Chronicles of a vampire hybrid

UPRISING

"You're the angry type... I see, I was just checking something," Elias said, wiping the red mark on his cheek from the slap. His voice held a calm, teasing edge, but his eyes flickered with something deeper, thoughtfulness, or perhaps a hint of satisfaction.

Seraphina didn’t say a word. Her lips were tightly pressed together, her cheeks still flushed from the confrontation. She turned sharply and left the room, her long gown sweeping behind her like a stormy wave. Her footsteps echoed fast and filled with emotion. The soft click of the door closing behind her was like a final punctuation mark to her anger.

Elias scoffed and ran his hand through his dark hair, the strands falling messily back over his forehead. “Tch... Sensitive,” he muttered under his breath, casting one last look at the closed door before sighing.

He walked to the window, his footsteps soft against the polished marble floor. Outside, the sky was a dull gray, and soft sunlight filtered through the thin clouds like a weak promise of warmth. In the distance, the capital city stretched far and wide, red-tiled roofs forming a patchwork across the valley, crowded streets alive with movement, and tiny figures moving like ants below.

The palace garden directly beneath his window was a vivid contrast—blooms of roses, lilies, and vibrant purple hyacinths flourished in neat rows. A gentle breeze made the petals flutter like silk. Yet none of it calmed the storm in Elias’ mind. His thoughts churned, unquiet and relentless.

"Who's there? Please enter," he said firmly, not turning from the window.

The door creaked open slowly, and the young servant boy stepped in with practiced grace. He bowed deeply, keeping his head low and hands tucked neatly into his sleeves. The scent of aged parchment and pine clung to his robe.

"Yes, my prince?"

Elias turned from the window, his expression unreadable. “Now that the priestess is dead… what happens next?”

The servant straightened slightly, though his eyes remained lowered. "Priestesses usually have assistants, Your Highness. One of them will take over her duties."

Elias narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze sharp. "So only the assistant could take her place? No one else?"

The boy hesitated, shifting nervously, his fingers tightening slightly inside his sleeves. "I think so, unless... unless a descendant of the Great White Tiger appears."

Elias tilted his head, intrigued. His tone softened just slightly. "Great White Tiger? What’s that?"

The servant looked up at him in surprise, brows raised as if Elias had just asked who the king was. "Almost everyone in the capital knows about them, my prince. The Great White Tiger was a clan of seers. Very powerful. They were the original priestesses long ago. But… they were wiped out in a great massacre during the war. Still, some believe a few of them survived."

Elias nodded slowly, the wheels in his mind clearly turning. “Interesting.”

He turned back to the window, folding his hands behind his back as he stared outward, deep in thought.

Meanwhile, in the grand palace hall, the king stood before his ministers. The polished marble beneath his feet gleamed, and his golden robe shimmered under the morning light pouring in from tall stained-glass windows. His face was unreadable, his eyes cold and sharp like steel forged in battle.

The chamber buzzed with ministers. Their robes rustled as they whispered among themselves. The tension in the room was thick, like the air before a storm.

The king raised his hand, palm outward.

At once, silence fell.

"Last night, the royal priestess was killed," he announced, his voice echoing through the tall chamber. "And Warrior Ken was killed alongside her."

A loud gasp rippled through the crowd. Faces turned, eyes widened.

"Who could have taken down Ken?" someone whispered, barely audible.

"Is this an inside job?"

"Could it be rebellion?"

The Minister of Finance stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate. He bowed low before the king. "Your Majesty, there is one person whose name continues to be whispered. Minister Frederick, the newly appointed minister and son-in-law of the Minister of Land Affairs."

Frederick stepped forward immediately. His face had gone pale, and his eyes darted between the other ministers nervously. "Your Highness, I’ve been indoors since yesterday. I had no hand in this. How could I do such a thing? I used to be a warrior, but now I'm a minister. I can't even remember the last time I picked up a sword."

