Chapter Text
Chapter One: Tides of Blood and Time
The desert stretched endlessly, a lifeless sea of white sand scorched beneath a blinding, terrible sun. The barren expanse mirrored Yuuki Kuran's hollow determination, her crimson irises fixedly staring at the jagged remains of a city far in the distance. Polished steel beams and skeletal buildings jutted from the sand like the bones of a long-dead beast, in a grim mockery of Kaname’s sacrifice—a sacrifice a few, greedy humans had desecrated in their insatiable lust for power.
Yuuki stood atop a dune, her graceful silhouette framed by the burning light.. Her hand gripped the hilt of her blade, her knuckles white and blistering, Artemis’s once-gleaming edge dulled by a loss of power. Though it had weathered the years with her, the weapon was merely a relic of their lost war, a useless tool in a world where its heart had stopped beating.
Behind her, the entrance to Grand Lord Isaya Shoto’s bunker lay concealed—an inconspicuous fissure in the earth, a shadow between the dunes, that served as the last refuge for vampires and their dwindling loyalists. The air inside was thick with desperation, a despair so potent it seemed to seep into the very walls. For those who sought solace here, it was more tomb than sanctuary.
Yuuki had grown tired of tombs.
“Mother,” a voice called, soft but strained. Yuuki turned to see her daughter, Ai, standing a few feet away. Ai’s figure was full of her father’s resilience, her own fiery resolve. Her dark curls framed wine-colored eyes, their stare a constant reminder of the legacy she carried. Clutched in her white, burned fingers, was a tattered map, its edges frayed and its surface marred by use.
“They’re ready for you,” Ai said.
Yuuki nodded. She let her gaze linger a moment longer on the desolate horizon before turning around, and following her daughter back into the bunker, yet another ruin lost to time and the desert. The narrow, patched up corridors, twisted like veins beneath the sand, their dim light powered by a makeshift generator that hummed faintly in the distance. Ai walked ahead, her footsteps quiet but purposeful, and Yuuki couldn’t help but marvel at her composure. Despite everything they had lost, Ai’s determination burned as fiercely as Kaname’s once had. Where had her soft, spoiled little princess disappeared to?
They reached the central chamber. It stretched wide, its ceiling supported by uneven columns that bore the scars of an ill remembered battle. Faint traces of intricate carvings lingered on the pillars, the symbols barely recognizable—ghosts of a language no one living could read. Something of Kaname within Yuuki always stirred at the sight. Her eyes squinted as she stared, but she never managed to read the ideograms.
The room’s walls were patched with salvaged metal and crumbling concrete. Thin veins of sand had managed to creep in, gathering in small piles at the edges of the room. The floor was uneven, a mosaic of ancient stone slabs interrupted by rough steel plating laid down to cover the largest gaps.
Overhead, a string of dim bulbs flickered intermittently, their fragile yellow light sputtering in time with the distant growl of the generator deeper within the bunker. The bulbs cast harsh shadows that stretched and shrank as the power wavered, their faint glow barely holding back the oppressive darkness crowding the far corners of the room, not that darkness mattered much, all that lived in these caverns could see in the dark. Exposed wiring dangled from the rusted ceiling.
At the center of the chamber stood a long table, cobbled together from scavenged metal sheets resting on sturdy wooden crates and slabs of broken concrete. Maps and weathered documents lay scattered across its surface, the paper curling at the edges from age and the dry air. A dented oil lamp sat nearby—cold and unlit, a remnant of the time from before the generator had run successfully. Surrounding the table were mismatched chairs, each more battered than the next, their dusty cushions long since worn thin.
Yuuki stood near the far end of the room, her back pressed lightly against the cool stone wall. Beside her, Ai stood tall, her sharp gaze calmly sweeping over the shadowed figures at the table. Yuuki found solace in the quiet presence of her daughter. Ai’s hand brushed briefly against Yuuki’s arm, a silent reassurance. The flickering light bulbs overhead sputtered intermittently, casting long shadows that stretched across the assembled Purebloods like reminders of the lives they had lost.
