The twins were gone.
The portal roared with violent energy, its swirling light pulling Lyra and Eryon into a chaos that defied understanding. They tumbled through the void, their tiny bodies twisting in the relentless current of magic. The cries of their parents echoed faintly behind them, swallowed by the cacophony.
Lyra and Eryon’s fragile forms were buffeted by invisible forces, the sensation of falling endless and suffocating. The portal churned around them, fragments of shattered reality flashing in and out of view—bright streaks of crimson, jagged shards of black, and swirling voids that felt colder than death.
Then, with a sudden, bone-jarring jolt, the spinning stopped.
They were unceremoniously deposited onto cold, damp ground, the air around them heavy with the scent of iron and decay. The world they landed in was cloaked in an eerie, crimson glow. Twisted trees loomed overhead, their skeletal branches clawing at a blood-red sky.
The twins whimpered softly, their cries weak and trembling. Eryon clung to Lyra instinctively, their shared fear palpable in the oppressive quiet.
The silence was broken by a soft rustle. A cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, their movements deliberate and measured. They approached the twins cautiously, the faint light of the forest revealing gloved hands and a hood that obscured their face.
The figure knelt beside the twins, their breath hitching audibly. For a moment, they hesitated, their gloved hand hovering over the bundles.
“Werewolves,” the figure murmured, their voice low and filled with intrigue. The word hung in the air, heavy with both curiosity and caution. “What are you doing here?”
The figure’s hand trembled as it brushed against the edge of the twins’ blankets. The faint scent of wolves lingered in the air—a scent that didn’t belong in this realm. The figure inhaled sharply and muttered an incantation under their breath, the words slipping from their lips like a secret.
The smell of wolves faded instantly, replaced by the faint tang of herbs and magic. The figure leaned closer, their movements quick and precise.
But before they could do more, a sharp sound broke the quiet—the snap of a branch under heavy boots. The figure froze, their hood turning sharply toward the source of the noise.
From the shadows, the sound of heavy footsteps grew louder, deliberate and menacing. The air grew colder, the presence of something powerful and dangerous spreading through the forest like an unseen tide.
A voice sliced through the silence, cold and dripping with menace. “Who dares disturb the vampire realm?”
