The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The night was heavy with silence, the kind that felt alive, breathing through the darkened forest. Snow blanketed the ground in uneven drifts, muffling footsteps and swallowing sound. Overhead, the moon hung low and pale, its light barely piercing the gnarled canopy of trees. This was the borderland, a place forgotten by time and yet whispered of in every hearthside tale across the eastern kingdoms.

For centuries, the people of this land had no concept of the passing years. There were seasons, harvests, and moon cycles, but the marking of time as the turning of a new year was foreign to them. Yet, tonight was different. Tonight held a strange and nameless weight, as if the land itself trembled on the precipice of something unseen.

Deep within the forest, a solitary figure trudged through the snow, his breath clouding in the freezing air. Markov, a hunter by trade, clutched his sword tightly, his leather cloak wrapped close against the cold. He was not here for a hunt, though. His purpose tonight was far graver.

Rumors had spread like wildfire through the border villages of a shadow moving through the land—something ancient, something that walked in the guise of man but was far from it. Cattle found frozen in their fields, eyes wide with terror. A woman who vanished into the woods, her footprints dissolving into ash. And then, there were the stones.

The villagers had found them scattered throughout the forest, obsidian shards etched with runes no one could decipher. Markov had one such shard tucked into his satchel, its surface unnaturally cold even against the bitter air. The elder in his village, an old woman whose blind eyes still saw too much, had called it a "Time Stone," a relic of a forgotten covenant.

“The world spins endlessly,” she had whispered, “but this stone marks a place where time itself frays, where one cycle ends, and another begins. You must stop it, or we are all undone.”

Markov didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to. Duty drove him now, a compulsion as ancient as the runes themselves.

As he approached the clearing, the trees seemed to pull away, their branches arching high like the ribs of a cathedral. In the center stood a stone altar, and before it, a man cloaked in shadow. The figure’s back was to Markov, his head tilted as though listening to something only he could hear. On the altar rested a larger version of the shard Markov carried—a stone pulsing with an eerie, rhythmic glow.

Markov stepped into the clearing, his boots crunching on the snow. The figure turned, and Markov’s breath hitched. The man’s face was flawless, unnervingly so, as though it had been carved from marble. His eyes gleamed like molten gold, unnatural and piercing.

“You are late,” the man said, his voice smooth and resonant, carrying an accent Markov couldn’t place.

Markov raised his sword. “Step away from the stone.”

The man laughed, a sound that echoed unnaturally through the clearing. “Do you even know what you’re asking? This stone holds the balance of all that is and will be. Tonight, when the world tilts on the axis of its own making, I will set it right. Or wrong, depending on your perspective.”

“I don’t care about your riddles,” Markov growled, advancing. “I care about the people who will die if you’re not stopped.”

The man’s expression darkened, and the air seemed to grow heavier. “Ignorance. It always comes to this. You think me a monster, yet I offer salvation. Without me, this cycle cannot end, and the rot of time will consume everything.”

Markov didn’t wait for further explanation. He lunged, his blade aimed for the man’s heart. But the stranger moved like smoke, slipping aside with an ease that was almost mocking.

“I did not come here to fight,” the man said, his tone icy. “But if you insist…”

The clearing erupted in a blinding flash of light as the stone’s glow intensified. Markov stumbled, his vision swimming with afterimages. When he regained his footing, the man was standing atop the altar, one hand resting on the stone.

The air grew colder still, the kind of cold that seeped into the bones. Markov could feel time itself shifting around him, a sensation that made his skin crawl. He charged again, and this time his sword struck true, cutting a deep gash across the man’s shoulder.

The stranger hissed, his golden eyes flaring with rage. “You cannot stop what has already begun!” he roared.

Markov didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed the Time Stone and hurled it to the ground with all his strength. The stone shattered into a thousand pieces, its light extinguished in an instant.

The forest seemed to exhale, the oppressive weight lifting as the fragments of the stone melted into the snow. The man staggered, his form flickering like a dying flame. He gave Markov one last, venomous glare before dissolving into the night, leaving only silence behind.

Markov stood alone in the clearing, his sword heavy in his hand. The moon broke through the clouds, casting its pale light over the scene. Somewhere in the distance, a lone wolf howled, a sound both mournful and triumphant.

The hunter sheathed his blade and turned back toward the forest, the weight of what had transpired settling on his shoulders. He didn’t know if he had stopped a disaster or simply delayed it. All he knew was that the cycle had turned, and for now, the borderlands were safe.

For now.

- Shadomoses