Morning came shrouded in fog. The sun climbed slowly above the cliffs of Aegira, its light soft and pale, as if the heavens themselves feared to touch the earth. Ana watched the mist curl across the sea, her thoughts heavy from the night before.
Eryx's words still echoed inside her: "Yes, I'm a vampire."
Every heartbeat after that had felt borrowed.
She could still see the crimson gleam of his eyes, the way he had turned away from her—as if ashamed of his own existence.
And yet, he had not harmed her.
He could have ended her life in one breath, but he hadn't.
That, more than anything, confused her.
---
A Fragile Morning
Eryx was sitting by the fire when she descended from her room. His hands were clean now, his expression calm, though the shadows beneath his eyes betrayed a sleepless night.
He stood when he saw her. "Ana."
She hesitated at the doorway. "Are you… still the same person who helped me when I was lost?"
"I'm exactly that person," he said quietly, "and something worse."
She moved closer, the boards creaking beneath her feet. "Then tell me the truth. All of it."
He nodded slowly, as if he had been waiting for her to ask. "Sit," he said.
When she did, he stared into the fire, the light flickering across his face. "Long ago, when gods still walked among men, there lived a priestess in Athena's temple. Her name was Medusa. She was beautiful—too beautiful. Poseidon desired her, and when he defiled the temple, Athena cursed her instead of saving her. Her hair became serpents. Her eyes turned men to stone. The goddess called it justice."
Ana's breath caught. "Athena…" she whispered, unable to speak her mother's name aloud.
Eryx's jaw tightened. "But Medusa did not die. Her curse created life. Her blood fell upon the earth, and from it I was born—half man, half monster. The first vampire. I drank to live. I hid from the sun. And I remembered every scream of my mother's pain."
He turned toward her then. "Tell me, daughter of Athena, do you still believe your gods are pure?"
Ana's throat tightened. "I don't know what to believe anymore."
The fire popped softly between them.
Eryx looked away. "You shouldn't be near me. Every instinct I have tells me to feed. Yet when I look at you…"
He trailed off, as though words failed him.
Ana whispered, "When you look at me, you remember what it's like to be human."
He met her gaze, eyes dark and haunted. "Yes."
---
Dreams of the Past
That night, Ana dreamed again. She was back in the temple of her childhood—marble columns shining under eternal light. Athena's statue towered above her, cold and radiant.
> "You walk among shadows, my daughter," the goddess's voice thundered. "Do not let their touch taint your soul."
Ana looked up at the stone face. "Then why curse me to live among them?"
> "Because wisdom without suffering is hollow."
The voice faded, and suddenly the temple cracked open, marble dissolving into black waves. Snakes slithered at her feet. A single drop of blood fell into the sea, and from it rose a woman's reflection—Medusa again, weeping.
> "Not all curses are born of hate," Medusa said softly. "Some are born of pain."
Ana woke with tears on her face. For the first time, she felt pity for both women—Athena and Medusa, mother and monster. Perhaps the world was not divided into good and evil. Perhaps even gods bled when they loved too deeply.
---
Flickers of Power
The following evening, as the first stars appeared, Ana sat alone on the shore. She drew patterns in the sand, humming a forgotten hymn. When she whispered a single line of the old tongue, the air shimmered. The grains of sand lifted, glowing faintly before falling back.
Her heart leapt. "I can still feel it," she breathed.
The curse had not erased her divinity completely; it had only buried it beneath her mortal flesh. Now, with her emotions raw and untamed, that divine spark was awakening.
Behind her, Eryx approached silently. "I felt the air tremble," he said. "You did that?"
She nodded. "A little piece of what I was."
"Then the gods will sense it too."
"I know." She looked up at him. "But maybe it's time they see me as more than a punishment."
He stared at her, admiration flickering in his eyes. "You're not afraid?"
"I'm tired of being afraid."
Eryx smiled faintly. "That makes two of us."
---
The Weight of Memory
They walked along the cliffs until the stars stretched endless above them. Eryx spoke of centuries spent in silence, of temples turned to dust, of nights where he fed not out of hunger but despair.
"I thought vengeance would free me," he said. "But it only made the world emptier."
Ana listened quietly, the wind tangling her hair. "Maybe vengeance is just another kind of curse."
He stopped, looking at her as if the words struck something deep within. "You sound like her."
"Like who?"
"My mother—before the curse. She used to say that mercy is the highest form of wisdom."
Ana's heart ached. "Then maybe that's what the gods forgot."
---
The Blood and the Light
A gust of cold air swept across the cliffs, carrying the scent of iron and storm. Eryx stiffened. "We're being watched."
Ana turned sharply. In the distance, a shadow darted among the rocks—quick, silent.
"What is it?"
"Hunters," he muttered. "Vampires like me, but lost to madness. They can sense divine blood."
Ana's pulse quickened. "My blood."
He nodded grimly. "We must go."
They ran through the narrow path toward the inn, the moonlight flashing over their faces. Behind them, whispers rose like hissing serpents. A figure leapt from the shadows, eyes red, mouth open in a snarl.
Eryx turned and struck. His movements were fluid, terrifyingly graceful. The creature fell, dissolving into ash under the force of his blow.
Ana stared, trembling—not from fear, but from awe. She felt something rise inside her, a surge of silver light. She raised her hand without thinking, and a wave of radiance burst forth, scattering the mist and forcing the remaining shadows to flee.
When it was over, she collapsed to her knees. Eryx caught her before she fell.
He looked at her glowing hand. "You shouldn't have been able to do that."
"I didn't mean to," she whispered. "It just… happened."
He touched her cheek gently. "Your power is returning. But the more you use it, the closer the gods will come."
She met his gaze, breathless. "Then let them come. I won't hide anymore."
For a long moment, they stood in silence—the immortal and the cursed, their hearts beating in rhythm with the sea.
---
The Promise Beneath the Stars
Later, after the danger had passed, they returned to the cliffs. The wind had softened, and the world seemed hushed, waiting.
Eryx stared out over the dark horizon. "When dawn comes, I'll have to leave. The sun burns me, and the hunters will return."
Ana looked up at the sky. "Then we have the night."
He turned to her. "Why stay with me, knowing what I am?"
"Because," she said softly, "every story I was told about monsters is changing. And maybe I'm tired of believing the gods know all the answers."
Eryx's expression softened. "You shouldn't waste your heart on me."
"Maybe it isn't waste," she whispered. "Maybe it's choice."
The stars shimmered above them, cold and endless. A faint shimmer of silver light glowed beneath Ana's skin, reflecting in his eyes.
He reached out hesitantly, fingers brushing hers. "If I touch you, I might not let go."
"Then don't," she said.
For a moment, the world held its breath. The wind died, the waves stilled. There was only the soft pulse of their joined hands, the quiet hum of divinity awakening inside her, and the faint echo of a curse that was beginning to break.
Eryx leaned closer, voice barely a whisper. "You make me forget what I am."
"And you remind me what it means to be human," she answered.
Above them, the first light of dawn shimmered, turning the sea to liquid gold. Eryx stepped back, the glow burning faintly against his skin, yet he did not flee.
Ana smiled sadly. "The sun's rising."
He nodded. "It always does."
They stood there together, two beings born of curse and wisdom, bound by something neither heaven nor darkness could name.
And for that single moment—
the goddess's daughter and the vampire son of Medusa—
found peace beneath the newborn sun.