Andrew stared at Isolde with pure hatred in his eyes. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. If he were still in his prime, he would have already torn her apart.

No... she's evolved.

He gritted his teeth. There was only one way left now.

"My son is being held captive by that Crow," he said, his voice low but firm. "Tell me how to save him."

Isolde smiled faintly, that infuriating curve of her lips giving away nothing.

"You know that swamp on the edge of the forest? The one near the abandoned village?"

"I heard a team of researchers went missing there not long ago. Never found. There were rumors—urban legends—"

"I don't want your stories," he cut in sharply. "Get to the point."

She chuckled softly. "So impatient. Like father, like son."

Sliding gracefully onto the edge of the window, she crossed one leg over the other.

"The Corvane are there. I can feel something... strange pulsing near that swamp."

Andrew turned to leave, but her next words made him stop cold.

"That place is veiled by a powerful illusion. Probably born from the children they experimented on."

He scoffed, glancing over his shoulder. "Illusions don't work on me. You know my sagacitas."

"Oh, I know," she said airily, examining her nails. "Consider it a warning. In case you're planning to bring company."

A soft knock interrupted them. The door creaked open, revealing a young vampire with pastel-pink hair that glowed faintly in the dim room.

"Um… you called me?" Lulu asked quietly, almost afraid to breathe too loudly.

Andrew laughed dryly and looked at Isolde. "You want me to buy her help now?"

Isolde smirked. "She's not for sale, Andrew. But her ability might help you. She can divide her body. She might recognize your friend's daughter's real form."

Her eyes slid to Lulu. "Show him."

Lulu hesitated, her golden eyes flickering. "It's… not exactly dividing myself," she murmured.

"It's more like… creating a doppelgänger."

Andrew's gaze sharpened. "Explain."

Without another word, Lulu's eyes glowed brighter. Her body shimmered, and suddenly, there were two of her, except the second figure wasn't Lulu at all. It was Andrew.

He blinked, momentarily speechless. "That's not a blood style… is it?"

"No," Isolde replied, amusement curling her tone.

"It's innate. Tied to the Sanguine Veins, not the bloodline itself. Some are blessed with remarkable abilities. Others…"

She smirked faintly. "Well, some end up like Viviane, able to see auras as it is useless."

Andrew nodded slowly. The implication was clear. Elle's true body might not look like Elle at all.

"I can also turn into animals," Lulu added softly.

Andrew's head snapped toward her. "What?"

Isolde's grin widened, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Tell me, Andrew, what makes you think the Crow is called that for nothing?"

***

Andrew walked to the front yard of Velstrath Manor, where his car was parked, with Lulu silently following behind.

His steps were faster than usual, the earlier conversation still echoing in his mind.

Vampire powers might have seemed simple—four distinct blood styles—but some overlapped, blurring the lines between them.

The way a vampire used their ability often determined its true form. The more intelligently they wielded it, the easier it became to hide flaws and even be mistaken for another blood style entirely which would make it harder to find their weakness.

Andrew had always thought Elle's power was part of her psyche blood style: illusion. But now, he wasn't so sure.

He stopped suddenly and turned to Lulu. "Are you sure that's really Elle's power? Not just part of an illusion?"

"There's one difference between my power and a psyche ability," Lulu said carefully.

"Our consciousness can move from one body to another. You can't do that with illusion powers."

Her answer made sense, though Andrew hadn't expected such clarity from her. Lulu seemed timid, anxious, someone like that usually couldn't observe things so closely.

"Fine, I'll believe you. Just don't slow me down."

Lulu nodded as they reached the parking lot, only to find Dylan waiting beside the car. Andrew sighed heavily and approached him.

"You can't come with me. I'm not in the mood to babysit today," he said flatly.

But Dylan shook his head. "You need to meet David. I think he's gone crazy."

"What?!" Andrew groaned, pressing a hand to his face in frustration.

"Why the hell is everything getting so damn complicated?"