The table was crowded with faces lined by the exhaustion born from centuries of struggle. The few remaining Purebloods who had gathered here still carried the remnants of their former elegance, but it was tarnished by hunger and desperation. A few of those who had sought refuge here had gone mad and been put down by the others.
Her eyes lingered on Lord Isaya, the once-proud figure reduced to a flicker of his former self. Now, his blond hair hung limp against his shoulders, and the deep lines etched into his face told stories she could scarcely imagine. Yuuki felt a pang of guilt at the sight, his life had been a tragedy from the moment he lost his children to mortality. She had once hoped that he and Ai would find comfort in each other, but it was not to be. The pureblood man, who had become one of her dearest friends over time, sat at the head of the makeshift table, a figure of quiet authority.
Yuuki’s gaze swept across the room. Yzobel Arofuru sat to Isaya’s right, her pale features untouched by the ravages of time, her light brown hair as silky as ever, yet her round green eyes were striking in their hollowness. Yuuki knew little of the woman beyond the whispers—the Pureblood who had risen from her luxurious slumber coffin to find only the cristal shards of her kin awaiting her return. Yzobel’s eyes were as vacant now as they always were, fixed on nothing in particular, and when she blinked, it was slow—as if she fought the very act of staying awake.
Others sat around the gloomy table, their names inconsequential.Once, these immortals had ruled the world in shadows, their power unmatched. Now, they were ghosts, their dignity eroded by endless defeat.
Yuuki lowered her gaze, unwilling to meet those empty stares for too long. The air here felt heavy, not just with sorrow, but with the weight of expectation. She was young compared to most of the others, a reminder of a happier past, a pretty dream that had dissolved into a beastly nightmare. She shifted uncomfortably, aware that their eyes sometimes flickered toward her and Ai, as if silently wondering if they would be the last ones left standing when they were gone.
She had no answers for them.
“It’s madness,” Yzobel muttered, her hands trembling as she toyed with a silver pendant. “We’re gambling everything on a theory. There’s no guarantee this will work.”
“There’s no guarantee we’ll survive another year,” Ai countered sharply. Her voice cut through the room with a clarity that belied her youth. “The forge is lost. The humans spat on my father’s sacrifice and turned his forge into a weapon of mass murder—a weapon that can kill and command even us. If we do nothing, we’ll die as slaves or worse.”
Yzobel flinched, but she did not argue. None of them did. The weight of truth pressed down on the chamber like a shroud, stifling any hope of dissent.
Yuuki’s eyes lingered on Ai for a moment, pride flickering in her gaze. Ai’s stance, so like her father—rigid but controlled—held the room in a way few others could. Even Isaya seemed hesitant to speak after her words.
Lord Nyeusi, a handsome man with deep black skin and almond eyes framed by long, curling eyelashes, broke the silence with a smooth, resonant voice. His broad nose and full, strong lips gave his face an air of regal defiance. “Ai’s words are harsh, but correct. The humans no longer fear us; they hunt us like beasts. This ritual might not save us, but at least it grants us the dignity of fighting back. I would rather face oblivion by my own hand than die caged.”
Beside him, Lady Asha Kanwar tilted her head, her brown eyes narrowing. Her chocolate skin glowed faintly beneath the flickering light, and smooth silken black hair cascaded over one shoulder. “Dignity? What dignity is there in gambling the last of our bloodlines away on ancient myths? I respect Ai’s passion, but if this ritual fails, there won’t be enough of us left to try anything else.”
“Enough,” Isaya interjected. His soft but firm voice cut through the rising tension. “What other plan do you propose, Lady Asha? Hiding beneath the desert forever? Letting them pick us off one by one?”
Lady Asha’s lips pressed tightly together, but she did not respond.
