---Back to Freya---
The wind howled between the burning houses, carrying the stench of blood and smoke.
But Freya didn't slow.
Her feet struck the earth with purpose, boots barely touching the ground as she raced through the ruined village, a streak of shadow and fire.
The flame-traced path she'd left behind had already faded, swallowed by the dark.
Her destination was clear: the hut.
Where Valtherion and Elarwen waited.
For some kind of reason, Freya had a small perception about the kid she saved earlier.
He felt strange.
Not 100% human.
So, she sent him where Elarwen and Valtherion were, because of her magic barrier around the hut.
Freya thought that those two children were more than just children.
And that the vampire's attack on the village wasn't meant to kill Azrael.
Her mind raced as fast as her body.
"The boy I saved. The boy I sent there. I must see if he was really a human. I felt a shiver down my spine when I saw his eyes."
She clenched her jaw, eyes hardening.
Freya started to think about a lot of possibilities.
The attack on the village, the slaughter, the terror — all a grand distraction.
A stage to isolate and erase the two children that threatened vampire kind.
But then she remembered something, about the girl.
"Duskveil..." That name echoed in her mind.
Then, she realized.
The Duskveil family.
An ancient blood deceased a long time ago, famous for its bond to a lot of secret of the black magic, developed in the darkness.
Voices even said that their family had mixed blood.
Pure human blood mixed with dark vampire blood in order to fight the night itself.
And that would've explained how many vampires could survive in the sunlight.
Elarwen.
Probably last of a dynasty that once led mankind's wars against the night.
Valtherion Kaelvorn, on the other hand, was probably a descendant of a royal lineage of hunters.
And that would've explained why Azrael felt threathened.
Even someone like him sensed something.
So, Freya had to protect them at all costs.
"Not tonight," Freya swore silently. "Not while I still stand."
The hut loomed ahead, modest and dark against the glow of the fires behind her.
The only light was from within, where faint candle glow flickered behind shuttered windows.
And there — outside the door — stood the boy.
Motionless.
Fists clenched at his sides.
Face pale in the moonlight.
He wasn't knocking, unable to touch the door because of the barrier.
He wasn't weeping.
He was speaking, his voice smooth, sweet, too calm for the chaos around them.
"Valtherion… Elarwen… please, open up. It's me. You know me. I need shelter. I'm afraid… Aurea sent me here."
But his tone carried no true fear.
Only hunger wrapped in innocence.
Freya halted in the shadows, unseen, watching.
The kids inside didn't speak.
But you could hear some mumbles, coming from Elarwen, saying "Aurea told us not to open!!"
The kid outside tried to convince them, even faking a cry.
"PLEASE LET ME IN! I'M SCARED!" He said.
But no response from the inside.
The barrier she'd woven over the hut's threshold glowed faintly, invisible to mortal eyes, but clear to her.
A pure magic ward.
No creature of the night could cross it unbidden.
And there the boy remained, unable to enter.
His act faltering.
Freya narrowed her eyes.
"There's your proof."
Without a sound, she whispered the incantation.
Her form shimmered — vanished — as her invisibility spell cloaked her entirely.
She advanced, unseen, unheard, daggers drawn, the steel kissed by white magic that glowed faintly along the edges.
The boy's voice grew more insistent.
"Please, open the door. I won't survive out here. I'm scared. I swear—"
Freya stepped from the veil.
Her illusion dropped in a breath, and there she stood — a wraith of vengeance, silver hair wild in the wind, eyes hard as ice, daggers ready.
And on her lips, a smirk.
Cruel.
Knowing.
"Finally reveal what you are, hm?" she said, voice sharp, amused, lethal.
The boy froze.
For a beat, silence reigned.
Then he turned — wide-eyed, lip trembling, the perfect mask.
"Aurea! Oh, thank the gods, it's you! I was so scared—"
He took a step toward her, with his arms open wide, probably asking for a hug of protection.
And in that instant, Freya's foot shot out, slamming into his chest with the force of a battering ram.
The boy flew back, crashing through the crude wooden fence that ringed the yard, splinters exploding around him.
He rolled, dust and debris clinging to his form, and came up on one knee, head bowed.
When he raised it, the mask was gone.
What stood there was no child.
But a predator.
His skin was white as bone, flawless, smooth as marble.
His eyes glowed with a deep crimson light — ancient, cold, calculating.
