EPISODE THREE
1257 Words
Valerian stood firm, his blade gleaming under the moonlight as he placed himself between Anastasia and the unseen threat.
Behind him, Anastasia clutched his cloak, her heart hammering. Fear coiled inside her—not of him, but of herself.
I can’t activate that power again… The memory of twenty-five vampires turning to ash flashed through her mind. But here, now, she was powerless.
Yet, Valerian stood there. Shielding her.
His crimson eyes swept the darkness, blade steady.
Anastasia peered past him, her breath catching. He’s willing to fight his own kind… for me? A werewolf—his sworn enemy.
Before she could process the thought, movement shattered the silence.
Five figures emerged from the shadows, hulking under the moonlight.
Werewolves.
Valerian tensed, but Anastasia gasped.
“They’re… not vampires.”
The warriors lowered their weapons at the sight of her, though their gazes burned with suspicion toward Valerian.
The scarred leader stepped forward. “Anastasia, Elder Magnus sent us. The Council meets at dawn. We must return.”
Relief tangled with dread. She glanced at Valerian.
What will they do to him?
Valerian tilted his head. “Friends of yours?”
“Yes,” she said. “But… they might not be yours.”
For the first time that night, Valerian smiled—a sharp, knowing grin. “We’ll see.”
But the moment they saw his glowing eyes, the werewolves’ relief turned to rage.
A deep snarl tore through the night.
The first warrior lunged—fangs bared, claws gleaming. A werewolf’s bite could kill a vampire.
Then—time fractured.
The beast froze mid-air, limbs rigid. Its head snapped backward at an unnatural angle.
Anastasia stood beneath it, her hand wrapped around its throat.
Her eyes blazed—a golden-red light, brilliant and terrible. With effortless strength, she hurled the werewolf through the trees. Branches snapped as it disappeared into the forest.
Silence.
Valerian blinked.
The remaining werewolves hesitated. But Anastasia blurred—faster than thought. One by one, she sent them hurtling through the air, their bodies crashing into the darkness.
Valerian barely had time to react before he was at her side, arms wrapping around her. “Anastasia,” he breathed, voice unsteady—not with fear, but awe.
Her chest heaved. The golden glow flickered—then vanished. She slumped against him, trembling.
“I—I didn’t mean to…” Her voice cracked. “Did I kill them?”
Valerian tilted his head, listening. Then, he exhaled. “They’re alive. Just unconscious.”
She paled. “Then they’ll come after you again.”
Valerian didn’t argue. Her fear was real.
“You need to go,” she whispered, gripping his sleeve. “Find another forest. Another hut. I—I’ll find you again.”
An ache stirred in Valerian’s chest—ancient, unfamiliar. He nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”
For a fleeting moment, they held each other—vampire and werewolf, sworn enemies turned… something more.
Then, in a gust of shadow and wind, Valerian vanished.
Anastasia stood alone.
And for the first time, she wondered—what am I?
---
She moved quickly, hauling the unconscious warriors to a clearing bathed in moonlight. Their wounds began to mend, bones knitting under the night’s healing touch.
But her mind spiraled.
This isn’t normal.
She returned to Valerian’s empty hut, sinking onto the rough bed. Sleep wouldn’t come.
What am I?
Outside, the werewolves stirred. They lay still, their minds racing.
She’s dangerous, one thought bitterly. No werewolf moves like that. No werewolf protects a vampire.
Another gritted his teeth. She can’t be trusted.
They didn’t want to fight her again. They weren’t sure they could.
But they couldn’t let her go.
One warrior pulled a small leather pouch from his neck. Inside—wolfsbane powder.
“She’ll be out for six hours,” he murmured. “Plenty of time to get her back to Varethia.”
Together, they circled the hut.
Inside, Anastasia stiffened.
The air felt… wrong.
Then she saw it—thin streams of pale, smoky powder slipping through the cracks.
Her senses screamed.
She bolted for the door—
But her legs buckled.
The world tilted.
No—!
Darkness swallowed her.
The warriors entered moments later. One knelt, brushing a strand of golden hair from her face.
“She’s strong,” he muttered. “But not invincible.”
They bound her in wolfsbane chains and disappeared into the night.
Valerian’s hut stood silent.
Its last occupant was gone.
---
The journey home was long and silent.
Anastasia remained unconscious, the chains suppressing her strength.
When they reached Varethia, they went straight to Elder Magnus.
The old werewolf listened in silence as the warriors spoke. His sharp gaze flickered with unease.
“She took down twenty-five vampires in three seconds,” he murmured, as if trying to comprehend the impossible.
At dawn, the Council of Elders convened. The vast stone hall pulsed with tension. Warriors from the vampire battle lingered in the shadows, their eyes locked onto the iron chair at the center of the chamber—reserved for the most serious trials.
Anastasia sat in it.
Wolfsbane chains coiled around her wrists and ankles, leaving her vulnerable. Her golden hair fell over her face, hiding her expression, but the sight of her—bound like a criminal—sent murmurs rippling through the room.
Then, the doors creaked open.
Her parents entered.
Their eyes widened in horror. Her mother gasped. Her father stiffened, barely restraining his claws. Yet, they took their seats.
Duty demanded it.
A low groan escaped Anastasia as she stirred. Her vision swam—then cleared.
Dozens of cold eyes stared.
The iron chair beneath her felt frigid.
“Why am I bound?!” she demanded, yanking at the chains. “What is this?!”
No one answered.
Elder Magnus struck the gavel once. The echo thundered through the hall.
“The trial begins.”
He turned to Anastasia’s parents.
“You need to understand why you’re here,” he said solemnly. “Your daughter has displayed powers beyond any werewolf—or vampire—we’ve ever known. She fought and slew twenty-five vampires in under three seconds. And now, she’s shown strength that defies every supernatural law.”
Her parents sat frozen.
The color drained from her mother’s face.
Her father’s jaw dropped.
But their thoughts aligned: No matter what she is… she is our daughter. We will always love her.
Elder Magnus gestured to the warriors.
One by one, they recounted the events—the golden glow in Anastasia’s eyes, the impossible speed, the strength that shattered bones. Gasps rippled across the hall.
The silence that followed was heavy.
The same question filled the room:
What is she?
No vampire is that fast.
No werewolf is that strong.
Is she something else?
Something dangerous?
Anastasia’s breath came shallow. The weight of their stares crushed her. She sat, bound and helpless—a lamb before the s*******r.
Then, Elder Magnus turned to her parents, his gaze unreadable.
“Her powers… they don’t match any known lineage.”
The hall bristled with anticipation.
“So I must ask you—” he said, his voice steady.
“Who is Anastasia?”
"Tell us where you found her"
Silence.
Her parents stiffened.
Their long-buried secret clawed its way to the surface.
Anastasia’s breath caught.
What does he mean?
The hall seemed to shrink.
The walls, the torches, the people—everything blurred.
And in the heavy stillness, the world seemed to hold its breath.
- Writer
