⌊ Nathaniel ⌉
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I never felt such overwhelming, excruciating pain before.
It was total, brutal rewriting of everything I was.
My body was fire. Each cell, each drop of blood, each nerve fiber writhed with a torment so complete it transcended thought. If hell had a forge, this was its flame.
I wanted to scream, but my throat no longer belonged to me. My lungs were molten iron. My heart, once sluggish and fragile, now thundered in my chest like a war drum—fast, punishing, alive only to sustain the agony.
I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't die. And yet, my mind was horrifyingly intact.
Time lost meaning. Seconds stretched like eternities. Every flicker of pain felt like it had lasted forever. Every moment I tried to separate myself from the body being torn apart only brought me back into it. Anchored me to it.
I wasn't allowed to pass out. I wasn't allowed to forget.
The fire dug deeper, into marrow and memory. It dragged up my regrets, my past life, the first time I ever saw Rosalie smile, the last time I held a paintbrush. Every tender memory was scorched, stripped raw, made to hurt more.
Somewhere in that spiraling void, I felt the change, not just in body, but in soul. Something ancient coiled around my essence, whispering that this pain had purpose. That this was what it meant to become.
I felt my blood slow and then stop. I felt my human heart die and something colder ignite in its place. I felt hunger. Oh God, this hunger.
It wasn't just thirst. It was need, elemental and endless, howling through my veins like a second heartbeat. It scorched hotter than the fire ever had. It felt like a mouth had opened inside me, a chasm that would never be filled.
But just when it seemed unbearable, the fire began to recede. It was not extinguished, but it was more like it was pulled inward. Contained.
I felt the pain begin to lift. not all at once, but in ripples. First from my toes, then up my legs, through my torso, until my limbs no longer screamed, but coiled like a bowstring drawn taut. Every muscle ready. Every nerve newly wired.
And then was silence. My mind was suddenly clear. As if someone had lifted a veil from the world, and all I'd ever known before had been muffled, dulled, and incomplete.
I could hear everything. The distant wings of a moth brushing the window. The trembling breath of someone holding back tears just beyond the door. The faintest whisper of trees outside.
I could smell life, the wild scent of pine and earth, the linen soap on folded towels, and…
Warm living blood. It was close.
My eyes opened. And for the first time in either of my lives, I Nathaniel Hale, saw the world with perfect clarity.
The world wasn't dim and shadowed like I remembered. It was alive.
The fire in the hearth pulsed with amber light, each flame a distinct motion, flickering in slow, hypnotic waves. I could see the fractal shimmer in the ash. The lines of heat rising from the coals were visible—visible—like transparent ribbons curling into the air.
The room was vast and velvet-lined, carved in dark woods and whispering silks. But what stunned me wasn't the architecture—it was the detail. The grain of the oak. The weave of the tapestries. Dust motes hung like constellations in the golden glow. My gaze adjusted too fast, too sharply. I blinked once and caught the wingbeat of a moth near the chandelier.
I breathed—or mimicked it—and the world flooded in.
Leather. Old parchment. Candle smoke. Polish. Distant snow. And—
Blood.
Not from me. Not mine.
Someone living was nearby. The scent was sharp and full and dizzying. It painted the edges of my hunger like flame licking oil.
I tensed.
My jaw clenched. My throat felt dry and raw despite the clarity I now had. Like it had never known satisfaction. The ache in my chest returned, but it wasn't pain now. It was longing. The need to consume. To drink. The hunger felt like a second set of teeth behind my ribs.
I turned my head slowly.
And there she was.
Leaning beside me in a carved chair of midnight wood, her silhouette elegant and still, like a queen from a painting half-lost to time.
Evangeline.
She met my gaze without hesitation, her expression unreadable—but something behind her eyes softened. As if she had been waiting a long time for me to look at her that way.
"Hello, Nathaniel," she said softly.
Her voice—it wasn't just sound. It was resonance. It pulled something in me taut, like a chord being struck.
I sat up without meaning to. The movement was too fluid, too precise. My limbs no longer felt familiar, yet I controlled them completely.
She didn't flinch.
Even though I could smell her blood beneath her skin. Even though the hunger curled and coiled behind my eyes like a storm held barely at bay. Even though I knew—knew—that I could end the distance between us in the blink of an eye.
