Icarus's Point of View
The girl and I sprinted towards her cottage, her hurried footsteps quickening as we neared the small wooden structure. I could feel the urgency in her movements, and as soon as we arrived, I made the decision to stay outside, keeping watch.
It was clear that her priority was her father, and I could sense the weight of that responsibility on her.
"I’ll stay here," I murmured. "You go ahead."
Without another word, she nodded and rushed inside, her footsteps barely audible as she disappeared through the door. Once it clicked shut behind her, I remained in the shadow of the trees, eyes scanning the surrounding area. The atmosphere felt tense, thick with something I couldn’t quite place.
I could hear it now—the unmistakable cries of a gigantic bat, its screeching calls echoing through the night air. It was unnervingly close, and for a moment, I debated whether or not to confront it. I stayed still, waiting, hoping that my presence would be enough to keep it at bay. After all, this wasn’t the first time I’d dealt with monstrous creatures. I could handle it.
But then something nagged at the back of my mind. The bat had to have already spotted us, yet it didn’t attack. It hadn’t come any closer. That was strange.
I shifted my position, squinting at the air around me, trying to sense what was off. A ripple, faint but undeniable, washed over me. A barrier—an invisible force surrounding the cottage.
"Shield bubble... this aura belongs to Alpha Jethro of the neighboring pack," I thought, piecing it together. "He lives several miles away from here... but this is definitely his doing."
I couldn’t help but feel a surge of relief. If the bat was under the influence of the Darkblood Legion, and if they were as relentless as I suspected, they would have attacked by now. Something was protecting this place, keeping it hidden from the chaos outside.
Minutes before this incident...
I had been roaming the continent, investigating reports, as my master had instructed, regarding the Darkblood Legion, a notorious vampire cult that bred massive beasts to serve them in their twisted war against the werewolves. I’d encountered these monsters before—ferocious and deadly—but this particular bat... it was different. I had followed it here, to this quiet village, where I had unexpectedly crossed paths with this girl.
At first, she had seemed like just another innocent bystander caught in the midst of something larger, something she didn’t fully understand. But there was more to her than that. I could sense it—an unusual aura surrounding her, something that didn’t quite fit with the world around her. It was faint, but unmistakable.
A chill ran down my spine. I had a feeling this wasn’t a coincidence. The Darkbloods were clever—they wouldn’t just send a monster without a purpose. There had to be more to this.
I turned my gaze back toward the cottage. The girl was inside, probably tending to her father. She had no idea what was happening outside, or what the bat's presence meant. She couldn’t know how close the danger truly was.
But I did.
And as much as I wanted to confront the creature head-on, I knew that my priority was to keep them both safe. The shield bubble would hold—for now. But that wasn’t a guarantee for much longer.
The night was growing darker, and the tension in the air thickened with every passing minute. The bat’s cries seemed to grow fainter, but I wasn’t fooled.
It was waiting.
Watching.
And I was determined to find out why.
"Father... wake up, please, I brought the medicines," Darcelle’s voice cracked as she cried, her hands trembling as she shook her father’s frail form vigorously.
Despite her desperate efforts, he didn’t stir.
His pale skin was cold to the touch, and his shallow breaths gave no indication of life returning to him. The sight was heartbreaking, and I could feel the weight of her worry pressing heavily on her.
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I stepped forward, my footsteps soft on the wooden floor as I approached them. The girl’s distress was palpable, and I could sense the deep bond they shared—she was desperate, clinging to any hope that her father would wake up. I could hear her heart racing in her chest, a mix of fear and hopelessness.
Reaching out, I felt for the old man’s pulse, my fingers pressing lightly against his neck. It was faint, barely there. With a quiet sigh, I applied gentle pressure to the acupuncture points near his chest, targeting the specific spots that could trigger a response. A moment passed in silence before he suddenly coughed violently, his body jerking as his eyes fluttered open.
Darcelle gasped in relief, a tear slipping down her cheek as she held his hands tightly, her voice trembling with emotion. "Father, you're awake," she whispered, her tone a mixture of joy and disbelief.
The old man’s eyes cleared, though they still held a glazed look of confusion. His gaze shifted to his daughter, and then, slowly, to me. His voice was raspy as he managed to speak, though it took a great deal of effort. "Thank you, sir," he croaked, turning his head towards me. "Who... is this?"
