"Stop sucking me off."
"You're sucking too hard."
My voice sounded distant, like it was drowning in deep water.
Everything blurred at the edges, unfocused and hazy.
I couldn't see who I was talking to, but I felt it—something draining from me, pulling at my chest until it tightened like a vise.
A soft female voice drifted through the darkness. "I'll make it quick, my love."
Then came the moan.
She writhed in ecstasy as she bit down into my chest.
I tried to move, to shove her away, but my body refused to obey.
The darkness around me thickened.
Then everything went black.
-----
I jolted awake, a bone-splitting headache threatening to crack my skull open from the inside.
"Fuck," I groaned, pressing my palms against my temples.
The throbbing pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, each beat sending fresh agony through my head.
The same dream. Again.
I'd been having it for weeks now—maybe months.
Always the same voice, that draining sensation, then nothing.
I didn't want it, but it also got me going every time I woke up.
It felt important, like a memory clawing its way to the surface, but every time I woke, the details slipped away like water through my fingers.
My name is Vlad.
I'm an orphan.
Not the kind with a tragic backstory that evokes pity.
The kind people look at with disgust. The kind they whisper about when they think you can't hear.
I was saved as a baby by the executioners from a vampire den.
Knight Cedric, leader of the Holy Executioners, found me in a pool of blood surrounded by dead vampires.
He brought me back to the village and to this orphanage, giving me a chance at life.
The orphanage was a squat stone building on the village's edge, barely large enough for the dozen kids crammed inside.
The walls were perpetually damp, and the stench of mildew mixed with unwashed bodies clung to everything.
My bed—if you could call it that—was a thin straw mattress in the corner, lumpy and uncomfortable.
But despite everything, Knight Cedric still checked on me. He was the only one who treated me like I was worth something.
I sat up slowly, wincing as my body protested.
My ribs ached from yesterday's beating.
I glanced down at my arms—bruises layered on top of bruises, yellowing and purple, some never quite healed.
I'm human, just like everyone else in this village. I don't think I'm bad-looking either. White hair, blue eyes, lean from years of inadequate nutrition. Nothing special, but nothing terrible.
But none of that matters.
Because I'm "vile."
That's what they call me. The other kids. The villagers. Even some adults at the orphanage.
Vile. Tainted. Corrupted. The list goes on. If you could think of a name someone could call me, I've heard it.
Because vampires touched me when I was a baby.
Held me. Fed near me. Breathed the same air as me.
It doesn't matter that I was an infant. It doesn't matter that I had no choice. In their eyes, I'm contaminated. Dirty. Less than human.
The other kids made sure I knew it.
They'd shove me into the mud, steal my food, and hit me when no one was looking.
The villagers were worse; they'd cross the road to avoid me, spit when I walked by, and sometimes, when they felt bold, they'd throw rocks.
I clenched my fists, feeling the ache in my knuckles where I'd punched the wall last night in frustration.
But soon, all of that would disappear.
Because today was the entrance ceremony.
Every year, children who turned eighteen were allowed to attempt the Rite of Bonding.
The day you could try to become an executioner, a holy knight sworn to hunt vampires and protect humanity.
The executioners' blades were powerful. Not just sharp steel, but sacred weapons forged from the hearts of slain vampires.
Each blade carried the soul of the vampire it was made from, and when bonded to an executioner, it granted incredible strength and abilities.
The swords didn't just kill—they spoke to you, inside your soul. They chose their wielder, and if you were chosen, you became something more than human.
You became holy.
All children were allowed to attend the ceremony. It didn't matter if you were noble or peasant, rich or poor. The blades didn't care about bloodlines or status.
They only cared about worthiness and potential.
And this was my shot.
If I could bond with a blade, everything would change.
The Order would accept me. I'd have a purpose. A life. Respect.
I'd finally stop being vile.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, ignoring my body's protests. My head still throbbed, but I shoved the pain down. I'd dealt with worse.
"This is it," I muttered, standing and grabbing my worn tunic from the floor. "Today I turn my life around."
I had to believe that.
Because if I didn't bond with a blade today, I'd be stuck in this miserable existence forever.
The morning air bit at my skin as I left the orphanage, my breath misting in front of me. The sun barely crested the horizon, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets.
I kept my head down as I walked, avoiding eye contact with the few villagers already out.
A woman carrying a basket of bread saw me coming and quickly crossed to the other side of the street.
A man loading a cart spat on the ground as I passed.
I didn't react. I'd learned long ago that reacting only made things worse.
The walk to the Order's castle took about twenty minutes.
With each step, my heart pounded harder.
The spires rose above the village walls. They were a thing of beauty. The castle was made of white stone that seemed to glow in the early morning light, and banners bearing the golden sun emblem of the Order snapped in the wind.
Other children were making their way toward the castle as well, all dressed in their finest clothes, their faces full of excitement and nerves.
Some walked with their parents, who smiled proudly and whispered encouragement in their ears.
I walked alone.
As I approached the massive iron gates, I could see the courtyard beyond, packed with hundreds of people.
Children my age stood in neat rows, and executioners in gleaming silver armor lined the edges, their sacred blades hanging at their sides.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself.
This was it.
I stepped forward, toward the gate…
And suddenly, a hand grabbed my collar and yanked me sideways.
"What the—"
I was dragged into a narrow side corridor, stumbling over my own feet before being hurled into a small private room.
I hit a pile of sandbags hard, the air knocked from my lungs.
"Stay down," a gruff voice barked.
I groaned, trying to push myself up, my vision swimming. "What the hell…"
The door slammed shut behind me, leaving me in the dim, dusty room surrounded by training equipment and the stench of sweat and leather.
My heart raced.
What just happened?
"Trash like you shouldn't be here," a voice called out from the shadows.