Chapter 7: The Price of Light
No one knew his name.
No one knew where he came from.
They only spoke of what he looked like.
"A beautiful man," the rumors said.
"Too beautiful to be human."
"Like a prince from a forgotten kingdom."
Some swore his hair shimmered in the sun. Others said his eyes looked sad—too sad for a killer. Yet every version of the story ended the same way.
A vampire who walks under the sun.
The Church's Judgment
The great hall of the Church was silent as the testimony ended.
Candles burned with sacred fire. Silver symbols lined the stone walls. At the center stood Inquisitor Seraphiel, a man wrapped in white and crimson robes, his face sharp as a blade that had never known mercy.
"A vampire beneath the sun…" Seraphiel murmured. "An abomination wrapped in a miracle."
The priests whispered among themselves.
"One who can hide among humans."
"One who can deceive without darkness."
"One who could enter our cities freely."
Seraphiel raised his hand.
Silence fell.
"Such a creature," he said calmly, "is more dangerous than any demon."
A scroll was unrolled.
By the end of that day, the Church's decree was sealed.
Bounty Notice
Wanted: The Sun-Walking Vampire
Description: A young man of unnatural beauty. Moves like nobility. Eyes that glow faintly red.
Reward: 5,000 Gold Coins
Dead or Purified
Five thousand gold.
Enough to buy land.
Enough to erase debt.
Enough to turn neighbors into hunters.
The Hunter
He read the notice in silence.
Cassian Vale, an inquisitor-hunter known across the kingdoms. He had burned nests, broken cults, and slain vampires older than cities. His armor was worn, his sword etched with holy runes darkened by blood.
"A vampire who walks in the sun…" Cassian muttered.
For the first time in years, his hand tightened on his blade.
"This one will be hunted by everyone," he said quietly.
"And that makes him desperate."
Cassian folded the notice and began to walk.
The World Turns Cold
Max felt it before he heard it.
The stares.
The silence that followed his footsteps.
He walked through a market one evening, hood low, sunlight pressing uncomfortably against his skin. A child laughed nearby—until her mother pulled her away sharply.
People moved aside.
Whispers followed him like shadows.
"Isn't he too pale?"
"Why are his eyes like that?"
"He looks… wrong."
Max stopped.
His heart—no longer fully human—ached in a way no wound ever had.
I saved her.
He remembered the woman's voice. Her shaking hands. The way she bowed in gratitude.
"I just wanted to help…" he whispered.
That night, alone beneath the trees, Max broke.
He fell to his knees, fingers digging into the dirt as his breath shook violently. No tears came at first—then suddenly, they did. Hot. Silent. Endless.
"I didn't hurt anyone," he said to the darkness.
"I didn't take innocent blood."
His voice cracked.
"Why does the world hate me for surviving?"
The hunger stirred, feeding on his grief. His strength pulsed wildly, threatening to tear free. He clenched his fists, biting into his own arm until blood filled his mouth—his own—just to stop himself from screaming.
Somewhere far away, bells rang.
A hunt had begun.
Max lifted his head slowly, eyes glowing faintly red beneath the moonless sky.
"If this world wants a monster…" he whispered, pain shaking every word,
"…then why does it hurt so much to be human?"