Chapter 1
Roxana
There was no better time than early morning, just as the sun peeked through the fog heavy with dew drops. The roosters and birds were already making their first noises, starting the day.
My mornings always began like this— bright and early, right around the time the crickets stopped chirping.
I am a dutiful daughter, or so my father always said. I wasn't a fussy child. In fact, watching him tend to the cattle and feed the chickens was more entertaining than skipping stones at the river with other kids my age.
But that was a long time ago, and things have changed now. This year I turned sixteen, and that means I need to step up for my family. I was no longer a child who could do whatever I wanted. I'm growing into a young woman who must take responsibility. And if that meant waking early to make my parents day's easier, I'd do it gladly.
I carried the sack of feed over my shoulder as I made my way toward the pasture. The earth beneath my boots was soft with morning dew, and the cool air smelled faintly liked wildflowers. The sun was just rising, casting soft pink and gold across the sky.
As I neared the fence separating the pasture from the forest, a sudden, sharp noise stopped me in my tracks— a desperate bleat, small and scared. My heart jumped as I scanned the edge of the trees.
There, tangled in the barbed wire, was a tiny fawn, struggling to free itself. Its dark eyes were wide with panic, legs thrashing helplessly against cruel metal.
I dropped the sack without hesitation and hurried over. "It's okay, I'm here," I whispered, trying to calm down the helpless creature. My hands reached slowly for the wire, careful not to hurt it more.
"Shh, don't fight it. I'll get you out."
Gently, I worked the sharp wire free from its fur and skin, using wire cutters I had hidden in my boot to cut through the thicker strands.
The fawn's trembling slowed, but it panicked occasionally, cutting my hands on the barbed wire I tried so diligently to untangle.
I winced as the wire bit into my skin, sharp pricks tearing small cuts across my forearms. Blood welled up, but I barely noticed— I was only focused on the fawn's desperate struggle. Finally, with one last tug, the wire gave way and the poor animal stumbled free.
It collapsed immediately, its voice hoarse and weak.
My heart broke at the sight. "Oh no, that must hurt. I'm so sorry," I whispered, placing my hands gently on its side.
A soft warmth blossomed in my palms, and my hands began to flow with a delicate green light— a gift I had recently unlocked; the power to heal. The gentle glow wrapped around the fawn's wounds, knitting torn flesh and soothing pain. I could feel its slow steadying heartbeat beneath my fingertips.
Minutes passed like this, until finally the fawn stood taller, its eyes brightening with renewed strength. It pranced a few steps back toward the forest, then paused, turning to look at me. For a moment, our eyes met— a silent thank you shared between two souls.
Then, with a flick of its tail, it vanished into the woods, free and whole once more.
I lowered my hands, the glow fading, and peered at the cuts on my arms. They stung, but I smiled knowing the pain was nothing compared to the gift I'd been able to give.
While I could heal others, I couldn't use this power to heal myself. But that was fine. If it meant helping others out of their suffering, this was just a small price to pay.
"That was freaking amazing, big sis!"
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
"Ah—!" I spun around, clutching at my chest like I had pearls to grasp. My heart nearly leapt out of my throat. "Emmy!"
Emmy came bounding over the pasture hill, a wide grin on her face and a basket of bread perched precariously on top of her head like some sort of crown. Her braid bounced behind her, and she skidded to a stop in front of me, eyes sparkling with excitement.
"You scared the life out of me," I muttered, pressing a hand to my chest.
"Sorry!" she giggled, clearly not sorry at all. "But seriously, I saw the whole thing! The light, the fawn—ugh, Roxana, you looked like something out of a fairy tale! Like… like the Sun Maiden or something!"
I quickly glanced over my shoulder toward the village. The sun was only just peeking over the hills, casting long sleepy shadows.
"Keep your voice down," I hushed her. "People are still asleep."
She zipped her lips and nodded, but her smile stayed put. Emmy never could stay still for long. She adjusted the basket on her head and looked down at my arms, frowning at the cuts.
