April 12, 1985
Rain lashed the old farmhouse on the edge of Lawrence, Kansas, a storm so fierce it rattled the salt.
The air inside the Voss family's creaky kitchen was thick with heat and tension, the woodstove roared while Mara Voss gripped the edges of a worn mattress, her breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts.
Her dark hair stuck to her forehead, and her knuckles turned white around the iron bedframe
A single lantern flickered on the table, casting rough shadows on peeling walls.
Outside, thunder rolled as if warning the world of something, shaking the salt along the windowsills.
Daniel Voss stood by the stove, stirring a pot of boiling water with a wooden spoon. His scarred hands trembled, even though his broad shoulders looked strong.
His old hunting knife, worn from years of fighting vampires, lay nearby, catching a faint light.
He looked at Mara and said in a gruff voice. "Hold on, Mara. You're tougher than this damn weather," he said, though his hazel eyes betrayed a flicker of worry.
Mara shot him a glare, her voice a low growl between gasps. "Shut it, Daniel. You try pushing this kid out. I'll trade with you right now." She winced, clutching the bedframe harder as another contraction hit.
"Goddamn it, where's that towel?"
Daniel dropped the spoon, grabbed a faded rag from the counter and hurried to her side.
"Right here, right here. Don't bite my head off." He knelt beside her, wiping her brow with a gentleness that didn't match his rough hands. "You're doing fine. Almost there."
"Fine?" Mara huffed, half-laughing, half-snarling through the pain. "Tell that to this little bastard kicking me apart."
Her words cut off with a sharp cry as she pushed forward with determination.
Daniel tightened his grip on her hand, his voice softening despite the edge. "Come on, Mara. You've faced down werewolves meaner than this. You got this."
The storm seemed to pause as Mara gave one final strong push.
At 11:47 p.m., a piercing cry resounded in the room—a sound louder than thunder himself.
Daniel quickly grabbed his knife and cut the cord with a steady slice, his hands now shaking for a new reason.
Mara slumped back, her chest heaving, as Daniel wrapped the newborn in the towel, careful despite his clumsy movements.
"Here he is," Daniel said in his thick voice, holding the squirming baby up to the lantern light.
"Elias. Hell of a name for a hell of a night." Mara reached out with trembling arms and pulled the baby close.
Her sharp eyes softened as she looked at his tiny face with dark hair, a scrunched nose, and deep wide eyes that stared at her with an eerie calm.
"Look at you," she whispered, brushing a finger along his cheek. "Tough little thing, aren't you?"
Daniel leaned in, peering over her shoulder, a rare grin on weathered face. "Got lungs on him, that's for sure. Sounds like he's already mad at the world."
He offered his finger, and Elias's tiny fist closed around it, surprisingly strong for a newborn baby.
"Sizing me up already, huh, kid?" Mara chuckled weakly and she held him tighter. "He's a Voss, alright. Born ready to fight."
Though her eyes lingered on his too-knowing gaze, and a flicker of unease brushed her tired mind.
She shook it off, exhaustion winning out, and started humming—a rough, hunter's lullaby about silver and blood, her voice cracking but steady.
Hush, my darling, the night won't bite,
Iron and fire hold back the fright.
Silver and blood, through shadows we roam,
Dream in my arms, and you're never alone.
Daniel stood up, wiped his hands on his jeans and glanced out the window.
The storm was easing, rain was slowing to a drizzle, though a stray gust had shifted the salt on the windowsill.
"Weather's calming down," he muttered, stepping over to redraw it with a pinch from the bag on the table. "No sense in taking chances."
"Leave it," Mara said, her tone soft but firm, her eyes still on Elias. "He's here now. That's what matters."
Daniel hesitated, then nodded, dropping back beside her. "Yeah. He's here."
He rested a hand on her shoulder, the weight of it grounding them both as Elias's cries faded to quiet whimpers, his small chest rising and falling with Mara's heartbeat.
They did not know that the soul inside their son was not new.
Elias had once been a 28-year-old man from Earth, lost in a car crash.
His memories of headlights and twisted metal were locked away deep in his infant mind.
For now, he was just their baby. A baby born in a storm and held in a hunter's arms.
But that secret spark, the power to take strength from those he killed, lay hidden inside him, waiting.