they had started.
There was no time to think, only act. With a roar, the largest of the werewolves charged first, its claws gleaming under the moonlight. Cloud, despite the exhaustion coursing through his veins, summoned the last reserves of his strength and swung his sword in a wide arc. The blade met the werewolf’s side with a sickening crack, sending it crashing into the dirt. Blood sprayed across the clearing, but Cloud had no time to revel in the small victory. The other two werewolves flanked him, their fangs bared and growls reverberating through the night. Cloud’s movements were slower than before, the pain in his ankle growing unbearable. He barely managed to block one of the wolves as it lunged at him, its claws raking across his sword with a screech. The second werewolf took the opportunity to strike from the side, its claws digging deep into Cloud’s shoulder. He let out a sharp grunt of pain as he staggered back, his vision blurring again. His sword felt impossibly heavy now, and he knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer.
“You're not getting away today, vampire.”
He clenched his jaw, trying to push down the hunger that gnawed at him. On a full stomach, with his strength restored, escaping would be no issue. In fact, he could easily leap high into the sky, cover several miles in a single bound, and reach the safety of a distant place.
But his body screamed with exhaustion, his muscles trembling under the strain. He knew attempting to leap now, with his weakened state, would result in him collapsing the moment he landed, leaving him defenseless and immobile. Worse, dawn was approaching, and if he didn’t find shelter soon, the sunlight would burn him alive. Every instinct in him told him to flee, to find somewhere dark to hide before it was too late.
But before he could fully form a plan, a roar shattered the silence.
A werewolf charged from the side, claws outstretched and fangs gleaming in the pale light. Cloud barely had time to react, ducking away just as the beast swiped at him, the force of the attack sending a gust of wind past his face. His ankle throbbed painfully, slowing his movements, but he forced himself to push through it. He knew he couldn't afford to collapse now.
No time to hesitate.
His mind raced, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he scanned his surroundings. He needed somewhere dark, somewhere he could hide until his strength returned. The tomb. He needed to get to that tomb. He thought of a place he should have been able to reach, a dark grave, where he always passed.
Cloud sidestepped another lunge from the werewolf, its snarling jaws snapping inches from his face. With a swift movement, he dove to the side, letting the creature's momentum carry it past him. As he staggered backward, the pain in his leg almost blinded him. Blood seeped from his wounds, pooling on the ground beneath him, but he couldn’t afford to falter. He could hear its heavy breaths, the rancid stench of its fur filling his nostrils as he quickly calculated his next move. But he couldn’t stop now. The werewolf circled him, eyes glowing with hunger, its growl reverberating through the air.
Cloud focused his mind, calling on his innate vampiric powers, gathering the last reserves of his energy. His eyes narrowed as he tapped into the energy coursing within him. He recalled where the tomb was—in the woods north of a town, where trees covered the entire area. It wasn’t graceful—aa powerful leap sustained by his remaining strength—but it would be enough to carry him out of danger for now.
With a forceful push, Cloud threw him skyward just before another werewolf attack arrived. His injured calf lost consciousness completely after another sharp pain. The trees blurred beneath him as he soared into the night air, the wind whipping past him.
He was too weak to open his eyes, and the night wind whistling around him was the only thing that kept him sane. He could faintly see the dark shape of the house on the ground ahead. Cloud knew he was about to slow down and that it would be safe just to cross the town; he encouraged himself silently. If memory serves, humans don't usually go out at this time, much less look for weak vampires streaking through the night sky.
Suddenly, an inexplicable force struck Cloud with the intensity of a tidal wave, slamming into him like an immovable wall. He didn’t even have time to react. The force didn’t just hit him from the outside—it surged through his entire being, as though it had ignited within him. The pain was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It spread through his body like fire, every nerve screaming in agony. His mind reeled, unable to process what was happening. It wasn’t a physical blow meant to harm him. No, this was something far worse—something designed to obliterate him from the inside out.
Cloud cried out, his body trembling uncontrollably. The force burned within him, fierce and relentless. He could feel it, divine and overwhelming, as if the very essence of the magic sought to erase his existence from the world. It wasn’t just pain—it was a force of purity, something sacred...
Divine magic.
The realization struck him like a second blow, even as his body dived to the ground. As his vision blurred, Cloud's thoughts raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. He had faced many enemies and endured unspeakable trials, but never had he encountered a force so intent on erasing him from existence. This wasn't a simple attack—this was annihilated.
His body convulsed as the power surged through him, and in the midst of the searing pain, a distant memory stirred. As Cloud's body fell straight down, he remembered vaguely the rumors, whispered among both humans and vampires alike, of a class of people who wielded divine magic capable of obliterating creatures like him.
Setra…
The word spun in his mind as the divine fire consumed him. Are they here? Did they ambush me?
But something didn’t add up. He was too weak, too hidden. He had made no move that would draw the attention of Setra. Whoever this was—whatever this force was—it can’t be an ambush. It couldn’t be. He hadn’t even sensed anyone approaching, not to mention he was still located in the sky. His mind fought to hold on to consciousness, the excruciating pain making it difficult to think clearly.
No, they shouldn’t know I’m here.
The sound of bones and wood breaking was repeated as his back slammed violently against a roof. Cloud felt the darkness before his eyes and fainted.
The impact sent splinters of wood flying in every direction, the structure beneath him groaning under the weight. Cloud's back was seared with pain. His vision blurred as the pain turned into a dull, throbbing void, and his body went limp, unable to fight the overwhelming force any longer.
The last thing Cloud felt before slipping into unconsciousness was the faint chill of the night air brushing against his face, and then everything went black.
The world faded into silence.
