The High Priestess sank to her knees, disbelief rooting her to the ground. She cradled her child to her chest, trembling, hardly daring to breathe. No one had ever succeeded in returning a spirit from the other side to a living body—but Pelagia had done it. Tears spilled down the High Priestess's cheeks, hot and unstoppable. She buried her face in her daughter's hair, inhaling the scent greedily, clutching her tighter and rocking her as if she could lull away all the horrors of the world.
But the longer she held her child, the more her own strength drained. Amid a storm of overwhelming emotions, she failed to notice the small teeth piercing her collarbone, the delicate yet insistent pull as her daughter fed.
Thus, legend tells, the first vampire was born—a perfect weapon, imbued with strength and speed beyond the control of any witch. In the dead of night, Pelagia's descendant hunted, cutting down rival clans, leaving some transformed into creatures like herself.
The army of Vasilisa swelled. In less than ten days, the enemy lay defeated, and only Pelagia's followers remained. A fragile peace settled, a brief calm in the aftermath of endless destruction. Yet no one considered the cost of this new life.
With the war ended, the vampires' source of sustenance vanished. They had fed during battle, taking lives to quench their thirst, but now, in peace, the problem remained. The witches believed they could control the cravings of their sisters, intending to cast a spell that would erase the need for such violence. A terrible nightmare, they thought, could simply be forgotten.
But magic is never that simple. Only a witch of extraordinary destiny could truly create life, mastering the four elements and binding herself to the spirit world. With High Pelagia's death, the coven lost the power to create. Her heir, destined to one day sit on the bone throne, severed her link to the spirits upon becoming a vampire. Nature, affronted by this tampering, refused aid, choosing instead to punish the witches with cold indifference.
Unable to summon another miracle, the coven waited for the next High Priestess to be born. How long the new species would endure remained a mystery. They watched in silence, hoping that time alone might resolve the problem.
But time offered no mercy. The settlement's human population was barely enough to satisfy a third of the vampires. The longer the creatures remained, the stronger their thirst became. Bound by conscience and morality, most tried to maintain their chosen path. But not all possessed the iron will of Vasilisa.
People began disappearing from nearby villages—peasant children left unattended in the fields. One missing was troubling; three missing spread terror. Rumors rippled through the countryside: a malevolent spirit had taken residence in the forest.
The village elder, desperate, approached the witches, offering a reward to banish the evil. The witches welcomed the funds. Much needed to be rebuilt, restored. They assumed the threat to be a rogue forest spirit, nothing beyond their control.
Yet investigation revealed the true horror: one vampire had defied Vasilisa's edict, venturing into the village. Tracking the traitor proved nearly impossible. Vampires returned from hunts, sometimes satisfied with animal blood, but the breaker of the ban remained hidden. The coven split vampires into small groups, monitored them, yet their strength and senses grew daily. The scent of incense, meant to mask witch movements, became trivial; footsteps that once went unnoticed now gave them away. The grip around the vampires' freedom tightened. They sensed it and resented it, questioning their place within the coven. Seeds of discord sprouted rapidly.
Victims multiplied. The witches had to maintain appearances, spinning tales of a cunning, elusive spirit beyond ordinary power. The villagers, simple and superstitious, interpreted the events through the lens of fear. Some exaggerated horrors to demonstrate bravery, others saw the devil's hand in mundane actions—how the witches heated water, even.
But when stories emerged of a pale-skinned woman tearing flesh from a witch with sharp nails and drinking blood with evident pleasure, cheeks flushed with life, the villagers were truly alarmed. The elder, cautious, chose to witness events personally before acting.
Fate, however, betrayed them. He arrived at the forest at the wrong moment and saw the junior acolytes feeding the vampires preemptively, offering blood to prevent harm to the villagers. The well-intentioned act sparked chaos. The feeding became a frenzy. Vampires turned on their own, slaughtering sisters and brothers alike, bathing the ground in blood, revealing their true nature.
Vasilisa fought alongside the witches, but weakened by hunger, she could not contain the frenzy of her own offspring. The clash became a massacre. Whenever the witches gained ground, the regenerating vampires reversed it, relentless and unstoppable.