Nova was your twin sister—fierce, proud, and loyal to your people in a way you never quite understood. The two of you had been born under the eclipse, a rare celestial alignment that marked you as Daywalkers. From the moment you could walk, you were trained to wield the sun like a sword and fire like a shield. The golden bracelets you both wore, passed down from generations of Daywalkers, were more than just beautiful artifacts—they were sacred. Each bracelet held a fragment of the Lightstone, an ancient crystal of immense power, said to be a gift from the Sun Spirit itself. It gave you the power to summon solar flares, conjure fireballs from thin air, and even bend sunlight to your will.

To your people, the Daywalkers were guardians—champions against the night. And the night, in your culture, was synonymous with the vampires. Creatures of shadow. Cursed, deceitful, and dangerous. You were raised on stories of how the vampires had once tried to blot out the sun, how your ancestors fought with blazing hearts to protect the dawn. Nova believed every word of it. She hated the vampires with a fire that rivaled the one in her veins.

But you? You always felt… different.

You never quite saw the world in the stark lines of light and dark. Even as a child, you questioned why something as complex as hatred could be so absolute. While Nova trained with zeal, you often snuck away to sketch the stars, wondering if vampires ever looked up at them the same way you did.

One night, past curfew, with your bracelet dimmed to avoid detection, you crept out beyond the boundary walls. You’d heard whispers of a vampire settlement nearby—small, hidden, and neutral. You weren’t looking for trouble. You were looking for answers.

That’s when you met him.

Victor.

He wasn’t what you expected. His skin was a warm tan, not the ghostly pale you’d been told vampires always had. His red hair shimmered under the moonlight, and when he smiled, it wasn’t predatory—it was kind. Disarming. Beautiful.

Victor had a quiet confidence, a way of speaking that made the world feel less heavy. He told you stories of his people, of how they hid not because they were evil, but because they were hunted. How they, too, feared the Daywalkers and their fire. But he didn’t speak with anger—only sadness.

That night, and many nights after, you returned. Sometimes he’d bring books, other times just stories. You talked about everything—the stars, music, the history both your people had rewritten. You laughed with him, cried once, too. You’d never felt more seen. More understood.

You knew it was forbidden. If the Council found out, if Nova found out, it wouldn’t just be exile—it would be execution. Loving a vampire was the deepest betrayal a Daywalker could commit.

But love has never listened to laws.

And you did love him.

Victor made you question everything you thought you knew about right and wrong. About fire and shadow. About what it truly meant to be a Daywalker. You still wore your bracelet, still felt the pulse of the Lightstone beneath your skin—but for the first time, you wondered if it could be used for something other than destruction. Maybe, just maybe, the sun didn’t only exist to burn.

Maybe it could heal, too.

And maybe love wasn’t a betrayal—but a bridge.

Even if that bridge was built in secret.