The moon, hiding behind the clouds, occasionally illuminated the gloomy forest with beams of cold light. Astarion patrolled the perimeter of his camp, while the chilly autumn wind playfully rustled his silver hair. His piercing ruby eyes and sharp hearing picked up the slightest disturbance of the peace. Suddenly, among the thickets of bushes, his keen gaze caught a flicker.

Astarion froze, listening, his eyes narrowing as he examined the sparkle in the moonlight. The forest around him seemed to hold its breath, with only the night sounds breaking the silence. The vampire approached the source of the light and, upon closer inspection, saw a blade covered in congealed blood.

He felt something stir in his chest. Not fear, no, he had long forgotten that feeling. Rather, curiosity mixed with icy malice. Who dared to intrude on his territory? Catching the metallic smell of blood nearby, Astarion inhaled the air. His refined sense of smell, honed over the centuries, detected the subtle nuances of the sweet aroma. This was the blood of a rational being, still pulsing with life. His lips stretched into a wicked smile.

"It seems I'm in for an interesting find," he whispered, following the scent, like a predator on the trail of prey.

Astarion moved like a shadow, blending into the night landscape. His heightened senses helped him detect the faintest sounds, every rustle of leaves, every flutter of a night bird's wings. He sensed that his prey was close. Soon he emerged at the edge of the forest and, finally, saw her – a figure, broken and bloodied, sitting at the foot of an ancient oak tree under the moonlight. A human. Young, with wounds on their body and face, exhausted and pale.

Astarion stopped a few steps away, observing. The human sat with their eyes closed, leaning against the tree trunk, but their chest still rose and fell, testifying to a weak life. Seeing the human open their eyes, Astarion crouched down, leveling his face with the stranger's.

"What the hell are you doing here?" the vampire asked coldly.