Chapter 77: Thirst Beneath the Mask
The streets of Valon had grown quiet, darkness gathering like thick ink spilled across a canvas. Cold moonlight filtered through thin clouds, casting eerie patterns on old, weathered cobblestones. Most citizens had long retreated into the safety of their homes, leaving only faint lanterns glowing behind shuttered windows.
Kaelith moved silently through the empty streets, his steps graceful and deliberate. With his dark cloak and calm, dignified posture, he appeared no different from any noble enjoying an evening stroll. The few passersby who noticed him quickly looked away, sensing instinctively that his presence was best avoided.
He turned onto a narrower road, weaving between ancient, dilapidated buildings—far from the main thoroughfares, beyond watchful eyes.
Only then did Kaelith pause, letting the night settle around him.
Slowly, he raised his hands, examining them as the glamour faded, revealing the pale skin of his fingertips turning darker, shifting rapidly into obsidian-like claws.
He exhaled softly, eyes closed. His body twisted and reshaped itself subtly—bones elongated, his elegant features sharpened, dark veins emerging across skin that was growing steadily blacker, rougher.
His eyes snapped open, blazing briefly with deep, molten crimson.
A faint smile tugged at his lips as he flexed his new claws, observing them with casual appreciation. This form had always felt more honest, more satisfying.
"Much better," he whispered into the chill night air.
Kaelith tilted his head slightly, senses expanding. He listened closely to the distant murmurs of the city, searching for the faintest pulse of warmth, the tantalizing flow of lifeblood.
Tonight he would feed. Tonight he would grow stronger.