Chapter Text
Chapter 1 — “Echoes in the Blood”
The file had gone unopened for two years.
Grace Ashcroft noticed it before she even sat down. Not because of the dust gathered on the folder or the classification markings, but because of the way the agent who handed it to her avoided any unnecessary comment. It was one of those cases that weren’t discussed out loud, the kind that were filed away with the hope of never having to look at them again.
A village in Romania. Isolated. Gone after an incident with no official explanation.
The documents were fragmentary: incomplete reports, unfinished medical records, photographs showing deformed structures and remains that didn’t correspond to anything conventional. There were indirect mentions of mutations, of unknown organisms, of a biological focal point that had grown uncontrollably before collapsing.
Nothing conclusive. Nothing clean.
“We want to know what really happened,” they told her.
Grace accepted without asking questions. She knew there would be no clear answers in that room.
She would find them in the field.
The journey was long and silent.
As she moved deeper into the mountains, the signal disappeared completely. The road narrowed until it became an uneven strip of hardened earth, surrounded by a dense forest that seemed to close in around her. There was no traffic, no recent signs of passage. Only old snow and bare branches.
When the village finally appeared through the mist, it didn’t do so all at once. It emerged gradually, as if the landscape itself revealed it with reluctance.
Grace stopped the vehicle at a prudent distance and watched for a few seconds before stepping out. She had seen disaster zones before, but this was different. It wasn’t just destruction; it was abandonment without intervention. No one had rebuilt, cleaned, or even marked the area.
It was as if they had decided to leave it exactly as it had been left.
She moved forward cautiously, mentally recording every detail. The houses were collapsed to varying degrees—some reduced to rubble, others partially standing but unrecognizable. She found no bodies, which unsettled her more than the opposite would have.
She took photographs, collected small samples, noted the arrangement of the damage. There were clear inconsistencies: some areas seemed to have been swept away by a massive force, while others showed barely any impact. It didn’t match a conventional explosion.
Something had been there. Something that did not behave like a natural phenomenon.
The castle dominated the horizon.
Even in ruins, it still loomed over the rest of the place. The towers were damaged, some partially collapsed, but the main structure remained standing in a way that defied what she had seen in the village.
Grace approached the main entrance. The doors were open, torn from their hinges as if they had been forced from the inside.
That detail stayed with her as she crossed the threshold.
The interior was submerged in a heavy stillness. The air was colder than outside, thick with the smell of dampness, dust, and something older. The remains of furniture were scattered across the floor, mixed with fragments of wood and stone. The walls showed deep cracks, some crossed by hardened formations that did not seem to be part of the original structure.
Grace moved slowly, keeping her weapon lowered but ready. There were no signs of recent activity, but neither was there the feeling of a place completely dead.
She went up to the second level along a partially collapsed corridor. As she advanced, she noticed a subtle change in the atmosphere. It wasn’t something she could measure, but she could perceive it: a different density, a sense that this space had been left on the margins of total destruction.
At the end of the corridor, a door remained closed.
Not intact, but better preserved than the rest.
Grace watched it for a few seconds before pushing it open.
The room was dim. The light coming through a broken window barely outlined the main shapes: dust-covered furniture, aged fabrics, surfaces that showed abandonment but not direct devastation.
That was when she made out the figure.
It was at the back, leaning against the wall, almost blending into the shadow. For an instant, she thought it was just another remnant of the place, something left behind without importance. But as she approached, the outline became too defined to be inert.
She stopped.
The figure was breathing.
It was a slight, irregular movement, but unmistakable.
Grace lowered her weapon slightly and took another step, just enough for the light to reveal the face.
Blonde hair, tangled and dirty, falling over skin too pale even for the conditions of the place. Her clothes were worn, clinging to her body as if they had not been changed for weeks—perhaps months.
Her right arm ended abruptly below the elbow.
There was no recent bandaging, no sign of proper healing.
It didn’t match anything normal.
The woman’s eyes opened suddenly, fixing on her with a mixture of confusion and alertness. She tried to move, but her body barely responded. The weakness was evident in every attempt to rise.
