Darkness. Pure and absolute. A lonely wanderer lost and alone, with no sense of direction might tread weary steps for many a long hour and never know any change of scenery. Weary in soul, Xain lifts one foot and places it in front of him. Then another. One foot. Then another. Placing them in the same place? Maybe. In the Darkness it is not for him to know, for there is no up and down, no left and right, there is only the constant lonely footsteps; the Darkness swallows landmarks and terrain, they are simply… nonexistent. Feeling as though he began his trek at the moment of birth, alone in such abysmal nothingness, the exhausted wanderer finally stops. Sits. Waits.

Swirling lights appear slowly, as though birthed from the Dark. Little by little the glorious dots of light, the only change in all the Dark, evolves into color and blossom, spreading… dancing amongst each other in celebration of new life. Green light, the definition of spring and life, weave madcap patterns with the others, careful not to touch or mar the beauty of eachother. Crimson, bloody dark, at odds with the nurturing green, yet possessed of vibrant loveliness all its own, continues patterns where green faded away. Holy White, pure as snow, innocent as a newborn, struggles in the Dark as if in a constant war with the inky void shining brightly though the battle appears lost at times. Black, the antithesis of all things, spun of the shortcomings of Man, dark as sin and visible only for the gaps it leaves in the wake of its brothers.

Gazing in rapt awe for hours, years, lifetimes, the lights resolve themselves into orbs of dancing frenetically for a moment longer before the helter-skelter dance finally slows to a gentle waltz…to a steady pulse: the beat of some internal inaudible music. Or horrible life.


A gentle soothing voice, commanding obedience and assurances of mercy, seeming to come from the orb of green. Listening to the echo fade into the Darkness, Xain wonders about the origin of the voice when his musings are interrupted…


Turning this way and that (presumably), up and down (maybe), Xain knows this cold voice, totally devoid of human emotion comes from the red orb, but he cannot find the words to answer before another…


Recovering his voice after years of disuse, Xain orients on the gentle, warm, orb of white light, the last to speak so far.

"Choose what?"

"Choose what you will be."

This from the black orb, softly growling its answer as though it were the most natural and normal of answers.

"Will you be Human, Blood, Hunter, Beast, or something Else?"

From the Darkness Itself rumbles a horrible voice, It whispers delicious shivers of terror throughout Xain's body, engendering thoughts of death and destruction.

Alternating pulses of light come from each orb only to have the burst of light swallowed by the Darkness, as though each were trying to show off, to help the boy decide his fate.

"What do you mean? Why must I choose?"

"Your love hangs by a thread. One choice can save him and doom him, one will kill him, one will torment him, and one will die with him… but one must be chosen! One will be chosen, here and now."