Rain fell gently as Lucien and Evelyn stood before the old Blackridge church.
Its towering spire reached toward the sky like a claw, cracked and crumbling, vines choking its stone walls. The stained glass windows were shattered, the doors half-broken—but beneath it, Lucien said, was the truth.
Evelyn clutched her jacket tighter. "We're really going under that?"
Lucien gave a small smile. "Scared?"
She glanced at him. "I've been attacked by dream-walking vampire assassins and found out I might be the key to waking up a blood god. So yeah, a little scared."
He chuckled. "Good. Means you're still human."
As they stepped inside, the air grew colder. The church was silent, dust dancing in the dim light from the moon through the broken roof. An old altar stood at the front, cracked down the middle.
Lucien led her down a side corridor. At the end stood a thick iron door, sealed with ancient symbols glowing faintly red.
"Stand back," he said.
He pressed his palm against the seal. The symbols hissed, and with a groan of rusted metal, the door opened to reveal a narrow stairway spiraling into the dark.
Evelyn took a deep breath. "You sure this is safe?"
Lucien smirked. "Not at all."
They descended in silence, the only sound their footsteps on the stone. The deeper they went, the warmer it became—humid, like the breath of something sleeping.
Finally, the stair opened into a vast chamber.
Rows of stone coffins lined the walls. Vines glowed with dim blue light, winding through the cracks in the stone. At the center stood a pedestal, and on it lay a long, curved blade glowing faintly silver.
Evelyn's heart skipped. "Is that it?"
Lucien nodded. "Your mother's gift. She called it Moonfang."
Evelyn approached slowly. The moment she touched the hilt, warmth shot up her arm—and the crescent-shaped scar on her wrist flared bright white.
The chamber trembled.
Evelyn gasped but held on. The glow faded. The blade was now pulsing in sync with her heartbeat.
Lucien stepped closer. "It's bonded to you now."
She stared at the weapon. "How did she make this?"
"She had help," Lucien said. "From someone like me."
Evelyn looked at him. "You knew her, didn't you?"
Lucien hesitated, then nodded. "She was the only human who ever made me doubt what I was."
A silence fell between them.
"I don't remember her face," Evelyn said quietly. "Only her voice... when she sang to me. I was scared of storms. She used to sing about the moon."
Lucien looked at her. "She sang that same song the night she died."
Evelyn's eyes stung. She turned away quickly, brushing a tear with her sleeve.
Lucien stepped beside her, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to carry all of this alone."
She looked up at him, eyes searching. "Why do you care so much?"
He didn't answer at first. Just looked at her—longer than he should have. "Because I failed once. I won't fail again."
Evelyn's breath caught. For the first time since this madness began, she felt something besides fear.
She felt seen.
Lucien stepped closer. "You're stronger than you think. You're angry, stubborn, reckless—but you're brave. I don't meet many humans like that."
Evelyn smiled faintly. "And you're not as heartless as you pretend to be."
His eyes flickered with amusement. "Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation."
For a brief moment, the world faded. It was just them—two people on the edge of war, sharing one quiet second of warmth in a tomb of ghosts.
Lucien's hand slid from her shoulder to her hand.
Her heart skipped.
"Evelyn..." he said softly.
She looked up—and the space between them vanished.
Their lips brushed—just a whisper of a kiss, soft and fleeting.
And then—
BOOM.
The chamber shook violently. A loud crack echoed through the tomb.
They broke apart as dust rained from the ceiling.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "We're not alone."
From the shadows at the far end, a low growl emerged.
A pale figure stepped forward—cloaked in bone-white armor, fangs exposed, eyes gleaming with hunger.
"Hello, Evelyn," it purred. "The Mistress sends her love."
Lucien moved in front of her, blade drawn. "Seraphine's pet."
The figure grinned. "I prefer the term 'firstborn.'"
Evelyn stepped beside Lucien, Moonfang glowing in her grip. "He's one of hers?"
Lucien nodded grimly. "Worse. He's one she created herself."
The Firstborn stepped forward. "Come quietly, girl. She only needs your blood. The rest of you can still live... for a little while."
Evelyn raised her blade. "Tell your Mistress to come herself."
The vampire hissed. "She will. And when she does, no blade will save you."
Lucien struck first—fast, a blur of motion—but the Firstborn blocked it easily. Evelyn followed, the blade in her hand responding to her anger, slicing through air with silver light.
The chamber filled with the clash of steel and sparks of magic.
The fight was brutal. Moonfang seared the Firstborn's flesh—but it wasn't enough. He threw Lucien back, sending him crashing into a stone coffin.
"Lucien!" Evelyn screamed.
The Firstborn turned to her. "Now, girl. Come quietly, and I might even let you kiss him goodbye."
Evelyn's hand tightened around Moonfang.
"No," she said, stepping forward.
And then—she let go.
Not of the sword—but of her fear.
Light erupted from her body, bright as moonlight, flooding the chamber.
The Firstborn screamed, staggering back as his skin sizzled under the glow.
Lucien, dazed but conscious, shielded his eyes. "What are you—?"
But Evelyn wasn't the same.
In that moment, she awakened.