Grace raised her hands slightly, showing she didn’t intend to attack.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
The reaction was not relief. The tension in the woman’s body increased, as if she couldn’t decide whether to flee or stay. Her breathing became more irregular, and then Grace understood what was happening.
It wasn’t just fear.
It was hunger.
A physical need so pronounced that it cut through any other reaction.
The way her eyes fixed on her was not that of someone assessing a threat, but of someone who had reached the limit of her endurance.
Grace stepped forward carefully, measuring the distance so as not to invade too quickly.
“You’ve survived here…” she said softly. “All this time.”
She got no response, but the woman’s gaze didn’t leave her. There was something contained in that expression—something beyond simple survival. The exhaustion was evident, but so was a resistance that didn’t match her condition.
Grace assessed the situation quickly. Extreme malnutrition, prolonged blood loss in the past, lack of regeneration… the last detail was what caught her attention most.
That pointed to something specific.
“You need to feed,” she added, with more certainty than doubt.
The woman blinked, barely, but didn’t deny it.
Grace made the decision without dramatics, as if it were a logical extension of what she was seeing. She unfastened her coat and exposed her shoulder, pulling the fabric aside carefully.
“You can,” she said. “I won’t pull away.”
The woman watched her for a few seconds, as if struggling to process the offer. There was distrust, but also a need she could no longer ignore. When she finally moved, she did so with cautious slowness, as if every gesture required conscious effort.
She came close enough to hesitate once more.
Grace didn’t move.
The initial contact was cold, almost imperceptible. Then the fangs pierced her skin with a precision that surprised Grace in how controlled it was. There was no violence, no excessive urgency, despite her condition.
The pressure was firm, but contained.
Enough to feed.
Not enough to cause unnecessary harm.
Grace kept her breathing steady, focusing on not tensing up. She could feel the weakness in the woman’s body even in the way she leaned against her, as if that contact were the only thing keeping her upright.
Time passed without either of them speaking.
When she finally pulled away, she did so slowly, almost reluctantly. Her features had changed slightly; the exhaustion was still there, but there was more clarity in her gaze.
Grace pressed the wound with her hand, quickly assessing the damage. It wasn’t serious.
Then she looked at her again.
“What’s your name?”
The woman hesitated for a moment before answering.
“Bela.”
The name came out low, as if it hadn’t been spoken in a long time.
Grace nodded.
“Grace.”
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable. Nor was it entirely calm.
But it was different from the one she had found when she entered.
Because now, in the middle of a place reduced to ruins…
she was no longer alone.
And for the first time since the mission began, Grace had the feeling that what she had come to find was not in the remains of the village, nor in the incomplete reports.
It was in front of her.
Alive.
The change in Bela was not immediate, but it was noticeable.
Her breathing ceased to be irregular, and although she was still weak, she no longer seemed on the verge of collapse. She remained where she was, without trying to move away, watching Grace with a different attention than a few minutes before. There was less confusion in her gaze, less urgency, and something closer to awareness of herself.
Grace stood up slowly, making sure not to make sudden movements. The pain in her shoulder persisted, but it was manageable. She had endured worse injuries in far less controlled situations.
“That should help for now,” she said, adjusting her clothing carefully.
Bela didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze dropped briefly to the spot where she had bitten, as if evaluating what she had done, and then returned to Grace’s eyes. There was no guilt in her expression, but there was a kind of restraint, as if she were measuring every reaction.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
Her voice was clearer now, though still low.
Grace tilted her head slightly.
“You needed to feed.”
“Not from you.”
The response was quick, almost automatic, but not aggressive. It sounded more like an old rule, something learned and repeated for a long time.
Grace wasn’t affected.
“It was the most immediate option.”
Bela seemed to consider that. Her pale fingers, still marked by dirt, tightened slightly against the fabric of her dress before relaxing again. There was a contained tension in her posture, as if she didn’t fully trust her own control yet.
“I could have hurt you more,” she added.
“But you didn’t.”
