The artificial white light of the field fell upon the mysterious maiden's skin.
Creating a supernatural and cold glow.
She knelt beside the wounded Lane.
Her eyes held an ancient depth and a silence that was impossible for Lane to fathom.
Lane lifted his heavy eyelids with great effort.
"Who... are you?" he asked in a trembling voice.
A mysterious smile appeared on the maiden's lips.
"I am the one you spoke to before... the one who helped you."
Her gaze flickered for a moment toward the deep, horrific wound on Lane's chest.
Where life was slowly ebbed away.
She repeated the same words, but this time, her voice carried a strange authority.
"Do you need help?"
Lane looked into her eyes and asked softly, "What kind of help?"
"I can turn you into a vampire," the maiden whispered, leaning closer to him.
"You will be healed in an instant. All this pain, these deep wounds... everything will vanish."
Lane's soul shuddered at her words.
He gathered every ounce of his remaining strength and pressed his trembling hands against the ground.
Pushing himself backward.
"No! I don't want to be a vampire at all!" he said firmly.
The maiden moved with him, leaning down until she was inches from his face.
"Don't you want to meet your friends again? Do you never want to see them again?"
Lane gasped, stunned.
For a moment, he went numb, a desperate longing to see his loved ones surfacing in his eyes.
But the next moment, he shook his head.
Panting, he said, "But I don't want to meet them by becoming a vampire!"
"My friends don't like vampires... if I become like one of them, they will never like me again!"
Upon hearing Lane's innocent and naive words, no mercy appeared on the maiden's face.
To her, Lane's preference held no value.
In an icy tone, she said, "Do you really think your words make any difference to me?"
Lane tried to push her away with his hands, but there was no strength left in his body.
The maiden loomed over him like a shadow, completely enveloping him.
She ruthlessly bit her own lower lip with her sharp teeth.
Deep red blood surfaced on her lips like crimson pearls.
She gripped Lane's face in her strong hands and, with sheer force, kissed him.
As their lips met, she forced her flowing blood into Lane's mouth.
The taste was bitter and like liquid fire, sliding directly down Lane's throat.
Lane tried to struggle, but gradually his body began to go numb.
His eyes glazed over, his consciousness blurred, and he lost consciousness completely.
When Lane's eyelids opened with heaviness.
His gaze first came to rest on the high carvings of the ceiling and the fine gold lines etched into the walls.
He lay motionless on a vast, regal bed.
The air in the room held a strange chill and a faint fragrance.
Lane sat up slowly, with movements so deliberate and steady they seemed almost mechanical.
Sitting directly in front of him was the same young woman.
Lane's eyes locked onto her.
He stared without blinking, his gaze unwavering.
The maiden looked into his eyes—there was no trace of the terror that had been there on the field.
Nor the claim of 'friendship' he had made in his final moments.
His eyes held a peculiar emptiness, like a cold lake where no ripple dared to rise.
The maiden leaned toward him softly and asked, "Lane... do you feel better now?"
Lane remained silent.
Not a single muscle in his face twitched.
He didn't nod, nor did he utter a word.
He just kept watching her, as if he were trying to hear her words.
But their meaning was getting lost somewhere in between.
When no response came for a long time, the maiden moved closer, peering into his eyes.
"Do you... do you recognize me?"
Lane didn't even blink.
He watched her as if she weren't a living being, but a portrait hanging on a wall.
There was neither strangeness nor familiarity on his face.
Slowly, the realization dawned on the maiden that the boy inside Lane—the one who used to react to everything—was now left far behind.
He was hearing her, but his mind could no longer reach the words.
The maiden made one final attempt: "Do you remember your name?"
Lane still didn't answer.
He simply tilted his head slightly and kept staring at her like a predator—or perhaps a naive child.
His behavior made everything clear without a single word.
The world within him had become entirely silent and blank.
The silence in the room grew even deeper.
The maiden sensed that Lane was listening to her, but her words were shattering upon reaching his mind.
She gently reached out and took Lane's small, steady hands into her own palms.
Lane offered no resistance; he simply stared down at his hands resting within hers.
The maiden softened her voice, making it even clearer.