- - -
Aerith slowly opened her eyes, blinking away the blur of confusion. The soft moonlight filtered through the trees, casting faint shadows around her. The first thing she noticed was her bamboo basket, resting on its side with its contents scattered across the ground. For a fleeting moment, she felt disoriented, unsure of where she was. But then, as a wave of dizziness swept over her, everything rushed back—the stupid tile and the fall.
Her heart raced, and a sharp chill ran down her spine. Something wasn't right.
She tried to sit up. But when she raised her hand to steady herself, her fingers brushed against something wet and sticky. A sickening realization washed over her as she glanced down.
Blood.
Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in horror. Her cheeks and the ground around her were soaked in a puddle of deep red blood. For a moment, she couldn't move, frozen in shock. Her pulse hammered in her ears, drowning out the sound of the forest around her.
Panic gripped her as she scrambled to her feet, letting out a sharp shriek of terror. She stumbled backward, her legs shaking as she tried to make sense of the scene. Was it her blood? Was she injured?
Aerith gingerly stroked her body, her trembling hands moving over her arms and torso, searching for the source of the blood. For a brief moment, she felt relieved—there didn’t seem to be any severe wounds. But then, a sharp pain at the top of her head caused her to wince. She carefully raised her fingers to her scalp and felt the sticky warmth of blood. A small gasp escaped her lips as she touched the area more delicately.
The wound wasn’t deep, but the blood loss had been enough to soak her hair and cheeks. She exhaled a shaky breath, relieved that it wasn’t worse, but the cold night wind that blew through the trees sent a chill down her spine. Her skin prickled, and she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, shivering.
Suddenly, a terrible realization dawned on her.
Her breath caught in her throat as she lifted her gaze to the sky. The dark night hung above her like a suffocating weight.
Aerith’s mind raced as Father Mark’s warnings played over and over in her head. “Don’t go out at night under any circumstances!” His voice, once authoritative and distant, now felt far too close for comfort. She gulped, her breath shallow and quick as she glanced around the forest clearing. It was as if the trees themselves had taken on a more sinister appearance, their long shadows stretching like dark tendrils across the ground.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she became painfully aware of just how exposed she was.
Suddenly, a low groan echoed through the clearing. It was distant but unmistakable—a sound that did not belong to the wind or the forest. Aerith froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her basket as if the flimsy thing could offer her any protection.
Aerith took a few shaky steps back, her eyes darting around for any sign of movement. She wasn’t sure if it was the blood loss or her rising panic, but she swore she could hear faint breathing. It could just be the wind, she tried to tell herself, but every fiber of her being screamed otherwise.
Another groan. Her legs twitched, ready to run, but where? She's a long way from home. God, what's Mom going to think? She must be worried sick.
Right, the church! The sanctuary stood before her like a beacon of hope in the darkness. A sacred place that, according to legend, no vampire could enter. Surely, it would offer her protection. Aerith’s heart pounded in her chest as she forced her trembling legs to move forward, step by step. The church’s heavy wooden doors stood open, welcoming her in. The soft glow from within spilled out, casting a faint light on the path ahead. Inside, the lilies she had tended to so lovingly would be waiting for her, their beauty offering comfort in the face of fear. Aerith clung to that thought in an attempt to maintain the optimism.
Just as Aerith reached the last steps of the church gate, a low, agonized groan pierced the air, making her jump. This time, the sound was unmistakably real—raw and too close for comfort. Her heart sank as a suffocating dread gripped her, the realization hitting her like a cold wave: the source of the groan was coming from inside the church, drifting through the half-open door.
Could it really be coming from inside the church? Aerith’s thoughts raced. No one from the town should be out after dark—it had been an unspoken rule for years. Only fools like her, tripping over loose tiles, would find themselves outside at this hour. It wasn’t supposed to be anyone from the village, nor could it be an animal. But it couldn’t be... them. Not inside the church. She clutched her arms tightly to her chest, trying to steady her breathing.
The voice was unmistakably human, strained with pain. Someone was hurt—just like she was—and had taken refuge in the church. Aerith hesitated for a moment longer, then resolved not to abandon someone in need, especially if they were injured. She had to help. She had no other choice.
Swallowing the lump of fear in her throat, she approached the door cautiously, her steps barely making a sound. If there was real danger waiting inside, she would have to rely on her magic to protect herself. She clung to that thought, trying to convince herself it would be enough. Taking a deep breath, she moved closer to the entrance, steeling herself for whatever lay beyond.
As Aerith stepped into the church, the scene before her seared itself into her memory. The dim interior was pierced by a pale beam of moonlight streaming through a gap in the crumbling ceiling, where a few rotting wooden slats barely held together. The soft, silvery light fell directly onto the patch of lilies she had tended so lovingly, casting a serene glow over the delicate flowers.
But amidst the beauty. A man was sprawled among the lilies, his blond hair almost indistinguishable from the pale petals, as if he were part of the flowers themselves. His skin, stark white under the moonlight, stood out against the dark patches of his torn robes, revealing the wounds and weariness etched across his body. Her breath caught in her throat.
There was no time to worry about the hole in the church roof now. A faint metallic scent reached Aerith's nose, making her shudder. Blood. She stepped closer, her pulse quickening as she saw it trickling from the man's body, soaking through his tattered clothes. He was badly wounded.
Aerith crouched down beside him, her eyes scanning his injuries with growing concern. Who was he? She didn’t recognize him as anyone from town. Could he have fallen from the roof? Her gaze flickered upward to the gaping hole in the ceiling. How far would someone have to fall to break through that? The thought made her shiver, and she felt a pang of worry twist in her chest.
She reached out tentatively, her hand hovering above his shoulder. "Are you... still alive?" She whispered, her voice trembling with both fear and hope.