She barely listened to her, all her attention focused on avoiding human presence. Via dei Fori Imperiali was near, and it would be impossible to escape the gaze of passing drivers.

«Y...You... What... Who are you?» she asked in a faint voice.

«Antonia,» she replied curtly, keeping her gaze fixed straight ahead.

I'm the one who devours you at night. I'm the boogeyman, she continued silently in her mind.

She had no desire to see those wide eyes fill with terror, only to remind herself that just minutes ago, she too had been savoring a feast of flesh and blood. Antonia had lived through that scene too many times before.

In France, a woman had tried to take her own life by throwing herself into the Seine after learning what she had become. Antonia had gone through hell to save her, and it had been for nothing. A few days after giving birth, the woman had ended it anyway, letting the sun reduce her to ashes.

She clicked the lighter shut one last time and tucked it into her pocket. It was all that remained of that woman whose name she had never known. It was a reminder of her courage—and of Antonia’s own cowardice. She, who against all reason, insisted on living this existence of misery and pain.

«Where are we going?»

Antonia regretted starting the conversation. She was still thinking of how to respond when a man stepped in front of them.

She immediately noticed the white clerical collar peeking from beneath his black jacket—a priest.

A deep scar cut across his bearded face, running from his right cheek to the corner of his eye. His brown hair blended into his beard, framing a square jaw set on a strong neck. He was as tall as she was, his broad shoulders accentuating a powerful, disciplined physique.

«Damn it,» Antonia cursed, as every nerve in her body went on high alert.

Why hadn’t she sensed him approaching? She couldn’t even smell him.

The man turned to the girl. «Amber, come with me. Now.»

He knew her? Why? Questions stormed through Antonia’s mind, but no answer came.

The girl clutched her stomach. «How do you know my name?»

Antonia could hear the hiss of her breath, the frantic pounding of her heart. She wasn’t lying—this man was a stranger to her.

In response, he extended his hand. «There’s no time for explanations. Come with me.»

Antonia forced herself to think. This wasn’t something to take lightly. The hostilities with the Church had ended over five centuries ago, and this interference could spark an unprecedented diplomatic crisis. She couldn’t imagine what could possibly drive priests to risk such a thing. Either way, she had no intention of letting them take the girl.

This was a matter that did not concern humans. She knew what it meant to be turned against one’s will—the disorientation, the thirst, the terror. The awareness that death had taken its toll, leaving behind nothing but pain, illusion, and darkness. Antonia had no doubts: if fulfilling her duty would ignite a war with the clergy, then so be it.

«She is in no condition to choose.» Antonia grabbed the girl’s arm and pulled her behind her. «Get out of my way, priest.»

«Dingir, we are not here for you, but for the girl. I will fight if I must.»

Antonia narrowed her eyes. Few knew that name—ancient as her own curse. The rest of humanity had come up with more or less fanciful names for creatures dismissed as folklore: revenants, vampires, zombies. But only a handful knew the truth of the dingir.

Her patience, already thin, was wearing away. She bared her fangs. «You must be insane. We’re in the middle of the street.»

Not only was he on the verge of shattering a centuries-old truce, but he was willing to risk someone witnessing a bloodbath in the heart of Rome. And it would be his blood, because he had no chance of defeating her.

Yet the priest showed no hesitation. «I see no witnesses nearby.»

She had to give him credit. It was late on a Monday night, and the alley was deserted. The only risk was being spotted by the cars racing along Via dei Fori Imperiali—but the darkness and speed made it unlikely.

A fight was now inevitable. And yet, it was madness. But if this was how it had to be, she knew she had to strike first. She couldn’t risk him using holy water.

For years, she had dismissed the tales of devils and their servants as superstitious nonsense. But she had learned better. A century ago, she had brushed her fingers against the water of a church font, and the effect had been like acid. Her scream had echoed through the nave. So, even if she refused to believe in Satan, she knew one thing for certain—she had to stay the hell away from that wretched stuff.

«You leave me no choice.» The priest reached into his satchel.

Antonia felt her muscles coil. Fangs bared, she lunged at him, slamming him to the ground. She was about to tear into his throat when she realized—she was trapped.

Five men stepped out of a parked car, surrounding her.

How had she not sensed them? The vehicle could have been shielded, but even now that they had exited, she still couldn’t pick up their scent. Yet they weren’t dingir—the whites of their eyes proved them human.

Then what the hell were they?

Their weapons weren’t normal either. They held silver pistols that pulsed with a strange blue light.

Damn technology was becoming a real problem.

«Give us the girl, and you will not be harmed,» one of them commanded.

Antonia clenched her fist. They were many, they were armed—but they were still human. They would be dead before they even knew it.

She pressed a hand against the priest’s throat, ready to end him for good.

But the moment she touched his skin, she realized—he was almost as cold as a dingir.

«What the hell…»

She never finished the thought.

The man struck her in the side, hurling her backward.

The priest got back to his feet, gripping a transparent vial. He had no fangs, but the speed with which he had moved was far beyond that of an ordinary man. What had been a suspicion now became a certainty: these men had fed on dingir blood. Only in this way could mere humans gain such abilities. And judging by the effects, it was not the blood of an ordinary dingir.

The priest uncorked the vial. «You leave us no choice but to fight.»

«We already are, idiot,» Antonia hissed, casting a glance at Amber, curled up in a corner.

Even though it had been too long for her, perhaps she could still save the child. If she could get her to the Conservarium.

«May God forgive you,» the priest growled, surging forward and flinging the sacred liquid at her face.

The rest happened quickly. The holy water seared her skin, but her fury burned hotter than the pain. The knowledge that she was fighting to the death awakened something terrible and long-buried. A monster she had caged in the darkest depths of her soul.

