Blood Knows

The ancient monastery walls trembled under the force of Kieran's footsteps. He burst through the carved wooden doors like a storm — wild-eyed, breathless, his heart beating against his ribs like a drum of war. He charged inside like a force of nature — a man possessed.

Inside, chaos reigned. Monks rushed through the halls, shouting instructions to one another.

Scrolls and prayer beads clattered to the floor, forgotten. The air, usually thick with the scent of incense and peace, was now sharp with fear.

The ancient, serene halls that once calmed his restless mind now blurred past him in a whirl of dizzying panic.

The scents of sandalwood and incense, usually comforting, now seemed to choke him. He shoved past startled monks without apology, his footsteps hammering the polished stone floors,

echoing like the frantic beating of his heart.

In the center of it all — kneeling by the altar, his head bowed, shoulders shaking — was Lama Rinzen.

The young monk who always seemed so composed, so steady, was crying. Real, helpless sobs racked his thin frame, soaking into the saffron folds of his robe.

Kieran froze for half a second, the sight slicing through him. No. No, no, no. This wasn’t right. Amara couldn’t be gone.

He shoved through the crowd, his voice hoarse and commanding.

“Where is she?”, he demanded. “Where is Amara?”

Lama Rinzen looked up, his tear-streaked face pale.

“She’s missing–”, he whispered, his voice cracking. “We have searched everywhere. She would never leave without permission—”

His words echoed in the vast stone hall, heavy with horror. The words barely registered. All Kieran heard was: Missing. Missing. Missing.

The blood roared in his ears. The walls seemed to close in around him. Every cell in his body was screaming for him to move, run, and find her.

There was no time for fear. No time for rules.

The monks around them bowed their heads, as if in silent prayer.

But Kieran didn’t pray, but he acted, and then — deep inside him — something shifted.

A heat bloomed in his chest. Not fear. Not anger. Something older, purer, stronger.

A father’s instinct.

It struck him like a lightning bolt, surging through his bones, igniting every nerve with a single truth: She’s in the village. She needs me. Now.

It wasn't rational. It wasn't even conscious. It was primal — an invisible tether snapping tight between his heart and hers, pulling him, guiding him, commanding him.

Without hesitation, without doubt, Kieran said, “She’s in the village.”, he said roughly, already turning toward the gates. “I’ll find her.”

“No!”, Rinzen cried, scrambling to his feet. “You don’t understand — She would never leave without permission— I forbade her to go into the village. It’s dangerous! She knows that—She’s not safe there! The villagers — they— they hate her! They think she’s cursed! If they find her—”

But Kieran wasn’t listening.

Some deep, primal part of him — the part that had first knelt before her two days ago and felt their souls thread together — screamed that she was there.

That she needed him.

He sprinted out of the monastery’s sacred courtyard, the prayer flags whipping violently in the wind overhead, like the heavens themselves were shouting a warning.

—————————————————————

The village streets blurred past him in a whirlwind of colors and voices. He stumbled over uneven stones, slipped through narrow alleys, his voice tearing from his throat:

“AMARA!”

“AMARA!”

People stared. Some sneered. Some turned away, muttering behind their hands.

And then — he saw her.

A small figure crumpled near the side of the dusty road, half-hidden behind a pile of discarded baskets. Her tiny body was so still, so fragile, that for a horrible, paralyzing moment, he thought she was— No.

For a moment, time stopped. Kieran's vision blurred. He stumbled forward, his legs barely obeying him. Only Amara.

Amara lay sprawled awkwardly, her head matted with dark blood, her little hands limp by her sides. The soft yellow of her simple monastery robe was stained dark with dirt and blood. Her face — usually so bright, so full of mischief — was deathly pale. A thin, trembling breath escaped her lips — barely there.

A low, guttural sound tore from Kieran’s chest — half a sob, half a roar.

He dropped to his knees beside her, his expensive clothes grinding into the dirt without a second thought.

“Amara!”, he gasped, his hands trembling. “Baby, no— please— open your eyes—”

His trembling hand went to scoop her up — but a rough hand caught his arm.

An old man, face wrinkled like dry leather, shook his head fiercely. “Don’t touch her.”, he hissed. “She’s cursed! Demon child! She’ll bring ruin to you too!”

