The forest swallowed Cael the moment he left the camp.
The darkness no longer felt oppressive—if anything, it felt welcoming.
His eyes slipped effortlessly through the night, every tree, every branch, every patch of untouched snow as clear as if the sun still hung overhead.
Above him the stars shimmered between drifting clouds, casting pale silver light across the endless wilderness beyond the Wall.
He took a slow breath, and the world exploded into countless scents.
Pine.
Snow.
Old blood.
Smoke carried from distant campfires.
Animals hidden beneath the trees.
Dozens of heartbeats drifted into his awareness from every direction—some belonging to rabbits hiding beneath the snow, others to foxes, wolves, or birds sleeping high among the branches.
He could hear far more than any human ever should, though the farther away a sound was, the harder it became to separate from the rest.
A smile crept across his face.
“So this is what the night feels like.”
He began walking at first, letting his senses guide him, but curiosity got the better of him soon enough.
He leaned forward and pushed off the ground, and the world blurred.
Snow flew beneath his boots as he ran between the trees, weaving around trunks almost instinctively—nothing like yesterday, when he’d nearly launched himself into the air trying to use his new strength.
This time he kept himself under control, increasing his speed little by little.
Faster.
His cloak fluttered behind him.
Still manageable.
He pushed a little harder, and the trees began rushing past, branches whipping by only inches from his shoulders.
His enhanced senses worked together as he ran, his eyes catching every trunk rushing toward him while his sharpened hearing and instincts helped him judge the spaces between them.
Even so, he could feel himself approaching the limits of what he could control.
Even faster.
For a few glorious seconds he forgot where he was—forgot the Wall, forgot Westeros, forgot the hunger.
He simply ran.
Then the forest became a blur, the trees seeming to melt together, and even with his enhanced vision, judging distance grew difficult.
Cael slowed at once.
“No,” he muttered to himself.
“That’s enough.” He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.
“I’m still not used to this body.” A thousand years of Klaus Mikaelson’s instincts did not belong to him.
He still had to learn where his own limits lay.
As he continued through the forest, another heartbeat reached his ears—heavy, powerful, each beat slow enough to shake the silence around it.
Cael stopped.
A massive black bear emerged from behind a cluster of pines, sniffing lazily at the snow, unaware of him.
For a brief moment his instincts urged him forward.
Its blood would satisfy me.
He took one step, then stopped himself, his eyes narrowing as he studied the beast.
It was enormous, and even if he could kill it—and he had little doubt he could—it would not be an easy fight.
Its claws could shred his cloak and leave deep wounds across his body.
He would heal, but the fight would be painful, loud, and completely unnecessary.
Clothes, on the other hand, didn’t regenerate.
He smiled faintly.
“Yesterday, I would’ve attacked.” Vesper’s words echoed through his mind—strength isn’t enough—and Cael nodded to himself.
“There’ll be easier prey.” Without another glance, he disappeared into the trees.
Nearly half an hour later, the scent of wood smoke drifted through the cold air, and Cael immediately slowed.
He crouched behind a snow-covered boulder and looked ahead.
A Wildling camp?
His brows rose slightly.
What are the chances.
He hadn’t expected to find one this far beyond the Wall.
Roughly twenty tents stood scattered in a wide circle around several dying campfires.
Most of the camp slept; only a handful of orange flames still burned against the darkness, the quiet broken by the crackling of firewood, the occasional cry of a restless infant from inside one of the tents, and the distant murmur of two men speaking while standing watch.
His eyes swept across the camp.
Four guards.
Two slowly patrolled the outer edge with spears in hand, their breaths turning to mist in the freezing air.
Another sat beside the largest fire, rubbing his hands together for warmth while pretending to stay alert.
The last leaned against a sharpened wooden stake, fighting sleep more than any enemy.
I should leave.
There was nothing to gain by wandering into a camp full of armed strangers.
If someone spotted him, questions would follow, and questions always led to trouble.
He had already pushed his luck enough these past few days.
Cael slowly shifted his weight, preparing to turn away.
Then a new scent reached him.
Blood.
Fresh.
Human.
He froze, his nostrils flaring instinctively.
The smell wasn’t overwhelming—just one person, injured.
His eyes searched the camp once more.
The scent drifted from the edge of the tents.
Someone’s hurt.
He remained motionless for several long seconds before another thought surfaced.
This could be an opportunity.
A vampire’s blood could heal even fatal wounds—he’d watched it happen countless times.
But this wasn’t the world of The Vampire Diaries.
Would it still work here?
It must.
There was only one way to find out.
Besides, if his blood truly possessed the same healing properties, he could save a life while satisfying his own hunger, and that was a far better alternative than hunting another innocent animal.
