Chapter 3: The Elder’s Game

The streets of the Old District were unlike anything Evangeline had ever seen. Narrow alleyways wound through ancient buildings, their facades worn by time. Dim lanterns flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows along the cobblestone roads. The scent of damp stone and something metallic—blood, perhaps—clung to the air.

Dorian led the way, his steps unhurried but deliberate. Lucian stayed close to Evangeline, his presence a silent promise of protection. Yet, despite his reassuring presence, unease curled in her stomach. The encounter with the vampires earlier still left her rattled, and now she was about to meet an elder—one of the last who had known her mother.

Dorian stopped in front of a weathered wooden door, its surface etched with strange symbols. He rapped his knuckles against it three times, pausing briefly before adding a fourth knock. A tense silence followed.

Then, the door creaked open.

The figure standing on the other side was nothing like Evangeline had imagined. She had expected a frail old man, hunched with age, but the elder was tall, his silver hair pulled back into a low tail. His crimson eyes held an unsettling wisdom, his gaze sweeping over them before landing on her.

"So, this is the dhampir," he mused, his voice smooth yet edged with something dangerous. "Enter."

Lucian gave Evangeline a slight nod, and she stepped inside. The interior of the elder’s dwelling was lined with bookshelves, old scrolls stacked haphazardly. A fireplace crackled at the far end of the room, casting flickering light over a massive wooden desk covered in aged parchment.

The elder gestured for them to sit, though his gaze never left Evangeline. "I am Aldric," he introduced himself. "And you, my dear, have caused quite the stir."

Evangeline swallowed, her throat dry. "I didn’t ask for any of this."

Aldric chuckled. "Few do, yet fate rarely concerns itself with our desires. Tell me, child, do you know what you are?"

She hesitated before shaking her head. "I only just found out."

"Then allow me to enlighten you." Aldric leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You are a dhampir, a rare being born of both vampire and human blood. That alone makes you a threat. To the humans who fear what they cannot control. To the vampires who covet what they cannot possess."

His words sent a shiver through her. "Why would they see me as a threat?"

Aldric’s lips curled into a knowing smile. "Because, child, a dhampir’s power is unpredictable. Your blood carries both life and death. It grants you abilities neither race fully understands, and that makes you dangerous."

Lucian, who had remained silent, finally spoke. "She’s already starting to awaken. I saw it tonight."

Aldric’s gaze flicked to him, intrigued. "Is that so?" He studied Evangeline again, eyes narrowing. "Then we must test you."

Evangeline’s stomach twisted. "Test me?"

Aldric stood, moving to a nearby shelf. He retrieved a small, ornate dagger, its blade glinting in the firelight. "Your abilities will only continue to grow, and without control, they will consume you. You must learn what you are capable of."

She eyed the dagger warily. "And what exactly do you want me to do?"

Aldric smirked. "Bleed."

Lucian stiffened beside her. "That’s not necessary."

"On the contrary," Aldric countered smoothly. "It is essential. She must understand the nature of her blood."

Evangeline took a steadying breath. If she was going to survive whatever was coming, she had to know what she was. What she could do. Slowly, she reached for the dagger.

The moment the blade pricked her skin, a sharp pain lanced through her palm. A single drop of blood welled up, crimson against pale flesh.

And then everything changed.

A surge of heat coursed through her veins, her vision sharpening until she could see every detail in the room with unnatural clarity. The crackling of the fire roared in her ears, each ember popping like an explosion. The scent of the aged parchment became overwhelming, drowning her senses. But it was the pulse of the others in the room—the rhythmic thrum of their existence—that truly sent a shock through her.

She could feel them. Hear the blood rushing beneath their skin. Lucian’s was steady and strong, controlled despite his tension. Dorian’s was slower, more deliberate. But Aldric—his was almost nonexistent, as if he had mastered the art of silence itself.

Her breath hitched as something else stirred within her. Hunger. Not for food. Not for sustenance.

For blood.

She gasped, dropping the dagger as if it had burned her. The sensation faded, leaving her reeling.

Aldric’s expression was unreadable, but there was a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "Fascinating," he murmured. "Your blood sings, child. I wonder… how long before you can no longer resist its call?"

Evangeline clenched her fists, shaking. "I won’t become a monster."

Aldric chuckled. "That is not for you to decide. It is in your nature. The question is, will you control it, or will it control you?"

Lucian stood abruptly, his jaw tight. "We’re done here."

Aldric waved a dismissive hand. "As you wish. But know this, dhampir—the world is watching, and the storm is coming. Choose wisely."

Evangeline didn’t speak as she followed Lucian out of the elder’s dwelling, Dorian trailing behind with an amused smirk. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, uncertainty, and a dark hunger she didn’t understand.

As the night swallowed them once more, one thing was clear.

She was changing.

And there was no turning back.

The darkness had begun to claim her, and soon, she would have to decide—would she embrace it or fight against the tide?

A cold wind howled through the streets as they walked away, and Evangeline couldn’t shake the feeling that Aldric’s words were more than just a warning—they were a prophecy. Somewhere, hidden in the shadows of the city, forces were moving against her, and she was running out of time to prepare for the battle ahead.

Lucian walked beside her in silence before finally speaking. "You don’t have to face this alone."

Evangeline met his gaze, and for the first time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe—just maybe—she wouldn’t have to.