The entire village had gathered around the large bonfire, a nightly tradition that offered warmth against the chilly air. It was the kind of cold that crept in slowly, settling into your shoulders before you noticed it, and the fire was the only thing that kept it at bay. People pressed together on logs and flat stones worn smooth from years of use, their breath rising in small clouds that dissolved into the dark.
Apart from the village head's commanding voice, the only sounds were the hoots of owls and the chirping of crickets.
We sat spellbound as she narrated the tale of our creator, Arathes. I had claimed a spot near the edge of the gathering, as I always did. It was close enough to hear, far enough that no one would notice me. The fire lit the faces around me in amber and gold. I watched them and felt, as I often did, like a visitor in a place I was supposed to call home.
I'd heard this story countless times, like every other hunter, but it never failed to fascinate me. The idea that hunters were created with a divine purpose, to protect another species, always struck a chord.
We played a crucial role in humanity's survival, though it came at a cost. Still, we were constantly reminded: it was an honor.
The village head moved as she spoke, her gestures slow and deliberate. She had led our village for longer than anyone could clearly remember, and she added magic to every moment in our small village.
When she raised her voice, the fire responded, flaring slightly as if listening.
"Lord Arathes then sent the half-demigod down to Earth," she declared.
The crowd gasped, as they always did.
"So, he's here with us?" a girl asked. Her black hair, streaked with green at the tips, marked her as an elemental hunter, one with power to manipulate soil. Elementals were easy to identify; their features betrayed their abilities.
"Yes, my child."
"Has anyone seen him?" another girl piped up.
"Yes."
"Did the being survive?" the same girl pressed.
"Yes."
I stiffened at the revelation.
My mother had spoken of the half-demigod sent down from heaven by Lord Arathes, describing him just as the holy texts did: evil yet terrifyingly beautiful.
According to legend, anyone unfortunate enough to encounter him never lived to tell the tale. This new information was both shocking and intriguing.
"Really?" The word escaped me before I could stop it.
Heads turned in my direction, their stares sharp and curious. The heat that rose to my face had nothing to do with the bonfire.
I hated being the center of attention. I rarely spoke during gatherings unless directly addressed, and some villagers even whispered I might be mute. I couldn't blame them. It was easier to stay quiet when you had nothing to offer.
I had no gift to demonstrate, no power to contribute to the conversation. The other hunters had things worth saying. I had learned early that silence drew less attention to what I lacked.
The village head's fiery eyes fixed on me, their dark blue depths laced with streaks of orange, yellow, and red, forming a mesmerizing, flame-like pattern. From a distance, they seemed to burn. Her gaze always left me feeling exposed, as though she could see straight into my soul, past the careful blankness I kept on my face and into everything beneath it.
She was the only fire elemental in our village, and she wore it with a quiet authority that made you see fire differently.
"Yes, dear," she said, her smile smoothing the lines on her face.
"I know someone who has met him and survived."
Even the owls and crickets fell silent as we absorbed her words.
"It's late now. Goodnight, everyone," she announced, dismissing us with a wave of her hand. The bonfire extinguished instantly, plunging the clearing into darkness.
I had witnessed this countless times, yet I still stared as if it were the first. That was the thing about power even when you knew it was coming, it still took your breath away.
Sometimes, I wished I had an elemental gift or a power like my mother's ability to control minds. Instead, I was different. And oddity. Powerless. An embarrassment to our kind. My mother never made me feel lesser for it, but the world around me did, in small and consistent ways. Like the stares I got whenever the village rounded up to train and I showed no display of power.
As the villagers dispersed, chattering about the village head's revelation. I couldn't help but wonder how anyone could survive an encounter with the half-demigod.
I glanced back at her, and to my surprise, found her already watching me.
"Come, Kira," she called, turning and walking away.
Her direct address startled me, but I quickly followed, falling into step beside her. The path she took led away from the main cluster of homes, toward the quieter edge of the village where the trees stood closer together and the dark between them was deeper.
"Have you ever heard of healers?" She asked as soon as I caught up.
I frowned, searching my memory. "I think so."
"What do you know about them?" She prompted.
"Didn't the vampires kill them all?" I ventured hesitantly.
She chuckled softly. "They weren't just killed, dear. They were annihilated."
Isn't that the same thing? I kept the thought to myself.
"After the death of the immortal and before the prophecy, Lord Arathes created a new species of supernatural beings called healers,' she began, turning her fiery gaze toward me. "They were the most powerful beings to ever walk the Earth, though not in battle. Their purpose was to heal the world from the evil Zalas had unleashed. They didn't reproduce like us or humans. They were simply sent from heaven."
My mind swirled with questions as I imagined people dropping from wherever heaven was on earth. Not as children, but adults. It was strange.
She continued.
"Healers didn't just heal bodies; they mended souls," she added, her smile fading into sorrow. "A wound of the body closes on its own if given time. But the kind of damage Zalas left behind... fear, grief, the particular hollowness that comes from losing people you love to something that should never have existed, those wounds don't close on their own. Healers could touch it. Draw it out like poison." She shook her head slowly. "The vampires believed healers could take away their agony during the blood (the half-demigod's birthday). Worse, they thought healers could summon Zalas's soul from hell."
I gasped, unable to contain my shock.
She nodded solemnly. "The vampires sought to resurrect Zalas, believing his return would grant them dominion over the universe. They believed healers were powerful enough to achieve it."
"What happened to them?" I asked, dreading the answer.
"The vampires captured every healer they could find. When their efforts failed, they destroyed them all. God never sent another."
A heavy silence fell between us, the weight of her words settling over me. Sadness warred within me for the loss of such remarkable beings.
"Oh, cheer up, child. God has promised us a savior," she said.
I nodded halfheartedly. After a moment of silence, I asked, "But how could anyone survive an encounter with the half-demigod?"
She smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "No one did. I just didn't want the children to be consumed by more fear."
I didn't press her, understanding her reason. Fear was already the water we all swam in. There was no point in deepening it for those too young to know how to float.
"Thank you for telling me about the healers," I said quietly.
To my surprise, she reached out and tucked a braid of my hair behind my ear. The gesture was so unexpected, so gentle, that I didn't move.
"We wait on the savior, Kira. Everything will be as it should be soon; just believe," she said softly.
I nodded, despite the urge to tell her the truth: that the prophecy felt like a story told to people who needed one.
That some nights, lying in the dark, it seemed far more likely that nothing was coming. That we would simply go on as we always had, fighting a war with no end, losing people along the way, and calling it purpose.
But I said none of that.
I just landed and let her believe I believed.