It is a moonless night and the velvety blackness cloaks you from prying eyes. There were rumors that a coven of ruthless vampires had swept through a small village to the north. It was an event that never left any survivors, but still, you held on to some hope that at least one would be left alive. For two years you had been tracking this particular coven, but there were never any witnesses left to give you any clues.

The village comes into your line of sight despite being several miles away. No fires burned and the stench of fear and death filled your nostrils. Disgust builds in your throat and you urge yourself to move faster.

The village is a grim sight, indeed. Yet, you carefully search each house and alleyway for signs of life. Upon inspecting the wreckage of a bar, a quiet gasp of air draws you to the side of the building. 

There, slumped against the wall with more blood on his clothes than inside his body, is a young man. The pitiful thump of his heartbeat barely reaches your ears and death has already begun to latch its fingers around him. 

What a fragile thing.

It takes effort for him to raise his eyes to you, but despite his quickening descent into the arms of death, he musters a single word.

“Help.”

You lower yourself to his side and grab his hand. Cold. It would not be long now. The least you could do was be there for him in his final moments. It is a terrifying thing to die alone.

He attempts to s