Whisper Of The Crimson Moon

      Every day feels the same. Morning, noon, evening, night. Everything around you looks identical. It seems nothing can spark that flicker anymore—the flicker of humanity.       Even now, the night sky is little different from the ones you’re used to. The same castle walls, heavy as a suffocating shroud. Even the crimson moon, like a wounded eye in the sky, floods the garden with its blood-red light. The angel statues standing around are covered in moss and cracks. Their faces are forever lost in shadow, echoing in your chest with a past filled with forgotten prayers.       Your feet carry you to the center of the garden. Your eyes immediately catch the fountain with its stagnant water. Once, water used to murmur here, but now it’s filled with withered leaves, mixed with shattered hopes. You step closer. The reflection ripples, but it doesn’t stop you from looking at yourself again. “Shitty look, Leon.”       You smirk at your own words. Emerald eyes with dark circles beneath them, tousled light-brown hair. Your bangs are too long, often falling over your eyes, yet you never get around to cutting them. After all, there is someone who likes your hairstyle.       On your chest, over the dark-blue uniform, hangs a medallion engraved with a symbol—a cross within a circle. It was a gift from your parents. The mark upon it is a sign of service to Count Velmond. A symbol of submission to vampires.       The moment your fingers touch the pendant, you feel your heartbeat quicken. Everything inside you almost screams—this place is not for you. But somewhere in the distance, you hear her voice. Your body obeys, and you walk.       Rose bushes claw at the air with their thorns, their petals withering under the moonlight. It seems it was her idea to plant these flowers here. Who would have thought they would fit so naturally into the count’s garden—a place where the authority of the Velmond line blends with their vampire blood.       Each step echoes with the quiet creak of your boots, and your uniform, worn from countless trainings, rustles against the branches. Only twenty-one years old, and you could already recount how much you’ve lived through. Anyone looking at you would say there’s still something youthful about you, but one glance at the medallion is enough to understand the weight on your shoulders.       You entered the count’s service to learn how to fight the Bloodthirsters—the shadows that spread terror along the Empire’s borders. You remember it as if it were yesterday. A night like this. The crimson moon. Whispers in the dark. Your mother screamed, your father swung a pitchfork. But the creature didn’t care. Veins glowing crimson across its body, it consumed them, dragging even their identities away with it.       It was after that, perhaps, that your faith in vampires began to crack. Over the years, blind belief turned into hatred. They slowly seize power in the Empire, ruling separate lands, promising protection from monsters in exchange for loyalty and blood. But you… you see only parasites in them. And yet, among them, there is one. The one who captured your heart despite that hatred. “Elizabeth…”       Her call draws you deeper into the garden, despite the risk of being discovered by the count. And the moment you glimpse her silhouette, you stop. Elizabeth Velmond—the viscountess of these lands. She stands still, gazing at the sky. Her black dress, traced with crimson runes that faintly pulse in the moonlight, seems to conceal her power. Long black hair with red strands and tips sways in the wind, like drops of blood.       She looks about twenty—almost your age—but you know her true age exceeds a hundred years. Crimson eyes, pale skin, sharp features—Elizabeth is a vampire, the count’s daughter. But when she turns, there is no aristocratic coldness in her gaze. There is sorrow there, deep as an abyss.       Elizabeth had been waiting. Her dead heart tightens with fear. One hundred and twenty years of life made her eternal—but alone. Her father, Walter, with his cane and cold calculation, and her mother, Liliana, with her manipulative grace, taught her blood magic—but not love. You became Elizabeth’s light—a human with warm blood, courage, and hatred for vampires. All of that made you alive. You knew how deeply she feared losing you. At any moment, you could be sent to the front, where a stray Bloodthirster would devour you completely, and not even magic would save you.       You step closer, but not too close. Your voice trembles, but the words break free anyway: “You shouldn’t have called me here. If the count finds out…”       Your hands tighten around the hilt of your dagger, feeling the metal beneath your fingers. Elizabeth steps closer, almost right up to you, her movements silent like a ghost. “Leon…”       Her voice is soft, yet laced with desperation. “The crimson moon is brighter tonight. It watches us like a judge. I couldn’t stay away. You don’t understand what it means to be like me.”       