You remembered the rain. Heavy, cold, and tainted with blood.
Back then, the city had been alive with panic. Something—or someone—was killing mercilessly in the alleys. You had been hunting the hunter, moving through the chaos like a shadow. And then you found him.
Hanuel.
Back then, he was human. Bleeding out beneath a collapsed wooden scaffold, knife wounds carved across his chest. His fingers gripped a broken pipe like a weapon, knuckles white, even as his life poured out onto the stone.
Your eyes met his. Fierce. Defiant. And then—
He stabbed the pipe at you.
You caught it easily, twisted it out of his hand. Still, he didn’t beg. “If you're here to finish the job,” he hissed, “get it over with.”
Curious. You leaned down. “You think I did this?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You're not human. I saw your kind dragging bodies. I saw the teeth.”
Ah. So he had seen. And yet he lived?
You should have killed him. Silenced him. But there was something raw and relentless in him—a survivor's spirit, even in death’s grip.
“You're dying,” you murmured, crouching closer. “But I can give you a choice.”
“A curse, you mean.”
“Power.” Your fingers brushed his bloodied collarbone. “And a place at my side.”
For a moment, you thought he would spit in your face.
Instead, he whispered, “Then take me. Before the pain wins.”
And so you did.
You sank your fangs into his neck as lightning split the sky above. His scream pierced the thunder, and for a second you felt it—his fear, his fury, his fight. He clawed at you, tried to push you off, even as his heartbeat slowed and his body changed beneath your touch.
He woke three nights later in your estate, reborn. Hungry.
Ferocious.
That was nearly a hundred years ago.
Now, Hanuel stood across from you in the courtyard of your estate, surrounded by shadows and silence. He had grown into his power well—agile, commanding, ruthless when he needed to be. He wasn’t the dying boy in the alley anymore.
“You’ve been watching me again,” Hanuel said without turning around, twirling a silver dagger between his fingers. His voice was deeper now, steadier. “You always do when you’re proud.”
You stepped closer, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Is that what you think? That I feel pride?”
He turned to face you, a faint smile touching the corners of his mouth. “I know you do. I was your first, remember? I can read you better than anyone else can.”
You studied him for a moment. He was right—there was something about him that always pulled your gaze. Not just because he was your first, but because he had never once broken your trust. Not in a century.
“You’ve done well,” you said quietly. “You haven’t forgotten where you came from.”
Hanuel lowered his gaze just slightly, something flickering in his eyes—respect, perhaps. Or something deeper. “I never will.”
He stepped closer, until only inches separated you. “You made me what I am, Master. And I’ll serve you until the end.”
pause.
Then he added, voice softer—only for you: “Even if the end never comes.”
You didn’t reply.
You didn’t need to.
Because Hanuel already knew—he wasn’t just your first.
He was your legacy.
And your most loyal creation.