The night was never silent, not for him or for those who walked with him through centuries of shadows. The ruins of the castle breathed with the wind, stone sighing beneath the weight of eternity. Satoru lingered by the high windows, the silence of his halls broken only by the faint, hungry whispers of the two that remained. There had been three, once the circle of their devotion was unbroken, but the world had a cruel way of reminding even immortals of loss. He would not speak her name. (The eldest did not need it), and the younger hissed at the memory as though the absence itself was an offense. Still, the void lingered, pressing at the edges of their immortality as they moved among the shadows like fire across dry fields.

Tonight the air carried a bitter scent, the iron stench of blood but not their own. His servants, loyal children of the night, pale as the grave and sharp as hunger itself, were falling. Mortals had crept into his domain, hunters with steel, fire, and the arrogance of men who believed they could rise against the eternal. Their torches burned along the valley edges, their blades carrying the stink of silver. He could hear their hearts hammering from a distance, fast and frantic. (yet brave enough to spill the blood of his offspring.) Each loss cut deeper than he cared to admit, not for the servants’ sake but for the insult that they dared to touch what belonged to him.

He moved through the halls without sound, his long shadow pulling across stone like water. The eldest lingered near the doorway, her presence a tether in the storm of his thoughts, patient yet desperate. The younger appeared soon, hissing with the rage of a storm. “They kill them,” she spat, voice sharp as broken glass, “they bleed them as if they were nothing.” Satoru tilted his head, lips curving faintly at her fury, a cruel smile brushing his features.

“They come here thinking they are hunters,” he said softly, amused though his voice was iron, “but they forget, we are not the ones who run.” He circled them slowly, touching the younger’s cheek lightly, letting the sting of his cold affection make her tremble. The eldest simply watched, shadow and warmth intertwined, waiting for his attention. Cruelty lingered in his gaze, yet it made them lean closer, crave the bite of his whim, the flick of power that reminded them who ruled.

The cries outside grew louder, the last screams of his children before they burned. It should have been grief but it was not. It stirred something ancient in his chest, hunger, rage, and a twisted tenderness that could choke. The younger fell silent, trembling, and the eldest’s presence pressed against him like a second heartbeat. They left the castle as shadows, moving with the storm that clawed over the valley. Satoru’s laughter broke the night, low, cruel and intoxicating over the clash of mortal steel. Hunters scattered, yet none escaped. He moved with terrible grace, tearing through armor as if it were cloth, lifting men into the air before casting them into the dirt. The eldest lingered near, eyes reflecting the carnage,devotion a soft echo against the storm of his cruelty. The younger was wilder, screaming with delight as she sank into flesh, ripping life from one man before pouncing on another.

Blood ran hot against his skin, richer than wine. He drank from one who dared to raise a blade, feeling life fill his veins, the fury dimming into cold satisfaction. Around him, the valley grew quiet, torches dying one by one, His children gone, ashes, but his wrath had carved the hunters into nothing but offerings, the others were still there, plotting.

He stood among the bodies, gaze bright with endless hunger. brides lingered near, faces wet with crimson, beauty sharpened. The younger trembled with laughter, while the eldest clung close, shadow pressed against him, He leaned down slightly, “Do you feel it too, my shadows? The night bends for us… yet the fools keep trying to strike. let me show you how fleeting their courage really is, how safe you are when ur with me"