"Doesn't it hurt?" she asked quietly.
"A little," I admitted. "But it's nothing serious."
Without needing to be asked, she crouched beside me and helped scoop up the spilled feed from when I'd dropped the sack earlier. We worked in easy silence, the kind that only grows between two people who've shared many mornings like this together. The soft cluck of chickens nearby and the gentle rustling of grass were the only other sounds.
Once the feed was all poured and the animals tended to, Emmy stood and dusted off her skirt. "Hey, want to come with me on my route? I've got a few deliveries left, and Mama's back at the bakery. She burned her hand yesterday on the oven door, and she's being super dramatic about it. I think she just wants you to come dote on her a little."
I gave a soft laugh. "Your mom always did know how to get what she wants."
"She says your hands are made of miracles." Emmy grinned. "Everyone in Horix says that now. You know that, right?"
I felt the tips of my ears burn. "I wish they wouldn't. I'm not some miracle worker."
"You're literally called the Saint of Horix," she said, nudging me. "It's kind of a big deal."
I sighed, brushing a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. "I'm just me. A regular girl with some weird glowing hands."
Emmy shook her head. "Nope. You're a lifesaver. Don't try to downplay it."
Even if I didn't fully believe it, the way she looked at me—with nothing but admiration and trust—made something flutter in my chest. I wasn't sure I'd ever live up to the name people gave me, but if it meant I could help, I'd carry it as best I could.
"Alright," I said, smiling. "Let's go see if we can save your mom from herself."
With a triumphant cheer, Emmy looped her arm through mine, and together we started toward the village, the morning sun warming our backs as we went.
The walk to the village was short, just down the slope past the creek that curved like a ribbon through our valley. Emmy chatted the whole way, filling the silence with updates about her little brother, a chicken that laid a blue-speckled egg, and a dream she had where she turned into a cloud.
As we reached the cobbled path leading into Horix, the quiet of the morning began to stir with life.
"Morning, Roxana!" Old Miro called from his porch, already whittling a bit of wood in his usual spot. He waved with a gnarled hand, pipe tucked between his teeth.
"Good morning," I called back with a smile.
A pair of kids raced by on one of their usual pretend quests, wooden swords raised high. They shouted a cheerful "Hi, Miss Roxana!" as they passed.
Everywhere I looked, people were living their ordinary lives—pulling laundry lines tight, sweeping their steps, calling to neighbors. The smell of freshly baked bread and simmering herbs drifted through the air, and shutters opened one by one like blinking eyes. Horix wasn't grand, or rich, or well-known like the Holy Capital, but it was warm. Familiar. Safe.
Here, everyone knew everyone. If someone was sick, neighbors brought soup. If a roof leaked, half the town showed up with buckets and nails. We didn't have gold or statues or palaces, but we had each other. That was enough for me.
We reached the bakery just as the bell on the door jingled, and the warm, yeasty scent of fresh loaves wrapped around me like a hug.
"Mama!" Emmy called as she ducked inside. "Look who I brought!"
Emmy's mother, Mara, stood behind the counter with a cloth wrapped around one hand and a scowl on her face. She perked up as soon as she saw me. "Roxana, dear," she said, wincing slightly as she moved her bandaged fingers. "You didn't have to come all this way."
"You know I don't mind," I said, coming around the counter. "Let me see."
Mara extended her hand with a small dramatic sigh, but her eyes sparkled. "Just a little burn. Oven tray slipped when I was pulling out the rye."
I unwrapped the cloth gently, revealing red, inflamed skin across her palm and thumb. The burn wasn't deep, but it would've blistered soon.
"This'll only take a moment," I said, placing my hands softly over the injury.
The green glow began to flow, faint and soothing, like a breath of wind through summer leaves. Mara let out a slow exhale, tension melting from her shoulders. Within moments, the angry red skin faded to healthy pink, and the pain was gone.
"You always work wonders," she murmured, voice reverent.
I pulled my hands away, blinking as the light faded. "There. Good as new."