Still, she didn't flinch.
I forced myself to speak. My voice was low, smooth, cold from lack of breath—but it carried a melodic tone.
"…what has become of me?"
Her lips curved, not into a smile, but into something far more honest. Something like relief.
"You are risen," she said. "You are more than you were."
"Am I a monster?"
"No."
I stared at her. At the red in her eyes. At the grace that should've felt terrifying, but didn't.
"And you did this to me?"
"I saved you," she replied, calm and unflinching. "But yes."
I didn't know what to feel. Everything in me was new. My fear was gone. My heart, dead. But the weight of her… the tether she had become in my pain… it remained. Familiar. Steady. Devastating.
"Rosalie," I rasped.
Evangeline's expression turned grave. "She lives. The Cullens found her. She will rise, too. But not like you or I. She will become something... else."
My shoulders relaxed.
Not like me? I didn't know what that meant, but I was too raw to ask.
I stood and the world moved. I could feel the shift of air around my body. The vibrations of my feet touching the polished floorboards. My reflection in the grand mirror across the room showed a stranger—lean mustles, unearthly pale, eyes dark and bottomless.
But it was still me. Just… undone and remade.
"I'm not human anymore," I said, not as a question.
"No," Evangeline said gently, rising beside me. "You're something else now. Something born of death… and blood. The humans these days call us vampires."
Her hand brushed mine. Warm to warm. Surprised, I reflexively reached out and took her hand in mine. I marveled how smooth and warm they now felt in mine. Before when I was still a human, they always were so deathly ice cold.
"Amazing," I murmured to myself in wonder.
A husky chuckle brought me out of my stupor. I looked up to find Evangeline smiling gently at me. "You have become quite handsy since the last we shared each other's company. How daring, Mon trésor~."
I dropped her hand in realization. "Forgive me, I was just so amazed that your hands are now warm. While before—."
Evangeline chuckled again while raising her hand
"Amazing," I murmured, more to myself than to her.
A low, husky chuckle rumbled from her throat. "You have become quite handsy since the last we shared each other's company. How daring, mon trésor~."
My eyes widened slightly as the meaning caught up with me. I dropped her hand as if it had burned me. "Forgive me. I didn't mean— It's just— I was surprised that your hands are warm now. Before they were… cold."
Evangeline tilted her head, amused, and raised a gloved hand in a gesture that silenced me gently but effectively. "It's fine, my dear," she said, her voice a melodic thread wrapped in velvet. "This is all new to you. I understand."
There was something calming about her tone—like music slowed to match my new heartbeat… or lack thereof.
"I thought vampires were supposed to be cold," I said, recovering enough to ask without stammering. "Inhuman. Hollow. But I don't feel… dead."
Her expression softened further. "That's because you're not."
She took a step toward the fire, her silhouette framed by its glow. "Not anymore, at least. We are not corpses animated by magic, Nathaniel. We are altered. Evolved. Blood sustains us, yes, but so does intention. Will. Memory. Emotion." She turned her eyes to me, those deep crimson orbs gleaming. "We are death's contradiction."
I let the words settle in me. Like paint seeping into canvas.
"I still feel like me," I said quietly. "But more. Everything is more. The world is too loud, too sharp. Even your voice… it sounds like music."
A smile ghosted across her lips. "You hear me properly now."
I looked down at my hands. Turned them over. Flexed each finger.
"How long until this hunger goes away?"
She walked back toward me, unhurried. "It doesn't. You simply… learn to carry it. Like a musician learns to tune their instrument. There will be moments where it overwhelms you—when the scent of blood will feel like a storm inside your skull. But over time, you'll control it."
I nodded slowly. "And what about my… other senses?"
"They'll sharpen," she said. "Your instincts will guide you, especially in the first year. Your body is stronger now. Your reflexes faster. Your perception… near limitless. But the hardest part will not be what you see or hear."
I tilted my head. "Then what?"
"The hardest part," Evangeline said, stepping close again, "you'll feel everything, Nathaniel," she whispered. "Grief. Rage. Love. Desire. All of it will come crashing in with a clarity that breaks lesser men."
