Torvyn's hand stilled. "Hmm. Strong spirit. But…" He glanced at the sky, then back at Kaelith. "The sun troubles him, doesn't it?"
Veyra blinked. "He fussed a bit on the way. Why?"
"His skin," Torvyn said, touching Kaelith's arm. "Too pale. And these eyes… they don't take the light well. A rare affliction—sun's touch, we call it."
Talren crossed his arms. "Dangerous?"
"Not yet," Torvyn replied. "But it'll worsen as he grows. The suns here are harsh—especially the red one. Burns deeper than most know."
Kaelith listened, mind racing. Sun sensitivity. Another piece of the vampire puzzle. He wasn't surprised—just annoyed. Already a weakness, and he couldn't even crawl yet.
"Can you help?" Veyra asked, her voice tightening.
Torvyn nodded. "A simple ward will do. Burn protection, blessed by Saelith's grace." He closed his eyes, muttering words Kaelith couldn't catch—sharp, flowing, like a river over stones.
The warmth returned, stronger. A faint glow wrapped Kaelith, sinking into his skin. The tingling faded, replaced by a cool shield, invisible but real.
"There," Torvyn said, opening his eyes. "It'll hold for now. Renew it every few moons—bring him to me."
Veyra exhaled, clutching Kaelith closer. "Thank you, Torvyn. We will."
Talren clapped the priest's shoulder. "Owe you one. Come by later—Veyra's got stew brewing."
Torvyn chuckled. "Tempting. I'll see."
The blessing continued—words of health, strength, favor from gods Kaelith didn't know. He barely listened, focused on the magic. It worked. This world had power, and he'd master it.
The suns climbed higher, but the burning didn't return. Torvyn's ward held, a quiet gift. Kaelith filed it away—magic could fix his flaws. Good to know.
Back home, Veyra set him in a cradle by the hearth. "Blessed and safe," she said, kissing his forehead. Her lips were soft, her scent stirring that shadow again.
Talren stoked the fire, grinning. "Red eyes and a priest's favor. He'll be trouble, this one."
"Trouble we'll handle," Veyra replied, her smile warm.
Kaelith watched them, his tiny body still, his mind alive. Trouble? Oh, he'd be more than that.
The fangs, the hunger, the sun—they were pieces of him now. A vampire in a world that didn't know the word. He'd grow, learn, take what he wanted.
Veyra hummed, rocking the cradle. Talren laughed, recounting the priest's visit. Talsara carried on outside, oblivious.
Kaelith closed his eyes, the ward's cool touch lingering. This was his start. Slow, small, but his.
Kaelith lay in his cradle, the ward's cool touch still lingering on his skin from the priest's recent visit. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the stone walls of the small home. Veyra's humming floated through the room, a gentle, unfamiliar melody that soothed him despite his restless thoughts.
His tiny body remained still, but his mind churned relentlessly. He was Kaelith now, no longer Kazu—the aimless, regret-filled man from Tokyo. Here, he was a baby in a strange world of magic and mystery, with fangs budding beneath his gums and a hunger he couldn't yet name or fully comprehend.
The priest, Torvyn, had left him with fragments of understanding—and a cascade of new questions. Sun sensitivity, those striking red eyes, a "strong spirit"—the old man had seen something in him, even if he couldn't pinpoint it. Kaelith flexed his small, chubby fingers, watching the firelight gleam across them. He needed to grow, to unravel this world's secrets and rules. Magic was real here; Torvyn's ward, shielding him from the suns' harsh rays, was proof of that. And if magic could protect him, what else might it offer?
He'd master it. He'd master everything. This was his second chance, a life to seize and shape, not squander as he had before.
Veyra's humming ceased. She leaned over the cradle, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her face. "Sleepy yet, little one?" she asked, her voice soft.
He blinked up at her, wishing he could answer. Not yet. Too much to think about. His infant tongue couldn't form the words, trapped behind his silence.
She smiled warmly, brushing a finger across his cheek. "You're a quiet one. Not like the other babes—always fussing and crying."
Because I'm not like them, he thought. I'm thirty-four inside this tiny body.
Her touch stirred something—a faint, shadowy urge deep within him, a hunger that flickered and faded. He turned his head slightly, breaking the contact. Not now. Not yet.
Veyra didn't seem to notice, tucking the blanket snugly around him. "Rest, Kaelith. Tomorrow's a new day."
She stepped away, joining Talren by the hearth. He was whittling, the knife moving with practiced precision in his calloused hands—perhaps crafting a toy or a tool, Kaelith couldn't tell. The blade caught the firelight, glinting briefly.
"Think he'll take to the fields?" Talren asked, his voice low, almost a murmur.
Veyra laughed softly. "Too early to tell. But those eyes… he's meant for more than wheat and sheep."
Talren grunted, a sound of agreement or amusement. "Long as he's happy. That's all I want."
Kaelith listened, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. Happy? The word felt foreign. In Tokyo, happiness had been a ghost, always out of reach, smothered by failure and isolation. Here, with Veyra's gentle care and Talren's quiet strength, maybe it was possible. But that shadow inside him whispered otherwise—power, blood, desire. Happiness might not satisfy it.
He closed his eyes, letting their voices fade into a comforting hum. Sleep crept in, slow and heavy, pulling him under.