The morning light was dim, a pale gray that filtered through the curtains as Desmond stood in front of the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, but it wasn't the same. He wasn't the same.
Since his first encounter with the vampire, since everything had begun to shift, he could feel the changes deep inside him. Not just the physical transformation, but something darker, something more profound. He was becoming... different.
The thought unsettled him. The same thought had haunted him for days. The shift wasn't gradual; it was as if the world had moved beneath him, and he was trying to keep his footing while everything around him fell apart.
He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus. The vision from the night before was still fresh in his mind—no, it wasn't a dream. It was a warning.
Desmond's hand clenched into a fist as he turned away from the mirror. He couldn't let himself lose control. Not now.
Elias was already in the kitchen, his back to the door, as Desmond walked in. There was a tray of food laid out on the table, but Desmond's stomach churned at the sight of it. He wasn't hungry.
"You've been quiet," Elias said without turning around. "You know you can talk to me, right?"
Desmond didn't answer at first. He poured himself a glass of water and sat down, his mind racing. It wasn't just the vampire attack anymore. There was something else lurking in the shadows. Something that felt bigger than just him.
"I've been thinking," Desmond started slowly, his voice barely above a whisper. "About what's coming. I don't think we're ready."
Elias turned then, raising an eyebrow. "Ready for what?"
Desmond hesitated. He couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was out there, it knew more about him than he realized. The dream—the warning—had only intensified that sense of urgency. It wasn't just the vampires or the wolves. Something else, something older, was stirring.
"I think there's something worse than what we've been dealing with," Desmond continued. "Something that's been watching me. I can feel it."
Elias studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without missing a beat, he nodded. "You're right. We're not ready. But we will be. We need more time, more training. And we need to keep our heads low. If we don't, we might not survive what's coming."
Desmond's eyes darkened. "And what is coming, exactly?"
Elias didn't answer immediately. He grabbed a cloth and wiped the table in silence, as if thinking over the words carefully.
"Something powerful," Elias finally said. "Something that doesn't care who you are or where you came from. But it knows what you are. And that makes you a target."
Desmond's pulse quickened. He had an inkling of what Elias was hinting at, but he wasn't ready to face it. Not yet.
Later that evening, Desmond found himself in a secluded spot in the woods, staring into the dense thicket. It was quiet—too quiet—and the stillness weighed on him. The cool night air brushed against his skin, carrying with it a sense of impending doom.
He had started training again, pushing himself further. Elias was relentless, but so was Desmond. He couldn't afford to be weak, not with the looming threat hanging over him.
Tonight felt different, though. It wasn't just his usual training; it was as if the very forest around him was holding its breath. Every crack of a branch or rustle in the leaves felt amplified. Desmond's senses were sharpened, but it was almost too much.
The first sign came when he heard it—the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind him. His instincts kicked in, and he spun around, his shield already raised in defense.
The figure that emerged from the shadows was unfamiliar, yet there was something about him that felt... old. The man's eyes glinted in the dim moonlight, a sharp, predatory gleam that sent a shiver down Desmond's spine.
"You're not alone, are you?" the man asked, his voice low and deliberate.
Desmond tensed, his eyes narrowing. "Who are you?"
The man chuckled, the sound echoing strangely in the silent woods. "You're more perceptive than I thought." His smile was unsettling, and the way his gaze roamed over Desmond felt invasive. "I'm someone who's been watching you. And I think it's time we had a little chat."
Desmond didn't move. His mind was racing, but his training kicked in, keeping his body still. He wasn't about to let his guard down.
"What do you want?" Desmond asked, his voice steady, despite the wariness creeping into his chest.
The man's eyes glinted darker. "I'm not the one you should be worried about, boy. But I'm the one who can help you. If you want it."
The man stepped closer, and Desmond's heart began to race. He wasn't sure if he should trust him, but he couldn't deny the growing sense of urgency in his chest. What if this was the key to understanding everything—the dreams, the sense of something lurking just beyond his reach?
"Who's coming for me?" Desmond asked, his voice laced with the weight of his question.
The man's lips curled into a wicked smile. "You'll find out soon enough. But when you do, it'll be too late."
And with that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving Desmond standing alone, the questions still hanging heavy in the air.