Her hand lingered on my chest a moment longer before she stepped back, her eyes locking with mine. Something passed between us—wordless and unnameable—but it hummed in my skin like static.
Then, with a graceful turn, she offered her hand again.
"Come," she said softly, "There's someone you should speak with."
I took her hand without hesitation. Her fingers were warm again, grounding. My body moved with strange ease, every step calculated instinctively to perfect balance, as if gravity had finally made peace with me.
She led me through the estate's darkened corridors—arched ceilings, shadowed tapestries, gilded sconces flickering with old flame. Every surface whispered with history. I could feel time in the walls. And scent it too—wax, old wood, aged paper, dried roses, and beneath it all, a faint metallic thread of blood soaked into the bones of the place.
We stopped at a tall door of carved mahogany, slightly ajar. Beyond it, the scent of ancient books and ink curled around me like incense.
Evangeline knocked once for formality.
"Av," she said gently, "He's ready."
Inside, Cain sat in a deep emerald chair beside a low-burning hearth. His coat was draped over the arm, a book open across one knee. He looked up at us with eyes like frozen starlight, timeless and still—yet not without warmth.
He closed the book with careful reverence, setting it on a nearby stack.
"Ah," he said, standing slowly. "The fledgling is awake."
I stepped forward, unsure whether to bow, speak, or simply stand there and absorb the moment.
Cain's gaze swept over me like a sculptor examining unfinished marble. "You wear the change well," he said at last. "Your soul took to it with startling grace."
"I… feel different," I admitted. "But still me. Just… sharpened."
He nodded. "As it should be."
Evangeline took her leave without a word, gliding into the corridor with the soundless poise of a ghost. Cain gestured to the seat across from him.
"Sit," he said. "There is much to learn."
I obeyed.
He studied me again for a long moment. Then:
"Tell me, Nathaniel… what do you know of what you've become?"
I hesitated. "Vampire. That's what she said. But not like the stories. No coffins. No hissing. No bats."
Cain's lips twitched. "No… not those stories. What you are now is a very specific kind of vampire. We call ourselves Noctari."
"Noctari…" I echoed, tasting the word.
He folded his hands, voice like velvet over glass. "The name comes from noctis, Latin for night. And night is our realm. We are born of it, shaped by it, and forever tethered to its hunger."
He leaned back in his chair, and the fire threw long shadows across his sharp features.
"There are others, of course—your sister will become what they call a Luminari. Pale immortals with venom for blood and crystalline skin that glows in sunlight. They sparkle. We burn."
I blinked. "Then… Rosalie and I…"
He nodded once. "You are not the same anymore. Her bloodline comes from restraint. Yours comes from power."
Cain stood, moving to the liquor cabinet—not to drink, but to pour a glass of thick crimson liquid into a crystal chalice.
He offered it to me.
I took it, hands steady despite the heat rising in my throat at the scent. It wasn't human blood, but it was close enough to remind me of my hunger.
Cain watched me over the rim of his own untouched glass.
"To be Noctari, Nathaniel, is to live on the edge of a blade. We do not glitter. We do not abstain. We feed. We evolve. Our emotions are no longer muted, they are magnified. Anger becomes fury. Love becomes obsession. Grief becomes madness."
He sat again. "We are creatures of extremes. And what you feel, you will feel fully."
I sipped. The blood was thick, rich, spiced. It slid down like velvet and ignited something low in my gut. My fingers twitched.
Cain continued.
"We age in power, not appearance. The older we become, the stronger. But also more dangerous. The thirst grows subtle over time—not weaker, but better hidden. We become artists of deception. Gods in silk."
I swallowed the last of the blood, licking it from my teeth like instinct.
"And what kills us?"
"Sunlight, if unprotected. A stake to the heart, if you're sloppy. Fire. Decapitation. Or," he said with a smile not entirely kind, "your own humanity, if you're careless."
"I see," I murmured.
"Do you?" he asked, leaning forward now. "Because being Noctari means your humanity is a choice. One you'll face again and again. And if you choose to turn it off…"
I felt the weight of the warning before he finished.
"…you may not find your way back."
Silence fell, broken only by the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth.
Cain rose, placing a hand briefly on my shoulder.
"But for now, rest, young nightborn. You've survived the pain. Now comes the test of self."