Yzobel’s fingers twisted her pendant in slow, desperate circles. “You speak as if it’s simple,” she addressed Ai and Isaya. “But blood like ours doesn’t regenerate overnight. There will likely be no regeneration at all, we are all weak from starvation—this ritual will demand our lives.”
“You’re right,” Isaya said softly, his tired amber eyes fixing on Yzobel. “But what choice remains? The humans have found ways to hunt us, even here, beneath the sand. We are barely surviving in a world that would exploit us or exterminate us. This ritual… it’s our last chance.”
Yuuki and Ai took their seats at the table, the weight of the assembly’s gazes pressing heavily on them. “How does it work?” Yuuki asked, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her.
Isaya gestured to a set of scrolls spread across the table. Their ancient ink seemed to flicker like embers struggling to stay alight, fragile yet stubborn against the dark. “The ritual requires blood. Pureblood blood.” He let the words hang heavily before continuing. “A sacrifice of the highest order. It will open a tear in time, theoretically sending you back to the moment Rido awakened Kaname. From there, you must ensure the forge is never created.”
Yuuki’s fingers traced the edge of one scroll, her thoughts distant. “And if I fail?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Then we will eventually cease to exist,” Isaya said grimly. “Our race will be erased, and the rest of humanity will starve and labor in a ruined world for the benefit of their fattened rulers.”
Yzobel exhaled shakily. “I’ve no desire to live in this dead world,” she whispered. “But even if we succeed, there is no guarantee that the humans won't find another way to enslave us.”
Nyeusi gave a hollow chuckle. “They’ll try if they discover us once more. Our existence was only exposed when Kuran made his new forge. We must remain in the shadows. But if they do somehow find us again, I’d rather give them a world that bites back.”
“Anything is better than this,” Ai interjected, her voice quieter now but no less fierce. “We have to try. »
Yuuki exchanged a glance with Ai. Her daughter’s expression was unreadable, but there was no fear in her eyes, only resolve. She had gotten that look from Zero, who was once her husband.
“I’ll go,” Yuuki said finally. “And Ai.”
“Mother—” Ai began, but Yuuki raised a hand to silence her.
“This isn’t up for debate. I need you with me. We are the only Kurans left. Rido was strong; the both of us might very well be needed to stop him.”
Isaya nodded. “Then it is decided. We’ll begin preparations at dusk.”
As the meeting dispersed, Yuuki lingered, staring at the map Ai had brought. It showed the ruins of the forge, surrounded by red markings indicating human encampments. The thought of what they had done to Kaname’s legacy made her stomach churn. His dream had been to create a world where vampires and humans could coexist, where his sacrifice would ensure peace. Instead, his forge had become the heart of a new era of suffering.
“Kaname,” she whispered to the shadows, “I will make this right. I swear it.”
As the sun set behind the sand-scorched ruins, bathing the world in bloody light, the desert grew eerily silent. The oppressive heat of the day gave way to a bitter chill that seeped into the bones. The desert night pressed heavily against the underground chamber, where silence crouched like a patient beast in the corners. The faint, fluttering glow of an oil lamp cast long, wavering shadows on the cracked stone walls. The room was old, crumbling in places, the air thick with dust and the lingering scent of metal and rust. No generator had ever worked in the room, leaving only the soft flutter of the lamp between them and darkness. But for Yuuki and Ai, their vampire eyes pierced the gloom, catching every detail with unsettling clarity.
Yuuki sat on a weathered cot, a pile of faded photographs resting in her lap, their edges curled and brittle. She ran her thumb gently over the image at the top – a six-year-old Yuuki standing beside a teenaged Kaname. The photograph’s colors had dulled, but their faces remained vivid in her memory.
Ai lingered in the doorway, her silhouette barely visible against the deeper black beyond the threshold. Her dark curls framed her face, blending into the shadows.
“I’m scared,” Ai admitted softly, her voice breaking the fragile stillness.
Yuuki’s eyes lifted from the photograph, surprise flickering across her features. Ai rarely voiced such vulnerability.
