It was the seventh day since Caelum Sanguine had arrived at Greystone House.
The staff didn't say much about it. No special alarms. No speeches. Just a quiet, clockwork ritual whispered through the halls like a secret every resident already knew.
Feeding Day.
At breakfast, the other children were quieter than usual. Some didn't show up to eat at all. The few who did kept their eyes low and their voices hushed, as if speaking too loud would summon something.
Caelum sat at the end of the long table, untouched porridge in front of him, listening. Watching.
He could feel it too—something pressing under the skin. A thrum in his blood. A restlessness in his limbs. His senses were sharper this morning; even the smell of toast from the staff corridor made his mouth dry.
This is it, he thought. This is what they warned me about.
The hunger didn't feel like ordinary hunger. It wasn't in the stomach—it was in the bones. A strange hollowness in his chest, pulling outward. Not painful. But present.
Healer Merin—Greystone's on-call mediwizard—found him in the hallway just before the fourth hour. She was polite, kind even, but brisk in that clinical way professionals adopted around patients they were trained not to pity.
"Come with me, Caelum," she said. "It's time for your dose."
He didn't argue.
The feeding room was clean, magically sterilized, and humming with quiet warding charms. It reminded him of a hospital wing—cold and too bright.
Inside, four other children were already seated in partitioned chairs—each one spaced far enough apart that they couldn't see each other directly, but not far enough to ignore the scent.
Each had a vial in their hands.
The vials were dark glass. Sealed. Unlabeled.
Merin handed one to him. "Blood elixir. You're due weekly, every seventh day. Same schedule going forward."
Caelum took the vial. It was warm to the touch.
"Drink all of it," she added. "Don't sip. The taste isn't pleasant, but hesitation can… complicate things."
He held it, looking at the crimson liquid swirl slowly against the glass.
"Is it… human?" he asked.
Merin paused for a half-second too long. "Magically synthesized. Designed to mimic the nourishment vampires require to maintain mental stability, magical coherence, and physical regulation. For hybrids, it prevents deterioration and compulsive behavior."
"So yes," he said quietly.
"It's blood, Caelum. But it's not taken unwillingly. That's what matters."
He nodded once. Then uncorked the vial.
The smell hit first—metallic and warm, but laced with something sweet and artificial. Like someone had mixed iron with syrup and firewhisky. His body reacted before his mind could catch up. Saliva pooled. His fingers trembled slightly.
He hated that he didn't hate it.
He tilted the vial back and drank in one swift pull.
It burned on the way down—like magic being poured directly into his veins. His skin flushed. His breath hitched. Then, for a moment, clarity.
The hunger was still there. But it curled inward, content for now. Tamed.
Merin was watching carefully. "Good. You tolerated it well. Some of the others… don't."
Caelum followed her gaze to one of the curtained-off chairs. A boy—maybe twelve—sat slouched, vial empty, eyes glazed. His lips were stained dark, and a faint hum of magic lingered around him like heat distortion.
Merin sighed. "Some children surrender to the hunger. They begin to crave the rush—the power. They lose themselves to it."
She looked back at Caelum, her expression sober.
"That's not just a theory. That's a future. One you'll have to fight."
Caelum didn't answer. He already knew.
That night, back in his room, he lay in bed staring at the ceiling again.
But this time, something was different.
The hunger wasn't gnawing. It was… quiet. Like a beast sleeping under his ribs. But he could feel it breathing.
I won't let it own me.
He hadn't chosen this. Not the forest. Not the bite. Not this strange half-life in a body too small for him and a world that wasn't his.
But if this was what he'd been given, he'd shape it. He'd mold it. He'd master it.
Not just to survive.
But to reclaim himself—whatever that meant