They crossed into Duskreach at twilight.
The city had once been a haven for blood-traders and rogue magi, a borderland between vampire courts and the rest of the civilized world. Now, it stood like a carcass—half-buried in fog, its towers crumbling, its bridges splintered. Stone buildings rose like bones out of the ruin. Not a single bird cried overhead.
Qin pulled his hood tighter. The air here felt thin, metallic, as if soaked in dried blood.
"Vampire land," Lyra muttered. "Wonderful."
"You're not scared?" Qin asked.
"I am," she said. "But fear keeps you quick."
They moved through the empty streets with caution, their boots crunching over broken tile. Signs were written in languages neither of them recognized. Occasionally, a crimson smear streaked across the walls—old, but not forgotten.
And then, they were not alone.
The first sign was a whisper behind them.
The second was the cold breath at Qin's neck.
"Don't move," he warned, gripping his staff.
But the Nightborne moved first.
Figures poured out from the shadows—gaunt, fast, fanged. Their skin was pale like death, eyes glowing violet in the gloom. They didn't speak. They just attacked.
Lyra shifted halfway—fangs bared, claws sprouting—then launched into the pack, feral and focused. Qin channeled fire into a warding circle, but they overwhelmed it quickly.
"Too many!" Lyra shouted, back-to-back with him.
Qin's pulse thundered. His magic faltered. They were about to be overrun—
"That's quite enough."
The voice cut the air like a blade dipped in silk.
And then the world bled.
A single figure walked into the fray, and the Nightborne froze. The fog curled around him like a living thing, and his boots made no sound as they touched the ground. He wore a long, tailored coat the color of dried wine, and his hair—shoulder-length and dark as obsidian—framed a face both cruel and beautiful.
His presence was wrong in the way fire is wrong in a library. Dangerous. Devouring.
"Leave," he commanded the Nightborne.
And they did—fleeing like rats before a flood.
Qin's breathing slowed, but his grip didn't relax.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The stranger smiled faintly. "You may call me Cazriel. Or nothing. Either suits me."
Lyra stepped forward, not fully shifted back yet. "Why'd you help?"
Cazriel tilted his head, examining them like specimens in a cage. "Because I was bored. And you two are… curious."
"We didn't ask for your help," Qin said.
"No. But you needed it." Cazriel sniffed the air, his eyes locking onto Qin. "And you… you smell strange."
Qin stepped back. "Don't."
"Oh, don't worry. I won't bite." A smirk. "Not yet."
Lyra growled. "Say that again."
Cazriel raised a brow. "So protective. I wonder why?"
"We don't need your games," Qin said. "We're tracking Umbhrax. That's all."
At that, Cazriel's expression shifted.
"You're hunting the Devourer?" he asked. "Brave. Stupid. Possibly both."
"We're serious," Qin said. "Do you know anything?"
Cazriel turned away, looking up at the ruined towers.
"I know that Umbhrax has killed vampire lords older than this city. I know that his magic eats memories, futures, names. And I know…" He looked over his shoulder, "that you won't survive five more nights without someone like me."
The silence stretched.
Then Lyra crossed her arms. "And what do you want in return?"
Cazriel smiled. "Just… a chance to walk in the sun again."
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
Qin frowned. "That's impossible."
"Not for someone like him," Cazriel said, motioning at Qin. "There's something inside you. Not wizardry. Not blood I recognize. It's… potential."
Qin felt cold. "You don't know anything about me."
"Not yet," Cazriel said. "But I'd like to."
"Why?"
Cazriel stepped closer. Not threatening—just present. "Because I've seen many monsters. Many kings. But you, boy… you could become something worse. Or something greater."
Lyra stepped between them. "You want to come with us, you play by our rules."
He chuckled. "I expected no less from a lone wolf."
She narrowed her eyes. "Call me that again, and I'll gut you."
"I'm sure you'd try."
They left Duskreach by moonlight, now three.
Cazriel traveled silently beside them, more shadow than man. Occasionally, he would hum an old song under his breath—a tune Qin didn't recognize, but that made the trees shiver.
That night, they made camp under the broken arch of a fallen bridge. Lyra stood watch while Qin sat by the fire, staring into the flames.
"You trust him?" he asked quietly.
"No," Lyra said from the shadows. "But I think we need him. For now."
"He's watching me."
"I know."
Qin looked at his hand, the one still glowing faintly from the ring's enchantment.
"Do you think he's right?" he asked. "About me?"
Lyra was quiet for a long time.
"I think we're all wrong," she said finally. "About you. About everything."
Qin turned toward her. "That's not comforting."
"It's not meant to be."
The fire crackled.
Cazriel stood just beyond the light, speaking to something Qin couldn't see. His voice was soft, like prayer or poetry.
Then, as if sensing their eyes on him, he turned and said:
"We begin at dawn. Umbhrax is moving. And this time… it's toward you."
Qin didn't sleep that night.
While Lyra kept watch on one side of the broken bridge and Cazriel stood silently on the other like a statue cast in shadow, Qin sat alone, staring at the flames. Something about the vampire's presence made his skin crawl—not fear exactly, but anticipation, like his blood was reacting to something ancient.
Lyra noticed. She walked over and sat beside him, arms resting on her knees.
"You okay?" she asked.
"No," he said honestly. "You?"
She shrugged. "I've traveled with rogues, warlocks, and even a banshee once. But never a vampire who actually scared me."
Qin smiled faintly. "And yet you let him follow us."
She tilted her head. "Maybe I'm curious too."
He looked at her, really looked. Beneath her usual sharpness, there was something softer tonight. Maybe it was the way the firelight flickered across her bruised cheek. Maybe it was the way she kept glancing toward Cazriel—not with fear, but with caution.
"You ever had a pack?" he asked.
She went quiet for a moment. Then nodded. "A long time ago. Didn't end well."
"What happened?"
She didn't answer right away. Then she said, "They tried to chain me to a fate I didn't choose. So I broke it."
"Do you ever regret leaving?"
"Every night," she whispered. "But I'd regret staying more."