“So am I,” Yuuki replied, her voice a whisper beneath the lamp’s shaking flame. “But fear isn’t something we can afford right now.”
The room fell into quiet again, save for the distant moan of wind through the tunnels leading to the surface. Ai hesitated, then stepped forward, her bare feet soundless against the stone. She crossed the room and settled beside her mother, peering down at the photograph in Yuuki’s hands. Her fingers brushed gently over the image of Kaname.
“How old were you here?” Ai asked, her gaze fixed on her mother as a child, standing beside Kaname. There was something delicate in the way his hand hovered protectively near her shoulder, a soft intimacy that seemed to have disappeared from the world.
Yuuki’s lips curved faintly, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “That was my sixth’s birthday. Kaname brought me a stuffed bunny that day."
Ai’s eyes lingered on the photo, where little Yuuki’s arms hugged the toy tightly to her heart. "What made that bunny so important to you?"
Yuuki’s eyes darkened, and her hand tightened slightly around the edges of the photograph. “Well, Kaname was the one who gifted it to me. Twice. I didn’t remember, not until later. After the seal on my memories broke. The bunny he gave me… it was the same one I had when I lived with him and my parents, before Rido came. It used to be my favorite, because Kaname had brought it back for me from one of his outings with our Father.”
Ai was silent for a moment, tracing the faint outline of Kaname’s face in the photograph. “He looks… sad.”
Yuuki’s heart clenched. Kaname’s gentleness was clear in the image, but Ai had seen beyond it – the weight he carried, even then.
“He always carried more than he let on, He was so old…” Yuuki murmured. “Even when I didn’t understand it, he never stopped protecting me.”
Ai leaned her head lightly against Yuuki’s shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, the burden of the present seemed to dissolve into the soft warmth of the lamp and the comfort of memories.
“I wish I’d known him,” Ai said at last.
Yuuki’s eyes softened, and she wrapped an arm around her daughter. “So do I.”
In the quiet warmth of their embrace, the desert wind howled faintly outside, but for now, it could not touch them.
Under a canopy of stars barely visible through clouds of sand and toxic particles, the Purebloods gathered. The ritual circle had been drawn meticulously in the sand, its intricate symbols glowing faintly. Yuuki and Ai stepped into the center, their cold hands clasped tightly.
“May our essence guide you,” Isaya intoned solemnly. Without hesitation, he plunged his clawed fingers into his chest and ripped his heart free. The still-beating organ pulsed in his hand before he cast it into the center of the circle. One by one, the others followed, crimson tainting the sand, which greedily drank the moisture.
The world shifted like fractured glass, shattering beneath Yuuki’s feet.
Darkness enveloped her, a nothing vast and eternal, a blackness broken only by jagged shards of bloody light that flickered and slashed through the void. The sensation was indescribable—she was both weightless and heavy, falling and suspended, torn apart yet whole. Ai's hand was still in hers, small and cold, but even that tether felt faint as a torrent of pureblood swept them both away.
The river of blood was alive—a coursing, pulsating artery powered by the beating hearts of their peers. It was not clean, not pure. This power was sullied by decay and ruin, in the image of the world they had just left behind. The current twisted violently, tossing shattered fragments of existence in their paths. Objects blurred and collided, revealing themselves as something far more delicate and dangerous when Yuuki's sharp eyes focused. Memories.
Memories churned in the river, countless and unrelenting. Some sank beneath the surface, others rose and broke apart like fragile glass. A thousand lifetimes condensed into fleeting shards. Yuuki watched as one brushed past, clear enough for her to see:
Chairman Cross, lying peacefully in his coffin, looked no older than the day she first met him. His glasses glimmered like steel. But then his body disintegrated into ash, his features dissolving in the silence of death. Yuuki reached instinctively, heart clenching, but as her fingers skimmed the shard it crumbled into crimson mist.
