In a completely deserted shack on the eastern part of the main city…
In the lower districts where the poorest of humans and vampires barely clung to survival, the streets were filled with quiet suffering. Starving children cried softly in alleys, old men begged with trembling hands, and the young carried hopeless eyes as they wandered barefoot through muddy paths.
Many didn't know what would meet them in the morning. So, when night came, they wrapped themselves in worn rags and whispered prayers into the damp air, hoping they'd wake up breathing.
Amidst that gloom stood an old shack, barely upright, its wood soaked and rotting with years of rainfall and decay. Its roof sagged dangerously and the door creaked on rusted hinges. Yet, five men entered one by one, sluggishly, as if intoxicated—though it wasn't wine that staggered their limbs but weariness from far travels. Each man had come from a different direction, like wandering ghosts returning to a haunted tomb.
