Cryosleep was supposed to end with voices, not a void.

 

There was always noise — alarms, the hiss of hydraulics, the babble of medtechs unsealing pods. This time, only the faint hum of the ship could be heard. His pod lid had risen by itself, emergency lights painting the bay in dull red.

 

Rows of other pods stretched into shadow. He checked the nearest. A woman lay inside, her face gray, lips shriveled, chest unmoving. Not sleeping. Not alive.

 

He stumbled down the aisle. Pod after pod, the same: pale husks where people should have been. Hundreds of passengers, all dead.

 

Daniel’s breath fogged in the cold as he forced open a door. The corridor beyond was immaculate, too clean, as though scrubbed of every trace of life. His footsteps echoed like trespass.

 

A sign above read: Observation Deck.

 

The deck was nothing like the utilitarian cryobay. This room was cathedral-dark, walls lined with great black coffins carved from obsidian metal, each etched with symbols he didn’t recognize.

 

Not cryopods. Tombs.

 

One of them stirred. The lid slid aside with a slow, silken hiss. A figure rose — tall, inhumanly graceful, skin pale as frost. Its eyes glowed faintly, like embers smothered in ash.

 

Daniel froze. “Where… where are the crew?”

 

The figure stepped onto the deck with the patience of a king waking from a long sleep. Its voice was smooth as polished brass.

 

“You are the crew.”

 

Daniel shook his head. “No. We’re passengers. Evacuation from Earth. Headed toward Kepler-186f.”

 

The thing smiled with its mouth closed. “Provisions. Not passengers.”

 

Others began to stir. Lids yawning open, shadows uncoiling. Daniel backed toward the control dais at the window. Outside, stars wheeled in their silent orbits. Against the black, he saw the truth at last: this wasn’t an ark. It was a pantry.

 

“You killed them,” Daniel whispered.

 

“Fed from them,” the captain corrected, stepping closer. “Humanity served us well on Earth. Now it serves us among the stars.”

 

Daniel’s hand retreated as he backed against the metal console and felt… warmth. Sunlight.

 

His hand found a button. He pressed it.

 

Along the side windows, metal shutters slid back, exposing the massive viewing areas. Starlight and the white blaze of a nearby sun flooded the deck, washing the room in blinding brilliance.

 

The captain halted, haloed in light. Daniel’s heart surged as hope grew, wild and desperate. The myths had to be true.

 

But the figure only tilted its face to the glow. Unburned. Unhindered.

 

Daniel’s voice cracked. “Sunlight... doesn’t it kill you?”

 

The vampire’s smile widened, teeth catching gold.

 

“Only when it’s closer. Say, ninety-three million miles.”

 

Daniel screamed as the captain descended, his shadow swallowed in the light.