She saw Ai and Zero’s wedding day. Ai's laughter rang clear as bells. The way Zero held Ai's hand was soft, tender in a way she had never witnessed before or since. A rare and fleeting peace, a harmonious world filled by a peaceful coexistence, a life out of hiding, the reward for Kaname’s sacrifice. The vision melted away into Sayori’s funeral—Sayori's frail, aged form resting in her casket, Hanabusa standing beside her with sapphire eyes rimmed red. Tears lined his weathered face, yet he kept silent vigil.
She watched Ai graduating from Cross Academy, in her immaculate Night Class uniform, Ai donning the prefect armband and wielding Artemis, Ai learning to read, her little tongue stuck between her teeth and crayon stains on her cheek, Ruka helping a five years old Ai into a pink dress, Ai taking her first steps, and the memory of holding her newborn daughter in trembling arms.
“Mother!” Ai's voice splintered through the space, frantic and cracking.
Yuuki turned sharply. Ai's form flickered, her hands clutching at her chest as if her heart were being torn from within. Her long hair rippled unnaturally, shimmering as her features began to blur and soften. Time unraveled her. Ai's eyes dimmed, bright rubies darkening into shadows.
“No!” Yuuki lunged, arms wrapping around Ai’s shoulders. “Stay with me! Hold on!”
But Ai continued to diminish, her figure collapsing inward. Her limbs shrank, her strength evaporating as if being siphoned by the current. Ai’s proud, mature form crumpled until she was a small child, then a toddler, and finally an infant.
Yuuki’s heart twisted painfully as she held the fragile newborn, tiny and soft, her daughter's face barely visible beneath a veil of thick black hair. Ai’s cries, thin and distant, were quickly lost beneath the roaring river. A fresh horror seized Yuuki as Ai began to disintegrate, the baby’s form shimmering and breaking apart into particles of light. Her daughter transformed into a small, glowing crane, its wings drenched in blood.
Yuuki extended a trembling hand. The crane flew to her, dissolving into her chest with a searing burst of warmth that left her gasping. Her knees buckled. Ai’s essence lingered within her heart, but grief hollowed her bones.
There was no word for this kind of loss. No language could encompass the shredding of a mother’s heart when her child dissolved before her very eyes. Ai’s voice, once sharp and filled with life, had become a distant echo. Yuuki strained to recall the exact timbre of her laugh, the way it lifted in the rare moments of joy. The sound hovered just beyond reach, slipping further away with each passing breath. Yuuki’s entire body ached with the futile effort to summon it back.
She pressed her hand to her chest, clutching at the space where Ai’s essence had disappeared. The imprint of her daughter lingered—a memory seared in her flesh. Yuuki’s pulse faltered, skipping erratically as if her heart had forgotten how to beat without the tempo provided by her daughter’s presence. Ai had always been a part of her—from the moment she was born, from the first time Yuuki had held her tiny body close and smelled her sweet, newborn head. Now that part of her had been torn away from her grasp, leaving behind a wound too raw to heal.
Yuuki had known grief before. She had felt life cut mercilessly at her innocence, had stood witness to Kaname’s willful stride toward his own destruction. But this… this was different. The pain consumed her entirely, as if her very identity had been dissolved alongside Ai. There was no separating herself from it; the hot iron of loss had pressed deep, and burned a terrible wound on her soul.
She could not reconcile the silence that followed. Ai’s absence hollowed out everything. The blood-red current of the river felt colder, the flickering shards of memories harsher against Yuuki’s skin. The simplest of joys now felt cruel. The thought of laughter stabbed at her consciousness, each imaginary sound a reminder of the voice that would never return. The smallest fragments of memory twisted into sharp gleaming knives, cutting deeper with each breath.
Yuuki’s mind revolted, nauseous and unable to fully comprehend what had happened. She was supposed to protect Ai. That was the stark undeniable truth of motherhood—that she would go first, long before her daughter. It was unnatural for the cycle to break, for her to remain while Ai faded. Her thoughts circled like a broken record around this truth.
