"Good afternoon, Elder Cassandra."
Leo scratched the back of his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. The room was thick with silence, the only sound the slow, rhythmic creak of Cassandra's rocking chair. The elderly assassin sat opposite him, her sharp eyes boring into his soul like twin daggers. She said nothing.
"Bethran told me you were looking for me," Leo added after a moment, trying to dispel the oppressive quiet. His voice echoed awkwardly in the stone chamber.
Cassandra finally inhaled deeply, as if preparing for battle.
"What is happening tomorrow?" she asked, her tone deadly calm.
Sensing where this was going, Leo smiled nervously. "The Valor Ball, of course."
"And are you prepared for this event?" Cassandra leaned forward, her fingers steepled on the desk.
"I'm afraid not, ma'am."
And then the storm broke.
A torrent of reprimands, critiques, and creatively constructed insults poured from the elder's mouth with such force that Leo physically shrank into his seat. Each word was like a slap, and by the time it ended, the young assassin felt thoroughly wrung out.
The old woman stood suddenly, straightening her robes with a huff. "No time to waste."
Leo blinked. "Huh?"
"Get up. We're going."
"Going... where?"
"For the rest of the day, you'll be learning every single etiquette expected of an awardee." Her voice, now oddly cheerful, rang through the hallway as she marched out of the room with surprising agility.
Leo hurried after her, struggling to keep up. "Couldn't we just study in your office?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Cassandra snapped without looking back.
As they moved swiftly through the twisting corridors of the Night's ancient fortress, Leo realized they were heading toward the library—possibly the most neglected section of the Order. Dust motes danced in the dim torchlight. A musty scent thickened the air.
"Let me ask again." Cassandra wove expertly between the towering bookshelves, her fingers trailing across the spines. "How much do you know about this ball?"
Leo hesitated, then answered, "The Valor Ball was first held after the Phoenix's triumph over Camhyr the Destroyer. Tomorrow marks the fifth time it will be celebrated. For the first time, two members of the Night Order have been invited as honorary guests."
His brows furrowed. "Which brings me to the real question—why aren't you badgering Bethran too? He was also invited."
Cassandra chuckled dryly. "Bethran is merely a guest. You, on the other hand, might be knighted."
Leo froze. "Knighted? Me?"
The elder didn't pause. She had found her target—a red-covered book tucked between old tomes. The cover bore a small tear, but it still radiated a sense of dignity.
"Bethran did well that night, true," she said, brushing off dust with a harsh blow. "But you—alongside Princess Emelda and Hamilton—were the most valiant."
Before Leo could recover from the shock, she was already moving again, heading toward a grand reading table in the center of the chamber.
Cassandra grimaced at the dust. "Remind me to punish Jeffrey."
"I don't think it's his fault," Leo offered, trying to defend the castle's grumpy old caretaker. "Aside from you, me, and Jeffrey, no one else even comes here."
"A whole Order of illiterate cutthroats," Cassandra muttered, dropping the book with a thud. Leo wisely kept silent.
She fished a golden pince-nez from her robe, placed it delicately on her nose, and began flipping through brittle pages.
"Here it is," she said at last, placing a long, pale finger on a section of intricate handwriting. Leo leaned in as she began.
"Firstly…"
And so began the long, painful lecture. Phrases like 'proper bow depth for royalty', 'the seven layers of etiquette to avoid offense', and 'appropriate dancing distance' drummed into his brain with relentless rhythm. Leo groaned inwardly, wondering if poison would've been kinder than this.
---
Meanwhile, far to the north, at the frigid edge of the Forever Realm, another elder was waiting.
The chamber was dim, lit only by flickering candlelight. Snow battered the stone walls, but inside, a brooding stillness lingered. A tall, hunch-shouldered figure sniffed the cold air, his grotesque features twisted into a deeper scowl.
Bat.
The vampire elder stood unmoving, his long cloak trailing like shadow behind him. He didn't turn when footsteps echoed behind him—loud and fast—but unnecessary.
"My Lord," came the voice, muffled by wind.
Bat didn't respond. He heard the speaker's heart beating, heard the mice scurrying under the snow, and even the frost creeping through the cracks.
"What news do you bring, SLov?"
The kneeling vampire took a deep breath. "Davon's whereabouts remain unknown."
"I know that," Bat snapped, finally turning. His eyes gleamed like blood under moonlight.
"Anything new?"
SLov nodded quickly. "A scout from the elven kingdom reported seeing him traveling toward Magnitia."
Bat's eyes narrowed. "Magnitia? What would that whelp seek there?"
Before the messenger could speak again, Bat tilted his head. "There's more."
"Yes, my Lord." SLov's voice trembled. "The Phoenix is hosting a grand event tomorrow."
Bat growled. "DO I need to also ask you where?"
"E-Elyria, my Lord!"
Silence.
And then, a smile spread across Bat's fanged mouth. "Good."
He stepped forward, cloak rustling, and placed a hand on SLov's shoulder. "I have a message. One I want you to deliver to our dear… colleagues."
SLov looked up.
Bat's grin widened.
"Tell them the time has come. We vampires… shall make an entrance." He paused, eyes gleaming. "A real entrance."
SLov opened his mouth to respond—but Bat was already gone. A chill swept through the room. Then, from beyond the stained-glass window, a massive shadow eclipsed the moon.
SCREEEEECH!
A colossal bat with a wingspan of forty feet burst from the mountaintop, gliding southward with terrifying grace. The wind howled in its wake, and SLov fell back in awe, his heart pounding.
"The world won't be ready," he whispered.