(Extra – Blood Pacts | The First Daywalker)
The sun was at its peak. The iron bars burned like red-hot plates, branding the prison where Skiller Snova was held—a desolate place beyond the city, surrounded by rusted cars and the ruins of a factory long claimed by time.
There he was, trapped beneath the earth. When the ceiling of the underground cell opened, the searing sunlight lashed at his skin. It scorched him alive, his flesh peeling for hours under its brutal glare. The pain was unbearable—like being cooked from the inside out—yet he didn't retreat.
—I WON'T DIE HERE!—he roared louder, his body igniting, skin crackling like paper in flames.
With no blood to heal him, his regeneration slowed. His vision blurred. The sun's blaze seeped into his bones, consuming even his will.
He remembered her voice… that day on the tower, when Aisha said: "I don't need you to save me. Just don't fail me." That line became his anchor, his reason.
—I WON'T LOSE HERE!—he growled, forcing himself from the cell.
Then, like demons crawling out from hell itself, creatures forged of shadow leapt at him.
Using the last of his strength, he broke off one of the sun-scorched bars. It seared his hands, but he drove it through one of the beasts. The sunlight, however, was blinding him. His leg gave out. He fell.
And then, the silence shattered.
A whisper. A presence. Rasen.
He appeared without a sound, gliding between light and shadow like a ghost, disintegrating the beasts with a mere gesture. His gaze settled on Skiller—half-conscious, soaked in his own blood. One of the beasts cracked before Skiller's fading vision, like a brittle cookie.
—I see now... —Rasen murmured, crouching beside him. —You're starving... You know, I once told you that one day you'd be in my place, begging for help—and here we are. Me, saving you.
Skiller tried to speak, but only blood escaped his lips. His body was broken. His will, unraveling.
—A single bite damned you, —Rasen continued, kneeling beside him— but my blood can redeem you. Drink from me, and you'll no longer be a pawn… or even a vampire. You'll become something the Community itself can't control.
Without further words, Rasen tore open his own wrist and offered the blood.
Skiller hesitated for just a moment—then drank.
He didn't know if he was still himself. But for the first time… he wasn't hungry. He had purpose.
The fire stopped. The sun no longer burned.
A violent, wild energy surged through him. Every cell screamed—not in pain, but in transformation.
He stood up, shaky but steady, as Rasen stepped back. Skiller met his gaze. Then, without being asked, he dropped to his knees.
—I swear on my new blood,—he whispered.
—Wait... Daywalker, Rasen said with quiet gravity, —don't swear to me. Swear for her. That's an order.
As if compelled by the weight of that command, his body obeyed.
"I will protect Aisha with my life. And if you ever lose control… I'll be the one to stop you."
Rasen said nothing. But for the first time, there was peace in his eyes—briefly—before he vanished into the wind.
"Remember what you are now. Because when that day comes… you'll have to choose whether you serve your blood, or your promise."