Destiny

Eviea’s mind replayed the events of the previous night.

The note from Heros clearly stated the meeting place. Most diviners had quirks incomprehensible to ordinary people, and choosing a tavern in a remote town was odd, but Eviea honored the appointment.

Naturally, she disguised her appearance—showing up as a vampire in a human town would draw unwanted attention and trouble. Heros, the intermediary, accompanied her.

The tavern reeked of alcohol and sweat. Wrapped in a black robe that hid most of her face, Eviea wrinkled her nose.

A vampire’s keen sense of smell, attuned to blood, was equally sensitive to other odors—a disadvantage in this stench-filled place. The sour sweat of the surrounding men repulsed her, but for valuable intel, she endured.

Locating the designated seat from the note, she found a small corner table against a wall, seating only three.

One side was already occupied by a man in a black-and-white robe and mask. His bizarre attire screamed diviner—no normal person would dress so eccentrically.

As Eviea and Heros took the remaining seats, the masked man spoke first. “Do you like rum?”

“No, I prefer black wine,” Eviea replied.

“Why?”

“Its full, rounded taste is closer to blood.”

The exchange was the prearranged code. With it confirmed, the masked man visibly relaxed. “You’re finally here. Any later, and I’d have left.”

His voice, altered by some device, was distinctly male but lacked identifiable traits.

Eviea chuckled, pulling out a vintage pocket watch. The hands pointed exactly to seven o’clock. “Right on time, not a second off.”

“Timing things perfectly is a smug habit. Fate doesn’t always favor such precision,” the diviner retorted, true to their reputation for sharp tongues.

Though annoyed, Eviea overlooked it. It was a transaction, and if he’d been overly polite, she’d have doubted his authenticity. “Enough talk. Did you bring it?” Heros interjected coldly.

“Of course, of course. You think crafting a tool to track the Ancestor’s Blood is easy? This took serious effort,” the masked man said, pulling a small object from his robe and discreetly placing it on the table. When his hand moved, light revealed the item—a compass, etched with cryptic symbols incomprehensible to most.

Proudly displaying his work, the diviner spread his hands, adopting a cryptic air. “Let’s be clear: the materials for this were a nightmare to source. The divine elements alone required studying countless ancient texts. So, for the price—5,000 gold coins. If you’re feeling generous, I won’t complain.”

His tone suggested confidence that a royal vampire wouldn’t haggle.

The Ancestor’s Blood was irresistible to their kind.

Vampires, despite their shadowy habits, were often wealthy, and a royal like Eviea promised a hefty payday. He could almost feel the weight of a space ring filled with gold.

But Eviea’s icy question snapped him back. “Diviner, does your compass spin wildly before pointing to its target?”

“Yes, you’ve figured it out before I explained. As expected of someone so clever—”

His flattery was cut off by her cold laugh. “Then tell me, what are the odds of encountering a girl with the Ancestor’s Blood right here?”

“By rational standards, less than one in a billion. If it happened, you’re either dreaming or hallucinating,” he replied without hesitation.

“Then I suggest you fix your creation, because either I’m dreaming, or your compass is faulty.”

Her biting sarcasm startled him. Shocked, he looked at the compass, its needle firmly pointing in one direction. Following its path, he saw a black-haired girl at the bar.

His eyes widened in disbelief. He muttered a sound, then, as if doubting reality, slapped his own face. The mask cushioned the blow, but the pain confirmed he wasn’t dreaming.

Near-frantic, he grabbed the compass, examining it closely. Eviea and Heros watched his antics like a clown’s performance. After a long pause, he set it down, his voice trembling with shock and excitement. “The compass is fine. My craftsmanship is flawless.”

“What do you mean?” Eviea asked, frowning, her posture stiffening.

“I mean it’s working. That slap proved I’m not dreaming. The only explanation is that the girl at the bar, northwest of us, carries the Ancestor’s Blood.”

“By Shesia, what a miracle! My luck’s so good, I should hit the racetrack!” he exclaimed, his voice quivering.

Eviea’s fingers gripped the table’s edge, splintering the wood.

Her disguised eyes reverted to their natural blood-red, burning with excitement. Her blood, altered by her transformation, had never surged like this.

Note: Shesia, mentioned by the diviner, is the goddess of miracles and fate on the Seraris Continent, revered by diviners and prophets.