Mara flexed her fingers, beaming. "The Saint of Horix, saving my baking hands again. What would I do without you?"
I felt my cheeks warm again. "You'd be just fine. Probably better off—less prone to getting into oven fights."
Emmy laughed, leaning on the counter. "Told you she's amazing."
I glanced around at the tidy shelves lined with fresh loaves, sweet rolls, and spiced buns. A quiet peace settled over the room. This place, this moment—it was everything I thought I wanted in life. People to help. A place to belong.
And yet…
Something in the way Mara looked at me lingered a bit too long, like a smile that didn't quite reach the eyes. But I brushed it off.
It was probably nothing.
***
By the time the sun dipped behind the trees and the lanterns were lit in every home, I was more tired than I realized. My hands ached, my arms stung faintly where the cuts hadn't scabbed over yet, and a low hum of weariness settled in my chest—but it was the good kind. The kind that came after a day well spent.
Emmy walked beside me, her usual energy slightly softer now that the sky was painted in deep blue, and the first stars had started to peek out.
"You know," she said, hugging her arms to her chest as the air cooled, "everyone really loves you, Roxana."
I blinked at her, a little surprised. "What brought that on?"
"I mean it," she said with a stubborn tilt of her chin. "Old man Rourke's leg has been acting up for weeks, but he said after your visit he walked back inside without even needing his cane. And the Maylen twins—when you cured their rash? Their mom cried. Like, ugly cried."
I chuckled at that. "You were there?"
"I was delivering bread!" she huffed, nudging me playfully. "I see everything."
We reached the bend in the dirt path just outside my home. The lantern by the door glowed a soft amber, casting warm light over the porch and flowerpots. It looked peaceful.
"You always say you're just a normal girl," Emmy continued. "But to me, you're... everything. I don't know what I'd do without you."
The sincerity in her voice made something squeeze inside my chest. I turned to respond, but she suddenly wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug, pressing her cheek against my shoulder.
"Thank you," she whispered.
I hugged her back, heart full. "You're the best, Emmy."
She pulled away with a big grin. "See you tomorrow, Saint Roxana!"
I groaned. "Don't call me that."
Laughing, she turned and took off down the road, waving over her shoulder.
I smiled, watching her go. The moment lingered—soft, glowing, quiet.
And then I spotted it.
"Wait," I called, stepping off the porch. "Your basket!"
But she was already gone, her braid swinging behind her, feet kicking up little clouds of dust.
I sighed and bent down, picking up the familiar woven basket from where she'd left it leaning by the steps. Maybe I could drop it off before she noticed it was missing. Her family lived just on the other side of the square—wouldn't take more than a few minutes.
I pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders and headed back down the path, the basket swinging at my side. The night was still. Too still.
The village looked different under the stars—quieter, the windows dimmed, the streets absent with rambunctious kids. But as I neared the bakery, something in my chest tugged.
The door was open.
Not wide. Just cracked. Enough for a sliver of light to spill onto the cobblestone.
Odd. Mrs. Farrow always latched it at night.
I stepped closer.
"Emmy?" I called gently. "You left your—"
My words caught in my throat.
The scent hit me first. Coppery. Sharp. Wrong.
I pushed the door open.
The basket fell from my hands.
Blood. So much of it.
The bakery—once warm and inviting, filled with the scent of honeyed loaves and spice—was now a vision of hell.
Shattered trays. Broken chairs. Crimson smeared across the floor like paint.
And in the center of it all—
"Emmy!" I screamed.
She was still alive, but barely.
Collapsed on the ground, her limbs twitching. Her eyes wide and wet with tears, lips trembling as she tried to speak.
Over her, something hunched. Pale, inhuman. Its mouth stretched far too wide, teeth gleaming as it tore into her shoulder.
A Skall. Neither human nor monster, but a human servant who'd made a blood packed with a noble vampire. And there were a lot of them.
One of them looked up, face soaked in blood, hollow-eyed and grinning.
Another leaned against the wall, chewing a piece of what might've once been flesh.
