The low growl of engines and the grind of heavy treads against stone filled the air around his unconscious body. Three massive armored vehicles advanced down the road in tight formation, their reinforced hulls scarred and worn from long travel. These were no ordinary transports. Thick plating covered their sides, and their frames were built for war, not comfort. Black banners were fixed to their exteriors, each marked with stark white lettering in a language unknown to these lands.

Idris lay directly in their path.

The lead vehicle slowed first, its engine dropping to a throaty idle as it came to a halt. The two behind it followed suit, metal clanking as brakes locked and dust billowed up around their armored forms. A hatch on the front vehicle hissed open.

The commander stepped out. He wore a white robe bound tightly at the waist, a matching head wrap shielding his face from the dust. Over the cloth sat heavy armor. His gaze swept the road before him as he raised a hand, signaling the others to hold position.

His hand rested on the hilt of a curved blade at his hip as he moved toward Idris, slow and deliberate. He shifted his stance as he advanced, angling his body to watch for movement, for threats, for deception.

He gestured sharply. Another hatch opened on the second vehicle, and another dropped down. Taller, leaner, dark-skinned, dressed in the same white and steel. A long spear was secured across his back as he fell into step beside the first man, eyes fixed on the unmoving figure ahead. The two of them stared at the body intensely. They knew better than to dismiss anything they come across in these lands. 

The tall one, Ramza, stopped first.

He crouched beside the fallen body, spear still strapped to his back, one hand hovering near the pistol at his thigh. His eyes narrowed as he studied Idris’s face. It was too still, too pale, untouched by the road’s dust despite lying in it. He brushed two fingers near Idris’s neck, not quite touching skin.

“No breath,” Ramza murmured.

The Commander stopped a step behind him. His grip tightened on the curved blade. “Dead?”

Ramza shook his head slowly. “No.” He leaned closer, then stiffened. “It’s just really slow… even the pulse is slow. It’s Cold. Not the cold of death. The cold of something that does not need warmth.”

The Commander cursed under his breath. He unsheathed his sword halfway, the metal whispering free. “Move aside.”

Ramza rose, stepping back. The Commander knelt now, forcing Idris’s chin upward. When the light struck his mouth, it caught on ivory points just visible behind parted lips.

Silence fell.

“A vampire,” Ramza said flatly.

The Commander drew his blade fully. “Then we put it out of its misery.”

He raised the sword—

“Stop.”

The voice came from inside the middle vehicle.

A woman's. Calm. Unmistakably commanding.

The Commander froze mid-motion. Ramza turned sharply toward the vehicle, eyes wide. The armored transport remained sealed, its engine idling low, but faint movement could be heard within. Soft murmurs, overlapping whispers that never quite formed words.

The Commander straightened. “Princess, this is—”

“Not yet,” the woman’s voice said, firm but restrained.

The whispers grew louder for a moment, brushing against the air like distant breath. Then another voice joined them, deeper, older, weighted with authority.

“The Princess commands,” the man said. “You will shelter him.”

Ramza’s jaw tightened. “What? I mean…,” he said, keeping his voice even, “he is a vampire. Unconscious or not, this is reckless.”

The Commander sheathed his blade with visible restraint. “We should neutralize him now. Before nightfall.”

A pause.

Then the older man spoke again. “Her Highness assures you he means no harm.”

Ramza let out a short, disbelieving breath. “Assurance does not change blood.”

“They do when they come from her,” the voice replied.

Another silence followed. It was thick, uncomfortable.

The Commander glanced at Idris once more, then toward the sealed vehicle. “And if he wakes hungry?”

“He will not,” the woman said. “I swear it.”

Ramza’s eyes flicked back to Idris. “You’re asking us to bring a predator into our convoy.”

“I am ordering you to,” the Princess answered.

The whispers subsided, as if the decision itself had silenced them.

The older man spoke one final time. “Prepare a containment berth. Sun-shielded. Guarded at all times. If he stirs—report immediately.”

The channel closed. The engines hummed on, indifferent.

Ramza exhaled slowly. “This is a mistake.”

“Maybe,” the Commander said. He nodded toward Idris. “Lift him. Carefully.”

Ramza hesitated, then moved. As his hands touched Idris’s cold form, something unseen seemed to shift beneath the stillness, an almost imperceptible tension, like a blade drawn just short of striking.

Unaware.

Or pretending to be.

They laid him on a reinforced restraint slab bolted to the floor. Steel bands locked around his wrists, ankles, and chest, runes etched shallow into the metal where light could strike them. Sun-shields slid into place overhead, flooding the compartment with a muted, artificial glow meant to keep anything unwelcome uncomfortable but contained.

Idris did not react.

No hiss. No flinch. Not even a twitch.

That unsettled Ramza more than resistance ever could have.

The convoy rolled on.

Inside the lead vehicle, the Commander stood near the open interior hatch, watching the road ahead through a narrow viewport. Ramza leaned against the bulkhead opposite him, eyes distant. The engines’ low growl filled the silence between them for a long stretch.

“He should be writhing by now,” Ramza said at last.

The Commander didn’t turn. “Youre right, it is odd that he isn’t affected.”

“I’ve seen vampires restrained before,” Ramza continued. “They fight it. Even unconscious, there’s instinct. Muscle tension. Rage. Hunger.” He shook his head. “This one though. It’s like there’s nothing.”

The Commander glanced back briefly. “You think he’s faking?”

Ramza considered it. “If he is, then he’s better than any I’ve encountered.” A pause. “But no. I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Because even elders react to light,” Ramza said. “Not like pain… like irritation. This one didn’t even acknowledge it.”

The Commander turned fully now. “You’re saying he’s stronger than an elder?”

“I’m saying something is wrong.”

That earned a grim smile. “That’s not comforting.”

Ramza pushed off the wall and paced once, restless. 

The Commander folded his arms. “Could be starvation.”

“No,” Ramza said immediately. “Starved ones are even more volatile. They cling to sensations even.”

The engines hit a rough patch of road. The vehicle shuddered. Still, no report from the containment berth. No movement. No alarms.

The Commander exhaled slowly. “And the Princess swears he means no harm.”

Ramza snorted quietly. “I can’t believe this. It’s like her and her father have gone mad.”

“Careful,” the Commander warned, though without heat.

Ramza inclined his head slightly. “I trust her judgment. I just don’t understand it this time.” He hesitated, then said the thing that had been sitting heavy in his chest. “Whatever he is, he’s not like the others. Not feral. Not cursed in the same way.”

The Commander turned back to the road. “You think he chose this?”

“I think,” Ramza said slowly, “that if he wakes… we won’t be the ones in control. Restraints or not. You know commander, I should be asking you these questions.”

“Yeah, yeah.”