The king’s eyes narrowed slightly. He studied Frederick in silence, his gaze unblinking. Then, slowly and deliberately, he said, "Since you are the only one whose name has come up, I assign you to this investigation. You will bring the true culprit… dead or alive."

Frederick knelt on one knee, his head bowed low. "I receive the royal command, Your Majesty."

Back in the prince's chamber, Elias was already preparing for a journey. He wore a black cloak layered over simple but finely made travel garments. A sword was strapped securely across his back, its hilt plain but deadly.

By noon, he had left the palace. The horse beneath him galloped fast, its hooves pounding against the dry ground, throwing up dust as the capital city slowly vanished behind him.

Hours passed. The plains opened wide before him, golden with dry grass, stretching far in every direction. Rolling hills rose in the distance like ancient guardians of the land. The wind carried the scent of pine trees and smoke from distant chimneys.

As the sun began to dip, painting the sky in soft hues of orange and pink, Elias reached a small village nestled beside a sparkling mountain stream. The houses were modest, built with worn stone and wood, and thin trails of smoke rose peacefully from their chimneys.

He slowed his horse in front of a tiny wooden cabin at the very edge of the village, set against a line of pine trees.

“Helen!” he called, his voice firm and clear, echoing over the quiet hill.

A young woman appeared from behind the house, her arms full of firewood. Her long brown hair was neatly braided, and her simple dress fluttered lightly in the evening wind. She turned quickly at the sound of her name, brows furrowed in confusion.

She stepped from the shadow of the tree and narrowed her eyes at the figure before her. “Who… are you?”

“It’s me, Elias,” he said softly, stepping down from the horse, his tone calm but filled with unspoken emotion.

Her gaze darkened in disbelief. “That’s not funny. Elias is dead. He died months ago. Who are you really?”

Elias took a careful step forward, his voice gentle. “Have you been well? I hope you’ve stopped leaving your door open while you sleep.”

Helen froze. The bundle of firewood slipped from her arms, falling to the ground with a dull thud.

She stared at him, eyes wide, lips trembling. Her voice came out as a whisper.

“H-how… how did you know that?”

It was something only Elias would remember.

Helen instinctively stepped back, her heart beating fast. Elias gave a small nod, his expression soft.

Tears welled in her eyes. “But how… Elias was buried. I saw his corpse with my own eyes…”

“Look, Helen,” he cut in gently. I don't really know what happened, but I think somehow my soul is trapped in this body. And… the body of the prince at that.”

“What?..."

“Let's talk inside,” Elias suggested.

Helen hesitated. Her face was a mixture of disbelief and longing, but after a moment, she gave a faint nod. The two walked into the cottage.

Helen's home was small and humble, with a thatched roof made from dried bamboo and palm leaves. Inside, the walls were lined with wooden shelves that held herbs, jars, and old trinkets. The faint scent of healing salves, herbs, and fresh-brewed coffee filled the air.

They sat down near a modest fire pit. The warmth flickered across Elias’s cloak.

Helen and Elias were childhood friends who had once sold fruits in the street, orphans scraping by with what little they had. They had lived with Helen's grandmother, a wise old fortune-teller who read signs from the stars until the day she passed. Then came the Black Lion, a feared group of assassins who had taken them in. But the life of killing wore them down. They ran. And it was then that everything changed.

“I don’t really know how it happened,” Elias said, his eyes fixed on the flames, “but there must be a reason behind it.”

Helen looked at him intently. “Switching souls and bodies isn't just a folktale. It exists, but it’s forbidden magic. Dark and dangerous. I wonder how it happened. Thank goodness you didn’t die. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done.”

Elias looked up at her. His voice grew firm. “I plan on getting back at those who did this to us, with this body. But I need your help.”

Helen leaned in slightly, worry rising in her eyes. “What do you need me to do?”

“Can you become a palace priestess? I want to introduce you as the lost descendant of the White Tiger tribe,” Elias replied, his eyes locked on hers with quiet determination.

Helen blinked, stunned.

"What?"