Time seemed to slow, every detail sharpened in her mind. She struck them down one by one, dodging blows and taking the few she couldn’t avoid, lost in a whirlwind of euphoria and bloodlust. She drew her dagger and dove to the ground a moment before the sharp crack of bullets embedding themselves in the car behind her.

Time to end this game.

She rolled toward the nearest man, sprang to her feet, and cleaved him in two with a single upward slash. Before the next could react, she brought him down with a blow to the face, finishing him with a knife to the heart.

She saw the scarred priest dragging Amber away and lunged for the car, striking him before he could reach it, sending him sprawling onto the asphalt. A strangled cry was all that left his lips.

For him, it was over.

But there was nothing Antonia could do about the one who had already bolted. He was too far to catch. No guilt—there was nothing more she could do. Let him report to his masters. She would do the same.

The priest beneath her coughed, a trickle of blood spilling from his mouth. «What you’ve done will cost you your life.»

Antonia would have liked to interrogate him the old way, but there was no time. The child was coming.

She grabbed his head and twisted sharply, snapping his neck. «News flash: neither of us has a life anymore.»

She slid the dagger back into its sheath and examined the corpses. The Nam-Us had not disintegrated their bodies, but where it had pierced them, the flesh had turned gray and crumbled to dust.

«I… I don’t feel well.» Amber struggled to her feet.

Time was running out, but she couldn’t let her give birth here.

Antonia slipped an arm around her back, steadying her. «Then move faster.»

She managed to half-carry her as far as Via dei Fori Imperiali before Amber doubled over, clutching her belly.

She would have collapsed to her knees had Antonia not caught her. «I can’t…»

Antonia swallowed the flicker of humanity that surfaced within her. «We’re almost there. Let’s not put on a show now.»

Less than five hundred meters away, the Colosseum loomed in its ancient grandeur.

For millennia, Rome’s Conservarium had been hidden within it.

Cars sped past, but beneath their roar, Antonia caught another sound—the unmistakable wail of sirens.

That would be a problem.

Explaining her appearance, along with the presence of a pregnant woman drenched in blood, would be tricky.

Of all the supernatural abilities attributed to her kind, the one she lacked at that moment was persuasion.

«Move,» she snarled, gripping Amber’s arm and forcing her up.

That’s when she noticed the dark stain spreading across the sidewalk. It seeped down the girl’s legs, pooling beneath her dress.

Time was up.

She dragged her into the only place safe from prying eyes—the ruins of the ancient Roman Forum beside the road. Finding a shadowed spot, she lowered Amber onto the damp grass.

It was August, the air still warm despite the rain that had poured all afternoon.

Around them, the white marble of ancient stones reflected the moonlight, standing against the black sky like timeless sentinels.

Amber clutched her belly. «Save my child.»

Antonia slid her underwear off. «Let’s get it out first.»

«It’s too soon! I still have two months left!» the girl whimpered.

Antonia raised an eyebrow. «I’d have guessed less, judging by the size.»

Amber didn’t answer. A fresh wave of pain arched her back, wrenching a scream from her lips.

Antonia ran her hands over her belly, checking the dilation. «It’s fine. We’re already far along.»

The baby was in position.

The problem was the mother. She was losing too much blood, and the transformation hadn’t progressed enough to heal her wounds.

«Please… let it be a boy,» Antonia murmured.

Only pregnant women could become dingir. And only male children survived.

She couldn’t bear to see another stillborn girl.

Not again.

«Listen to me, Amber.» Antonia locked eyes with her. «One last effort. You need to push. Now.»

The words jolted something inside the girl. She let out one final scream—

—then her head lolled to the side.

Antonia caught the tiny creature in her hands, wrapping it in a torn piece of cloth.

«There you are.»

He was small and pale, a thick tuft of dark hair crowning his head.

But he did not cry.

And Antonia immediately understood why.

It was a girl.

Everything she had feared had come to pass.

The past surged up, wrapping its long coils of pain and guilt around her throat, suffocating her. An iron grip clenched her chest, and the void threatened to swallow her whole.

Her mind abandoned her, but instinct kept her from unraveling completely.

Dawn was near. Soon, the sun would erase the remnants of this night.

She had to leave, or the light would consume her too.

She moved through the motions, one after the other, as grief gave way to an abyssal emptiness with no escape. She tore a strip from Amber’s dress and tied it tightly around the umbilical cord. Then she bared her fangs, bent down, and severed it in one clean bite.

And in that instant, the rules of the universe changed.

The baby scrunched her tiny face—and wailed.

She cried out with all the strength in her fragile body, screaming her defiance into the sky, into a night where the full moon’s radiance had swallowed all the stars, shrouding them behind a pale veil.

Antonia had never believed in miracles.

But on that fourteenth of August, she bore witness to the most impossible event of her un-life:

A girl had survived birth.

And judging by the force of her cries, she had every intention of proclaiming her existence to the world.

Shock, bewilderment, disbelief—they crashed into her all at once, a storm of agonizing joy and painful clarity.

She clutched the child to her chest and kissed her.

A flood of emotions surged forth, shattering ancient dams.

She whispered her thanks—once, twice, three times—not knowing to whom, or to what.

Above them, the clouds had scattered.

The soft glow of approaching dawn bled into the sky, casting a faint violet hue around the silver moon.

Antonia’s voice broke as she gazed up at the celestial light.

«I will call you Luna.»

Only then did she notice the red tears streaking down her face.

And for that fleeting moment—just that one—she felt part of the world again.

As if life had resumed from the place where it had been severed, long, long ago.