A third turned its head toward me—slowly, as if savoring the moment.
And then I saw her.
Mrs. Farrow. Emmy's mother.
Covered in blood. Still wearing her flour-dusted apron.
Her eyes met mine and she smiled. Then she sank her teeth into her daughter's neck.
My scream shattered the silence.
And the world I knew burned away in a single breath. I couldn't breathe. My legs refused to move.
My legs rooted to the earth, breath caught somewhere between a scream and a sob.
Emmy's blood painted the floor in wide, wet strokes. Her little body slumped between the broken legs of a toppled stool. Her eyes—those warm, hopeful eyes—were still open, staring through me like glass.
Her mother licked her fingers clean.
"Such a worthy meal," Mara murmured, almost reverent. She smiled, crimson smeared across her chin. "A fine tribute to mark the occasion."
My lips parted. "What... what did you do?"
Mara looked up at me, her face aglow like someone who had just finished a holiday feast.
"Isn't it obvious, dear?" she said sweetly. "You're finally ready."
I took a step back.
"What… what are you talking about?"
She emerged from the shadows of the bakery, her apron soaked in blood, the smell of burnt sugar and rot clinging to her like perfume. Behind her, other figures stirred— Skalls, their faces slack with hunger, their hands slick with Emmy.
I swallowed the scream rising in my throat.
"The God Raka has waited long enough," Mara continued. "Your power—your body—was always meant for him. We only had to wait for you to ripen." Her eyes glittered with fanatical glee. "And now, when we deliver your corpse, the vampires will make us immortal."
The word immortal hit me like a slap.
"You killed your own daughter," I whispered, my heart in shambles through disbelief.
Mara gave a slow, solemn nod. "It was an honor."
That was it.
I turned and ran.
My feet pounded against the cobblestone, the cool night air sharp against my tear-streaked cheeks. The village—the only place I'd ever known, the place that raised me—wasn't what I thought it was at all.
Doors stayed shut. Windows flickered with faint candlelight, but no one opened them. No one came outside.
They knew.
They all knew.
The village of Horix wasn't a village at all. It was a stage. A trap. A place built to raise me like livestock for the slaughter.
The Skalls were closing in. I could hear their ragged breaths, the clatter of limbs behind me as I tore through alleys and across empty streets.
I turned a corner—
Dead end.
I skidded to a stop. My heart slammed against my ribs.
Behind me, they came. Crawling from the shadows like rats. Dozens of them, moving in sync, hunched over with blood on their lips and laughter in their throats.
Mara's voice echoed in the distance.
"Don't be afraid, Roxana. You're going to change the world."
I pressed my back to the wall, hands shaking, breath jagged.
This wasn't fair.
These were the people I helped. The ones I healed, fed, laughed with. The ones who gave me the title Saint of Horix.
But none of it was real.
I was a lamb they fattened with praise and kindness, only to bleed me dry at the altar.
My knees gave out.
Tears welled in my eyes. "I don't want to die…"
A shadow moved above me.
There was no sound—only the rush of wind.
Then, with a sudden impact, someone landed between me and the monsters, the cobblestone cracking beneath his boots.
He stood tall, dark coat sweeping behind him like wings of shadow. A silver cross wrapped in a rose gleamed on his back—the mark of the Vatican.
I blinked, stunned.
He turned slightly, enough for me to see his face—young, around my age but much more mature beyond my years. His hair was dark as the sky above, and his eyes… brown, but fierce. Steady. Like they burned behind the calm.
"Get behind me," he said, voice low but unwavering.
The Skalls paused, hissing, uncertain.
"You…" Mara's voice twisted with venom. "You're one of them. A Dusker. A hound for the Vatican!"
The boy didn't flinch. He raised his sword—long and silver, carved with holy scripture that shimmered against the moonlight.
"She's under my protection now," he said, gaze never leaving the enemy. "If you want her, you'll have to go through me."
I didn't know who he was or why he came.
But in that moment, he was the only thing standing between me and death.
And for the first time since this nightmare began— I had hope.