"It's been long..."
The voice was low, almost mournful, carried gently across the frost-laced air. Above them, the northern night stretched endlessly—moonless and quiet. Below, four elven guards sat huddled around a dwindling campfire, rubbing their gloved hands in futile attempts to chase away the bone-deep cold.
A white-haired elf broke the silence with a sigh, his breath misting. "I'm beginning to miss home."
A murmur of agreement rose among the others.
"Look on the bright side," said the largest of them, a broad-shouldered elf with a thick blonde mustache that defied the usual clean-shaven elven aesthetic. "Winter's almost here. Our shift will be done soon."
"Good for you," the red-haired elf grumbled, his words broken by shivers. "Raghyr and I are stuck here for the rest of the gods-damned year."
The mustached elf chuckled, rubbing his chin. "You know, something about you two still baffles me."
Zeldyr, the red-haired elf, rolled his eyes. "Let me guess where this is going."
"Seriously though," the big elf continued, unbothered, "how did two royal guards end up reassigned to a frozen hellhole like the Winter Guard?"
"Yeah," added the white-haired elf, his voice tinged with curiosity. "You've dodged the question long enough."
Raghyr, the quiet one with piercing jade eyes, shared a look with Zeldyr. After a moment of internal debate, Zeldyr gave a reluctant nod.
"Fine," Raghyr said, exhaling deeply. "You want the story? Here it is."
He spoke plainly, without embellishment. Zeldyr had mouthed off about Glandhyr—the chief of the royal guard—calling him a bloated peacock unfit for duty. Word reached the wrong ears, and the punishment came swift: reassignment to the remote northern outposts. No comforts. No glory. Just snow, bandits, and forgotten roads.
"Sheesh," the mustached elf muttered, stroking his facial hair again—a nervous habit, Raghyr suspected.
"And I thought Commander Hyacinth was strict," the white-haired elf burst out laughing.
The mustached elf soon joined in, laughing so hard tears rolled down his cheeks. Raghyr and Zeldyr remained stone-faced.
"You two better get on her good side," the bigger elf wiped his eyes. "Maybe she'll lighten your sentence."
Raghyr scowled. "Hard to do when the general we're supposed to 'please' is off battling gods-know-what in the wilderness."
"Watch your tone," Zeldyr warned, his voice sharp. "Her army up north is the only thing keeping those monsters from sweeping south and slaughtering our children in their sleep."
"You believe that nonsense?" Raghyr's face twisted in disgust. "Ice trolls are nothing more than bedtime stories meant to scare brats into obedience."
Slap!
Zeldyr reeled back, a red handprint blooming across his cheek. His eyes burned with fury. "What in the nine forests did you just do?!"
"I, Sunflower of the Seed Clan, will not tolerate any disrespect toward the Northern Brigade," the mustached elf declared, rising to his feet like an angry mountain.
Zeldyr narrowed his eyes, blood trickling from a cracked lip. "What kind of idiot names their son after a flower? Seems you and that whore of a general have something in common."
"Don't—" Raghyr whispered.
"Foolish parents," Zeldyr spat, red flecking the snow.
For a heartbeat, there was calm.
Then the world exploded.
A loud crack split the night air as fists flew. Blood sprayed as Zeldyr rose to his feet, stiletto flashing in his hand.
"Is that all you've got, bastard?!" he roared, nose broken and teeth bloodied.
"Coward," Sunflower hissed, stepping forward like a predator sizing up a wounded buck.
Raghyr jumped between them, arms wide. "Enough! This is madness!"
The fourth elf, who had stayed silent until now, scoffed. "Zeldyr must apologize for slandering a general."
"Over my dead body," Zeldyr snarled.
Sunflower's lips twisted into a wicked grin. "Gladly."
"Please," Raghyr said, desperation seeping into his voice. "We're brothers-in-arms! Our duty is to protect the northern towns from beasts and bandits—not to spill each other's blood!"
The silent elf frowned, clearly disappointed. "He... does have a point."
Neither combatant backed down. The tension grew, choking the air.
"Apologize," Sunflower demanded, voice like stone.
"Here's my apology!" Zeldyr lunged forward.
But Sunflower was faster.
With practiced ease, he sidestepped, caught Zeldyr's forearm mid-swing, and snapped it backward with a sickening pop.
The stiletto clattered to the ground.
Zeldyr screamed, collapsing beside the fire, cradling his ruined arm.
Raghyr stood frozen. Even the white-haired elf could only gape in horror.
"Snapped it... like a twig," he whispered.
Sunflower calmly returned to his log, rubbing his hands near the fire as if nothing had happened.
But something else had caught his attention.
His nose twitched.
"What is it?" Raghyr asked, noticing his comrade's sudden shift in posture.
Sunflower's eyes widened in raw fear.
"Raghyr, watch out—!"
A wet sound—like a blade cutting through soft fruit—cut him off.
Raghyr blinked... then his world turned upside down.
His head landed in the fire with a hiss, eyes still open in frozen shock.
A pale figure stepped from the darkness, wiping a bloodied arm with a white silk handkerchief. His eyes were monstrous, his grin worse.
"So soft..." he whispered.
Zeldyr shrieked in terror, dragging himself backward with one arm.
"Who are you?!" he screamed.
The figure gave a fang-filled smile. "They call me... Bat."
The name hung in the air like a death sentence.
The remaining two elves bolted into the forest, their cries swallowed by the trees.
Bat ignored them.
He stepped toward Zeldyr, who now trembled under the weight of an unseen force that held him fast.
"Don't look so glum," Bat whispered, crouching. "You're not being punished by any gods."
Zeldyr whimpered, a prayer dying on his lips.
Bat smiled wider. "This is... me."
In the dark forest, the two fleeing elves split paths, running as if death itself chased them—because it did. A predator had entered the woods that night. Not a beast. Not a bandit.
A vampire.
And he was hungry.