Corven returned to the village under the silent shroud of midnight, the peak of night having long since claimed the sky. The stars were veiled behind dark clouds, and only the cold, pale light of the moon spilled over the rooftops like silver mist.
The villagers were fast asleep now, their windows dark, their dreams unbothered by what had transpired earlier in the day.
But this hour—the witching hour—belonged to creatures like him. Creatures of the night, born of blood and shadow. And they roamed freely now, thriving in the quiet, forgotten corners of the world.
He dropped Rose just outside the small, weathered house, her bare feet landing softly on the dew-kissed grass.
She looked at him, brows furrowed, her newly restored eyes reflecting the moonlight. "What are you planning to do?" she asked, voice low and uncertain.
Corven didn't answer right away. He stared at the doorway, its wooden frame slightly ajar, the faint scent of old grief still clinging to its threshold.
"I need to tie up some loose ends," he finally said, his voice firm, but quieter than before. "And at the same time... ask for permission."
Then, without waiting for her response, he stepped inside.
The house was dim. Silent. Hollow.
The scent of sorrow lingered, faint but unmistakable. The body of the man—once sprawled across the floor in lifeless disarray—was gone. Likely buried by the woman, in a quiet attempt to move forward. To survive. To breathe again.
Corven bit his lower lip, jaw tightening as guilt clawed at his chest like a silent beast.
'I can't get stuck in self-torment,' he murmured to himself. 'I need to grow. I have to.'
He shrugged off his leather armor, piece by piece, the worn straps falling limp against the floor. His bow followed, carefully placed beside the door. Only the basics remained—simple linen clothes, dark trousers. Enough to avoid the cold. Enough to not feel... completely bare.
Crossing to the dining table, he found a small scrap of parchment—a frayed corner of an old letter, perhaps. It would have to do.
He bit his index finger, the sharp sting barely registering. Blood welled up quickly, warm and bright. And with it, he began to write—carefully, deliberately, each letter drawn with aching purpose.
At the same time, he grabbed a small chipped cup from the shelf nearby, poured a thin line of his blood into it, and set it beside the note.
'This should work,' he thought. 'If I give her proof that a vampire killed her husband… the townsfolk might pity her. Might help her. Might make her life just a little easier.'
'If she's clever—or desperate—she'll know what to do with it. A priest, a relic... even salt and iron could reveal the truth.'
'As for keeping my promise… I'll reassure her I'll return. That when I do, I'll have fulfilled what I vowed to her.'
But Corven wasn't naive. He knew he was weaving a lie around a seed of truth. A promise, yes—but also an escape.
He couldn't stay here. Not with the hunger inside him growing. Not with the world beyond still calling to him.
He needed freedom to pursue his goals. And this—this was how he would buy it.
A letter. A cup of blood. A carefully planted story.
And a quiet hope that it would be enough.
'I hope I made the right choice…' he whispered to himself, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. He left the items on the table, his scent, his presence—proof that he'd returned, that he still remembered.
And then, without another word, he stepped back outside.
Rose stood waiting, her dark hair drifting in the breeze, her eyes curious.
"Did all go well?" she asked softly.
"Hopefully," Corven replied, laughing quietly—though it sounded more like an exhale than amusement. He wasn't sure if this would come back to haunt him someday.
But he was sure of one thing.
He intended to live now.
To keep walking forward in this strange new life.
"To live fully… that's the only way to make sense of any of this," he muttered under his breath.
Then, with no more words, he began walking—leaving the village behind. This time, in a new direction. One unfamiliar, unknown.
Rose followed, her steps light but steady. As she reached his side, she gently took his arm. Her fingers were warm.
"Well, I'm sure you did your best," she said, a soft smile tugging at her lips.
Corven glanced at her, eyes flickering with something unreadable. Her words were simple—but they reached something inside him. Something raw.
"Thank you…" he said quietly.
He wasn't sure if her comfort was real or just a remnant of the bond they shared. But it didn't matter.
It helped.
And sometimes, that was enough.
Together, they stepped into the shadowed wilderness—two fledgling souls navigating a world neither of them truly knew.
Not master and servant.
Not monsters.
Just... something in-between.
Something searching for meaning beneath the silver gaze of the moon.