The sun hung low in the sky, casting the forest in hues of gold and shadow. Riven sat slumped on the forest floor, dirt clinging to his knees and hands as he pounded the ground with trembling fists. His body ached, his chest felt hollow, and tears ran freely down his face.

"My mother… my father… my sister…" Riven choked, his voice cracking as he sobbed. "I left them. I ran like a coward. I abandoned them!"

He slammed his fists into the ground again, the dull ache in his hands drowned by the sheer weight of his grief. "It should’ve been me," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

A sharp voice cut through the stillness.

"Enough of this pointless blabbering," came the gruff tone of an older man.

Riven snapped his head up, startled. A tall man stood a few paces away, leaning on a long, jagged sword that gleamed faintly in the dying light. His cloak was tattered, and his face was lined with scars and weariness.

Marek stepped closer, his weathered boots crunching against the fallen leaves. "Your parents and sister died trying to save you, kid. Sitting here crying isn’t going to bring them back."

Riven glared at him, his tears still streaming. "What do you know about it? You weren’t there! They—my father—he couldn’t even scratch those monsters! How can I fight them? How could anyone?"

Marek sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, they’re stronger than you. Faster, too. And right now, you couldn’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag." His voice softened, but only slightly. "But they’re not invincible. With the right training and equipment, you can kill them."

Riven blinked, a faint glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes before it faded again. "How do you even know that? I saw them. They looked like angels. Wings, halos… Is God punishing us? Is this His way of saying we’re nothing?"

Marek crouched down in front of him, meeting his eyes. "Listen, kid. God’s got nothing to do with this. Those bloodsuckers aren’t angels—they just like making you think they are. It’s part of their game, their ego. To them, we’re cattle. Livestock. Nothing more."

Riven shook his head, his fists clenching against his sides. "Then why? Why my family? Why Lena… she was just a kid…"

Marek’s expression hardened. "Enough," he said, slapping Riven across the face—not hard, but enough to jolt him out of his downward spiral. "Stop asking 'why.' It’s too late for questions. Your family’s gone. If you want to honor them, stop wallowing in self-pity and start thinking about what you’re gonna do next."

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"And what am I supposed to do, huh?!" Riven snapped, his voice breaking. "I don’t know the first thing about swordsmanship, let alone killing monsters like them!"

Marek grinned for the first time—a small, crooked smile. "Now that," he said, "is something I can help with."

Riven stared at him, confused and wary. "Why would I trust you? For all I know, you’re just some crazy old man."

Marek reached for a nearby stick and smacked Riven on the head with it.

"Because I’m all you’ve got, kid," he said, standing up again. "And lucky for you, I’ve spent my whole life killing vampires." Riven rubbed his head, glaring at Marek as he stood. "Fine. Let’s say I listen to you. We still need to warn the Empire. We have to tell someone about what happened to my village before it’s too late."

Marek’s face darkened, and the small grin disappeared. He let out a heavy sigh, as if he’d been waiting for that question.

"It’s already too late," he said, his voice quieter now. "The capital’s probably fallen by now."

Riven froze, staring at him. "What are you talking about?"

Marek leaned against a tree, his tone grim. "Your village—Eldrin—it wasn’t random. It’s a straight shot to the Empire’s capital, and it’s the least-guarded part of the border. Those bloodsuckers weren’t just raiding your home; they were clearing the path."

Riven’s stomach churned. "But… the king would’ve sent soldiers. He would’ve stopped them."

Marek let out a bitter laugh. "The king?" he said, shaking his head. "The king sold out the Empire to save his own hide. Word is, he made a deal with the vampires. Gave them the capital, the people, everything. In return, they turned him into one of them."

Riven’s breath caught. "No… That can’t be true. The king’s supposed to protect us! He’s supposed to—"

"Be a hero?" Marek interrupted. His voice was sharp, cutting through Riven’s denial. "Yeah, well, heroes are a dying breed, kid. The king’s just another coward, and now the Empire’s gone. All we’ve got left is the will to fight. You want justice? You want revenge? Then stop looking to heroes and start becoming something that can actually make a difference."

Riven clenched his fists, his teeth grinding together. His mind flashed back to his father’s hammer shattering against the vampire’s arm, to Lena’s lifeless eyes, to his mother’s screams.

"Fine," he said, his voice shaking with anger. "If no one else will fight them, I will. I don’t care if it kills me. I’ll kill every last one of those bastards, no matter what it takes."

"Good," Marek said, standing up straight. He held out a hand to Riven. "Then let’s get started. You’ve got a long way to go, and I’m not exactly patient."

Riven stared at the hand for a moment before grabbing it, letting Marek pull him to his feet. As the two of them began to walk deeper into the forest, Marek glanced at Riven. "First thing you need to know: killing vampires isn’t just about swinging a sword. You’ll need to learn their weaknesses, how they think, how they hunt. And you’ll need to learn fast, or you’re going to die before you even see your first real fight."

Riven didn’t flinch. "Then teach me."

Marek smirked. "You’ll regret saying that by tomorrow."

The forest stretched ahead of them, dark and foreboding. But for the first time since that night, Riven’s steps felt steady.