Red.

That was all Dreven dreamed about anymore—a crimson sea, infinite and suffocating, consuming his thoughts each night. It wasn’t just the blood of his victims—though that was part of it—it was the reflection of his guilt, his rage, and his hunger. Ten years as a Sanguinari hadn’t dulled the vividness of these dreams. If anything, they’d grown sharper, cutting deeper into his psyche with every passing year.

As an elf, he had been a man of twenty-seven years. Small elven village at the border of his small elven colony. They never realized that they were found by his mistress by the time they had begun to build proper defenses they were attacked, slaughtered and made into Sanguinari. Now, he was a hunter, a predator shackled to his instincts. The madness that plagued new Sanguinari had ebbed away five years ago, but its effects lingered. Rational thought could not erase the memories of unrelenting bloodlust.

You don’t come back from that, he thought bitterly. Not completely.

The world of Ultima was breathtaking—he’d concede that much. Towering mountains, endless forests, rolling plains kissed by golden sunlight. But Dreven couldn’t see it as others did. To him, every village was a potential feeding ground, every companion a threat or a betrayal waiting to happen. The beauty of the world only deepened his isolation.

Lisan walked beside him, her demeanor calm yet tense. She was a seasoned adventurer, wearing her experience like a cloak. Dreven, by contrast, looked every bit the outsider he was. His grayish skin—once alabaster—betrayed his unnatural condition. His yellow eyes glimmered faintly in the dimming light, a constant reminder of what he had become.

They approached the border checkpoint between Norran and Perata. Two guards stood by a small wooden post, laughing over a game of cards. A low-hanging lantern cast their faces in flickering shadows.

“May I see your identification?” one of the guards said as they approached, his voice curt but not unkind.

Lisan stepped forward with a disarming smile, extending her guild token. “My friend here lost his during a recent expedition. We’re heading home to get it replaced.”

The guard studied the token, his eyes darting to Dreven. His frown deepened. “Where’s this fellow from? Never seen an elf with gray skin before.”

Lisan chuckled, her tone light. “Oh, he’s from the far north, near the Nranthis Kingdom. Poor thing ran afoul of a goblin shaman. Hexed him good—his skin won’t go back to normal for a while.”

The guard squinted, unconvinced. “Nranthis, huh? Been a while since anyone’s come from there. Place has been all but abandoned since the wars.”

His companion, who had been silent until now, stepped closer, his hand resting casually—but deliberately—on the pommel of his sword. “You know,” he said, his tone quieter but sharper, “we’ve been hearing strange stories about travelers without papers. Some of them carry... marks.” His gaze flickered briefly to Dreven’s yellow eyes.

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Dreven tensed, his fingers brushing the hilt of his sword. He could smell the rising suspicion in the air, the faint spike of adrenaline in the guards. The second guard tilted his head, his voice dropping lower still. “Might be worth sending for the Inquisition. They’ve got ways of checking... identities.”

The scent of fear hit Dreven like a spark to dry tinder.

It happened in an instant.

Dreven’s blade slashed out, catching the first guard across the neck. Blood sprayed across the dirt, the man stumbling back as his lifeblood poured out.

“Dreven, no!” Lisan shouted, but the words barely registered.

The second guard fumbled with his weapon, his hands trembling as he tried to draw it. Dreven was on him in a flash. He grabbed the man by the head, sinking his fangs into the warm flesh of his neck. The blood surged into his mouth, rich and intoxicating. The guard’s struggles grew weaker, his knees buckling until he crumpled to the ground.

Dreven stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The first guard was still alive, gurgling as he clutched his throat. Dreven finished him quickly, pulling his blade free from the leather straps that had snagged it.

“What in the hells are you doing?” Lisan’s voice was a mix of anger and panic. She stood frozen, her face pale beneath the splatter of blood.

“They were about to call the Inquisition,” Dreven said flatly, rummaging through the guards’ belongings.

“They weren’t!” Lisan snapped. “Gods, Dreven, they were suspicious, not hostile! Now you’ve painted a target on us both!”

Dreven paused, meeting her gaze with his unflinching yellow eyes. “I could hear their hearts pounding. Smell the adrenaline in their sweat. They didn’t believe your lie. They would’ve acted.”

Lisan’s hands clenched into fists. “You can’t just—” She stopped herself, shaking her head in frustration. “We’ll never be able to go back to Norran after this. You’ve left a trail for anyone to follow!”

“The world is enormous,” Dreven replied, his voice devoid of emotion. “You’ll manage.”

They dragged the bodies into the tall grass, doing their best to hide the carnage. It wasn’t a perfect job, but it would buy them a little time. As they set off again, Lisan broke the tense silence.

“Perata is a larger kingdom. It surrounds Port Free, but we’ll have to cross it first. That means weeks of travel.”

Dreven nodded, his attention half-focused on the changing landscape. The rolling hills gave way to rocky outcrops, the terrain becoming rougher with each passing hour.

“Perata is mostly a union of beastkin clans,” Lisan continued. “They’re not fond of elves. Especially ones like you. Keep that in mind.”

Dreven snorted softly. “If elves here are anything like those of my homeworld, I’m not surprised.”

Lisan raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Elves,” Dreven said dryly, “tend to have a... superiority complex.”

Lisan smirked despite herself. “Can’t argue with that. But don’t let your guard down. Beastkin can be just as prideful—and twice as stubborn.”

Dreven fell silent, his mind returning to the blood-soaked memory of the checkpoint. He didn’t regret his actions—he rarely did anymore. But Lisan’s anger lingered in his thoughts, a nagging reminder that his instincts, no matter how sharp, came at a cost.

She’s not wrong, he admitted to himself. I need to be more cautious and not burn every bridge.

The road stretched out before them, a jagged line cutting through the wild, untamed land of Perata. Freedom lay ahead, but so did danger—and for Dreven, danger was as natural as breathing.