The night never slept in Duskveil.
By the time the storm eased, the courtyard was slick with rain and the air heavy with the smell of iron. Training had ended hours ago, but Aelric still stood at the edge of the yard, striking the wooden dummy until its head snapped off. His breath steamed in the chill.
Every blow carried the echo of his father's voice, of flames, of that demon's laughter.
When the silence finally broke, it was by a whisper—boots crunching gravel behind him.
"Still awake?"
Seralyn's tone was half-teasing, half-concerned.
Aelric didn't turn. "Can't sleep."
"No one here really does," she said. She moved closer, holding a goblet of dark wine. "The living have dreams. The dead have memories. We have both—and neither."
He accepted the drink without a word. The taste was bitter, metallic.
"They're saying you'll lead the first patrol beyond the cliffs," she added. "Kaelen must trust you."
Aelric's lips curved faintly. "Or he wants to see if I survive."
Seralyn studied him. "He's hard, not cruel. He lost more than any of us."
"I know," Aelric said quietly. "That's why I'll follow him. For now."
She tilted her head. "And afterward?"
He looked up at the moon, the red halo still clinging to its edge. "Afterward, I'll have my vengeance."
---
Inside the keep, Kaelen paced before the throne room's fire. Shadows climbed the walls like restless ghosts.
Two scouts knelt before him, armor dripping rainwater.
"You're certain?" Kaelen asked.
"Yes, my lord," one said. "The demon army camps near the Dead Pass. They're gathering fuel—wood, bodies, anything that burns."
"How many?"
"Hundreds… maybe thousands. We saw banners bearing the sigil of Var'eth."
Kaelen's expression darkened. "Var'eth," he repeated. "The flame-taker."
He dismissed the scouts and turned toward the window. The sea beyond was black and endless.
If Var'eth commanded the legions now, war was not coming—it had already begun.
---
By dawn, Aelric and a dozen vampires rode out from Duskveil, their horses' hooves pounding against the soaked earth. Mist coiled around them, thick enough to swallow sound.
They were to scout the forest of Ashmar, where strange lights had been seen at night. Kaelen's orders were clear: observe, do not engage.
But Aelric's heart didn't understand restraint.
The forest was deathly quiet. Even the birds avoided it.
When they reached the clearing, the scent hit first—burned flesh and sulfur. Then they saw the bodies: villagers, drained and twisted, symbols carved into their chests.
One of the soldiers whispered, "By the blood…"
Aelric dismounted slowly. "Spread out. Check for survivors."
They moved carefully between the trees—until the air shifted. The mist thickened, turning red around the edges.
Aelric drew his sword. "Stay sharp."
A sound like laughter drifted from the fog.
Then came the first strike.
Something huge slammed into the nearest vampire, crushing him against a tree. The group scattered, weapons drawn. Out of the crimson haze stepped a demon—tall, spined, eyes burning like coals.
Aelric didn't hesitate. He lunged.
Their blades met with a clang that split the air. Sparks flew. The demon grinned, revealing rows of serrated teeth. "Another Draven," it hissed. "I remember your city burning."
Rage flared in Aelric's veins. He moved faster, each swing sharper than the last, until finally he drove his blade through the creature's throat. It fell, dissolving into ash.
Silence returned—but only for a heartbeat.
From the fog, a dozen more shapes emerged.
"Form up!" Aelric shouted.
The clearing erupted into chaos—flames, steel, screams. The demons fought like beasts, claws against swords, fire against blood. Aelric cut one down, then another, his movements fueled by fury rather than technique.
By the time the last demon fell, half his men were dead. The rest stood trembling, drenched in blood and rain.
Aelric wiped his blade, breathing hard. "We go back," he said. "Tell Kaelen the war has found us."
---
At Duskveil, Kaelen waited in the hall. When Aelric entered—armor scorched, eyes wild—the room fell silent.
"You disobeyed my orders," Kaelen said.
Aelric dropped a demon's severed horn at his feet. "And I brought you proof."
Kaelen stepped forward, voice low and dangerous. "You lost half your squad."
"They were already dead," Aelric snapped. "The demons would have found them anyway. At least now we know what's coming."
Kaelen's glare softened just a fraction. "You're reckless."
"Maybe," Aelric said. "But I'm not afraid."
Kaelen turned away, staring into the fire. "Fear keeps us alive."
"Not vengeance," Aelric muttered.
Kaelen didn't answer. The storm outside began again, thunder rolling like the heartbeat of something vast.
Finally, he said, "Rest. Tomorrow we prepare the armies. The war begins sooner than I hoped."
Aelric bowed and left, but as he passed the doorway, Kaelen spoke once more—quietly, almost to himself.
"Don't let vengeance make you a monster, Aelric. We already have enough of those."