Two suns, two moons. This wasn't Earth. This was… what? He needed to learn, to understand. But for now, he was trapped in this fragile shell, dependent on Veyra and Talren.
Veyra's humming stopped. She adjusted her hold, pulling her tunic aside. Before he could process it, she guided him to her breast.
Instinct kicked in. He latched on, milk flooding his mouth—sweet, warm, alive. But it wasn't enough. That deeper hunger lingered, unsatisfied.
He drank anyway, his adult mind screaming in protest. This was wrong—humiliating, perverse. Yet his body didn't care. It needed this.
Talren chuckled, watching them. "Greedy little thing. He'll grow strong, Veyra. Maybe a warrior like me."
"Or a scholar," she countered, stroking Kazu's head. "Those eyes—they see more than they should."
She had no idea. Kazu's thoughts churned, a storm of disgust, wonder, and want. He was Kaelith now, reborn in a world of magic and mystery.
The milk dulled the edge of his hunger, but not the fire in his veins. It was there, waiting, growing with him. Blood, power, desire—he'd chase them all, one day.
Veyra's heartbeat thrummed against him, steady and strong. He memorized it, filing it away. She was his anchor now, his starting point.
Talren stood, stretching. "I'll get some wood. Fire's dying." He kissed Veyra's forehead, then ruffled Kazu's sparse hair. "Sleep well, Kaelith."
The door thudded shut behind him. Veyra sighed, leaning back against the bed's wooden frame. "Just us now, little one."
Kazu—Kaelith—stared up at her, his red eyes catching the firelight. He couldn't speak, couldn't move much, but he could think. Plan.
This world was his. He'd grow, learn, take what he wanted. The truck had killed Kazu, but Kaelith was alive—fangs and all.
Veyra's arms cradled Kaelith, her warmth seeping into his tiny body. The firelight danced across her face, casting soft shadows as she gazed down at him.
"Just us now, little one," she murmured, her voice a soothing hum. Her dark hair framed her tired smile, and her storm-gray eyes held a quiet strength.
Kaelith stared back, his red-tinted eyes unblinking. He couldn't speak, couldn't move beyond weak squirms, but his mind churned—a thirty-four-year-old soul trapped in a newborn's shell.
The truck had ended Kazu. Crushed him into nothing. Yet here he was, reborn as Kaelith, alive in a world of two moons and stone houses. Alive—and different.
His gums ached, a faint prickling where tiny fangs hid. The hunger was there too, a shadow beneath the milk he'd taken, whispering for something more. Blood.
He pushed the thought down. Not now. Not yet. He was a baby, helpless, dependent on Veyra and Talren. He'd figure this out later—when he could walk, talk, act.
Veyra shifted, adjusting the blanket around him. Her tunic brushed his cheek, her scent flooding his senses—milk, sweat, and that maddening pulse of life beneath her skin.
His mouth watered. He clenched his fists, tiny nails digging into his palms. Control. He needed control.
The fire crackled, its heat washing over them. The room was small but solid—stone walls, a wooden ceiling, a rug worn thin by years of footsteps. Simple. Safe.
Outside, the night pressed against the window. Two moons glowed—one silver, one faint purple—casting a strange light over the fields beyond. This was no Earth. This was his new reality.
Sleep tugged at him, his infant body demanding rest. He fought it, wanting to stay alert, to understand. But Veyra's rocking and the fire's warmth pulled him under.
Days blurred into weeks. Kaelith learned his new world through stolen moments—listening, watching, piecing it together.
Talren was a soldier, or had been. The sword on the wall told that story, its blade notched from battles Kaelith could only imagine. Now, he worked the fields, his broad hands more suited to a plow than a hilt.
Veyra was softer, but no less strong. She cooked, cleaned, sang to Kaelith in a voice that carried old melodies. Sometimes, she'd sit by the window, staring at the horizon with a look he couldn't read.
They lived on the edge of a village—later, he'd learn its name: Talsara. A quiet place of farmers and shepherds, nestled in the Vaelor Plains. Simple folk, simple lives.
Kaelith adapted. His body grew, slow but steady. By a month, his eyes sharpened, picking out details—the weave of Veyra's dress, the grain of the table.
His hearing grew too. He caught Talren's low chuckles, Veyra's soft sighs, the distant bleat of sheep. And heartbeats—always heartbeats, steady and loud, teasing that shadow inside him.
The fangs stayed small, hidden. He felt them when he pressed his tongue against his gums—sharp, but not enough to pierce yet. A promise of what he'd become.
One morning, Veyra bundled him up, her hands quick and sure. "Time to show you off, Kaelith," she said, wrapping him in a woolen cloth.
Talren grinned, pulling on a rough-spun cloak. "Priest's coming today. Might as well get the blessing done."
Blessing? Kaelith's mind perked up. A priest meant religion—maybe magic. This world had to have it, right? Two suns, two moons—it screamed fantasy.
Veyra carried him outside, the air crisp and bright. The smaller sun blazed gold, the larger one a dull red, both climbing the sky.
He squinted, a sting pricking his eyes. His skin tingled, then burned—not much, but enough to notice. The light felt wrong, hostile.
Veyra didn't seem to catch it, chatting with Talren as they walked. "Think he'll take after you? All muscle and no sense?"
Talren laughed. "Better than all brains and no spine. Look at him—those eyes. He's got fire."
Kaelith barely heard them. The burning spread, a faint itch across his arms, his face. He whimpered, a sound he hated making.
Veyra frowned, pausing. "What's wrong, little one?" She shifted him, shading his face with her hand. The relief was instant, the sting fading.
"Sun's bright today," Talren said, glancing up. "Maybe he's just tender."
"Maybe," Veyra murmured, but her eyes lingered on Kaelith, searching.
They reached the village square—a patch of dirt with a well and a few wooden benches. People milled about, nodding at Talren and Veyra. Farmers, mostly, their hands rough and their clothes patched.
A man stood out, waiting by the well. Older, maybe fifty, with a bald head and a gray robe tied with a cord. A wooden staff rested in his hand, carved with symbols Kaelith didn't recognize.
"Priest Torvyn," Talren called, raising a hand. "Good to see you."
Torvyn smiled, his face creasing. "Talren. Veyra. And this must be the little one."
Veyra stepped forward, holding Kaelith out. "Kaelith. Born a month back. Thought it's time for the blessing."
Torvyn leaned in, his eyes narrowing. Kaelith met his gaze, red against the priest's watery blue. The man's brow furrowed, a flicker of something—surprise? Concern?—crossing his face.
"Red eyes," Torvyn said, voice low. "Uncommon. Very uncommon."
"He's special," Veyra said, a touch of pride in her tone. "Takes after no one we know."
"Special indeed," Torvyn muttered. He reached out, hovering a hand over Kaelith's head. "Let's see what the gods think."
A warmth spread from Torvyn's palm—not fire, but something softer, alive. Magic. Kaelith felt it tingle through him, brushing his skin, his bones.
His gums ached sharper, the fangs pulsing. The hunger stirred, faint but there, like a beast waking up. He squirmed, fighting it down.