The night was not as dark as one might expect. As the moon hung in the sky, its pale glow cast long shadows over the rough-hewn palisade. Lucius, having just reinforced the newly built defences, now assumed the role of watchman. He leaned against his spear, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a vain attempt to stay warm.
The cold had been manageable during the march, the exertion keeping it at bay. But now, standing still beneath the vast and indifferent sky, it crept into his bones. His breath curled in the air before him, fading like a specter into the darkness. Around him, the other sentries were silent, their shoulders hunched, faces grim. He knew their thoughts mirrored his own. It's so cold…
Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out—a lonely, haunting sound. The campfires beyond the barricade flickered, their warmth frustratingly out of reach. Lucius sighed, he knew It would be a long night.
Time passed in the biting cold, the monotonous watch stretching endlessly. Lucius was lost in thought, his mind drifting between exhaustion and duty, when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. It was gentle—just enough to get his attention without startling him.
"Hey… do you see that too?"
Lucius turned to find another sentry standing beside him, a man he didn't recognise. Though that wasn't unusual—he had never really been good with faces. The stranger's breath misted in the cold air as he pointed toward the darkness beyond the palisade.
Lucius followed the gesture, squinting into the night. The landscape was as it had been all evening—shadowy outlines of trees, a scattering of jagged rocks, and, further off, the dim silhouette of the village they had passed earlier.
"See what?" Lucius asked, his body tensing as he instinctively prepared for a fight. His fingers curled tighter around the shaft of his spear.
"In the trees," the man muttered. "Someone is watching us."
Lucius turned to the forest off in the distance, and felt a knot tighten in his stomach. He stole another glance at the trees, his pulse quickening. It could be nothing. It could be something.
"What do you think?" he asked, his voice quieter now. "Should we warn the commander?"
A silence stretched between them, heavy and uncertain. The wind whistled through the wooden stakes of the palisade, and in the distance, the owl hooted again. But something about the night now felt different.
"I think we should," Lucius said, his voice steady despite the unease creeping into his gut. He glanced at the other sentry, who still had his gaze fixed on the treeline.
"You keep your eyes on it. I'll get the commander." He paused for a moment before adding, "Thank you."
The man gave a short nod but said nothing, his posture rigid, as if afraid that whatever lurked in the shadows would disappear the moment he looked away.
Lucius turned and made his way toward the commander's tent, his boots pressing into the hardened dirt as he trudged up the hastily built wooden stairs. The planks creaked under his weight, brittle and uneven, as if threatening to give way beneath him.
The camp was quiet save for the occasional crackling of a dying fire and the muffled voices of other sentries posted along the palisade. Most of the men had already turned in for what little rest they could steal before dawn. Lucius envied them.
Reaching the command tent, he exhaled, steadied himself, and pushed back the flap.
"Commander," Lucius said as he stepped inside the dimly lit tent. Without hesitation, he dropped to one knee, his left leg supporting him as his right arm crossed over his chest in a formal salute. The tent smelled of damp canvas and burning oil from a small lantern swaying gently beside the command table.
The commander, a grizzled man with lines of experience etched into his face, looked up from a worn-out map. His piercing gaze settled on Lucius, measuring him before speaking.
"Forgive me commander, but I believe we've spotted what looks like scouts just off in the forest," Lucius continued, his tone crisp and urgent. "Your orders, sir?"
The commander's face drained of colour as his eyes locked onto Lucius, his expression one of pure dread. It was as if he had seen a ghost, or worse—something inevitable, something he had long feared but never spoken of.
Without a word, his hand drifted to the cross hanging around his neck. He got on his knees as his fingers curled around it tightly, knuckles whitening as he closed his eyes and began to pray under his breath. The words were barely audible, whispered between clenched teeth, yet the weight behind them was unmistakable.
Lucius furrowed his brow. This wasn't a mere gesture of faith—this was desperation. He had seen men pray before battle, but never like this. Never with such urgency, such finality.
He stepped forward cautiously. "Commander?"
He didn't respond. The grip on the cross tightened as though faith were the only thing tethering him to sanity.
Lucius felt a chill crawl up his spine, and it had nothing to do with the cold night outside. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. And for the first time since taking up his post, he felt a seed of doubt plant itself in his chest.
"Sir?" Lucius whispered though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
The commander's lips stopped moving, but his eyes remained shut. A tense silence settled over the tent, broken only by the distant howl of the wind. Then, finally, he exhaled—a slow, shuddering breath—and opened his eyes.
"They've come," he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. His eyes, filled with a mix of fear and resignation, settled on Lucius. "Tell me… have you ever heard of vampires?"
His fingers clenched the crucifix in his hand as though it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.
Lucius studied him, his expression tinged with curiosity, though scepticism lurked beneath. "Of course, sir. But that's only a folk tale."
The commander let out a hollow chuckle, shaking his head. "If only that were true."
Lucius frowned, unease creeping up his spine. The air inside the tent suddenly felt thick, suffocating. The wind outside howled louder, rattling the canvas as if the very night itself wished to claw its way in.
"Sir, you're not..."
"A soldier's duty is to fight enemies of flesh and blood, those disloyal to the empire and the emperor." the commander murmured, his fingers tightening around the crucifix. "But tonight, we face something… different, compared to what we typically face."
Lucius swallowed. "You mean to say—"
A bloodcurdling scream cut through the night, sharp and unnatural. Both men froze. Another followed, then another. The camp outside erupted into chaos—shouting, the clash of steel, the unmistakable wet tearing of flesh. Shadows flickered beyond the tent walls, moving fast enough to see, but to make it difficult to counter.
The commander, his face still pale, strode toward the weapons rack at the far end of the tent. Without hesitation, he pulled free a sword and tossed it to Lucius. The young soldier caught it by the handle, the weight settling into his grip.
"Drop the spear," the commander said, his voice hollow. "You'll need a proper weapon for this." Lucius glances at the sward briefly.
Then, a sudden guttural snarl tore through the air. The fabric of the tent shredded like parchment as a vampire burst through the canvas, its entrance violent and jarring. Lucius barely had time to react before the creature was upon them, its eyes burning with a feral hunger.
The vampire clutched a wickedly curved dagger, its blade etched with strange, unholy symbols that shimmered in the dim light. Fresh blood dripped from his mouth, trailing down his chin in dark rivulets, his hands slick with the crimson evidence of his last victim. The stench of iron and decay clung to him like a second skin.
With inhuman speed, the vampire lunged, its fangs bared, aiming straight for the commander's throat. Lucius froze, caught between shock and the raw brutality unfolding before him. But the commander was faster. With a practised hand, he drove his blade deep into the creature's chest. The vampire's snarl turned to a choked gasp, its momentum faltering as the steel buried itself in flesh.
Lucius could only watch, heart hammering, as the beast convulsed, its once-predatory form now writhing in agony.
Screams of agony echoed beyond the commander's tent, piercing through the chaos. Lucius could already see the battlefield littered with the dead—Imperial soldiers and vampires alike—while the fighting raged on.
"USE THE TORCHES!" the commander bellowed, his voice raw with urgency. "THEY FEAR THE LIGHT!".
The soldiers still engaged in battle heard the command, and many quickly seized the torches affixed to the walls. The fierce glow repelled the advancing vampires, buying them precious moments as the struggle raged on.
"Let's go, soldier. This fight must not be lost," the commander urged, striding forward to face the oncoming vampires. But as Lucius glanced around, a grim realisation settled over him—their own numbers were dwindling, while the enemy's only seemed to grow.