His hair, dark and slicked back, framed a face too perfect, too composed. A gentleman's face.
He rose to his full height — tall, lean, elegant, every inch a nobleman of death.
He brushed dust from the cuff of his immaculate coat, adjusting it with care.
Then, he smiled.
"I suppose the game's over," he said, voice rich, cultured, utterly unafraid. "How disappointing. I so hate dropping the mask before I've had my fun."
He bowed, as if they were at a royal ball.
"Sagast," he introduced himself smoothly with an elegant bow. "Of Scarlet blood. Infiltrator. Assassin. Kingmaker. And, this evening, executioner of lost causes... Or at least, that's what people say about me."
Freya didn't move, daggers steady, eyes burning with loathing.
Sagast straightened, his eyes flashing with amusement as he studied her.
"My, my," he purred. "What a lovely wolf you've been hiding under that wool cloak, Aurea. Or shall I say… Freya Valken?"
The smirk faded from her lips, replaced by cold determination.
Sagast's smile widened.
"Spare your talks , monster. I perfectly know who you are." She said with a menacing voice, while pointing her dagger at him.
And then — like shadows at dusk — he stepped back.
Fast.
"Oh my. Calm down, I'm not here to fight, ancient elf." He said, while raising his arms up.
"Guess what, I'm here to kill you." Freya said, with an angry smirk on her face.
Sagast giggled.
"Well... I guess that talks are useless then... right...?" Sagast sighed. "I promise to go away and spare everyone here if you give me these two." He then asked, in a polite way.
Freya laughed.
"Are you serious?" She asked.
He nodded his head, while adjusting his hair with a lot of elegance.
"Why wouldn't I be?" He asked. "Listen... these two boys are dangerous. For the both of us. Mother Maria gently asked us to eliminate them. So please, let us do it." He added, sounding like a complete idiot.
But Freya perfectly knew that it was only a tactic.
A vampire would never tell his true intentions. Especially to a hunter.
So, she didn't lower her guard.
Instead, she silently spoke three words.
"Kai. Shun. Gral." (Absolute, Bond, Eye)
Then , her eyes started glowing with a strange color of grey.
Sagast looked at her with an annoyed look.
"Oh no, please. I forgot that you ancient elves have spells against deception, but see, I'm saying the truth." He said, while slapping his forehead.
Freya looked deep into his body.
The spell she used made her see a color inside the heart of the person in front of her.
A white color meant "Truth", while any other color meant "Lie."
But there was a problem: Sagast had no color.
His heart wasn't beating.
So, Freya couldn't see anything.
And that's why she only said another word.
"Zyr." (Flame, Destruction).
Then , she dashed towards him, with an immense speed, while red flames appeared from her daggers, enchanted with white magic.
Sagast let out a sigh, realizing that the only thing he could do was nothing more than fight.
Freya didn't want to speak.
If there's something she had learned from her time with Azrael, is to never speak or lose too much time.
Act, with every single hit being the last.
Not giving vampires any time to channel their spells or talk.
Then, Sagast immediately responded to her attack by dodging in an unique way.
His greatest strenght was the shapeshifting.
So, to dodge Freya's attack, he became an untargetable pool of blood on the ground, and moved to the other side, behind her.
He then returned to his normal self, with an almost angry look on his face.
After that, he spoke to Freya.
"Well, I guess that talking is no use then... You need to be eliminated, that's so annoying." He said with a sigh, while adjusting his jacket.
Freya immediately turned towards him and smirked.
In a heartbeat, Freya "danced" with her daggers — swift, fluid, like the start of a silent dance.
The blades flash, tracing silver arcs as her body shifts: one foot sliding back, her figure tilting with flawless grace.
Her daggers spin once between slender fingers, then lock in position — one raised near her face, the other low, ready to strike.
The motion is over in a breath, too perfect, too smooth — like a glimpse of death dressed as art.
"Let me see how strong you are, Sagast the coward." Freya said, while moving into an offensive stance, with elegant movements.
Sagast looked into her eyes.
"I have no plan to dirt my beautiful hands, Bitch Elf." He said with a "superior" tone of voice, while snapping his fingers.
As soon as the snap echoed in Freya's ears, the shadow moved, and a lot of vampires came out from the shadows, jumping on her.
Freya smirked even more, realizing that she was going to have a lot of fun.