Months slipped by in a haze of feedings, naps, and quiet observation. Kaelith grew, his body strengthening, his senses sharpening with each passing day.
By six months, he could sit up, clutching the wooden toys Talren carved—smooth, painted animals that fit perfectly in his small hands. He gnawed on them, feeling his fangs press against the wood. They were longer now, sharp enough to leave faint marks in the grain.
Veyra noticed one day, frowning as she held up a dented wooden horse. "He's got strong teeth already. Look at this."
Talren leaned over her shoulder, peering at the grooves. "Early teether, huh? My sister's boy didn't get his till nine months."
"These aren't normal," Veyra said, tracing the marks with her fingertip. "Too sharp. Like little needles."
Kaelith froze, his heart thudding in his tiny chest. Would they suspect? Could they guess what he was?
But Talren just chuckled, unbothered. "He's unique. Always has been."
Veyra sighed, setting the toy aside. "Maybe. Still, I'll ask Torvyn next time he's here."
Kaelith relaxed, the tension easing. They didn't know. How could they? Vampires were a tale from his old world, not this one. He might be the only one here—or so he hoped.
The hunger grew alongside him. Milk no longer sated him fully. When Veyra fed him, he'd linger, his gums aching for something deeper, richer.
One night, as she cradled him close, he couldn't resist. His fangs grazed her skin, a tiny prick, unintentional yet inevitable. A single drop of blood welled up, bright and red against her pale flesh.
He licked it before he could stop himself. The taste burst across his tongue—sweet, metallic, alive. A jolt surged through him, heat flooding his veins, awakening every nerve.
Veyra gasped, pulling back. "Kaelith! Did you bite me?"
He stared up at her, wide-eyed, torn between guilt and a desperate want.
She touched the spot, frowning at the faint smear of blood on her finger. "That hurt, little one. No biting."
He couldn't apologize, couldn't explain. He just gazed at her, hoping she'd see the plea in his eyes.
She sighed, wiping her hand on her apron. "You're too young for this. Maybe it's time to wean you."
Panic flared in his chest. No—he needed her. The milk, the closeness, the safety. And that tiny taste of blood—he wasn't ready to lose it.
But Veyra was resolute. Over the next weeks, she introduced soft foods—mashed grains, boiled vegetables. His body accepted them, but the shadow within remained unsatisfied, restless.
At nine months, he crawled. The house became his domain, every corner a new frontier. He'd scoot under the table, watching Talren's boots as he worked, or nestle by the hearth, entranced by the flames' dance.
His strength surprised even him. He could lift objects too heavy for a baby—wooden blocks, small pots. Once, he tipped over a chair, giggling as it crashed to the floor.
Talren found it later, righting the chair with a grin. "Strong little bugger. You'll be wrestling me soon."
Kaelith laughed, the sound high and pure. Inside, he marveled. Was this his vampire nature surfacing? Or simply this world's strange vitality? He'd need to test it, cautiously, to see how far it could take him.
The ward held steady. His skin remained cool under the twin suns, no burning, no pain. Torvyn visited every few months, renewing the spell with a murmured chant and a warm hand pressed to Kaelith's forehead. Each time, the priest studied him—those red eyes, that pale skin—his gaze lingering.
"He's growing well," Torvyn would say, but a question hung in his tone, unspoken.
Kaelith met his stare, unflinching. You sense something's different, he thought. But you can't name it.
At a year, he took his first steps, wobbling across the rug into Veyra's waiting arms. She scooped him up, laughing brightly. "My big boy! Walking already!"
Talren clapped, pride gleaming in his eyes. "That's my son. Quick learner."
Kaelith basked in their joy, but his mind raced ahead. Walking meant freedom—exploration beyond the cradle, beyond the house. The village, the fields, the world outside beckoned.
And with freedom came the chance to feed the hunger. It was a constant now, a low hum beneath his skin. Food wasn't enough. He needed blood—more than the fleeting drops he'd stolen. But how? He was a toddler, watched constantly, tethered to his parents' care.
Patience, he told himself. This was a long game, and he had time.
One afternoon, while Veyra napped, he toddled to the door. It stood ajar, a sliver of sunlight spilling across the floor. He pushed it open, peering out.
The village square hummed with life—people trading goods, chatting, children darting about. He stepped outside, the ward shielding him from the suns' bite.
A girl ran past, older—perhaps five or six—her hair a wild tangle, her dress patched and worn. She stopped, eyeing him curiously. "Hey, baby. You lost?"
He shook his head, unable to speak yet. His voice remained a garble of sounds, not yet words.
She giggled. "You're funny. Wanna play?"
He nodded, intrigued. She grabbed his hand, pulling him toward a cluster of children kicking a leather ball, their shouts and laughter filling the air.
Kaelith watched, captivated. Their energy, their vitality—it called to him. He could hear their heartbeats, fast and strong, a rhythm that stirred the shadow within.
A taller boy kicked the ball hard. It sailed toward Kaelith, who reached up instinctively. His hand shot out, catching it with a loud smack.
The kids stared, impressed. "Wow! Good catch, little guy!" the boy called.
Kaelith grinned, tossing it back. His strength had shown, but they didn't suspect—it was just a talented toddler to them.
The girl—Lirien, he'd learn her name later—patted his head. "You're gonna be fun. Stick with me, okay?"
He nodded again, a warmth blooming in his chest. Friends. Connection. Maybe this world wouldn't be as lonely as his last.
But as he played, the hunger sharpened, clawing at him. Their laughter, their flushed cheeks, the pulse of their veins—it was a feast he couldn't touch.
Not yet.
He'd wait. Grow stronger, smarter. Learn this world's magic, its hidden truths. And when the time was right, he'd take what he needed.
For now, he was Kaelith, the red-eyed child of Talsara. Blessed by a priest, cherished by his parents, watched by the village.
But beneath it all, he was more. A vampire. A predator. A soul reborn from another world, hungry for everything this life could offer.