> “And so the lion fell in love with the lamb…” - Stephanie Meyer

Finnea's slender fingers tightened around the hilt of her blade, its point indicating a direction.

"There she is," she whispered, barely audible under the wind that rustled through the forest canopy. Nord trudged toward Finnea, her boots sinking into the loamy earth. As her eyes followed the elf's sword, she felt her heart sink for the second time that day. A figure sat huddled a few feet away, obscured by shadows and foliage.

Hunched like a child seeking solace, the woman seemed to curl into herself. She was naked, her body half-covered by a cascade of yellow and orange hair that shimmered like autumn leaves. Every so often, her pointy ears twitched as though reacting to an unheard sound.

Tentatively, the woman lifted her head. Her face was a distorted canvas of pain, marred by tears that had carved channels through her dirt-streaked skin. Yet her eyes caught Nord's gaze, arresting her in place. They were a stunning fusion of emerald and amber. Two gemstones swirled into one. Flecks of amber seemed to ignite the green, as if burning embers were floating in a forest pond.

It was then that Nord noticed her lips—half of the upper one marked with spots like a black inkblot. Little canine teeth jutted out slightly when she parted her mouth, adding an exotic twist to her already unique visage.

For a moment, Nord felt like she was looking at... her.

Nord was taken aback as the woman mumbled, "Mama?" Her eyes were filled with a mixture of confusion and hope.

"That is not my cat..." Nord began to say, but before she could finish her sentence, the woman lunged forward and snatched the small plate of ham slices from her hands. In a blink, the food disappeared into her mouth.

"Chicken!" The woman's voice was tinged with delight, her earlier tears seemingly forgotten. "Are we going home? I don't like it here. Look!" She opened her clenched hands, revealing a small collar cradled in her palms. "My paws... they're ugly."

Nord turned toward Finnea, her eyes filled with disturbance. "That's not Kirara," she said, unsure how to react to the woman's erratic behaviour.

Finnea lowered her sword, her elven eyes narrowing as she scrutinised the woman.

Finnea's fingers delicately plucked the collar from the strange woman's grasp and held it out to Nord. "It tells her name."

Nord took the collar, her eyes scanning the engraved tag. "Kirara, if lost, please call Nord and Baal at..." The moment she uttered the word "Baal," Finnea's hand shot out, snatching the collar and hurling it into the forest with a flick of her wrist.

"Why did you do that?" Nord's voice was tinged with disbelief and rising anger.

"I obey," was Finnea's cryptic response, her face unreadable.

Nord felt a wave of confusion wash over her. "Obey? Obey whom? Why would you throw away the only lead we had?"

Finnea looked deep into Nord's eyes, her own gaze a swirling mix of emotion. "Some names are better left unspoken. Trust me! That is his decree!"

Nord turned to the strange woman, who was still huddled on the ground, now gazing in the direction where her collar had disappeared. The woman looked back at her, a mix of bewilderment and something akin to recognition on her tear-streaked face.

With a heavy sigh, Nord turned back to Finnea. "We can argue about later. Let's go home!"

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Adamastor's eyes were slits of dark red as he watched the strange woman—now dressed in a simple white cotton dress—tear into a piece of roasted chicken with feral enthusiasm. He stood in the shadows, peeking inside his kitchen.

Nord approached him cautiously, her eyes meeting his. "She had Kirara's collar."

"She is a Nixbob," Adamastor finally spoke, his voice low and tinged with a note of wariness.

"Which is...?" Nord pressed, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"A hybrid. Nixbobs are a mix of felines and humans. Most often, they possess only minor cat-like features—ears and tails. But sometimes, the feline traits are more pronounced."

"So, what do you think happened to her?" Nord was impatient, the uncertainty gnawing at her.

Adamastor turned to face her, his eyes piercing through the dim light. "Are you really asking?"

"Yes, I am. Give me your opinion," Nord retorted, holding her ground.

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With a swift motion, Adamastor grabbed her arm and positioned her so that she faced the doorway where the strange woman was seated. "Look! She fits the exact description you gave me the day you described your missing cat—green and amber eyes, orange hair, black lips."

"It could be a coincidence," Nord argued, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Adamastor released her arm and looked at her incredulously. "You possess the Hallow within you, you've landed in a new world, and you're conversing with a spawn of the night. How hard is it to believe that your cat transformed into a Nixbob?"

Nord paused the weight of Adamastor's words sinking in. The reality of her situation—the strange world, the inexplicable events, and now, the emergence of this peculiar woman—rushed back into focus. Could it be that her missing cat, Kirara, had morphed into this lost, humanoid creature?

The corners of Nord's mouth lifted in a small, hesitant smile. There, sitting at the table and digging into a dish of roasted chicken, was the Nixbob—so eerily similar to Kirara in so many ways. Her green-amber eyes met Nord's for a fleeting second, a glint of recognition—or was it mere curiosity?—flashing through them.