Her trembling fingers stretched into the river, searching for any remains. But there was nothing—only the fleeting scent that had been Ai, now dissolved into the flowing current. Yuuki bent forward, her hair brushing the surface of the blood, soaking in it, as sobs tore from her chest. The agony was visceral, twisting her insides so strongly she nearly vomited.
“Ai,” she whispered through the emptiness, her voice breaking, raw from feeling. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”
The words felt pitiful, useless. Nothing she said or did could undo the unraveling of time, the merciless current that had stripped Ai from her arms. Yuuki remained there, standing amidst the river of cutting memories, unable to move.
The weight of loss felt insurmountable, pressing down with a finality that left her breathless. Yet, beneath the despair, a fragile whisper stirred—the distant flutter of a crane’s wings. Feeling the ache of her smoking, blackened flesh, Yuuki ripped her blood soaked shirt away from her heart, exposing a moving brand in the shape of her daughter’s familiar. The bird stared at her, and Yuuki felt a tiny flicker of hope. Ai’s precious soul remained, burned in her mother’s flesh, her mother’s soul, waiting for the opportunity of her rebirth. The hopeful thought was faint, nearly lost in the flood of grief, but it lingered—just enough to bring Yuuki back to her mission.
The river surged around her, uncaring to her inner turmoil, and dragged her further back.
A voice, cold and merciless, echoed in the depths of her mind:
You cannot exist before your creation.
Yuuki’s stomach twisted. There was no altering the rules of time.She could not follow the original plan. She could not stop Rido from awakening Kaname. If she allowed this to continue, if she drifted too far into the past, she would disappear as surely as Ai had, and all would be lost. She, as Ai with her crane, would dissolve into her butterfly before she reached the day of her birth. She had to get out of that murderous current before it drowned her in memories she could not possibly be hers.
As if to give credence to her fears, fragments of Kaname's memories surfaced next, glimmering like ice. Yuuki's gaze locked on one: Kaname standing over Shizuka Hio's lifeless form, his expression carved from stone, his eyes hollow. If she could reach him at this moment—before he killed the first Pureblood—perhaps she could alter everything. Prevent the chain reaction that led to the present.
But as she reached for the shard, it dissolved, slicing through her fingers like Artemis’s curved blade. Yuuki cried out, blood spilling into the river, which roared in response.
Time refused to bend.
Yuuki glimpsed Cross Academy next, a fragmented reflection of her happiest days. Once more, she reached for the shards, her night butterflies materializing from her fingertips. The black creatures wrapped around the fragments, raising them over the river. Piece by piece, the surroundings rebuilt themselves, the broken pieces of the cut memories smoothing into a new reality.
Yuuki stumbled forward.
The mid-floor landing unfolded before the curve of the Day Class dormitory’s staircase, the sweeping banister polished to a mirror sheen. Her gaze lifted to the arched window facing the stairs. Beyond the glass, the night stretched into infinity, the moon’s pale light casting long beams across the steps, pooling like silver at the base of the landing.
Yuuki’s heart stuttered as she stepped closer.
Zero stood there—his lean figure framed by the moonlight, silver hair glinting softly against the glass. He was bowed over her younger self’s back, shadows concealing his eyes, but she could see the tension in his posture, the rigid line of his back as he leaned down. The faintest flicker of movement caught her eye—the soft rise and fall of his chest, the tremble in his left hand as it gripped her wrist.
The scene unfolded beneath the window’s pale illumination, making it seem more like a painting than a memory. Her younger self stood frozen in Zero’s unforgiving arms, neck tilted helplessly chin grabbed inZero’s right hand, as his fangs pierced through fragile skin. The reflection of the two figures shimmered faintly in the arched glass, distorted by a faint mist curling around the frame.
