Her breaths were becoming shallow. He could hear it, no matter how much he wished to ignore it. His pace fastened, his hold all ever strong in his terror.

“Come on, we’re almost there!”

That plea was choked, contained in its urgency. He wanted to scream it loud for the heavens to hear, yet he couldn’t do so. Hell itself seemed to be listening to any whisper they let out.

He shuddered, having dared to glance down at her, against his better judgment. The sight of her bleeding neck became bleaker with each second that passed, and he knew deep inside that it would never get better. Her steps were growing weaker, like her trembling grasp on her wound. She was trying to hold on to him, keep walking fast with his help… but it was draining her, almost as much as the bite did.

“I-“ She coughed as she struggled to speak up, giving him a pleading look. “Nestor, p-please, I can’t-“

“You can!” She wished she had said shouldn’t instead, haunted by his determined insistence. “Everything will be alright, Luce!”

It wouldn’t. Both knew it, yet he did not want to admit it. Her fate was sealed the moment those fangs sunk, in one way or another. She was bleeding a lot, far too much. But that was not what worried her more. Part of her hoped death would take her before he could drag her back to their hideout.

He wished he could say he never expected things to end like this, but he would be lying. Every single day they awoke, they had to contemplate the very high possibility that they would not see another day. There was no person alive that could express hope upon a new dawn. Optimism was something that only the foolish or suicidal felt. Each moment and act were a gamble, a threat to their lives.

Everything had seemed safe. The building had appeared empty, void. It wasn’t. Something had crept into the dilapidated cottage in the night, and they had been too trusting while entering it. Nothing had lurked in the area the last time they ventured into it. Only one day had passed between their gathering incursions. It had been enough for a beast to nest there.

His hand was still red with its blood. He dashed as soon as he heard her scream in the adjacent room, lunged when she saw her pinned by that monster. His dagger sunk fast into its back, but all too late. Its fangs had pierced and torn her neck.

It was his fault. He was the one who said to go back there to fetch more tools. The place was full of rusty utensils that they could salvage. Not much, yet more than what they were used to finding. They should have never left the grotto. The resources they had would have lasted for another week. He was stupid, too daring. Most of all, unprepared.

His mind was frightened, but overall, guilty. He could not forgive himself, even if no one would have been ready for what crept. All were as powerless, mere prey. He did not want to be that… but the world was cruel and uncaring.

No matter what, he was always defiant. He wanted to survive, with her. That was why she cried silently as her vision began to grow foggier. The last thing she saw before blacking out was his desperate expression. She was not as afraid as him.

Nestor gasped, feeling her let go of his shoulder. She slumped suddenly in his hold, and he could not help but panic when she dropped down. The only thing that prevented her from hitting the humid ground was his fast reaction, a tight grab.

“Luce?!” He huffed, forced to crouch to muffle her fall. She was still, unresponsive. “Luce!”

He glared ahead again, panting as he saw nothing but dense shadows between the trees. Their hideout was not that far now, yet it seemed to rest at the other side of the world. With a huff, he took her in his arms. He was only a year older than her, and not much taller. Somehow, he managed to rush into a sprint while carrying her. Time ticked, and those deep incisions kept bleeding.

He counted each second, each breath. She was alive, hanging on by a thread. Before he knew it, the shadows parted around him, revealing a small opening on a crag. It was hidden, concealed by some cut logs and fallen branches. They were just like how he had left them.

He kicked past the blockage and pushed into the cave. The smell of stagnant air greeted him once more, but this time he did not curse it. He had other things to worry about and lament. The entryway was long, something that intensified his dread as he ran through. These caverns had once been a ruined fort, rendered into dust ages ago.

He passed by multiple openings, which he knew led to traps. Every precaution was insignificant against what could intrude in the night. When he saw the pathway widen, he called aloud at last. He yelled multiple names, uncaring of who would hear him first.

“Samir! Alma! Cyrus! Gereon?!” He panted, exhausted. “Dammit, anyone!”

He ignored the sound of hurried steps that echoed from the nearby openings. All he could do was lay her on a flat rock, where she used to sleep. He made haste, ripping part of his black coat to procure a bandage, which he was fast to pressure against her neck. He sat there, keeping his hands on the wound to keep it from bleeding too much. When his companions stepped closer and saw her, he barely reacted to their horrified or worried exclamations.