His gaze followed the scent toward the edge of the camp, where a lone figure sat on a fallen log just beyond the reach of the nearest fire.
A young woman, perhaps twenty-two, wrapped in thick furs several sizes too large for her, sat with one arm resting across her lap.
Strands of dark brown hair had escaped the rough braid hanging over one shoulder, sticking to her face where melting snow had dampened them.
Her features were sharp but weary, shaped by cold winters and harder years, yet there was still a quiet beauty beneath the exhaustion.
Slowly she unwound the bloodstained cloth wrapped around her forearm.
The flesh beneath was swollen and angry red, dark streaks of infection crawling farther up her arm.
She touched the wound gently before flinching.
“…It’s getting worse.”
Cael looked around one last time.
The nearest guard had his back turned.
No one was watching.
He reached beneath his cloak and pulled out the torn strip of his old T-shirt, the last piece of clothing he still carried from Earth, and wrapped it over the lower half of his face.
Then he stepped silently out of the darkness.
Nessa tied the bloodstained cloth back around her arm with trembling fingers.
A few more days—that was all the healer had given her.
If the fever climbed any higher, they would cut off her arm, and if they didn’t, she would simply die.
She wasn’t sure which fate frightened her more.
A faint crunch echoed behind her, and her head snapped toward the trees.
Someone was there.
A tall figure emerged silently from between the snow-covered pines, as though the forest itself had decided to give him shape.
Heavy furs concealed most of his body, and the lower half of his face was hidden behind a strange piece of dark cloth unlike anything she had ever seen.
Only his eyes were visible—calm, unmoving, watching her.
Fear shot through her, and her hand went immediately to the knife hanging from her belt.
“Who’s there?”
The stranger stopped several paces away.
“You don’t look like you’re going to survive.”
Her grip tightened around the knife.
“…Who are you?”
“A healer.” The answer came without hesitation.
“I can heal your arm.”
She stared at him—a masked stranger, someone who had appeared from the darkness without making a sound.
Every instinct told her to run.
But where?
Back to the camp?
Back to the healer who had already condemned her arm?
Back to waiting for death?
She had nothing left to lose.
So instead of running, she listened.
“A healer,” she repeated.
“You picked a poor place to find patients.
Our own healer already looked at it.
He says the arm has to come off.” Her eyes dropped toward the infected wound.
“If it doesn’t—I’ll die.”
Cael slowly approached.
“May I?”
She hesitated, then reluctantly held out her arm.
Cael pretended to examine the wound; the flesh around it was hot, the infection spread farther than she’d realized.
He looked back at her.
“No.”
She frowned.
“No?”
“It won’t heal with time alone. New chapters come out on g.com first.
The infection is already spreading.
If nothing changes, your healer is right—you’ll either lose the arm, or lose your life.”
Her face paled.
“I knew it,” she whispered.
“But—”
“I have a potion,” Cael continued.
“A potion?”
“A very special potion.
It can heal even this.”
Hope flickered across her face for the first time.
“You can really save my arm?”
“I can.”
Her breathing quickened.
“What do you want in return?”
Cael looked directly into her eyes.
“A trade.”
She lowered her head.
“I don’t have anything worth trading.
No spare furs, no dried meat, nothing anyone would barter for.
If I did, I would’ve traded them already.”
“You have something I need.”
She slowly looked back up.
“…What?”
“Your blood.”
Silence settled between them.
Nessa instinctively took half a step back, her fingers tightening around the knife at her waist.
“My blood?
What would you want my blood for?”
Cael answered without missing a beat.
“My potion is made using blood.
I need yours to prepare it.”
She stared at him in silence.
Everything about the masked stranger felt suspicious—he had appeared from nowhere, he hid his face, and now he wanted her blood.
On any other night she would have run.
But she couldn’t.
Her gaze drifted back to her swollen arm.
The healer had already told her the truth; soon the arm would have to be cut off, and even then, living beyond the Wall with one arm was little more than a slower death.
The stranger might be lying.
He might even be dangerous.
But for the first time since she’d been wounded, someone had offered hope instead of an axe.
After several long moments, she slowly nodded.
“…All right.
I agree.”
Cael smiled beneath the cloth covering his face.
“I’ll need something else first.”
Nessa frowned.
“What?”
“A cup.” He shook his head.
“Or somthing.
Anything that can hold blood.”
She looked down apologetically.
“I don’t have one with me.”
“Can you get one?”
She hesitated, glancing back toward the camp.
“If I leave…
you won’t disappear?”
“I’ll wait.
But don’t tell anyone about me.
