Chronicle I - The First Hunger
Chronicle I — The First Hunger
The Forbidden Fruit, the Fallen Seraph, and the Birth of the Eternal Source
"And from the blood of Heaven's fallen, the first eternal hunger was born."
I. The Garden Before the Fall
Before mankind knew suffering, before the first grave was dug into the earth, and before death became the inevitable inheritance of Adam's descendants, there existed a sacred place untouched by the corruption of the mortal world. This place was known as Eden, the Garden of Paradise, where creation existed in harmony beneath the watchful presence of its Creator. Rivers flowed through fertile valleys, trees bore fruit without decay, and the creatures of the earth lived without fear. In those distant ages, mankind had not yet experienced the consequences of sin, and the boundaries between the divine and mortal worlds remained open.
The Creator, known among the earliest generations as Yahweh, Yavé, or YHWH, would descend into the Garden and walk among the beings He had created. Ancient traditions describe His presence during the cool hours of the day, when the sunlight softened and the shadows stretched beneath the trees. Adam, the first man, recognized the voice of his Creator, while Eve, the mother of mankind, lived beneath His divine protection. They spoke with Him, received His guidance, and tended the sacred land entrusted to their care. This was an age before humanity's expulsion from Paradise, when mankind still lived within the presence of Heaven and had not yet been condemned to the suffering of the world beyond Eden.
Yet the forbidden chronicles preserved by the Eternal Throne speak of a daughter of Adam and Eve whose existence would eventually disappear from the sacred histories of mankind. Her name was Lavínia. Born within the Garden before the fall of her parents, Lavínia had never witnessed death, war, disease, or the cruelty that would one day define mortal civilization. Her childhood unfolded among the rivers and flowering valleys of Paradise, where she listened to the stories of her father and observed the wonders of creation. But unlike her brothers and sisters, Lavínia possessed an unusual curiosity about the mysteries of existence. She questioned the meaning of eternity, the purpose of the forbidden boundaries, and the nature of the death that the Creator had warned mankind against.
According to the oldest fragments of the Chronicle of Eden, Lavínia once asked her father why death should be feared if no human had ever experienced it. Adam could offer no answer beyond the warning he had received from YHWH, for death remained unknown to the children of Paradise. Lavínia, however, could not understand why knowledge should be forbidden in a world created in perfection. She wondered what existed beyond the familiar paths of the Garden and why certain places remained untouched even by the creatures that inhabited Eden. Where others saw perfection, she saw unanswered questions, and it was this restless curiosity that eventually led her toward a secret concealed within the sacred boundaries of Paradise.
Far beyond the rivers and familiar groves stood an ancient region of the Garden where the trees grew unnaturally close together and the light of the sun barely reached the earth. The air there was strangely still, and no birds sang among its branches. During one of her solitary wanderings, Lavínia discovered a clearing where the grass had withered and the soil had turned almost black. At its center stood a tree unlike anything she had ever encountered. Its bark was dark as obsidian, its roots twisted through the earth like veins, and its leaves carried a deep crimson color. Hanging from its branches were fruits whose surfaces glistened as though filled with living blood. The tree seemed both alive and wounded, radiating a presence that did not belong to the natural harmony of Eden.
The oldest forbidden manuscripts identify this mysterious creation as Arbor Sanguinis, the Crimson Tree. Unlike the Tree of Life or the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, the Crimson Tree had not grown from the original perfection of creation. Its origins were tied to a celestial tragedy that had occurred beyond the understanding of mankind. According to the Fragments of the First Heaven, an ancient text believed by the scholars of the Eternal Court to preserve traditions older than the Great Flood, the tree had emerged from the blood of a fallen Seraphim whose name was Azhariel, remembered in the forbidden chronicles as The Crimson Seraph.
