Chapter 75-Stained with her blood

Chapter 75: 75-Stained with her blood

The cemetery gates rose before them like the entrance to another world.

They were made from ancient black stone, each pillar carved with the names of vampire families who had existed long before the academy, the capital, and even the present royal line.

Pale lanterns burned along the walls despite the moon hanging high overhead, their flames steady and strangely quiet.

Beyond the gates stretched row after row of graves, some marked by elaborate monuments and others by simple slabs of stone softened by centuries of rain and moss.

Professor Primrose stopped the students just inside the entrance and turned to face them.

"Keep your voices down," she instructed. "This is a place of remembrance. You may talk among yourselves, but show respect to those who came before us."

The students gradually separated according to their bloodlines as they had been instructed. The bluebloods moved toward their section, the blackbloods toward theirs, while the mixedbloods gathered farther along the winding path.

The redblood students remained behind, unable to cross into certain bloodline territories without permission.

Maisa stood awkwardly at the edge of the path, clutching her little box of candles. She had never been good at funerals.

It was not because she didn’t understand grief but because death had always been too closely connected to her family.

Her parents had spent years hunting vampires, and every grave they visited had represented someone her family had fought, someone they believed had deserved to die or comrades who fought battles and lost.

Even now, standing beneath the ancient trees of Old Scaris cemetery, Maisa couldn’t help wondering how many graves contained vampire whose names had once appeared in her family’s records.

She didn’t know any of these vampires. She had no family buried here, no childhood friend, and no one whose grave she could kneel beside and whisper a goodbye to.

She was just about to step aside and let the others pass when Zolani appeared beside her.

"Come with me, Maisa," she hooked their arms together and walked onwards.

Maisa looked at her. "Am I allowed?" shevasked, refusing to impose.

Zolani gave her a small smile. "You’re allowed to mourn someone you’ve never met. My family is up ahead. You can light the candle for them."

Before Maisa could answer, Zolani gently took her by the wrist and led her toward the mixedblood section.

Unlike the pureblood territories, there were fewer restrictions around the Mortensen grounds. Since Maisa couldn’t go with Lumi and Luan, she didn’t mind paying respects to Zolani’s ancestors.

Mixedbloods had always occupied an uncomfortable lower position within vampire society, and their cemetery reflected that history. The graves were beautiful but less extravagant, with small gardens growing between them and family names carved into pale stone.

Zolani walked more slowly as they went deeper. Her usual warmth had faded. She thought of her sister and felt like turning around and running in the opposite direction.

Zoe had died too young. She was the open wound in Zolani’s heart that refused to heal and the reason she hated hunters so much. She remembered the vow she made on her first anniversary of Zoe’s death last year, "I will find the vampire that killed you and dig out their heart and present it to you!"

She had been confident when she made the promise and has since been training hard. She left no stone unturned to perfect her skills so thar when she comes face to face with the monster that killed Zoe, she can fulfil her promise.

Zolani had no idea that the person she hated the most and wished to kill to avenge her sister was hooked arm to arm by her side.

Maisa noticed her strange emotions immediately. There was something different about her here. The cheerful girl who could laugh at Sapphire’s jokes and brighten an entire room with a single smile seemed to become quieter with every step.

Eventually, Zolani stopped before a large family monument. The Mortensen name had been carved across the top.

"They are my grandparents," she said softly when they stopped at the first tombstones inside. She knelt and placed a white candle at the base. "My grandmother loved flowers. She used to grow them everywhere... even in places where nothing was supposed to grow."

Maisa listened quietly. The only thing she knew about her grandparents was that they were hunters and passed their skills down to their son before they were killed when they attacked a royal carriage carrying the queen of dragon nation.

It is said that the whiteblood queen barely lifted a finger before crashing them under her heels like they were made of plastic.

Zolani moved to the next grave. "My grandfather was terrible at cooking," a tiny smile touched her lips. "He once burned blood soup. Can you imagine?"

Maisa blinked."You can burn blood soup?"

Zolani looked at her with a faint laugh. "Apparently, he could," a sadness way laced in her voice.

The tension in Maisa’s chest eased slightly. They continued on to Zolani’s aunt, uncle, and another aunt.

With every candle Zolani lit, she shared another small memory. Some were funny, some were ordinary, and that somehow made them feel more alive than grand stories ever could.

Then they reached the final grave, and Zolani stopped. Her smile disappeared completely. "This one is my little sister."

Maisa’s fingers tightened around the candle in her hand. She sympathised with Zolani’s pain. No one should have to outlive their younger ones. It was just too painful.

Zolani crouched before the grave and placed a bouquet of white roses on the grave, "Her name was Zoe."

The name struck Maisa before she even saw the photograph, and something cold moved through her.

Zolani reached toward the small framed picture resting beside the gravestone and carefully wiped a little dust from the glass, and showed it to Maisa.

A smiling girl looked back at them. She was young, bright-eyed, and happy. Maisa stopped breathing when she memorised the image to her mind.

The cemetery seemed to tilt beneath her feet. She knew that face, she knew those eyes and she knew that smile. Her fingers went numb around the candle.

’No...’ her heart bled.

She stared at the photograph as memories she had buried beneath years of training suddenly clawed their way back into her mind.

’Zoe?’ She remembered her. Not as a name in a grave or as Zolani’s little sister but as a vampire she’d once encountered during a hunt.

A girl caught on the wrong side of a battle, a girl whose life had ended because of an Everheart hunter... because of her. ’I killed her,’ her heart confessed inwardly.

’I killed her!’ The words rang louder in her head. ’My first kill is...is...Zolani’s sister?’

Her eyes drifted from the photo and onto Zolani, the first vampire who made her feel a home, protected her from all harm and always went out of her way to make sure she’s alright and isn’t left out.

A tear rolled down her face. ’I killed Zoe Mortensen!’ Those words echoed in her head and were written all over that tear that fell. ’My hands are stained with her blood!’