If you do, I won’t be here when you return.”
She swallowed nervously before nodding.
“I understand.” Without another word, she hurried back toward the camp, disappearing between the tents.
Cael remained beneath the trees, patiently watching through the darkness, his sharpened hearing following every footstep she took.
She entered one of the tents, exchanged a few quiet words with someone inside, then emerged carrying a polished bull’s horn.
She returned a minute later and held it out carefully.
“This is all I could find.”
Cael accepted it with a nod.
“It’ll do.” Then his gaze drifted toward the knife hanging from her belt.
“I’ll need that too.”
She hesitated only briefly before handing it over.
The stranger had already come this far—if he wanted to kill her, a knife wouldn’t make much difference.
Cael gently took her wrist.
“Hold still.” The blade flashed, and a shallow cut opened across her wrist, dark red blood streaming into the waiting horn.
Nessa flinched but didn’t pull away.
Once the horn was nearly full, Cael handed the knife back.
“Press your other hand over the cut.”
She obeyed immediately.
“What now?”
“I need to prepare the medicine.
Wait here.”
Holding the horn carefully, Cael disappeared behind a nearby pine tree, and the moment the trees hid him from Nessa’s sight, he looked down at the horn in his hands.
Dark crimson blood swayed gently inside it, and the scent struck him like a hammer.
Every instinct inside him screamed drink.
His throat tightened.
Animal blood had kept the hunger at bay, but this was different—the aroma alone was intoxicating.
He tightened his grip on the horn until his knuckles turned white.
“…Just enough,” he whispered, and raised it to his lips.
The first mouthful slid down his throat, and his eyes widened.
It was warm, rich, nothing like the blood of deer or rabbits.
The hunger that had clawed at him for the last two days vanished almost instantly, replaced by a warmth that spread through every part of his body.
His muscles relaxed.
Even his senses seemed sharper than before.
So this is human blood.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, savoring the sensation before forcing himself to pull the horn away.
He looked down at the remaining blood—it would have been easy to finish it, far too easy.
He knew what vampires became when they surrendered to their hunger.
Predators.
Monsters.
Creatures who saw people as nothing more than walking blood bags.
He refused to take that first step.
“That’s enough.
If I drink more than I need, one day I might stop caring.”
He set the horn carefully on a nearby rock, took a slow breath, and drew the knife across his own wrist.
The blade barely broke the skin before blood welled up, a deeper shade of crimson than ordinary blood, almost unnaturally vibrant beneath the moonlight.
He tilted his wrist over the horn, and slowly his blood mixed with what remained inside.
The wound had already begun closing—within seconds it disappeared completely, leaving flawless skin behind.
When the horn was half full once again, Cael lowered his arm.
“That should be enough.”
Nessa looked up the instant he stepped out from behind the tree, and her eyes immediately went to the horn.
“It was full when I gave it to you.” She frowned.
“Now it’s only half full.”
Cael had expected the question.
“The spell condenses the blood,” he answered calmly.
“It removes the impurities and leaves behind only what is needed.
The potion becomes much stronger.”
She nodded slowly, not truly understanding, but then again, she had never seen magic before.
Cael handed her the horn.
“Drink.”
She hesitated for only a heartbeat before lifting it to her lips.
The blood was strangely warm.
She swallowed once, then again, and within seconds she froze.
Heat spread through her arm—not painful, comforting.
The burning sensation that had tormented her for days disappeared, and she looked down as the infected flesh shrank before her eyes.
The redness faded.
The swelling vanished.
Healthy skin replaced rotten flesh.
“What,” she whispered, “what is happening?”
The cut Cael had made across her other wrist sealed itself next, and she stared in disbelief as fresh pink skin replaced the wound completely.
Then she felt something else—her left leg.
Months ago she had broken it during a hunt, and it had healed poorly, leaving a constant ache every time she walked.
She cautiously shifted her weight.
Nothing, not even a twinge.
Her breathing became uneven as the old scars scattered across her hands and forearms slowly faded, and the stiffness in her shoulders disappeared.
She felt healthy—healthier than she could remember feeling in years.
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“It healed,” she said.
She looked at Cael with pure gratitude.
“You really healed me.” She dropped to one knee.
“I don’t know how to repay this.
You can have anything I own.
Anything.
I owe you my life.”
Cael immediately shook his head.
“No.”
She looked up stubbornly.
“Please.
There must be something.”
Cael thought for a moment, then his eyes drifted to the knife hanging from her belt.
“I’ll take the knife.”
She blinked.
“The knife?” A weak laugh escaped her.
“Are you sure?
It isn’t worth much.
If you want, I could barter for a better one.”