"Safe and sound," Nord muttered to herself, her gaze lingering on the Nixbob. If Adamastor was correct, then her missing cat was not truly missing but transformed, safe, and rather content with a plate full of her favourite food. The realisation stirred a curious blend of emotions in her—awe at the magic and mysteries of this new world, dread at the implications, and a touch of wonder at the unfolding strangeness of it all.

Nord couldn't deny the comfort she felt at the thought that Kirara—or whatever she had become—was safe. At the very least, she was not wandering some unfamiliar woods, hungry and afraid. Instead, she was here, in a manor filled with people—be they elves or vampires—who had at least some level of vested interest in her well-being.

And so, with this relief, Nord turned away from the salon and made her way towards the study.

Nord's eyes traced the lines and symbols on the massive wall map - the map of the House of Neddingstein Nation, taking in the unfamiliar names and geography of the land. A sense of both wonder and trepidation filled her.

Here she was, in a completely new world—far removed from her own reality, yet profoundly interconnected in ways she had yet to comprehend.

Ravendrift, Onyxburg, Dawnhaven—each name felt like a key to a locked door. And then her eyes fell on Gravenwatch, the location of the palace. The weight of the monarchy hovered over this land, influencing its politics, its culture, and perhaps even its magic.

Further down the map were locations like Glockmere, with its city docks, Millingtown, the industrial hub, and Cooperstead, a mining town. Each place, no doubt, was unique in its own way, contributing to the complexity and diversity of this nation.

Covehelm caught her eye; the name suggested agriculture and perhaps a simpler way of life, while Legward was labelled as the Central Rail Town, possibly the heart of transportation in this world. So there were trains?

Finally, her gaze rested on Glasssrass, a name accompanied by symbols representing icy terrain—a last outpost before entering the polar regions, perhaps?

The door creaked open and then shut with a soft thud. Nord's nostrils tingled with the distinct, almost lemony aroma she had come to associate with Adamastor. She felt a chill run up her spine as he entered the room, yet she couldn't help but find comfort in his scent.

"So, is this place a country or a continent?" Nord asked, keeping her gaze on the vintage map hanging on the wall.

Adamastor paused before replying, "Both, actually."

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what about other lands?"

"They're unnamed. Practically uninhabitable, so all life converges here, in Neddingstein," he said, taking a step closer to her.

"Unnamed, huh?" Nord swivelled around, locking eyes with him. "I'm beginning to see a pattern here."

Adamastor chuckled, but it was short-lived, his expression shifting to something Nord couldn't quite decipher. He seemed to look past her, avoiding direct eye contact.

"What's wrong?" Nord's voice softened, a note of concern slipping through.

"Nothing, just a... minor incident," Adamastor hesitated, his voice trailing off.

She crossed her arms. "You know I'm terrible with riddles. Spit it out."

Adamastor sighed, revealing his arms, which bore angry, red rashes. "I stepped outside to collect the laundry from the clothesline and got a bit... burned."

Nord felt her body tighten, the sudden surge of fear sending shivers down her spine. Her eyes widened, questioning whether her intuition had been wrong all along. Was he to be trusted? Adamastor picked up on the shift in her demeanour almost immediately.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he began, his voice tinged with regret. "I hesitated to even mention this, knowing it's only a temporary condition. But I won't be able to assist you during daylight hours... at least not in places exposed to sunlight."

Her hand instinctively rose to her neck, still tender from a past encounter. "It still hurts," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Adamastor looked visibly pained, his eyes clouding over with a heavy emotion. "I'm at a loss for words to justify my actions. All I can offer is my regret."

As she peered into his eyes, Nord noticed a subtle change. The light within them seemed to dim, becoming shadowed and darker, as if some internal struggle was pulling him apart. It dawned on her then: he was hungry, starving even, but not for food as she understood it.

And yet, he was holding back.

Adamastor clenched his fists, the tension almost palpable in the room. It was like an invisible chain was keeping him tethered, preventing him from crossing an unspoken line.

Nord took a deep breath, weighing the strange and precarious situation she found herself in. She had sensed his hunger but also his restraint. Perhaps, just perhaps, that restraint spoke louder than any of the fears rampaging through her mind.

Nord felt the weight of her choices hanging heavily in the room, like two roads diverging in a dark forest. She could either barricade herself behind firm boundaries and put as much distance as possible between them, or she could take a different kind of risk—one that might just turn him into something less dangerous if her hunch was correct.

But then again, how well could she know anyone, let alone a vampire, in just two days?

"How much?" she finally asked, breaking the silence.

Adamastor looked puzzled for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"How much blood do you need to not feel this... hunger?"

"A couple of drops would be more than sufficient," Adamastor answered cautiously, taking tentative steps toward her.

Nord looked deep into his eyes, searching for any sign of deception. What she found was a mix of hope and astonishment, as if he couldn't believe she was even considering this. She unbuttoned her sleeve, rolled it up, and then extended her arm toward him.

"Alright, just make it quick," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.