“My God, Luce!” Nestor cringed, seeing Alma kneel in front of her sister. She gave him a fearful, questioning look, which he was afraid to acknowledge. “What did this to her?!”

What, not who. No human would ever inflict such a wound. Problem was, there were many things in this time and age that could maul so brutally, with extreme ease.

“A fledgling.” He admitted, quite angrily. “It was only a damn weak fledgling!”

That thing was nothing but weak. He stabbed right over its heart from behind, but he barely pierced its thick hide. It jolted away due to the pain, to then climb out to the dark through a broken window. He did not kill it, only dazed it.

Those big claws, they pinned her in a second. The scaly thorns that protruded from its arms made it easy to stun her as it tackled her. Its tusked maws, they tore into her without resistance. It was a beast, and yet, it was not as monstrous as its kind could be. Younger, weaker… But still twice as strong as any man or woman. There was no humanity in its twisted animalistic features, even if it had not changed as much as its elders.

He was not really at fault, and only Cyrus did glare at him disapprovingly, but he felt like he was. All gathered around her, inspecting the bite with different intensities, but with the same grief.

“Did you get any cuts?”

Nestor flinched, hearing Gereon demand behind him. He dared lean his head to look back at their unspoken leader, feeling small under his reflective stare.

“No, it only-“

That critical glare softened. He was a terrible liar, and all knew it. Without him wounded, there was no risk of him dying as well. No blood had been mixed in the scuffle.

“Move aside then.”

Nestor and Alma tried to complain when Gereon commanded them to leave Luce, but they could only obey when Samir and Cyrus backed him up, pulling at them gently yet sternly.

“You have to help her.” Nestor pleaded, held back by Samir while Gereon examined the wound. “She has lost a lot of blood, but she’s still- I brought her back.”

“I thank you for it, but I must also be wary of that fact.” He paled, noting the implication in those bitter words. “If she recovers-“

“It will be fine! There’s still a chance!” He tried to bargain, unable to accept the most probable outcome. “She won’t turn! Not everyone does! That thing might not have infected her!”

Alma wanted to believe his hopeful words. Sadly, the others had long ago learned to forget that emotion. Youth was fleeting, much like innocence. It was a matter of time until he lost it too.

“Go to your rooms. I’ll handle this.”

They had no rooms, just cavities where to creep into for sleep. Still, that was the closest thing they had to a private space, and they never lasted for long.

Samir and Cyrus beckoned the two away, whispering reassuring words, which they found all too vague. Nestor sent Luce one last glance, to then walk towards the path that led to his retreat. He wanted to go back to her side, but the arm around his shoulders was firm.

Once he entered his cavity, he lost all sense of time. A day passed, yet there was no way for him to discern it; no light ever entered this place. The only source of light came from a small torch he kept alight by his bedroll. He paced back and forth. After a few hours, he tried to leave, sneak out to her side. Sadly, Cyrus was making guard in the interconnecting tunnel. Due to their circumstances, he knew that he would not doubt to take him down with a fierce punch if he tried anything. He had no choice but to keep waiting.

He prayed. To what deity, he did not know. Humanity had lost its scriptures millennia ago; if any books had survived the merciless passage of time, they would reside in the darkest of ruins. He did not have much, and he did not want a lot. She was the best thing he had encountered in his life, and he did not want to lose her as well. But fate was cruel, perhaps sadistic.

What he heard after a day was not unfamiliar to him. He did not want to hear it, but it was inevitable. It was loud, yet faint in its haunting guttural tone. A breath like that should not be possible, yet it was.

He had paced, pulled at his black hair and ragged clothes. When that sound echoed into his den, however, he froze. Tears began to fall from his clear eyes, for he somehow recognized that voice. Cyrus gasped and tried to stop him when he bolted out into the tunnel, running for the main, big cavity. He failed to catch him, only taking a second to sprint behind him.

“Nestor, stop!”

He did not listen, even if he understood he should. Cyrus was glaring at him while he chased, yet it was out of care. Hellish growls were echoing through the tunnels, and both knew what it meant.