This time, Bela had no immediate reply. Her gaze lingered on Grace a few seconds longer than necessary, as if that simple observation carried more weight than it seemed.
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable, but it was dense. The kind of silence in which both were evaluating something beyond the immediate situation.
Grace was the first to break it.
“Are you the only one left?”
The question was direct, but her tone wasn’t. There was no pressure in it—only a clear intent to understand.
Bela didn’t look away, but something in her expression shifted. Not dramatically, but in a subtle detail: a slight tightening of her jaw, a pause before answering.
“Yes.”
A single word.
Enough.
Grace nodded slowly, processing the information. That matched the complete absence of activity in the village, but not what she had expected to find.
“The others…” she began, but didn’t finish the sentence.
She didn’t need to.
Bela understood.
“They died.”
There was no hesitation in the answer, but neither was there coldness. It was a simple statement, stripped of embellishment, as if saying it any other way would change nothing.
Grace didn’t press further.
She moved through the room slowly, observing details she had overlooked before. There were signs of habitation: objects moved, traces of what seemed to have been an attempt to organize the space within the overall abandonment. Bela had not only survived—she had remained there by choice… or by lack of alternatives.
“This was your room,” Grace said, more as confirmation than a question.
Bela nodded slightly.
“It was.”
Grace stopped near the broken window, looking outside for a moment. From there, the village looked even more desolate, as if distance intensified its emptiness.
“The explosion,” she continued. “It destroyed everything.”
“Not everything.”
Grace turned enough to look at her again.
Bela had shifted slightly. She was no longer fully supported by the wall. Her posture was more upright, though still fragile. The effect of the blood was evident, but not enough yet to restore her strength.
“It wasn’t just an explosion,” Bela added. “It was… the end of something that had been growing for a long time.”
Grace frowned slightly.
“Do you know what it was?”
Bela hesitated.
It didn’t seem like a lack of information, but rather a choice about how much to say.
“They called it the megamycete.”
The term wasn’t unfamiliar to Grace. She had seen it mentioned in the reports, always indirectly, as if those who wrote them avoided describing it clearly.
“And you…?”
She didn’t finish the question.
Bela completed it easily.
“I survived.”
Grace studied her for a few seconds, evaluating that answer. There was no pride in it. No relief.
Just a fact.
“How?”
Bela held her gaze.
“I don’t know.”
This time, Grace did detect something different. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. She chose not to press.
Not yet.
The silence returned, but now it had a different quality. It was no longer the initial tension of two strangers, but something more stable, though still fragile.
Grace took a step toward the door, then stopped.
“You need more than that,” she said, implicitly referring to the blood. “You’re weak.”
Bela didn’t deny it.
“I know.”
“There are supplies in my vehicle. I don’t know what will be useful for you, but I can check.”
The offer lingered in the air.
Bela looked at her carefully, as if searching for a hidden intention behind those words. She didn’t find one.
“Are you going to come back?” she asked.
Grace didn’t answer immediately. Not because she doubted, but because the question implied more than it seemed.
“Yes.”
It was a simple answer, but firm.
Bela held her gaze for a moment longer, as if she needed to confirm it wasn’t an empty promise.
Then she nodded.
Grace headed toward the exit, but before crossing the threshold, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder.
Bela hadn’t moved, but she no longer looked like the same figure Grace had found upon entering. She was still fragile, yes, but there was a different presence in her now—something beginning to rebuild from within.
“I won’t be long,” Grace added.
Bela didn’t respond with words.
But she didn’t look away.
When Grace stepped back into the hallway, the castle felt different again.
Not less dangerous.
But… less empty.
And as she descended the stairs, with the clear objective of returning to the vehicle, an idea began to take shape in her mind.
She had come to investigate what had happened in that village.
To reconstruct the events.
To find answers.
But what she had found in that room didn’t match any report.
It wasn’t a remnant of the past.
It was something still unfolding.
Something that, whether she wanted it or not, was now part of her mission.
And also something harder to define.
Because in the middle of all that…
she had made a decision that wasn’t in any protocol.
And she could no longer undo it.