The torches along the hall flickered as if shivering from an unseen chill. Servants froze in the corners, their heads bowed, as Aelric passed — the echo of his boots like a heartbeat against the marble floor. The hall smelled faintly of iron and rose oil; the scent of Velmora's royal bloodline.
At the far end of the corridor, the doors to the Council Chamber groaned open. Inside, a crescent table of black oak curved beneath a window of red-stained glass. Seven vampire nobles sat waiting, each one cloaked in shadow, their pale faces catching the firelight like bone.
Lord Kaelen — Aelric's oldest rival and one-time brother-in-arms — leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His silver eyes glittered with disdain.
"You called the Council at dawn," Kaelen said smoothly. "Tell me, Aelric, what new omen drives our king to disturb the peace before the sun dares rise?"
Aelric met his stare, unflinching. "The peace you speak of is an illusion," he replied. "Our borders burn. The demon hordes of Nareth have crossed the Black Plains. They've taken the fortress at Galdar's Reach."
The room shifted; murmurs rippled through the Council. One of the elders, Lady Ravia, pressed a jeweled hand to her lips. "That's impossible," she whispered. "The Reach is guarded by the Night Sentinels—"
"Was guarded," Aelric corrected. "They're ash now."
Kaelen's smirk faltered. "And what do you suggest, my king? Another blood crusade? You remember how well the last one ended."
Aelric's jaw tightened. "This isn't about conquest. It's survival. The demons grow stronger. Something — or someone — is feeding them power beyond our understanding."
The words hung heavy. Aelric could see it in their eyes — fear, disbelief, the ghosts of wars past.
Then, breaking the silence, came a voice that cut through the room like steel on stone.
"What if it's true?"
All heads turned toward Lyssandra, the youngest member of the Council — and the only one who still believed in prophecy. Her crimson cloak shimmered as she stood. "The old texts spoke of this," she said. "The Sanguine Eclipse — when the blood moon returns and the barriers between the mortal and infernal realms shatter."
Kaelen laughed, low and bitter. "Fairytales to frighten fledglings."
But Aelric didn't laugh. He felt it — the same strange hum he'd sensed since the dream that woke him days ago. A whisper in his mind. A promise.
Lyssandra looked to him. "You've felt it, haven't you?"
The chamber fell silent.
Aelric didn't answer — but the tremor in his hand said enough.
---
Kaelen rose, his chair scraping the stone. "If you want to drag Velmora into another nightmare, Aelric, count me out." He turned sharply, cloak swirling behind him. "We are vampires — not saviors."
Aelric's gaze darkened. "And yet, if the demons win, there will be no night left for us to rule."
The two men stood face to face now — the king and his rival, shadow and flame.
"You were once my brother," Aelric said quietly. "Do not make me your enemy."
Kaelen paused at the door. His voice was low, almost sad.
"You did that yourself… when you took the throne."
Then he was gone, leaving only the echo of his boots and the taste of bitterness in the air.
Lyssandra stepped closer. "He won't side with you."
Aelric stared at the crimson light pouring through the glass. "He will," he murmured. "He'll have no choice once the blood moon rises."
---
Outside, thunder rolled across the skies of Velmora.
In the valley below, a black mist slithered over the hills — the first sign of the Demon Lord's return.
And high above, in the ancient spire of the castle, a single raven watched the storm with glowing red eyes.