Aria had been fast asleep.
A faint smile lingered at the edge of her lips as she rolled gently, her pillow clutched tightly in her arms.
Her lashes fluttered ever so slightly. Her hair, fanned out on either side of her head, tangled and scattered across the pillow like threads of fire.
Beside her, on another bed across the small room, lay her elder brother Eiran, who might as well have been dead to the world. He was snoring softly, a low rhythmic hum that—surprisingly—was not loud enough to pull Aria from her gleeful dream.
She shifted slightly, rolling to adjust herself more comfortably. But then, in an instant, her entire body stiffened.
A deafening bang echoed through the house, rattling the wooden frame with such force it felt as though the walls themselves might collapse. The sound reverberated through the floors and up the beams, shattering the quiet of the night.
Aria was the first to jerk awake. Her eyes flew open in shock even as Eiran remained slumped in sleep. She pushed herself upright, chest heaving with sudden fear, and gasped as the door to their room slammed open and her father stalked in with heavy, purposeful strides.
Even in her half-awake daze, Aria could see the glint of leather armor strapped tightly over his grey tunic. The sight alone struck something deep and primal inside her—a sense of dread crawling up from her core as her breath caught in her throat.
"EIRAN!" her father bellowed out to his sleeping son, his voice harsh and urgent, laced with a thin thread of panic that made Aria's stomach clench.
"Father… Father, what's wrong?" she asked, her voice trembling. Sleep was already gone from her face as she wiped her eyes with trembling fingers and scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over the edge of the bed. Eiran was stirring now too, jolted by the sheer force of their father's voice.
His eyes were still slightly red, marked by soft creases of sleep etched into his face. It was a sight they might have laughed at on any other day, but not now—not with the heavy tension in the room and the hard, grim look on their father's face.
"Father, is something—" Aria started to speak again, her hands tugging at the sash of her woolen gown. She retied the loose band around her waist, pulling it tighter to make sure the fabric wouldn't come undone.
But her words trailed off mid-sentence as she turned toward the far side of the room—the space where her younger sister, Liora, should have been sleeping. Her gaze froze. The bed was empty, untouched, not even a wrinkle in the blanket to suggest she'd ever been there.
A soft gasp escaped her lips.
"Liora isn't here!" Aria cried, panic flaring in her voice as her wide eyes locked onto the empty mattress.
"Father! What's happening?" Eiran demanded as well, his voice growing sharper, more alert. He had already thrown on his own leather armor, strapping it roughly over his brown tunic and the grey pants tucked into his boots. His red hair—identical to Aria's and their father's—fell over his brow as he turned sharply toward their father.
Tharen didn't stop moving. He marched over to the wooden wardrobe and threw open its doors with a violent yank, rummaging through the contents like a man possessed. Shirts and cloaks were tossed carelessly to the floor, boots and belts flung aside without a second glance. His focus was absolute.
"Your mother took her! She should be safe!" Tharen barked, his voice loud, edged with frustration and desperation. He stepped over the growing mess without a care, continuing to rip through the wardrobe with both hands.
"Gone! Where?" Aria asked breathlessly.
"Gone! Why?" Eiran echoed at the same moment, his brows furrowed in confusion.
But then, both of them froze.
Their father, with a snarl of frustration, slammed his bleeding fist straight through the back panel of the wardrobe. The wood cracked and splintered instantly, sharp edges embedding into his skin as blood trickled down his wrist. He didn't even flinch.
Behind the broken panel was a hidden compartment—a hollowed space lined with rows of silver weapons, arrows tipped with obsidian and ash, small corked vials of glowing potions, and tightly rolled scrolls. It was unlike anything they had ever seen, though their father had often spoken of such things in passing.
Aria opened her mouth again to ask the question now burning at the tip of her tongue—but her father beat her to it.
"I have been extremely careful…" he mumbled, his voice low and strained. His eyes were heavy-lidded, shadowed in a way that made it hard to read his expression.
"…extremely!" he repeated, more sharply this time, snatching two rings from the stash and thrusting them into Eiran and Aria's hands. He immediately turned back to continue unpacking the hidden cache, pulling out item after item and placing them quickly into a worn leather bag.
"We're leaving! We have to! They're coming!" he said in a frenzy, his voice rising. His hands worked nonstop, pulling out weapons and vials and scrolls, his eyes flicking desperately over the collection. It was far too much to carry.
With just one glance, it was clear—he couldn't possibly take half of it. Only the most vital items could be packed. The rest would be left behind.
"We are?" Aria asked, her voice quiet, uncertain.
"Who is coming?" Eiran pressed again, but Tharen didn't pause. His hands never stopped. He glanced toward Eiran, making it clear that what he was about to say was important.
"I have taught you everything I know! The rest… the rest is in the books in that bag!" he said, tossing a heavy satchel toward Eiran, who caught it with both hands.
Aria stood frozen, staring at her father. She had never seen him like this before—sweat soaking through his tunic, dripping from his brow, and trailing down the sides of his neck. He was trying to appear calm, but she could see it—the tremble in his hands, the way his jaw clenched.
It terrified her.
"Father, you mentioned that our bloodline belonged to hunters, but we've never done anything wrong!" she said, her voice cracking. Her thoughts jumped to Liora—wherever she was—and to their mother, Selira, who was nowhere to be seen.
"Why would anyone—"
But she never got to finish.
The unmistakable sound of hooves pounded the ground outside. Horses—dozens of them—racing closer, neighing loudly as their riders approached. The noise grew louder and louder, shaking the very air.
Aria turned to her father, heart racing, just in time to see his face drain of color.
"They—they are here!" he gasped, his voice breaking.
"The Vampires are here!"