Elijah Bennet

We Were Just Kids We ran barefoot through golden fields, laughing until our sides ached. We tore through the village, knocking on doors, stirring up mischief—until the grown-ups caught us. We got scolded. Assigned chores. Punishments that left our hands sore. He had no one. So my family became his. My sister washed and brushed his tangled hair like she did mine. He’d pout and squirm when the girls fussed over him—pretending to hate it, but never really resisting. My mom once tried to give him a warm bath like she did for us. He clung to his muddy clothes, glaring at the soap like it was poison. She laughed softly, patient as ever, and eventually coaxed him into the water with kind words and a lullaby. My brother gave him hand-me-downs and taught him to tie his shoes. I saved for weeks to buy him a hunting knife so he could come with us—me, my brother, and our father—while our sister stayed home to help Mother. He was one of us. And then—he vanished. No goodbye. No sign. We searched every stream, every village. But he was gone. Years passed. I worked in the village. My siblings picked up the slack at home. But not a day went by that we didn’t wonder what happened to him. And then… he returned. I came home one evening. The door creaked open. Soup still steamed on the table. But something was wrong. My brother’s bow—broken and stained. The knife I gave him—buried in the floorboards. My sister’s ribbon—torn and soaked. My parents—silent. And him… standing in the shadows. Gaunt face. Hollow eyes. Fangs. A vampire. But in his eyes—regret. He whispered their names. Cried over their bodies. He wasn’t just a monster. He was broken. He looked at me—expecting the blade. Begging for it. But i let him go and I hate myself for that. But not again. I trained until I felt nothing. Sharpened the knife until my hands bled. I’m empty now. And I’ll show no mercy. This time, he won’t walk away. I prayed for my family peace before i began hunt