My father's body collapses with a dull, wet sound, a slow collapse, as if even his fall still wanted to pretend to hold onto some form of dignity.
But there was nothing left, just a lukewarm void in which hatred had swallowed everything, one more corpse.
I stay there, breath short, the sword still clenched in my dirty hands, my gaze fixed on the void he leaves behind, and the silence that follows is not one of relief, nor even of mourning.
And that's when I feel a hand, gently placed on my shoulder.
I spin around, ready to strike again, to bite if I must, but I freeze.
It's Sika.
She's standing behind me, her hair falling slightly to the side, her face barely tilted, and that gaze—god, that gaze without judgment, without fear, almost… curious.
Her eyes scan my face for a moment, as if she's reading a strange page from an old manuscript, and a very slight narrowing of her eyes, barely a wrinkle at the corner of her eyelid, betrays something.
Amusement? Interest? Satisfaction?
And that's when I understand—or rather, I guess—without really admitting it to myself, that she saw something I haven't yet perceived.
She opens her mouth, and her voice is soft, almost maternal, the kind only predators or immortals can keep in all circumstances.
Yeah, I'm kind of a fan of Chinese manhwa and the immortals that populate their worlds.
"It's over for today."
And, strangely, that simple sentence is enough to release the tension.
I slowly lower my weapon, my fingers loosen, and somewhere in my mind, a detail escapes me.
Why did Sika stare at me so long before speaking?
Why that tiny twitch at the corner of her lips, that almost-smile not really meant for me?
I wouldn't know that day—and maybe I didn't want to yet.
I don't have time to think more before footsteps echo in the hallway behind us, and the door bursts open with a sharp snap, revealing two silhouettes in dark cloaks, pointed ears, jaded expressions—the kind of guys who think they've seen and done it all.
"Well, you done yet?" grumbles the first, speaking to... my father, still staring into the room without realizing, then his eyes drop, freeze, and he sees the blood, the body, the clenched hand, and his face changes.
A moment of hesitation, a word stuck in his throat.
Then, like a well-oiled mechanism, they draw their swords in a sharp move.
"INTRUDER! Go get someone, I'll hold them off!"
And I just stand there, frozen, unable to move—but not her.
Sika already has the still-warm sword I was holding just seconds ago, and in a single movement, she lunges at the two elves.
The first doesn't even have time to raise his weapon—the blade pierces him at an angle, right between the ribs, with the precision of a surgeon and the coldness of an executioner.
The second steps back, tries to parry, but she leaves him no opening—a step, a spin, a flash, and blood spurts like a grin across his slashed throat.
The two bodies fall almost simultaneously.
She stands for a moment, weapon dripping, eyes on the corpses, as if still weighing something in her mind. Then she turns toward me and gives a little nod, calm, as if nothing about this were unusual.
As if everything were fine.
And I just stand there, speechless, unable to decide whether I should be afraid or feel safe.
But I just saw her kill without emotion. And I think she smiled.
She slowly sheaths the still-warm sword without saying a word, then turns toward me, her eyes half-closed as if all this had barely entertained her. Her gaze rests on me with a strange kind of tenderness, almost affected, like she's watching a broken toy that someone managed to fix again.
"You planning to leave her there?" she finally says, nodding toward the figure lying a little further off.
I freeze a second, brain slowed by shock, fatigue, blood still on my hands. She approaches, calmly, lazily almost, like time means nothing to her.
"The little one… you know, your sister," she adds, as if I'm stupid or slow.
I nod, finally, reality rushing back like a bucket of ice water. I hurry over to her, pick her up gently. She's so light.
And behind me, Sika lets out a small amused sigh.
"There you go… you're improving," she murmurs, half-ironic, half-satisfied. There's something in her voice that makes me want to answer, but I stay quiet.
And she adds, walking toward the exit like she had it all planned, like she's always been here for this:
"Come on, little hero-in-training. We've got another corridor or two left before the end of this chapter…"
I don't understand that last sentence.
But she smiles without looking at me.
I follow her, my sleeping sister in my arms, my breath still trembling.
Sika walks ahead of me, calm, almost relaxed, as if this night were just a casual stroll through a familiar hallway.
And every time a silhouette appears—elf guard, lab coat, hooded figure—she doesn't even slow down.
She doesn't bother with unnecessary violence—she kills like she breathes: with sinister ease, mechanical, almost… elegant.
Sometimes I turn my eyes away, but the sound remains. The sharp thud of a falling body.
And her, she just keeps going, like she's walked these halls a hundred times before.
I eventually realize she doesn't search for the way—she turns before she even sees the intersections.
"You know this place?"
She slows by a quarter-step, just enough to make me think she didn't expect the question.
Then she turns her head slightly, just enough for me to see her smile—calm, almost fond.
"I tried to escape. Several times."
I stare at her for a moment. Her back. Her lithe figure. The sword she twirls to wipe on the wall like a child's game.
Whatever. For now.
But deep inside, one thought takes root—because I know she's lying. And she's good at it.
The last corridor seems longer than the others, as if the walls themselves hesitated to let us go.
But in front of us, a large metal door—reinforced, covered in magical seals and locks that looked unbreakable.
But a soft clicking sound makes them pop one by one, without Sika lifting a finger.
I stare at her, but she offers no explanation.
The light hits us and my eyes hurt.
Shit… what is that? What's that thing in the sky? Oh right… the sun.
My sister in my arms begins to stir slowly.
Sika lifts her head without flinching.
Her eyes adjust instantly.
And I think I see an almost nostalgic smile pass over her face.
Then she turns her head toward me
And says, calmly:
"Welcome outside."
But as soon as the word "outside" leaves Sika's lips, a sudden, brutal movement cuts through the silence.
My sister's body arches violently in my arms, like something electrocuted her, and suddenly, without me understanding how, she propels herself backward, tumbling into the hallway, away from the light.
"SOPHIA!?"
I freeze, shocked, my arms still outstretched as if I were still holding her, and for a split second I think I imagined it. But no. She's trembling, curled up in the shadows, eyes clenched tight enough to break her eyelids, fingers digging into her arms.
Sika hasn't moved a millimeter. She watches the scene, almost amused.
"Oh, that's interesting."
And I remember what I read with the analysis skill—that she's a vampire.
The light, the sun, the UVs… It made sense. It was obvious, even. But I forgot. Because her body looks too human. Because I saw her sleep, cry, growl… but never in front of the sun.
"She… can't go out, can she?" I say softly, more to myself than to Sika.
She just shrugs slightly, like the answer is too obvious to even say.
"Vampires aren't made for daylight. Looks like she remembered that before you did."
And I stay there, dumbstruck, watching my sister crawl back into the shadows, while outside, the world waits for me.