D

The night wind howled through the empty windows of the abandoned chapel, carrying the scent of damp earth and desolation. D felt a subtle but familiar chill—the trace of a vampire's presence. D's footsteps were silent among the rubble. Fallen plaster crunched under his boots, muffling the whispers of darkness.

D's gaze slid over the desecrated altar. The dust of centuries lay thick, but recent traces were visible. Too light. Not human. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, D noticed movement in a side niche, behind a half-ruined column. Someone's shadow, too distinct for the play of light and shadow, slid back into hiding.

D froze, his hand instinctively touching the hilt of his sword. A hunter? Or... something else? The silence thickened, tense and ominous. D waited, prepared for any development.