The sun bled across the treetops as Caelum trailed behind, silent but tense, eyes flicking warily at the back of the vampire striding ahead. Each step beyond the familiar tang of moss and blood felt heavier, stranger.
The vampire didn't rush. His pace was deceptively lazy, hands folded behind his back, yet his strides devoured distance. It was as if the world bent slightly to let him pass faster.
Caelum's claws flexed unconsciously. He hated how natural it looked.
"You walk like a chained dog," the vampire said suddenly, his tone light, conversational. "Relax. I told you already—I don't plan to kill you. Yet."
Caelum's eyes narrowed. "I don't trust you."
"Good." The vampire flashed a sharp grin over his shoulder. "Never trust anyone. Especially me."
They pressed deeper toward the edge of the forbidden forest. The trees thinned, shafts of light falling wider between trunks. For the first time in years, Caelum felt the air shift—less wild, less alive, as though the forest itself whispered farewell.
He stiffened.
The vampire noticed. "Strange, isn't it? That weight lifting off your chest. Civilization is like that. Neat, orderly, smothering. I almost miss the forest the moment I leave it."
"…Why leave, then?" Caelum muttered.
"Because," the vampire said with a shrug, "we're parasites of society. You'll learn that soon enough. Strength means nothing if you hide in the trees forever."
The silence that followed was heavy. Caelum bit back his retort. He wanted to say the forest suited him fine—that he belonged to it, as much as it to him. But another thought gnawed louder: Raven Academy.
The vampire hummed as if plucking that thought from the air. "So. Raven Academy. You do realize it's not a place for dreams, hm? It eats the weak alive. Half the little geniuses who enter never graduate."
"I'm not weak," Caelum said flatly.
The vampire glanced back, amused. "Oh, I know. You survived this forest long enough to become part of it. That alone makes you different. But difference isn't enough. In the Academy, talent means nothing without cunning. Ambition. Blood on your hands."
Caelum's jaw tightened. "I already have blood on my hands."
"Mm." The vampire's grin widened. "That's why I like you."
They walked on. Birds circled above, but the forest floor was eerily clean—no carcasses, no bones. Caelum realized again that every beast he had killed, he had devoured until nothing remained. Even now, the emptiness of the forest marked his passage.
"Tell me," the vampire said, "why the Academy? Why not vanish into some backwater village and rule as a little forest god? You could, you know."
Caelum hesitated. His throat was tight, but his answer came clear. "Because I don't want to rot here. If Elias and Seren enter that place, they'll come back to kill me one day. I want to be there first. Stronger. Untouchable."
For once, the vampire didn't laugh. His expression sharpened, just slightly. "…So vengeance drives you."
"Doesn't it drive everyone?"
The vampire chuckled, low and pleased. "Spoken like a true predator."
They broke through the treeline. The open plain stretched wide, golden grass rippling under the dying sun. Far in the distance, faint smoke curled from settlements—a hint of the world beyond Caelum's endless forest.
He squinted against the light, his body bristling instinctively. It felt wrong. Too exposed.
The vampire inhaled deeply. "Ahh. Civilization." He tilted his head back, voice almost mocking. "Do you smell it? The fear, the greed, the lies—so much more intoxicating than wild beasts. This, boy, is where monsters thrive best."
Caelum didn't answer. His gaze lingered on the horizon, on that faint haze of the world beyond. A strange mix of dread and anticipation coiled in his chest.
The vampire's laughter cut through the silence again, amused and cruel. "Welcome back to the world, Caelum. Try not to embarrass me."