***

"Damn it! I told you, I'm fine! Let me out of here!"

David thrashed against the doctors and nurses trying to restrain him. One of his wrists was tied to the bed, but he tore through the strap easily with a burst of power.

The moment his eyes met Andrew's across the room, he shouted, "Help me, Andrew! Get me out of this place! I need to save my daughter!"

Andrew wanted to slap some sense into him, just one good hit to make him stop acting insane.

But seeing David's state, the wild panic in his eyes, reminded him too much of himself.

With a heavy sigh, Andrew muttered, "I'm his family. Just leave him to me."

The doctors hesitated, uncertain, but eventually gave in. Once they left, silence fell between the two men.

"Help me find her," David said finally, his voice low but urgent.

His chest rose and fell sharply, the bandages across his stomach stained faintly red, his upper body still bare.

Andrew crossed his arms. "You'll be five feet under if you do find her. So no, you can't. Stay here, and leave her to me."

"And let her die in your hands?" David gave a bitter laugh. "I'd rather die with her than live without trying."

He looked up, eyes glassy with grief and defiance. "You're a father, Andrew. Tell me, what would you do if you were in my position?"

Andrew froze. Months ago, he would've said without hesitation that he'd never let his son suffer what David's daughter had. But that was before the truth. Before he realized he'd already done worse.

Seamus wasn't kidnapped. He'd given him to Velstrath—handed him over knowing exactly what might happen—because he'd been too much of a coward to take care of him.

Andrew raked his hand through his disheveled hair and exhaled sharply. "Fine. Don't get in my way, and don't die on me, David."

David gave a dry laugh, pulling on his shirt with a wince. "Hah! Since when did you ever care about me?"

Andrew didn't answer. The two men left the room together, silent but burning with the same desperate resolve.

***

Not long after, Andrew's car stopped in front of the swamp forest.

The place was heavy with silence, filled with bald cypress trees rising from murky water, their twisted roots gripping the earth like skeletal hands.

The air was thick and damp, heavy with the stench of rot and forgotten death.

People in Bork called it the Dead Forest and standing here, Andrew understood why.

The mist that coiled through the trees wasn't just fog; it carried the taste of decay, the whisper of something long buried. Even the wind refused to move.

"Ugh, I shouldn't have come," Lulu muttered, wrinkling her nose and covering it with her sleeve.

"I told you not to," Andrew said curtly as he stepped out of the car.

David followed close behind, silent and grim.

Dylan had wisely chosen to stay behind—finally learning his limits. Good for him.

"I don't have a choice... Isolde is scary!"

They moved deeper into the swamp, boots sinking into the wet ground as the smell grew worse. Only Lulu seemed bothered by it.

The two men were too focused, driven by one thought to bring their children back.

Suddenly Andrew froze. Something cold and slick brushed his boot.

Hands reaching his feet. Black as tar, reaching up from the mud.

More followed, clawing out of the ground like corpses awakening from shallow graves.

David reacted first, slicing the nearest one clean through with his sword. But more hands came, hundreds of them, grasping, dragging, pulling him down.

He leapt onto a thick root, the blade in his hand glowing faintly, while Lulu and Andrew scrambled up beside him.

"What the hell is this?! Some kind of illusion?!" David shouted, his breath sharp with panic.

"It's not!" Lulu's golden eyes widened as she peered into the murk. "They're vampires, buried beneath us!"

Andrew's gaze followed hers as the figures began to emerge. One by one, small silhouettes crawled out of the sludge: childlike forms, no taller than ten, their skin pitch black like charcoal, hair matted and dark, their eyes gleaming red and white in the mist.

"What the…"

They moved in jerky, unnatural motions, twisting like marionettes with cut strings. There was no sound—no breath, no whisper—only the sloshing of water as they approached.

A cold realization settled in Andrew's chest.

Now he understood what Isolde had meant about the children of experiments, the ones who created illusions.

They weren't spirits.

They weren't memories.

They were the failures.

Still alive… and utterly broken.

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