Once we entered the currents surrounding the lands of Blood, it was both impossible and unwise to stop the boats. Only God knew what might lurk in the depths of the ocean, beneath the silent maelstroms. So, having been previously briefed by me, the Dukes jumped from the boat to solid ground. We had skimmed the shore, and the time allotted for everyone to disembark was relatively short, but Anela and Beret were the first to leap.

Beret lost his balance for a few seconds as his feet sank into the mushy soil of The Damned. Fratera and I threw our bags down before joining them, leaving only the little Duchess Pero on our sloop. The jump was too high for her, so I reached out my arms to catch her. The boat was already drifting away from the shore. Still, I was pleased to see the young child hadn’t hesitated to jump. I caught her, and our means of transport drifted off.

"How will the boat be retrieved?" asked Pero.

"The currents are weaker near Harshblood and Goneblood, which is why there are only ports in those two cities. If no one picks it up at Harshblood, then it’ll be dealt with in Goneblood," I explained. "It’s no longer our concern. We won’t be going back."

I was about to leave it at that, but the surprised look from Beret and Fratera’s expression saying ‘what are you talking about’ made me correct myself. Pero looked scared by what I had said.

"I meant… we won’t be going back by boat."

Pero nodded softly, unconvinced. Yet I couldn’t summon my old spirit. My fight with Anela had branded itself into my mind, searing and indelible. I had known of his reputation, and back home, he was the most treasured of warriors. People spoke of him in mystical, legendary terms and more. There wasn’t a single person on my native land who wasn’t mad with admiration for him. So I knew him—or at least I thought I did.

I was wrong. I hadn’t underestimated him, and yet where had I failed? How could I, of all people, have felt fear toward him? I felt as if I had died, for just a moment. I had never felt death before. I had seen it, walked beside it, but never had it tried to take me. Now that I had felt death for the first time, it was hard to shake it off. I was disturbed, as though each of my steps now lacked purpose, lacking any clear direction.

And yet, looking at Anela, his steps were leading somewhere. He said he had been shaken too, but I saw no sign of it—no trembling. My fingers trembled with fear at the sight of his back, his aura so blood-soaked and murderous. How could he scare me like this? Until today, I had only heard of him, and now, for the first time, I realized for myself who stood before me. He wasn’t just Anela, Duke of Vileblood. He was something much more.

As our people said, he had been shaped by God Himself. He was different from the other purebloods because our deity had personally cherished and nurtured him. Anela was His son, more so than the rest—just like Od and El, the first sons of our god Rodel. I had barely believed my father when he claimed Anela was the hand of God, enacting what God Himself could never bear to do. Anela was truly His Bloody Vicar.

"Selene, is something wrong?" asked the one who haunted my thoughts.

As I met his gaze, a chill climbed my spine. His blood-red eyes showed no cruelty, which stood in stark contrast to the aura he projected.

"I’m fine," I lied. "I was just thinking that our journey is beginning. We’ve arrived."

He nodded, then looked toward Beret, whose gaze was fixed on his boots.

"This is… the first time I’ve walked on The Damned. They said the land here was far more soaked with blood, but… I wasn’t expecting this."

Indeed. With every step, we sank a few centimeters, and the blood spilled upward, staining our boots—cleverly designed to reveal little of the sheer extent of the bloodshed, for they were red as well.

"It’s been many years since I last set foot here. I didn’t miss it," Fratera sighed.

"And that stench!" Beret complained.

"The smell of guts, pus, and rot," Anela listed. "Get used to that nauseating odor. When the bloodfeast start coming in droves, the stench will double."

Without another word, he picked up a bag and set off. I followed closely behind him—wary of him, yet admiring and hungry to taste flesh like his.

Our march began in heavy silence. Truth be told, there wasn’t much to talk about. Beret and Pero were discovering The Damned for the first time. It was their first encounter with the saunes—tall trees with thick trunks whose sap resembled coagulated blood; whose leaves were the size of my hand and covered in soft fuzz. They were also discovering the spongy ground and the squelching sound of every step we took, and the song of the red whistlers—birds with melodic trills, yet whose singing was among the saddest and most ominous.

Anela led the way, I assisted, and Fratera took the rear. After at least two hours of walking, when dusk fell, Pero began to show obvious signs of fatigue. She was still young, but she wasn’t the only one. Beret was exhausted too. I understood that Anela and I were moving at a pace too fast for them. Quietly, I reached out and slipped my hand into his. My gesture was hidden by my bag slung over one shoulder.

Anela raised his head toward me, continuing to walk without trying to pull away. He was unshakable.

"We should get some rest. You and I can keep going, but I doubt that’s the case for the others. We’re used to it—they’re not. The ground is spongy, their steps are clumsy. Let’s give them a night’s sleep."

He didn’t seem particularly pleased by the idea, but after a discreet glance toward our companions, he nodded. He stopped, and my hand slipped from his, released against my will. I lowered my gaze to it. Why had I held his hand when there were far simpler ways to get his attention?

"We’ll stop here for the night. We’ll eat and rest. Vogué was no easy ride. We’ll wake early tomorrow, so don’t linger. We’ll also set up a watch rotation tonight."