Yuuki stretched her hand forward. Her fingers slipped through Zero’s shoulder like smoke. Warmth trailed over her skin, fleeting and distant. The realization struck her like ice, breath catching as her hand curled into emptiness. She was a ghost in her own past, powerless to interfere.
The river of pureblood surged violently, drowning out the scene. It spiraled around her and through Zero, whose grip on her younger self tightened, his fangs sinking deeper. Yuuki gasped, as the current pushed her into Zero’s body and held her there, the sensations raw and vivid.
She tasted the iron tang of her own blood on Zero’s tongue, her own human flesh constricting Zero’s fangs. She felt herself biting into her younger body. Her own venom flowed in response, passing through Zero and into the human form she once inhabited. Yuuki felt her soul following the path opened by her venom. It was unbearable—Yuuki’s consciousness splitting, stretched between two bodies. Her Pureblood essence surged like wildfire, seeking to reconnect with the younger version of herself. Pain rippled through her. Her body felt like it was aflame, burning from the inside out. Her pulse pounded in her ears, each beat echoing like thunder.
Her vision blurred as her soul merged with her younger body. The shock of it all was too much, and her body felt on fire.
Yuuki collapsed, the world spinning into darkness.
Kaname appeared in the Day Class dormitory without a sound. The faint trace of Yuuki’s blood guided him, sharp and insistent, urging him on, as his leather clad feet caressed the dark floor like a whisper. There was a still weight to the air, saturated with the spicy scent of blood, and the entire building seemed to be holding its breath. His quiet feet and sharp nose carried him to the staircase, and he ascended the steps with the swiftness of the predator he was. His burgundy stare swept across the scene, precise and cutting, even as an undercurrent of dread twisted within him.
Against the far wall, beneath the arched window illuminating the mid-floor landing, Zero sat slouched, his back pressed to the grey stone, legs sprawled carelessly in front of him as though he’d been dropped there. His silver hair was tousled, matted with sweat, and the violet of his eyes gleamed faintly in the dimness, a trickle of warm blood upon his chin. The hunter’s gaze was wide with something Kaname rarely saw in him — fear. But Zero wasn’t looking at Kaname. His gaze was locked onto Yuuki’s form.
She lay crumpled on the floor, like a chiffon doll, limp and unsettlingly still. The shallow rise and fall of her chest and the harsh breaths she took were the only signs of life. Her usually vibrant skin was pale as snow, faint traces of blood tainting the immaculate expanse, dripping from a tear in her neck. The space around her shimmered faintly with a foreign and flickering presence, the ghost of madness consuming her slowly.
Kaname’s ancient heart twisted painfully, but his face betrayed nothing. As soundless as ever, he approached. His gaze slid from Yuuki to Zero, catching once more the crimson stains that marred the hunter’s trembling hands and chin. The scent was unmistakable. Yuuki’s blood. Kaname’s eyes narrowed slightly, his fist clenched, though his voice, when it emerged, was smooth and cool.
“Kiryuu.” His words cut through the suffocating silence. “What happened here? Have you sunk so far as to become a mindless beast?”
Zero blinked slowly, his mouth slightly open but bereft of sound. His hands flexed at his sides, curling into fists as if the motion alone could erase the blood from his fingers. Kaname’s eyes flicked downward, lingering on the tremor running through Zero’s limbs, the dried stains cracking against his pale skin.
“Kiryuu,” Kaname repeated, this time with anger slipping through his tight self-control, each syllable weighted with authority. “Speak.”
Zero inhaled shakily. “I… I don’t know,” he rasped at last, his voice rough and raw, as if dragged from the depths of his throat, his words tangled and thoughts confused. “I bit her, but I didn’t, didn’t… She just… she collapsed. I tried to stop it, but…”
His eyes dropped, narrowing to the stains on his hands, as if he couldn’t bear to meet Kaname’s gaze.
Kaname had heard enough. “You must have drunk too much!”
