The night had now fallen completely.
And with it, the rain.
Not a gentle, light rain. A violent, merciless rain that hammered the roofs and windows like thousands of impatient fingers.
Inside the manor, somewhere in the depths of a forgotten room, the mosquito emerged from its hiding place.
It had changed.
Dramatically.
Its size now exceeded that of most humans—two meters, perhaps more if you counted the antennae. Its body was permanently hunched, its broad, muscular thorax supporting the massive abdomen that hung behind it.
Its hind legs—thick, powerful, segmented—struck the floor with a weight that echoed through the empty corridors.
Its forelegs—now thinner, almost like arms, ending in three-clawed pincers—constantly contracted and relaxed, searching for new coordination.
Hunger.
Not just hunger.
Need.
It headed toward the library—the last place it had seen Cassian.
The armchair was there. The atlas on the floor.
But not her.
Where?
It searched.
Methodically at first. Corridor by corridor. Room by room.
Then frantically.
Staircases. Bedrooms. Cellar. Attic.
NOWHERE TO BE FOUND.
Rage rose.
Its wings—now far too large for its hunched body, nearly dragging on the ground when folded—suddenly unfurled.
They beat.
Once.
The sound was apocalyptic. A buzzing so deep, so powerful, it made the walls vibrate.
Every single pane of glass in the manor exploded simultaneously.
CRASH. CRASH. CRASH.
Thousands of glass fragments flew in every direction, tinkling against the floor like a rain of crystal.
The wings beat again.
Door frames cracked. Chandeliers fell. Paintings tore from the walls.
WHERE IS SHE?!
Then, in its rage, one clear thought emerged.
The scent.
It focused.
The blood. That perfect blood. It had memorized every molecule, every nuance.
It could smell it.
Faint. Very faint.
But present.
Leading outside.
Out.
She left.
The wind was blowing in the wrong direction—against it, scattering the scent.
But the mosquito was patient now.
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I cannot lose this supply.
It is the only thing that matters.
It moved toward the main door, smashing it as it passed through.
And vanished into the rainy night.
---
Cassian moved with difficulty along the muddy path.
Every step was a monumental effort.
Left. Right. Left. Don’t fall.
When she had woken up in the armchair—how long had she slept? One hour? Five?—the realization had hit her like an icy slap.
I got fooled again.
AGAIN.
At first, she had looked down on the mosquito. An insect. Annoying, sure. But just an insect.
Now?
I fear for my life.
She felt extremely tired. Dizzy. Her head ached—a dull, throbbing pain that seemed synchronized with her heartbeat.
And her balance.
Fucking balance.
The world tilted slightly when she walked, as if the ground itself were shifting under her feet.
She couldn’t see herself, but her skin was deathly pale. Almost gray in the veiled moonlight.
I can’t stay in the manor anymore.
If I stay, I will die.
Every night, she lost more blood. And her body—normally robust, normally quick to recover—was no longer keeping up.
This is worrying. Really worrying.
She was certain she could kill the mosquito. Certain. If even one of her attacks landed fully, it would die.
The problem…
I’ve never hit it. Not once.
Hundreds of ice spears. Traps. Surprise attacks.
Nothing.
It dodges everything.
A sound.
Cassian froze, awkwardly turning her head.
Hooves. In the mud.
A horse appeared around the bend of the path, emerging from the darkness like a ghost.
And on the horse…
“The delivery guy?”
He pulled on the reins, startled.
“Miss?!”
He quickly dismounted, his boots splashing into a puddle.
“What are you doing here?! So late at night?!”
He looked at the sky—black, starless, pouring torrents of water.
“Dawn is near,” he said mechanically. “But right now…”
He didn’t finish. Nothing suggested dawn was approaching.
Cassian stared at the horse.
Then at the delivery guy.
“Take me far from here.”
“What?”
She approached—swaying slightly—and grabbed his sleeve.
“FAR FROM HERE. Now.”
The delivery guy felt her skin through the fabric.
Cold.
Not just cool. Icy. Like touching a corpse.
“Miss, you…”
“Far from the manor. Immediately.” Her blue eyes—normally so arrogant—were filled with something he had never seen in them.
Distress.
He glanced toward the direction of the manor.
Then made his decision.
“Okay. Get on.”
He helped her climb onto the horse—she was lighter than he expected, as if half her weight had vanished.
He mounted behind her.
“Hold on tight.”
The horse took off at a gallop.
The delivery guy had so many questions.
What happened at the manor?
Why is she in this state?
What is she running from?
Am I going to die for helping her?
But he kept it all to himself.
Clearly not the time.
Even though she had told him not to come back last time—to stop coming every day—he had still returned.
Out of habit. Stubbornness. Because of… something he didn’t want to name.
But now? This feels like the right choice.
Cassian clung tightly to him, her arms wrapped around his waist.
She’s really pressed right up against me.
He could feel her weight against his back, her hands trembling slightly.
