Phoenix stood at the edge of the clearing, his silhouette barely visible against the pale moonlight. The house in front of him looked smaller than he remembered, a humble structure that had seen better days, now broken and hollow. The windows were shattered, the door hung off its hinges, and the scent of death hung thick in the air.
It was a scent Phoenix was all too familiar with.
He stepped forward, his boots making no sound as they pressed into the soft earth. The night was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. There were no birds, no insects, nothing living nearby. As though the entire forest had withdrawn in respect-or fear.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, the wood groaning in protest. Inside, the room was bathed in a dim, ghostly light from the broken windows. The furniture was overturned, as if a storm had torn through the house. The signs of a struggle were everywhere-broken dishes, scattered papers, overturned chairs.
But it wasn't the wreckage that drew his gaze.
It was her.
The human's mother.
Her lifeless body was sprawled on the floor, her arms twisted at awkward angles, her once- beautiful face pale and drained of colour. Her throat bore the unmistakable marks of a vampire's bite-two small puncture wounds, the blood long since dried around them. Her eyes were open, but they stared up at the ceiling, empty, void of the life they once held.
Phoenix stepped closer, his expression as cold and unreadable as the grave. He had seen death countless times. It was an inescapable part of his existence, a byproduct of the world he inhabited. But this death, though inevitable, carried a different weight. This was the mother of the human-her mother-the one he had kept his distance from, despite the strange bond that had formed between them.
A bond he refused to acknowledge.
Phoenix knelt beside the body, his hand hovering for a moment over her face before he gently closed her eyes with two fingers. The room was so quiet that the soft click of her eyelids shutting sounded like thunder.
He knew the human girl would return. And when she saw this, it would destroy her. Again.
His jaw tightened, and a flicker of something-guilt, perhaps-passed through his cold eyes, only to be swallowed by the void that had long since consumed him. There was no point in feeling remorse for something that could not be undone. He was not the one who had taken this woman's life, but that didn't matter. He was part of the world that had. Part of the endless, brutal cycle that snuffed out lives as easily as one might blow out a candle.
Phoenix rose to his feet, surveying the wreckage with detached efficiency. There was nothing to be done for her now, nothing but the bare minimum of decency.
He would bury her.
Not because he cared, but because it was necessary.
Because the human girl would need to see her mother at rest.
Phoenix bent down again, slipping his arms under the woman's lifeless body with the ease of someone who had carried death before. Her weight was nothing to him, a feather's lightness against the dark power coiled in his veins. He carried her outside, the moonlight casting long, jagged shadows across the yard as he made his way to the small garden behind the house.
The earth was soft here. Untouched.
Setting the body down gently, Phoenix extended his hand toward the ground, fingers curling as if he were grasping an invisible thread. Slowly, deliberately, the dirt began to shift and churn, moving at his will. The earth opened beneath him, widening into a deep grave as if nature itself bent to his command.
Once the pit was large enough, Phoenix lowered the woman's body inside, arranging her arms across her chest, ensuring her face was peaceful. A final dignity, in death, that she had been denied in her last moments.
Standing over the grave, Phoenix stared down at the woman's pale face for a long moment. His expression never wavered, his mind cold and empty of the emotions that might have once stirred in him-regret, sorrow, even anger. He had buried enough humans in his time to know how fleeting and fragile their lives were. They flickered, burned brightly for a moment, and then were gone.
And yet, this death felt different. Perhaps it was because of the girl.
Phoenix shook his head. He didn't know why he cared. He shouldn't care. This wasn't his burden to bear. And yet, here he was, burying a human woman whose life was insignificant in the grand scheme of things, all because of a girl who haunted the corners of his mind.
With a flick of his wrist, the dirt began to move again, cascading down into the open grave, covering the woman's body inch by inch until the earth was smooth and undisturbed once more.
It was done.
Phoenix stood there in silence, his gaze fixed on the freshly turned soil. He should leave. There was no reason to stay. But something kept him rooted to the spot, his mind wandering back to the girl. He could imagine the look on her face when she returned-when she realised the truth. The pain in her eyes, the fury, the heartbreak. She would hate him even more for this, even though it wasn't his fault. But still she blamed him, blamed all vampires, for the loss of her mother.
And maybe she was right to.
Phoenix turned away from the grave, his cloak billowing out behind him as he disappeared into the night, his steps silent and swift. As he faded into the darkness, he couldn't shake the strange, unwelcome thought that had been gnawing at him ever since he had entered that house.
Perhaps, in a different life, he might have cared.