As soon as he spoke, Pero and Beret collapsed onto the ground with graceless sounds of relief. Fratera showed more dignity and leaned against a tree before sliding down to rest. I opened one of our bags to pull out some food. It was mostly freeze-dried meat. I had never tasted anything so revolting, honestly. I watched helplessly as Anela lit a fire—its smoke would quickly be absorbed by the saune leaves—and filled a pot with pure water we had brought. He added the freeze-dried meat and sprinkled in a pinch of spice from a small velvet pouch.

During this journey, that would be our meal every evening, and I already felt sorry for the indignity of it. Still, it was better than starving, and the other Dukes seemed to come to the same conclusion judging by their resigned expressions.

While our... tempting meal became questionable in the pot, Pero let her curiosity speak.

"We’re venturing deeper and deeper into The Damned. The bloodfeast will become more dangerous, won’t they?"

"Bloodfeast are divided by class. We usually distinguish them by numbers, but those from Harshblood use other terms: the Barbarians, the Brightblood, the Nightmare," I explained. "And if you really did read the book, Beret, prove it."

He grumbled, irritated to be caught off guard like a scolded child.

"Normal bloodfeast have no coordination among them. Their motor skills are highly reduced compared to ours. The Barbarians are the least dangerous evolved forms of bloodfeast. Still more dangerous than a regular one, though," he explained. "They’re like us: agile and able to move with ease. They’re even the ones usually lucid enough to flee. The—"

"Enough," I interrupted. "Good student."

He let out a hollow, amused laugh that drew a smile from the other Dukes—and from the young Duchess. I turned my gaze to Fratera, silently inviting him to continue. With a confident air, he picked up the explanation.

"The Brightblood are the ones who’ll give us trouble. They’re stronger and more intelligent. They can hide, set ambushes, wait days for the right moment to strike. They’re quick—quicker than us—and somewhere between man and beast."

"Well, I’ve been a good teacher!" I said, amused.

"Giving a book, that’s not what I’d call 'being a good teacher'," Fratera huffed.

We laughed heartily, easing the heavy atmosphere that had settled over us. My eyes met Anela’s, and he stopped laughing. Instead, a wide, candid, and gentle smile curved his lips. My heart gave a particularly strong leap, distinct from the others, and I frowned. What was happening to me? Still, I didn’t have time to linger on that strange sensation, nor to admire his singular and sincere smile. It darkened and vanished when Pero said:

"To be honest, I was really scared of becoming Duchess and joining this mission, but now… I feel some kind of gratitude for it."

"Gratitude?" Anela repeated in a dark tone. "What gratitude can you feel for being sent to die? You never should’ve become Duchess. That’s not a child’s role."

"But you also—"

Pero didn’t have time to finish her sentence. Our meat stew boiled over the fire, extinguishing it with a hiss that brought the conversation to an abrupt end. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Pero had tried to defend herself, and what better defense than a “but you also became a Duke at a young age!” Still, judging by Fratera’s warning look, I realized it wasn’t something that should be said.

My fingers had naturally entwined with Anela’s in the grass and blood. I didn’t know what I was hoping for with that gesture, but he looked at me.

For a few seconds, while his furrowed brows showed his displeasure, I saw him searching my eyes for a reason to calm down, and I gave it to him—or rather, I shared my calm with him. His fingers gripped mine tightly, painfully. Of course, all of this happened quickly, and Beret had already pulled our food from the coals and was serving us, but I was shocked by how much I liked it. I liked losing myself in Anela’s blood-colored eyes too much. So, I broke all physical and visual contact.

"I’ll take the first watch," I announced.

I took my bowl of stew and walked away a little. I let myself fall against a saune tree, and I had barely had time to sigh before Anela was beside me.

"Why are you doing this? That child didn’t want to be here—so why are you making it harder for her?"

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I hadn’t wanted to stir more discord. Most of all, I didn’t want a rift between him and me.

"Is that what it looks like? Do I seem bitter?"

His voice was so soft that I dared to look at him. The tears forming in the corners of his eyes had an unexpected effect on me: a dull rage began to rise inside.

"I know what it feels like," he murmured. "I know the weight resting on your shoulders when you're that young. Selene, I don’t know if I can protect her here. And if… if she dies… she’s just a child."

"You’re not alone. I’ll protect her with you."

He lowered his head, as if defeated, and I was deeply irritated by it. Until now, nothing had ever broken him, and I doubted that Pero’s death could do it—but seeing him admit defeat, seeing him doubt and cry, made me want to destroy everything in his path, to clear it completely so that nothing else could put him in such a state. That wasn’t what I had hoped for when I met him, yet I now understood that things were slipping beyond my control.

I grabbed his chin and lifted his face toward mine. Just a breath away from each other, I forced him to look into my eyes.

"Don’t lower your gaze like that. If something is going to get to you, to break you, it shouldn’t be this. Anela, if you want to keep that child alive, I’ll help you."

He weighed the truth of my words, and seeming to find them acceptable, he pulled away from my grasp. He leaned his head against the tree behind us and, in a whisper, confided:

"This journey makes no sense. Selene, I don’t understand Asmerion anymore. He’s a wise man, full of reason. How could he think we’d succeed in such a quest? So many doubts are assailing me. It’s never happened before."