Alma had tried to leave her den as well, paling as her mind registered those choked, loud gasps. She was stopped as well; Samir prevented her from trying to roam towards the source of those sounds, giving her a pitying merciful stare.

“It would be best if you stayed…”

She was too numb to nod or disagree. When Nestor ran past them, she did not even react. Samir did, but he did not chase after him, noting the desperation in his expression. That was why he spoke up when Cyrus caught up.

“Let him.”

The blond stopped sharply, giving the brunet an incredulous look.

“But she-“

“Gereon has it under control.” Samir admitted, scowling. “If he does not see it with his own eyes, he may do something we could all regret.”

Cyrus glanced again at Nestor, who was almost at the mouth of the main cavity. He really wanted to prevent him from seeing her, but he knew that Samir was right. Only the sight of her ailment would help him accept that death was essential. The last thing they needed was a vengeful act that would steal them of another soul.

The growls grew louder. They silenced Nestor’s tired breaths, far too intense to match. His eyes narrowed as he set foot near the two figures, finally witnessing what he had hoped to escape. She was not awake, yet she was trying to rise from the stone where she laid. Her snarled screams echoed fiercely through the ruins, as strong as her yanks and jolts.

Much like anyone unfortunate enough to be bitten, she was burning. If her eyes were open, he would see one of the first changes, sharp inhuman irises that would gleam in the dark. Her hands had been tied up, yet they still managed to leave nasty marks on the stone as she clawed blindly in her torment.

As she opened her mouth again to scream, he saw her teeth. Her canines were growing; in just a day, they had become as sharp as the ones of a venomous snake. With time, she would wake, and try to sink them into anything that could bleed without thought or care. 

She was still there, but she had been lost. He had wanted to kneel by her side, yet he found himself unable to near her. It was Gereon who spoke, sitting in front of her, holding a dagger softly between his reluctant hands.

“I’m sorry, Nestor.” There were no objections or yells when he began to raise the blade towards her chest. Only a regretful apology echoed in such mournful stillness. “You don’t know how much, truly.”

He let the dagger loom over his own daughter, never looking away, even if tears clouded his vision. There was no doubt, and yet he paused, allowing a few more tortured screeches to escape her. When the blade came down, the pained gasp that followed was not as haunting. It took a few seconds, but those tormented breaths died out, her body and mind no longer burning.

Gereon kept his hands over the handle of the dagger and her chest. He stayed kneeled, still as a statue… but Nestor knew he was sobbing. What he just did was terrible, yet it was the most merciful thing he could have done. She would have agreed. If she could have spoken in her plight, she would have begged for it. The notion did not make it any easier, however. Although death was better than becoming a beast, it still brought a heavy cost.

Time and time again, their group grew smaller. This loss affected him more than any other, for he saw its spark and outcome. Before, it was others who ventured to gather food or wood; he never had to see his actions lead to this.

Nestor turned slowly, without emotion on his face. He began to move away, leaving Gereon and Luce behind. He passed by Alma, Cyrus, and Samir, yet he did not raise his blank gaze from the ground. His tired steps led him to the mouth of the grotto, where small traces of sunlight brushed him.

It was a sunny day; the thick fog of the forests had cleared, allowing him to see the vast distance. The sight was beautiful, yet also grim. The world he knew was lush with vegetation, untainted by civilization. On the distant hills that stood past the forests, laid the remnants of old villages and towns, destroyed long before his ancestors were born.

There was so much land to traverse, so many places that humanity could turn into a grand homeland… and all were tainted. He could hear it. It was a constant intermittent sound, one that alerted them of what truly imprisoned them.

There was barely anything left of humanity, but that did not mean nothing roamed. He could hear the distant growls, from beings that searched constantly for prey. Those things suffered an unending thirst, which brought them to tear flesh and bone, all to reach every single possible drop of blood.

He stood there, admiring the grand landscape. The sunlight had once been a shield. Now it only allowed their presence to be seen with greater ease, much brighter than the darkness in which those things could see.

Tomorrow, they would leave, once more. They needed to find a new shelter, for one of those things roamed, one that had already tasted their blood. It would follow their scent, and other monsters would trail it too, desperate.

There was no respite, only endless hopelessness that led to loss. And for the first time, his resignation faded, turning into blind anger.