Cael smiled beneath the cloth covering his face.
“No.
I like this one’s grip.
It fits my hand.
It’ll do.”
She slowly removed it from her belt and offered it with both hands.
“My name is Nessa.
If you ever need anything, I’ll help however I can.”
Cael accepted the knife before sliding it through his own belt.
“I’m glad to hear that.
Because I do have one condition.” She straightened immediately.
“Anything.”
“You must never tell anyone about me.” Her smile faded.
“Not your family.
Not your friends.
Not your healer.
No one.”
She nodded firmly.
“I understand.”
“Keep your arm covered,” he said, pointing toward the place where the wound had once been.
“Wait several days, then tell everyone it healed naturally.
There isn’t even a scar anymore—if someone sees it now, they’ll start asking questions.”
Nessa instinctively pulled her sleeve down over her arm.
“I’ll do exactly as you say.”
Cael gave a satisfied nod.
“I’ll return in a few days.
When I do, I want you to find people like you.”
She tilted her head.
“What kind of people?”
“People who are badly injured.
Those everyone believes cannot be healed.
I’ll heal them.”
Nessa stared at him in disbelief.
“You mean—you’re going to save more people?”
“If I can.”
She lowered her head respectfully.
“I’ll find them.”
Cael nodded, then took a step as if to leave before suddenly stopping, a thought occurring to him.
“One more question.”
Nessa looked back at him.
“Yes?”
“Do you know anyone in this camp who can use magic?
Any kind.
Witches, mages, warlocks.”
She frowned thoughtfully before slowly shaking her head.
“No.
Not like you.” Then her eyes brightened slightly.
“There is one skinchanger.”
Cael’s attention sharpened immediately.
“A skinchanger?”
She nodded.
“But he’s weak.
He can only enter one bird—nothing else.
He can’t control wolves, or bears, or anything useful.” She shrugged.
“Most people think he’s useless.
He’s strange.
Creepy.
So nobody really talks to him.”
Cael’s thoughts began racing.
A skinchanger—he remembered Bran Stark, the Three-Eyed Raven, the old stories of skinchangers beyond the Wall.
Even a weak one proved that magic here wasn’t limited to old legends.
Then another thought followed almost immediately: no, a skinchanger couldn’t create a daylight ring.
He was useless to Cael for that purpose.
Even so, it was useful information to have.
I’ll remember him.
The eastern horizon remained dark; there were still a few hours before dawn.
“I have to go.”
Nessa quickly stood.
“Will I see you again?”
“Yes.
In a few days.”
She bowed her head.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Cael gave a final nod before disappearing into the forest.
Once he was far enough from the camp, he began running again—not recklessly.
Each time the trees started to blur together, he eased off slightly, and once his vision adjusted, he accelerated again.
A little faster.
A little longer.
Learning.
Testing.
Improving.
With every burst of speed he grew a little more familiar with the vampire’s body he now inhabited, and by the time he finally slowed, he realized something: he wasn’t fighting the strength anymore.
He was beginning to guide it.
A faint smile appeared beneath the cloth covering his face.
Progress.
He reached up and untied the strip of cloth wrapped around his face—the torn piece of his old T-shirt, the last thing he’d brought from Earth—and it came free in his hand.
For a moment he simply stared at it.
It was dirty now, stained with snow, mud, and dried blood.
Silently he folded it and tucked it back inside his cloak.
Then he turned toward Vesper’s camp.
The fire had nearly burned itself into glowing embers by the time Cael returned.
The shelter stood exactly as he had left it.
Vesper still lay beneath his furs, one arm thrown across his chest, snoring softly enough that a normal man would never have heard it.
Cael paused for a moment and listened—slow breathing, steady heartbeat, nothing unusual.
Good.
He quietly stepped over a fallen log, careful not to disturb the snow any more than necessary.
His eyes drifted briefly toward the deer hide stretched across the wooden frame beside the shelter, the strips of venison hanging above the dying coals swaying gently in the cold night breeze.
Everything was undisturbed.
Without making a sound, Cael slipped beneath his own blanket, the familiar scent of smoke and fur surrounding him.
He lay on his back, staring up through the narrow opening of the shelter, and beyond it the stars stretched endlessly across the sky.
His hunger was gone, for now.
More importantly, he had proven something to himself tonight—he didn’t have to become a monster simply because he had become a vampire.
He could feed without killing.
He could use the very curse running through his veins to save lives instead of taking them.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Maybe there really is a way for a vampire to remain human.
The thought lingered with him as he closed his eyes.
Outside, snow continued to fall over the silent forest beyond the Wall, and by the time the first pale light of dawn reached the horizon, both men were asleep.