Bloodsucker

Dawn broke early as master and apprentice readied themselves for the journey to Amorana Desert.
After a brief market visit, Zinarphil purchased a steed for ease of travel—a majestic creature with powerful build, chosen partly by Arian. Its legs shone snow-white, while its body and mane flowed black as midnight.
They retraced their path from the capital, now riding toward the border city of Iravana—gateway to Sylindrin. Gone were the capital’s children’s laughs; here, the scraping of swords leaving scabbards echoed through streets—not for war, but for the sparring matches clashing at every corner.

«Master, where are we heading?»
«To Iravana. Pray you recall what kind of city this is.»
«Hmm... A dangerous city, like all others. Why? Because no human here is truly pure.»
«Well said, Golam.» Zinarphil’s gaze hardened. «Never forget: this world has no absolute good or evil... yet humans? They are the exception—walking abysses. Stay vigilant. Iravana swarms with cutthroats and thieves.»

Time flowed like the arid wind, carrying a scorched-earth scent that brushed every cheek. At last, Iravana rose before them—a city where the reek of steel clung to the air. The mines flanking its walls, once weaponsmiths’ forges, now yielded ore for ploughshares and scythes.
Zinarphil approached a merchant-robed local. «Routes snaking into the Amorana Desert?» he inquired. Given his eight years cloistered away with Arian in their forest hut, the dragon remained unaware of newer paths carved through the sands.

«Master, I’m scared... that man’s terrifying! His eyes—they’ve gone blood-red!»
«Hush now, little one,» the merchant replied with a dry chuckle. «He’s my guard. Fear is his uniform.»

Yet even after the merchant’s reassurance, icy black veins crept across Arian’s fingertips. The Bloodsham guard stood like a carved nightmare—his eyes deep chasms of dried blood that froze the bravest souls. Zinarphil noted Arian’s dread, once more awed by the boy’s razor-sharp instinct.

With a flick of his fingers, Zinarphil wove a bubble of silence around them and the merchant—shielding their words from the guard’s preternatural hearing.

«Sir,» the merchant’s voice turned grave, «end that guard. Now. He’s a dagger poised at your own ribs.»
«Why, madam?! Why slaughter my own shield?!»
«He’s a blood addict—can’t you smell the hunger? Go. Now.»
Without another word, she melted into the crowd, leaving them in the silence of impending storm.

Arian and Zinarphil mounted their horse once more, ready to depart. The desert was far farther than Arian had expected, and had it not been for the magical creatures around them and that enchanted egg he had bought, he would certainly have grown bored long ago.
About two months had passed since their meeting with the merchant. On a nighttime stop where they had camped by the roadside to rest, the rustling sounds and movement of creatures echoed around them.

«Arian, my dear, go to the tent. It’s time to sleep.»
After Arian left, Zinarphil peered toward the roadside and muttered, «Seems that merchant was a fool beyond measure.»

From the dark plains emerged a figure—the merchant’s guard! His visage had grown more terrifying: fangs now permanently elongated, bloodlust at its peak, a chunk of flesh still dangling from his mouth.
When a Bloodsham’s blood addiction peaks, they lose all reason—slaves only to their hunting instincts.

«Since you won’t answer... best end this quickly. I won’t keep my boy waiting.»

Zinarphil attacks swiftly, but the guard vanishes. His speed had increased insanely, especially now that the full moon cast its light upon the plain. A tingling sensation crept up Zinarphil’s neck; he dodged rapidly to prevent the monster’s fangs from piercing his body—yet a kick launched by the guard struck his arm, the force hurling him backward. The sound of cracking echoed through the air.
«Well, well... seems I’ve gotten a bit old. My body’s strength... my physical power... it’s not responding anymore.»

Zinarphil shifts his fighting style. Using earth magic, he increases gravity within a one-meter radius around himself. This crushes the guard’s bones the moment he enters the magical field. With a swift motion, Zinarphil seizes the guard’s hair, lifting him off the ground. The guard thrashes, but Zinarphil’s strength is incomparable. In a voice quiet yet cold—as if from the depths of a valley—he says: «Very well. Time to end this.» A powerful kick lands; the sound of the guard’s skull crushing echoes. Blood-stained bone fragments tumble across the ground.
Zinarphil gazes at the lifeless body for a moment, then mutters with a bitter laugh: «Been too long since I last hunted a bloodsucker.»

She walked toward the tent where Arian had pretended to fall asleep, barely holding himself calm.
His gaze fell upon Arian’s sleeping face, a soft smile touching his lips. "Arian, my dear, are you awake?.. Hmm, seems he’s deep asleep."
"Right... mustn’t forget: tomorrow is Arian’s eighth birthday. I should prepare." Zinarphil sat gently on the ground and looked up at the star-studded sky—where every gleaming light tells a story.