Darcelle hesitated, her eyes flickering toward me before she realized she hadn’t asked my name. She looked back at her father, and her voice faltered for a moment. "He is... um, he’s... well," she trailed off, searching for the right words. "I was being chased by a monster outside the village," she continued, her voice steadier now, "and he came to my rescue." She turned to look at me with a quiet plea in her eyes, as though silently asking for my help to fill in the blanks.
I remained silent for a moment, my gaze never leaving the old man. My mind was racing, and instinctively, I knew I had to be careful with my words. "My name is Rusell," I said, finally breaking my silence. "I was just passing through when I met your daughter." I lied smoothly, keeping my expression neutral. The old man wouldn’t question it, and Darcelle, though she seemed perceptive, wouldn’t have enough experience to know the difference.
Her father nodded, still looking somewhat dazed but grateful. He gave a weak hum of acknowledgment. "Mr. Rusell... thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with quiet gratitude. He attempted to push himself up, but Darcelle was quick to stop him, her hands gentle but firm as she urged him to stay down.
"Father, don’t sit up," she said, her voice quivering with concern, almost on the verge of breaking. She gently placed her hands on his chest, guiding him back down to the bed. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears, a mixture of relief and lingering fear for the man she loved so deeply.
I stepped closer, sensing the growing tension in the room, and spoke firmly, my voice calm but authoritative. "Don’t get up," I said, my gaze not leaving Darcelle’s father as I addressed him. Then, turning my attention to the girl, I added, "Give me the herbs you took. I’ll refine them for you."
She looked at me for a moment, her expression conflicted. But the urgency of the situation and the trust I had quietly built seemed to tip the balance.
She nodded and reached for the satchel of herbs she had taken from Mr Ezio's house earlier, handing it to me with a look of quiet determination. The bag was weathered, worn from the journey she’d likely made to collect the plants, and the earthy scent of the herbs filled the air as I took it from her.
Darcelle’s father was awake, but weak, and there was still the lingering presence of danger outside the cottage—danger that had yet to reveal itself fully. But for now, inside this small home, there was a fleeting moment of peace. It wouldn’t last long, but I would make sure it lasted long enough for them to gather their strength.
As I began sorting through the herbs, carefully preparing the mixture, I felt the girl’s gaze on me, a silent question in her eyes.
She didn’t fully trust me yet, and I didn’t blame her.
She was only just beginning to understand the complexity of the world we lived in, and I could see the questions beginning to build up in her mind.
What was I really doing here?
Who was I really?
But that would come later.
For now, there were other matters to attend to.
"Darcelle, I am dying," her father's voice was barely a whisper, but the weight of his words seemed to fill the room. As soon as she sat beside him on the bed, his fragile form seemed to sag further, as if the act of speaking drained him of even the little strength he had left. I couldn’t help but overhear, unable to ignore the conversation unfolding before me, even though I tried to focus on the task at hand.
"After I die, you must make sure that you take good care of yourself," he added, his voice thick with resignation, as though he had come to accept the inevitable truth. His eyes, clouded with pain and fatigue, locked with his daughter’s, and for a moment, there was a deep, aching silence.
Darcelle’s hand tightened around his, her grip shaking as if her entire world was unraveling before her. The tears she had been holding back for so long finally broke free, spilling down her cheeks like an uncontrollable river. Her face twisted with the agony of her father’s words, and for a moment, I could feel the rawness of her emotions, her heart breaking under the weight of the inevitable.
"No, Father, please don’t speak like that," she begged him, her voice trembling with desperation. She shook him gently, as if trying to wake him from some cruel nightmare. But her father’s eyes were heavy, his body frail beneath her touch, and his breath came in shallow gasps. The hopelessness in her voice was unmistakable, but there was nothing she could do to change his mind.
"Father, you will be fine," she added quickly, her tone now filled with a fragile hope, though even she seemed unsure of her own words. Her eyes, red-rimmed from crying, were locked onto his, searching for some sign of strength, something to reassure her that he wasn’t truly slipping away. But there was nothing—only the steady, painful silence of her father’s weakening state.
He coughed then, a series of harsh, ragged bursts that rattled through his chest, his frail form trembling with each one.