Azhariel had once belonged to the celestial hosts, among the burning Seraphim who stood closest to the divine throne. Ancient accounts describe him as a being of extraordinary radiance, whose wings carried the fire of Heaven and whose voice echoed with the authority of the celestial realm. Yet even among the heavenly beings, rebellion and doubt had taken root. The surviving manuscripts disagree upon the precise nature of Azhariel's transgression. Some claim that he questioned the destiny prepared for mankind, believing that beings created from dust should not be denied the mysteries of eternity. Others suggest that he became fascinated by the freedom granted to mortal souls, whose brief existence allowed them choices that the celestial hosts could scarcely comprehend. A third and far more controversial tradition claims that Azhariel sought to grant mankind immortality independent of the Tree of Life, challenging the divine order established by YHWH.
Whatever the truth, Azhariel's actions brought him into conflict with Heaven. He was cast from the celestial realm, his wings broken and his divine radiance corrupted by rebellion. The chronicles claim that during his fall, the wounded Seraphim reached the boundaries of Eden, where his celestial blood spilled upon the sacred earth. But the blood of a Seraphim was unlike the blood of mortal creatures. It carried the essence of a being created beyond the limitations of flesh and time, and even in its corrupted state, it retained a fragment of celestial eternity. Where the blood touched the soil, the grass withered, the roots darkened, and the earth began to change. Over ages unknown to mankind, the corrupted celestial essence took root, giving birth to a tree that existed as a contradiction within Paradise: a living creation born from the blood of a fallen angel.
The Crimson Tree carried within its fruit a power that no mortal body had been created to endure. Unlike the Tree of Life, whose eternity was granted through divine grace, the fruit of Arbor Sanguinis contained an immortality born from celestial corruption. It promised neither wisdom nor salvation, but the possibility of existence beyond the natural boundaries of life and death. Yet such a gift could never come without consequence, for the blood that nourished its roots had been severed from the purity of Heaven. What grew from it was not true divine life, but an imperfect reflection of eternity, sustained by a hunger that could never be fully satisfied.
When Lavínia approached the tree, she felt an unfamiliar coldness settle upon the clearing. The peaceful sounds of Eden faded, and the air seemed to grow heavy around her. As she reached toward one of the crimson leaves, a voice emerged from the silence. It was neither the voice of her father nor that of the Creator, but something ancient and sorrowful, as though it came from the roots beneath her feet. The voice called her a child of Adam and questioned why she feared what she did not understand. Lavínia searched the clearing, but no figure stood among the trees. The voice continued, speaking of eternity, forbidden knowledge, and the mysteries that lay beyond the limits imposed upon mankind. Whether the voice belonged to Azhariel himself or was merely an echo of the celestial blood within the tree remains unknown.
For the first time in her existence, Lavínia experienced a temptation unlike anything she had known within Eden. She did not seek wealth, dominion, or power over others. She desired understanding. She wanted to know why such a tree existed within Paradise, why its fruit resembled blood, and why its presence seemed to awaken something deep within her soul. As she stood beneath the crimson branches, the mysterious voice whispered a final question: "Would you surrender eternity merely because you were commanded to?" Drawn by a curiosity stronger than her fear, Lavínia raised her hand toward a fruit that shimmered like liquid ruby. She did not know that within it rested the corrupted essence of a celestial being, nor that her choice would forever alter the destiny of her descendants.
The histories of mankind would later remember the disobedience of Adam and Eve, the serpent, and their expulsion from Eden. Yet the chronicles of the First Blood preserve another tragedy, one said to have unfolded before humanity's fall. It was the story of a forgotten daughter of Adam, a fallen Seraphim whose blood had corrupted the sacred soil, and a forbidden fruit that carried the promise of an eternity never intended for mortal flesh. When Lavínia finally brought the crimson fruit to her lips, the Garden of Eden would witness something that creation had never known before: the birth of a hunger capable of surviving death itself.
Thus, before the fall of mankind, before the exile from Paradise, and before the first kingdoms of men, the destiny of the First Vampire was sealed.
— End of Part I: The Garden Before the Fall —
To be continued: II. The First Death