A chorus of voices rose around him:

superstition, fear, cruelty disguised as tradition. “Leave her!”

“Let the spirits take her!”

“It’s better this way!”

Kieran’s fury exploded, whipped his head up, his eyes blazing. “You FOOLS!”, he roared, his voice shaking the windows. “Because of your dàmn superstitions, an innocent child is DYING!”

He shoved the old man aside, uncaring of the gasps and curses that followed him. But, none moved to help.

For one brief, burning second, Kieran wanted to fight them all. Wanted to tear down their ignorance with his bare hands.

But he had no time. Amara needed him.

With infinite gentleness, he slid his arms under her frail body, lifting her as though she were made of glass. Her blood soaked into his expensive shirt instantly, but he didn’t care.

Her head lolled weakly against his chest. Her small hand, streaked with dirt, brushed against his heart. A sound — so soft, so broken — escaped her lips.

Kieran pressed his forehead to hers, his voice shaking: “I've got you, little one. I'm here. I'm not going to let you go. Not ever.”

Without wasting another second, he turned and ran — Amara cradled protectively against him — his every stride was fueled by desperate determination.

Somewhere behind him, Lama Rinzen was shouting for help, chasing after him, but Kieran barely heard.

All he knew was the pounding of his heart, the weight of her fragile body in his arms, and the single, burning thought that consumed him: Please stay with me, Amara. Please don't leave me. I can’t lose you — not now, not ever.

Lama Rinzen caught up moments later, his face ashen, and helped Kieran race toward his Rolls-Royce .

——————————————————————

The hospital was a blur of fluorescent lights and harsh voices. Doctors and nurses swarmed around them, barking orders in clipped, urgent tones.

Amara was wheeled away from Kieran’s arms on a gurney, tiny and pale under the glaring lights.

He paced the waiting room like a caged beast, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles bled.

Lama Rinzen sat muttering prayers under his breath, rosary beads slipping between his fingers like water.

After what felt like a lifetime, a doctor approached. Her face was grave.

“She’s lost a significant amount of blood for a child her age.”, she said. “She’s in critical condition. Her blood type is AB-negative — extremely rare. We don’t have a match in our local bank.”

Kieran didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink.

“I’m O-negative.”, he said, stepping forward. “Take it. Take as much as she needs.”

The doctor’s eyebrows shot up, but she nodded quickly. “O-negative is a universal donor. We can save her.”

Kieran barely felt the needle slide into his vein. He barely registered the blood draining from his body.

All he could see was Amara’s face — white and still — and the fierce, burning promise in his heart: That he would never let her be alone again.

—————————————————————

Hours later, the doctor approached them, a tired smile softening her face.

“She’s out of danger.”, she said.

Kieran collapsed into a chair, his head in his hands. A sound escaped him — half a sob, half a prayer.

Lama Rinzen wept openly beside him, murmuring blessings.

Relief crashed over them both like a tidal wave.

“Thank you, doctor, for saving... my child's life.”, Kieran said slowly, words foreign to his own ears.

What is he saying?

Thanking a doctor for saving his child?

Amara... His child?

But any of this doesn't matter anymore.

Amara was safe.

For now.

—————————————————————

Kieran didn’t waste time. Still weak from blood loss but steady with purpose, he pulled out his phone.

Davis answered on the second ring, his voice sharp with irritation.

“Mr. Vance, you disappeared in the middle of negotiations—”

“Forget the dàmn negotiations.”, Kieran snapped, making Davis flinch.

“Get down to the hospital. Handle all the formalities. Pay them whatever they need. And Davis—”

He paused, his eyes locked on the tiny hospital bed where Amara now slept, hooked to monitors and wrapped in blankets too big for her.

“I want you to run a DNA test. Compare her results... with mine.”

There was a stunned silence on the line.

“Sir?”, Davis said, voice cautious.

“Just do it.”, Kieran said in a low voice. “And tell no one.”

He hung up.

Outside the hospital window, the first stars began to blink awake in the velvet sky. Kieran stood watch by Amara’s side, his hand resting lightly against her small one. And somewhere in the marrow of his bones, he knew: This was only the beginning.

The truth was waiting for him — a truth bigger than blood. Bigger than fate. Bigger than everything he thought he knew.

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End of Chapter Five.

To be continued...

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