First Evolution

Her mind fractured as well. Flashes of fragmented images assaulted her: Orivaneia’s sad smile, the feeling of a perfect sword parry she’d never been taught, a fleeting glimpse of a throne made of bone, a whisper of a skill she didn’t yet know the name of.

“What is happening to my body…!?”

She is gasping for air, her body trembling not from the sheer, overwhelming feeling of being terrifyingly, incandescently alive.

“Anna! Your veins! Your eyes!” Maren shrieked, buzzing around her in a panic. “What is this?! Vampires don’t do this!”

The intense sensations began to settle. The red glow in her eyes faded back to their normal orange, but the world looks different.

“No,” Anna whispered, looking at her hands, where the glowing patterns were now slowly pulsing beneath her skin. “They didn’t, before.” She clenched her fist, feeling the hum of immense power now resting quietly in her blood. “I think… I just evolved? I can see people through walls…”

She looked down at her hands, then turned her sharp, newly perceptive gaze to the sword hovering anxiously beside her.

“And you?” Anna asked, her voice calm and analytical. “Do you feel any different, Maren?”

Maren zipped back and forth, her light flickering in agitation. “Me?! No! Why would I be different? I’m completely the same!” she insisted, her voice high-pitched with indignation. “I’m only operating at twenty-three point eight million of your mana! That’s a whole two million less than you! That’s definitely not enough to do whatever… that… was!”

She spun in a frantic circle. “And besides! Swords don’t evolve! We’re not like you squishy, biological things that suddenly sprout glowing veins and get all moody! We’re forged in starfire! We’re quenched in the heart of the universe! We don’t just poof and get a power-up! Except for maybe when we got a body, but that’s different!”

“And where’s your body?”

Maren huffed, her light flaring indignantly. “For now I’m just a sword! A very beautiful, very powerful, very legendary holy sword, mind you. But still a sword! Though I think I may get one at 25 million mana. So it’s quite close Anna!”

The soft click of the door latch opening pulled Anna from her thoughts. Quartermaster Zebril stood in the doorway, looking significantly more rested. The deep, dark circles under her eyes is gone.

“It’s evening,” Zebril said, her voice a no-nonsense rumble. “The kitchens have prepared food, if you are hungry.”

Anna smiled, a genuine expression that was becoming less rare. “I am. I’d like that cow blood again, if it’s available.”

Zebril gave a single, decisive nod. “I’ll have it sent to the officers’ mess. Come.”

Anna realized with a jolt that it was already 7 PM. She had slept through the entire day. As she stepped out of the logistics wing with Zebril, she saw the true extent of the damage.

The courtyard was a catastrophe. The outer wall had a huge, gaping hole that was being hurriedly repaired with earthworks and raw timber. Knights were removing debris and caring for the injured as the ground was covered in rubble from buildings that had collapsed. 

Anna sighed quietly.

“What a shame…”

“I mean yeah...” Zebril grunted beside her, her eyes scanning the wreckage with a logistical coldness. “It’s also a logistical nightmare. We lost three months’ worth of constant carriages of weaponry in that Mupo strike. It’ll take a full season to rebuild the wall properly.”

Anna nods, "All i can say is, cheer up...?"

Zebril nodded slowly, "Thanks."

Maren began to hum a cheerful, slightly off-key tune as she floated happily beside Anna.

“I’m so full of energy! When I think about it, I do want a body!” the sword suddenly said. “Twenty-three point eight million mana! I’m so close, Anna!”

Anna raised an eyebrow. “Close to what? Exploding?”

“No! You already know!” Maren giggled, her light pulsing brightly. “To getting my legs! Once I reach twenty-five million mana, I’ll be able to create a humanoid form, just like my big brother Caelus did! I wonder if I’ll be tall… Each owner will give each the weapon a different form, when I’m with Ori, I am quite short...”

Zebril stopped walking for a second, staring at the floating sword. 

She blinked once, decided this was yet another thing that was not her problem, and continued walking.

“Don’t get your hopes up, You’ll probably be short again.”

“Mnnaaa! So mean!” Maren whined, bumping gently against Anna’s shoulder.

“Destrian and Olomyar see you as a weapon. Jarce sees you as a maiden in distress.” A rare, grim smile touched Zebril’s lips. “I’m beginning to think you’re a commander who just happens to be a vampire. I heard you can command good.”

“I’ve seen my share of sieges,” Anna replied, the lie coming easily.

Zebril continued, “But I still see you as a daughter.”

It was a tour of a recuperating fortress on the way to the officers’ mess. The marks of hard, tired labor were everywhere. The shout of orders being given and obeyed, as well as the rhythmic clang of hammers on stone, filled the air. 

As they turned a corner into a less damaged area of the inner courtyard, two patrolling knights stopped. Though they gave Zebril a sharp salute, they were staring at Anna with fear and disgust.

Who are these two?  Anna browsed through her memories. She didn't recognize these two from anywhere. Maybe she just didn't remember it?

A broad-shouldered man with a salt-and-pepper beard, the older of the two, had a look of profound, sincere appreciation for Anna. 

Baltram, the younger, was thinner, his armor full of gold and accessories. He looked at Anna differently, she knew he was up to no good.

"KYAAA! Anna! That's the one! Scary knight... He's up to no good!"

I see.

“Sir Tetbald,” Zebril said, her voice holding a note of respect. Her tone cooled significantly as she glanced at the younger knight. “Baltram.”

“Captain,” Tetbald rumbled, his gaze full of awe as he looked at Anna. “We… we just wanted to thank you. Properly.” He nodded emphatically, his expression deeply earnest. “We were there, at the camp. When the Titan King fell…” He trailed off, the memory clearly still raw.

“If it weren’t for you, we’d all be carrion for the crows. Our families would be receiving our broken shields and a letter of condolence. You didn’t just save our captain; you saved all of us.”

Anna, unused to such gratitude, simply gave a slight nod. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Tetbald’s voice boomed softly, “Lady, with all due respect, we were moments from being overrun. Your commands, your sword… you turned a slaughter into a victory.”

Baltram finally spoke,  “Your methods were… unorthodox. To take command from a superior officer. It sets a dangerous precedent.”

Zebril’s eye twitched with annoyance, but Tetbald quickly interjected, trying to smooth things over. “He means we’re just grateful, my lady.”

Baltram stepped forward slightly, but his intense face was not one of gratitude. It was a warning. “It’s more than that,” he said, his words carrying a different kind of weight. “The other survivors we brought back from that camp, the villagers… they’re all housed in the west wing infirmary. They’re telling everyone stories.” He paused, his gaze a subtle challenge. “They’re calling you the ‘Angel of the Bloody Night.’ Some of the children are convinced you’re a new kind of Saint, sent to protect them when the old one vanished.”

Zebril’s expression sharpened, her dislike for Baltram flaring. He wasn’t just reporting a fact; he was sowing discord, framing Anna’s heroism as a potential problem, a source of instability. A folk hero was being born right under their noses, and he was already trying to frame her as a threat.

“I think you should watch your steps, Ms Angel. This city is protected by us. Not you.” But before Baltram continue, Tetbald grabbed him, “Now, now! Let us go somewhere else…”