Her cold fingers touch your hand. A chill runs through your body. The warmth of your flesh contrasts with her grave-like cold. Your eyes meet her crimson ones. But… you don’t see a monster there. You see a woman torn apart by fear. “You’re different.”       The words escape against your will. But Elizabeth doesn’t grow angry—she smiles instead, hiding her fangs and the storm within. She remembers their first meeting. So random, it’s almost laughable.       You were fighting. Worthy for a commoner, not enough to kill a Bloodthirster. Even now, stronger in body and mind, you remember that trembling. The way the creature laughed with many voices, cried for help, called you to join it. Perhaps that was the moment Elizabeth sensed in you what she lacked herself—humanity.       Sadly, even the count’s garden cannot grant you peace. The Bloodthirsters are a product of vampire magic gone out of control. Elizabeth lets out a quiet chuckle and hands you a dagger. Runes are carved along its blade. You exchange glances, listening to the surroundings.       The air fills with whispers—low, many-voiced, like a choir of the dead repeating your name. Behind you, from the shadow of the fountain, a Bloodshade emerges—a more mature and dangerous form than a Bloodthirster. It looks like a living mass of darkness with pulsing crimson veins, its shape slowly shifting from beast to human. For a moment, it freezes, staring at you with something like uniform red eyes.       Armed with the dagger, you take a fighting stance. The blade gleams in the moonlight. The creature whispers your name, over and over: “You will die… You will die… You will die…”       You don’t even notice when you lunge forward. The creature’s claws whistle past your face, carving deep grooves into the stone behind you. Elizabeth can only watch as her beloved fights.       The monster’s arm turns into a whip, slicing through the air with a high-pitched crack. You manage to dodge, even strike back, severing the shadow limb—but you don’t escape unscathed. The blood of all such creatures is poisonous to humans, and it splashes onto your shoulder, burning your skin. “Ah—damn it…”       You hiss through your teeth, clutching your shoulder. Fortunately, Elizabeth is nearby.       The fleeting horror that grips her quickly fades. She runs a sharp nail across her hand, and crimson liquid begins to flow down her wrist. As it falls onto the leaves, she starts to whisper. The rune on her dress flares, the droplets transforming into dozens of needles. “Blood Magic: Crimson Needles.”       For a brief moment, the tips of her hair flare. The needles shoot forward, piercing the creature. By then, you recover from the pain. The dagger pierces its core, and the whispers instantly fall silent. Slowly, the Bloodthirster’s body grows lighter, dissolving into mist, leaving behind only a distant echo of voices. “Hah… God…”       Caught off guard, you drop to your knees. Your breathing tears out of you like a rabid beast, the dagger clattering onto the stone beside you. In an instant, Elizabeth is at your side. She pulls you into an embrace, staining what is surely an expensive dress with dirt and dew. “I can’t lose you.”       Her voice trembles, even as she whispers. You return the embrace, wiping tears from her face. “I won’t leave. I promise.”       The moon watches over you. The darkness waits patiently. Which side will you choose? In your mind, there is only one answer—darkness. Death will come for you sooner or later. But right now, that doesn’t matter. You rise and head toward the garden’s exit. Its size is truly vast, but you’ve spent too much time here not to know every turn by heart. Turning one more corner, you stop at the exit. “You used to work with Shadows. Why blood magic now?”       Elizabeth smiles, though her lips tremble faintly. “Vampires handle blood magic better than anyone. But…” “But?” “Every spell has its price.”       She raises a finger. A small crimson drop remains at its tip. As she closes her eyes, the drop sharpens into a thin needle. “Each drop is a part of me. And if I spend almost nothing on needles…” “Then stronger spells could cost you your life?”       Elizabeth nods softly, a sad smile on her lips. She loved Shadow magic. But neither her father nor her mother supported it—not without reason. Shadows are among the most dangerous disciplines. Even the smallest mistake can kill the caster. And not even a vampire’s natural regeneration would save them. “I see. Either way, be careful. Or at least carry a vial of blood. You never know when a Bloodthirster might appear behind you.”       She nods, and the two of you leave the garden. The night closes behind you, the echoes of whispers fading away. Only the medallion sways quietly on your neck—softly, almost imperceptibly, whispering of the future.