“This is…” He hesitated. “Is this your first time on a horse?”
“Yes.” Her voice was weak, almost inaudible over the sound of the rain.
“It’s a strange feeling. I feel like I could fall at any moment.”
My current condition isn’t helping, she thought bitterly.
“You won’t fall,” the delivery guy said with more confidence than he felt.
---
They reached the town as the rain intensified again.
The streets were deserted—no one was foolish enough to be out in this weather.
The delivery guy guided the horse toward his house.
Small. Modest. A timber-framed house with simple tile roofing that rattled under the rain.
One main room with a small kitchen corner. A loft for temporarily storing packages. A little shelter for the horse out back.
He helped Cassian dismount—she nearly collapsed, caught at the last second.
“Wait here.”
He quickly tied the horse in the shelter, giving it hay and water.
Then returned to Cassian.
She was leaning against the outer wall, eyes half-closed.
“Let’s go inside.”
Inside, the residual warmth from a dead fire made the atmosphere slightly less freezing.
Cassian collapsed into a wooden chair near the table.
“Thank you,” she said finally. “For letting me stay a few days. Until things calm down.”
Until Hiro comes back, she thought without saying it.
The delivery guy nodded, still reeling from the whole situation.
Thanks to Cassian, their clothes were completely dry despite the rain.
My parents will never believe me, he thought, looking at her.
I brought a girl home.
She’s not human, she’s an elf, but still.
“You need to eat,” the delivery guy said suddenly. “You’re really weak.”
Cassian looked at him, too tired to argue.
“Okay.”
The delivery guy went to his little kitchen corner.
Soup. Soups are simple, right?
He took out a pot. Water. Vegetables—a few wilted carrots, an onion that had seen better days.
He clumsily chopped the vegetables and threw them into the water.
Lit the fire.
Salt now.
He poured some.
Then more.
Wait, maybe too much?
He tasted it.
Way too much.
Okay. More water to dilute.
He added water.
A lot of water.
Now it’s just… water.
Herbs. I need herbs.
He rummaged through his shelves—found three unlabeled jars.
This one smells good. And this one too. Fuck it, all three.
He poured generously.
Stirred.
The result was… disturbing.
A dubious green water with floating bits that vaguely resembled food.
He poured it into a bowl.
Presented it to Cassian.
She stared at the liquid with a blank look.
“Is this… edible?”
The delivery guy hesitated.
Honestly? No idea.
“Yes,” he said anyway. “Of course.”
Cassian brought the bowl to her lips.
Took a sip.
Her skin became even paler—something the delivery guy wouldn’t have thought possible.
She stayed motionless for a long moment.
Then gently set the bowl down.
“Not the best time for introductions,” the delivery guy said quickly, trying to change the subject. “But my name is Nolan.”
“Cassian.”
“Nice to meet you, Cassian.” He smiled nervously. “So… how’s the soup?”
Cassian looked at him.
Straight in the eyes.
For a long, very long moment.
Then she pushed the bowl toward him.
“Taste it.”
---
In a bakery on the other side of town, two women spoke in low voices while the baker prepared the oven for the day.
“Did you hear?” The first one—gray hair, flour-dusted apron—leaned toward her neighbor.
“Hear what?”
“The deaths. Several people found completely drained of blood.”
The second woman—younger, but with deep dark circles—went pale.
“What? Here? In town?”
“Yes! In the alleys. Even an adventurer apparently.”
“An adventurer?! But they’re supposed to be strong!”
“That’s what I’m saying!” The first woman shook her head. “Several witnesses saw the culprit.”
“And?”
“A monster. Huge. With wings.”
Silence fell.
“I… I don’t feel safe anymore,” the younger woman murmured. “Not like before.”
“Me neither. No one feels safe anymore.”
---
The mosquito had reached the town.
It stood motionless on a rooftop, its antennae vibrating, analyzing every scent carried by the wind.
She is here.
Hidden somewhere.
But here.
It could smell her. Faintly. But enough.
I will find you.
And you will not be able to run anymore.
---
Meanwhile, several kilometers away, in a clearing bathed by the first rays of sunlight…
Hiro woke up.
A sunbeam passed perfectly through the leaves above him, creating golden patterns across his face.
Dew sparkled on the grass around their campsite.
The air was fresh, pure, carrying the scent of damp forest.
Beautiful morning.
He stretched, yawning.
Lucia was already awake, kneeling by the fire, heating water in a small pot.
She looked up, smiled gently.
“Good morning, Hiro.”
“Morning,” he mumbled.
Lena was still sleeping—curled against him, her arm draped across his chest, adorably defenseless in her sleep.
Her hair was completely tangled. Her mouth slightly open.
Hiro smiled despite himself.
Peaceful.
Everything is peaceful here.
He looked at the sky—blue, cloudless, promising a perfect day.
I hope Cassian is doing okay at the manor.
She’s probably bored out of her mind.
But at least she’s safe.
