The forest was silent.
Not the kind of silence born of peace, but the silence of dread—the kind that settles after a scream is cut short. The air was thick with the lingering stench of blood, and the crimson-streaked snow beneath Kael's boots crackled as he walked. His hand remained on the hilt of his blade, even though the demon's body had long since turned to ash.
Yet the unease remained.
Kael crouched beside the remains—just a faint smear of soot and a trail of blackened claw marks carved deep into a tree trunk. His breath fogged in the cold night air. That demon had spoken. Not in grunts or snarls, but in words—coherent, venom-laced words that echoed in Kael's mind.
"You're just like him. You reek of his blood."
Him.
Kael's jaw clenched. Ever since his family's massacre, fragments of truth had come in whispers—half-glimpsed memories, unexplained dreams, and now… a demon that recognized something in him. He rose, eyes narrowing at the shadows that danced between the trees.
Whatever this was, it was no ordinary hunt anymore.
The village elder's home was warm, but not welcoming. Flickering lanterns cast amber light over walls lined with old tapestries and brittle scrolls. Kael sat cross-legged across from Elder Senzou, who examined him with eyes that had seen more winters than most could count.
"You've awakened it, haven't you?" the elder rasped.
Kael blinked. "Awakened what?"
The elder leaned forward, his thin hands trembling as they reached for a weathered scroll. "The mark. The Forsaken Blood. You carry it, same as your father did."
Kael flinched. No one spoke of his father. Not in the village. Not even his mother, before she—
He cut the thought off.
"Tell me," Kael said quietly. "What do you know about him?"
Senzou unrolled the scroll, revealing a faded painting—an armored warrior, black blade in hand, standing over a burning battlefield. His eyes blazed red like Kael's had during the fight. The resemblance was unmistakable.
"His name was Raen. A Slayer… but not of our Order. He was Forsaken—exiled for using the enemy's power to fight back. A half-blood, marked by the curse."
"A demon?" Kael's voice wavered.
"A man who walked the edge," Senzou said. "He disappeared before you were born. But now that the demons know of you, they'll come. They fear what you might become."
Kael stood slowly. Everything made a horrible sort of sense now—the strange strength, the hunger in battle, the way his wounds healed faster than they should. He remembered the way the demon had screamed when Kael struck him—not from pain, but from recognition.
He turned to the elder. "If I have this blood… can I still become a Slayer?"
Senzou looked long and hard at him. "You can. But you won't be accepted. The Order will hunt you, same as the demons. You'll have to choose your path carefully, boy."
Later that night, Kael knelt at his mother's grave, the snow lightly dusting the stone. His breath caught in his throat.
"You knew, didn't you?" he whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?"
The wind didn't answer. Only the trees whispered, and the stars above blinked faintly through the clouds.
He unsheathed his sword. The blackened steel glimmered faintly, humming softly in his hands. It wasn't the weapon of a Slayer. It was older. Wilder. Touched by the same blood that now stirred in his veins.
He had no master. No formal training. No allies.
But he had purpose.
The demons had taken his family.
Now he would take everything from them.
Far away…
Within the shadowed halls of a ruined cathedral deep in the mountains, cloaked figures knelt in silence. At the center stood a tall man draped in red silks, his skin pale as bone and his eyes a chilling gold. He lifted a hand and the room quieted even further.
"The heir has awakened," he said, voice like silk torn by a blade. "Raen's spawn walks the path of blood."
One of the kneeling demons trembled. "Shall we kill him?"
"No," the man replied, smiling. "Let him grow. Let him taste strength. Then, when he stands on the edge between man and monster, we'll offer him a place beside us."
His smile widened, fangs glinting in the moonlight.
"And if he refuses… we'll feast on his soul."