Under the Midnight Moon
The forest had learned their scent.
That was the first truth Yuriko Ken understood as she ran.
Moonlight fractured through the ancient canopy above, silver shards slicing through the darkness, illuminating only enough to make fear precise. The ground was uneven, roots clawing at her boots, damp earth slick beneath her feet. Her lungs burned. Her heart pounded so violently it drowned out thought.
Behind them, the night moved.
Not animals.
Not wind.
Not imagination.
Shadows slid where shadows should not slide—pulling free from tree trunks, rising from the soil, stretching and collapsing as if testing which shape would frighten them most. Sometimes they hunched low, skittering. Sometimes they rose tall and thin, blotting out the moon in jagged silhouettes.
"Don't slow down!" Jacob shouted, breath ragged.
Yuriko stumbled.
She always did.
Her foot caught on a root that hadn't been there a moment ago, and she pitched forward with a startled cry. Strong hands grabbed her before she could hit the ground, hauling her upright with brute force.
Jacob didn't stop running.
"Sorry," she gasped.
"Later," he said. "Apologize later."
Lawrence Williams ran ahead of them, his movements fluid even in panic. Mud splattered his trousers. Sweat darkened his collar. And yet—absurdly—he still looked like a painting disturbed by rain rather than ruined by it.
Ayato Ken ran last.
He looked back.
The shadows were closer now.
They rippled, reshaped, peeled themselves into something almost recognizable—crooked limbs, hunched backs, mouths opening in soundless hunger. One collapsed into a puddle of living darkness, then rose again, taller, sharper, wronger.
Ayato's jaw tightened.
"There," he said, voice cutting through the chaos like steel. "Left."
Stone emerged from the forest like a forgotten memory forced into existence.
A castle.
Black walls climbed toward the sky, towers jagged against the moon, windows hollow and watchful. It should not have been there. That knowledge struck all of them at once—and they ran faster anyway.
They reached the gates just as the shadows surged forward.
Jacob slammed into one door with his shoulder. Ayato joined him without hesitation, muscles straining as ancient wood groaned in protest. The doors shuddered, resisted, then closed with a thunderous boom that echoed through the forest.
Bolts slid into place.
Silence fell.
Not peace.
Just silence.
They collapsed onto the stone floor inside, chests heaving, limbs trembling. Catherine sank against the wall, hands clenched tight in her sleeves. Lawrence bent forward, palms on his knees, gold eyes already adjusting to the darkness.
Yuriko laughed once—high, sharp, hysterical—then clamped her hand over her mouth.
"I think," Jacob wheezed, "I just outran my life expectancy."
Then—
Footsteps.
Measured. Unhurried. Descending from above.
The sound was wrong. Too calm. Too deliberate.
A single candle appeared at the top of the staircase, its flame steady, unwavering. The light revealed a pale hand—long fingers, elegant, untouched by warmth. Slowly, a man stepped into view.
He was devastatingly beautiful.
Long hair the color of pale gold spilled over his shoulders, catching the candlelight like silk. His skin was porcelain-white, unmarred by age or flaw. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes gleamed a deep, luminous red—not feral, but ancient, amused, knowing.
He smiled.
"My, my," he said softly. "How terribly rude."
Each step echoed as he descended.
"Running through my forest," he continued, voice smooth as old wine, "then bursting into my home without knocking."
He stopped a few steps above them, candlelight bathing his face in warm glow that only made his pallor more striking.
"Children these days," he sighed. "No manners at all."
Catherine stared at him, disbelief overriding fear. "Is he a vampire or something?" she muttered. "What is this aesthetic?"
The man tilted his head.
Then laughed.
A real laugh—low, rich, delighted.
"Yes," he said. "A vampire." His lips curved. "Fortunately."
He studied their faces, one by one.
"Or unfortunately," he added. "You may decide."
Jacob froze. Lawrence's interest sharpened. Ayato shifted subtly closer to Yuriko.
Yuriko, however, looked like someone had just confirmed the existence of miracles.
"A vampire?" she breathed. "Like—actually? That's—oh my god. That's been my dream since forever. I can happily offer you my blood if you'd like, I mean—"
Ayato clamped his hand over her mouth.
"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he hissed.
The vampire's red eyes gleamed with amusement.
"Adorable," he murmured. "But unnecessary."
He raised a hand gently. "I do not drink the raw blood of children."
Yuriko blinked.
"…Raw?" Catherine echoed faintly.
The vampire smiled wider.
"You are safe," he said. "For tonight."
He bowed slightly, candlelight dancing across his features. "I am Aurelian Noctifer."
The name settled into the air like a spell.
"You may rest," Aurelian continued, already turning away. "Dawn is far, and the things outside…" His voice softened. "They do not enter uninvited."
As he vanished up the stairs, exhaustion finally claimed them. One by one, they sank to the floor, clinging to relief as tightly as fear had clung to them hours earlier.
Outside, the forest pressed closer to the castle walls.
And far away, where the scarlet circle lay abandoned beneath moonlit snow, the symbols pulsed once more.
The ritual had not failed.
It had answered.