In a blur, he was at Yuuki’s side, his knees touching the floor as he cradled her limp form with unsettling care. His fingers brushed her cheek, tracing the chill lingering on her skin. Her breath was faint, shallow, but it was the flickering pulse of mad power that alarmed him most. It danced just beneath her skin — raw, chaotic, and dangerous.
Julie’s seal was shattering.
Kaname clenched his jaw, suppressing the wave of dread tightening in his chest. This was beyond what he had anticipated. Whatever had triggered the seal’s unraveling had left her frayed, as if shards of her very soul were scattering beyond reach.
“Yuuki,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. Her aura lashed out at his touch, unstable and unrecognizable. This wasn’t the gentle warmth he knew. This was something else — something older and more volatile.
He had no time to question the cause. Every second that slipped past risked losing her.
Carefully, Kaname shifted, sliding one arm beneath Yuuki’s shoulders and lifting her against him. Her head lolled limply against his chest, fragile in his embrace. The quiet between them was pierced only by the faintest of breaths as he tilted her head, exposing the curve of her neck.
His fangs lengthened, the predatory instinct rising unbidden. He could repair her essence, but only through a blood exchange.
“Stop.”
Zero’s voice cut through the room like a blade. The hunter was already on his feet, swaying slightly but determined. His violet eyes flashed as he took an unsteady step forward. “Get away from her.”
Kaname didn’t shift his gaze. “I’m saving her life.”
Zero’s hands trembled, his body taut with rage and fear. “You’re going to turn her into a beast in human form!”
Kaname lowered his head, letting his lips brush the delicate skin of Yuuki’s neck. “If I don’t act, she will die.”
“Like hell she will!” Zero surged forward, but Kaname’s eyes flashed, and dark energy slammed into the hunter with force. Zero crashed against the wall, his limbs pinned by shadow binds.
“Stay out of my way,” Kaname snapped, without looking up.
Zero snarled, struggling fiercely against the bonds.“Let me go, Kuran!”
Kaname ignored him, his focus entirely on Yuuki. He tilted her head to expose the unmarred curve of her neck, his fangs grazing her skin.
“I’m sorry, Yuuki,” he murmured, his voice soft, tender. “Forgive me.”
His fangs pierced her skin, and the taste of her blood filled him, rich and chaotic, burning like fire. He drank deeply, his venom burning into her fractured essence, welding the broken parts of her back together. He felt the power within her—the fragments of something ancient and dangerous—and caressed her inner beast with his own. When he was certain she was stabilized, he drew back and bit into his own wrist. Warm, potent blood welled up, rich with purity and age. Pressing his wrist to his lips, he sucked his own blood but did not swallow. Then, he pressed his mouth to hers, and holding her chin to unseal her lips, he let his blood flow into her.
“Drink, Yuuki,” he whispered against her lips. “Come back to me.”
Her throat moved slowly, her body instinctively responding to the blood. Kaname felt her energy strengthen, her breathing steadying as her fractured aura began to stabilize. Relief coursed through him, though his face remained composed.
Zero’s struggles grew more frantic. “You bastard! Why are you doing this to her?”
Kaname turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes meeting Zero’s furious gaze. “I’m saving her life,” he repeated, coldly.
Zero’s snarl deepened, his fangs glinting in the dim light. “You’re a monster! She trusted you! »
Kaname didn’t respond. Instead, he focused on Yuuki, brushing a short strand of hair from her face. Her features were still pale, but her energy was steady now, no longer teetering on the edge of collapse.
He stood, still cradling her in his arms, and turned his gaze back to Zero. “She’s safe now,” Kaname said quietly, though his tone carried a sharp edge. “Don’t interfere again. You’re responsible for this situation. Rest assured, you will suffer the consquences.”
With a fast flick of his hand, the dark tendrils of power binding Zero released him, and the hunter loudly collapsed to the floor, seething with frustration, rage, and most of all, a terrible guilt. Kaname didn’t wait for a response. He stepped into the shadows of the staircase, his strong figure descending into the darkness as he carried Yuuki away.