She placed her other hand on her chest and, looking deep into Lane's eyes, said, "My name... Astria."
A slight movement stirred in Lane's throat.
His pupils flickered as if he were trying to catch the ripples of her voice.
He watched her face intently, as if trying to read the words from the movement of her lips.
He opened his mouth, but the sound seemed trapped.
After a long struggle, a few scattered syllables escaped his dry lips, "...As...tri...a."
The word wasn't complete; it was broken and fragmented.
But Lane's attempt filled the maiden's eyes with a new spark.
She saw a glimmer of hope.
She immediately pointed her finger toward Lane's chest and said with great patience, "And you... your name is... Lane."
Lane blinked.
He was trying to feel this new word associated with his identity.
There was a peculiar concentration on his face.
As if he were searching for this name in some dark corner of his mind.
He gave strength to his voice again, but once more, the syllables scattered.
"La...ne," he whispered with great difficulty.
His words were still broken and scattered, like shards of an old mirror.
But for the maiden, Lane's attempt to repeat those words was a victory in itself.
She watched him like an innocent child learning to rebuild his world from scratch.
The struggle with words was still ongoing when the energy of the room suddenly shifted.
Lane, who had been as still as a lifeless statue until now, suddenly moved.
Before Astria could comprehend, Lane reached out and firmly gripped the hand she had placed on his chest.
There was a strange strength and resolve in Lane's grip.
He looked directly into Astria's eyes with his deep, steady gaze.
This time, his words were not scattered.
With total clarity and a mysterious sense of authority, he called out— "Astria."
Astria's heart skipped a beat.
Hearing her name so clearly from Lane's mouth was like a bolt of electricity.
She faltered, an unknown fear and hesitation rising within her.
With a sudden jerk, she pulled her hand back from Lane's grasp.
Composing herself, she turned toward the heavy chamber doors and gave a calm yet commanding order, "Enter."
As soon as her voice echoed, two powerful vampire guards immediately marched in.
Reaching the center of the room, they knelt before Astria, bowing their heads to the ground in a respectful salute.
They remained there like statues, awaiting their Queen's next command.
Without looking at them, Astria said in her cold voice, "Bring clothes for him."
One of the guards, keeping his gaze lowered, glanced toward the small child on the bed—Lane.
Seeing Lane's shimmering eyes, he bowed his head in agreement and said, "Yes, Queen."
Astria then gestured to the second guard, "Summon the other maidservants."
"Prepare for his bath and a meal immediately."
The second vampire guard, also remaining on his knees, responded.
"As you command, Queen. I will arrange the bath and bring the maidservants at once."
An organized silence filled the room once more.
But Lane's grip and the way he spoke her name still echoed in Astria's mind.
Moments after Astria's command, the heavy carved doors opened once more.
Vampire maidservants and attendants entered, carrying silken garments and fragrant oils.
Sitting on the bed, Lane tilted his head slightly.
Watching every new face with intense concentration.
His eyes were now shimmering like a molten golden sun.
His silky blonde hair and innocent features made him look like a celestial being.
Although his face was entirely expressionless and void of emotion.
This very stillness made him even more captivating and mysterious.
The movement in the room came to a sudden halt.
The vampire attendants were completely transfixed by Lane's ethereal beauty and those radiant golden eyes.
Forgetting the presence of their Queen, they stared incessantly at Lane's hypnotic face.
To Astria, this silent admiration felt like venom.
She could not tolerate anyone else laying eyes on her 'Lane.'
Fuelled by jealousy and rage, Astria gestured toward the maidservant who was gazing at Lane.
Without uttering a single word, she reduced the woman to a pile of ash on the floor within a second.
The remaining servants lowered their gazes in sheer terror.
Lane looked at the ash on the floor with his steady gaze and then, looking back at Astria, asked in broken words.
"What... this...?"
The clouds of anger vanished from Astria's face in an instant.
She looked at Lane, and a gentle, tender smile appeared on her lips.
Bringing a strange softness to her voice, she said with calm composure.
"I have merely turned her to ash."
She signaled the guards to remain inside, and the room was once again swallowed by a heavy silence.