Far away, nestled in the desolate reaches of Blood Fruit County of the Ironsong Empire, was an ancient and Isolated estate. There was the dark and very dimly lighted mansion of the Bloodsworth clan.
Cheryl Bloodsworth sat on the edge of the cavernous main living room of her family's ancient and isolated mansion. It was a place heavy with the scent of old wood and wine mixed with a stench of blood. Tonight, you could hear the monotone voice of Kaelen, her subordinate vampire ninja, delivering the mundane details of Princess Lucia's life.
Kaelen kneeled stiffly and was garbed in Bloodsworth ninja's typical black and red clothes,
"Lady Cheryl," he reported, his voice devoid of any warmth. "Princess Lucia's food for today is as follows: strawberry pancakes for breakfast. Roast beef with herbs for lunch. Chicken spaghetti with fresh tomato sauce for dinner. And for an evening snack, the Blacksun household consumed coconut meat and water, a gift recently brought by the arrival of a new woman visitor."
Cheryl, wearing a dress made of deep-crimson silk, leaned back in her enormous, high-backed chair. Her silver eyes weren't narrowed in annoyance at the report, but in a slow burn of envy.
She let out a visceral grumble. "Unbelievable. My own daughter is eating better than I am."
Kaelen, a ninja of few words and fewer opinions, remained perfectly silent.
"The chefs here are superb, Kaelen, truly," Cheryl continued, waving a hand toward the mansion's opulent kitchens. "But these last few years of extravagant foods…the gold pastries, the ridiculous diamond encrusted wines, it's become utterly overwhelming. I've told them to make simpler things, but they just can't nail the vibe."
She focused on the menu: strawberry pancakes, a hearty roast, simple chicken spaghetti. It sounded real comforting. She could practically smell the warm, yeasty scent of fresh sourdough and the rich, savory flavor of proper roast beef.
"I want the strawberry pancakes, Kaelen," she declared abruptly. "And I want the kind of roast beef that can hold up to a long day of farm work."
Kaelen actually cleared his throat, signaling discomfort. "With all due respect, Lady Cheryl, our kitchen staff are unfamiliar with the exact Blacksun recipes. And the quality of the raw materials, especially the Blacksun products, cannot be replicated here."
Cheryl sighed, the sound echoing her defeat. "Yes, yes. The magically enhanced crops. That arrogant farmer is still hoarding most of his stuff, and feeding my daughter simple yet luxurious meals while not even allowing the girl's mother to have a bite."
Cheryl wanted to really take a break and head to her beloveds' fram and have some truly relaxing moments with her daughter but she was busy. So, so busy that she couldn't spare any time with the girl. The same was the case when she was living with her.
Cheryl would be so busy day in and day out that little Lucia had no time with her mother. That's why the girl was so happy at the farm and got along with her father so quickly. The man could actually give his whole day to her.
He fed her, cooked for her, gave her attention, played with her, and held her and genuinely had time to show his love to her. Cheryl wanted to do the same for her girl but even since she came home while after leaving behind Rowan for the first time, she had to wage a secret war against the ones who had tried to take her life.
She couldn't just spare those bastards. But unexpectedly, she was pregnant and gave birth to little Lucia. Cheryl tried her best these years but her sense of desire to take revenge was too high. It was something that ran in her blood, as everyone in her family was as vengeful as can be.
The only one who had time for Lucia in this mansion was Cheryl's great-great-grandmother. Everyone else was either in deep slumber or fighting their enemies. Cheryl was hoping her great-great-grandfather could wake up soon and take some pressure off her so she could spend time with her daughter.
While thinking about this hope, she realised something, Kaelen had mentioned a woman on the farm, not one engaged to Rowan.
A new wave of unease washed over her, far worse than the food envy.
"Tell me about the new arrival, Kaelen. This 'new woman visitor.' Her name, her background, and her relationship to Rowan."
Kaelen replied quickly, clearly hearing the bloodthirst in Cheryl's tone. "Her name is Selene Amon. Former Lieutenant and second-in-command to Rowan Blacksun in the Legion. A master rapier duelist and highly capable lightning element combat mage. She arrived on foootyesterday and is now living on the farm, apparently to train young lady Lilly, in swordsmanship."
Cheryl's eyes turned cold. "A female veteran. A close former colleague. A possible rival for love."
"And her demeanor toward Lucia?" Cheryl pressed, her voice sharp as glass.
"She is respectful, Lady. She observed the children, noted their individual talents, and engaged them in a simple game called baseball…a strange pastime using a magically weighted wooden ball."
Cheryl gripped the arms of her chair. "Baseball? Are they teaching my daughter to play peasant games now?"
She rose, the crimson dress flowing around her. The mental image of Lucia, unguarded, giggling, and playing a simple, happy game, twisted a painful knot in her chest. This was the simple life she kept away from, yet judging by Kaelen's reports, it looked overwhelmingly appealing.
"Kaelen, increase surveillance on this Selene Amon. Try to find everything you can on her."
"Understood, Lady Cheryl," Kaelen replied, bowing low.
"Kaelen, did you notice her progress in magic?" Cheryl asked, a sudden thought striking her.
"Yes, Lady Cheryl. Princess Lucia successfully performed the Bloodsworth clan's specialized summoning spell. Her personal familiar is a small, purple, furry bat, no bigger than her fist. The creature seems unusually potent. I estimate its inherent magical signature is stronger than the red tiger you summoned at her age."
Cheryl's eyebrow arched high, a proud smile touching her lips. Stronger than my own summon? A fierce satisfaction bloomed in her chest.
That was good. In a world defined by raw power, her daughter would have her own strength, a necessary shield. "See, Kaelen? My daughter inherits the best of both sides," she murmured, more to herself than to the ninja.
Just as the proud moment settled, the heavy, ornate doors of the living room creaked open, and a new presence filled the space.
Lady Clarice Bloodsworth swept in, moving with the effortless grace of ancient nobility. She was stunningly preserved, an ethereal figure whose long, silver hair cascaded over the shoulders of a sexy, black evening gown.
Her violet eyes, the signature shade of the Bloodsworth founding line, held the weight of centuries. Those violet eyes were not passed on to the next generation.
This was the great-great-grandmother of hers who had been taking care of Lucia all these years.
Cheryl dipped into a quick, respectful curtsy. "Grandmother Clarice. I trust your evening rest was undisturbed."
Lady Clarice merely nodded, her gaze cutting straight to Kaelen, the look in her eyes sharp. "The familiar, Kaelen. Repeat what you just told my granddaughter. What was its color?"
Kaelen, momentarily thrown by the ancient one's intensity, straightened his posture instantly. "Lady Clarice, it was purple. A distinct, vivid purple. A small, furry bat."
Clarice's impeccable composure fractured. Her violet eyes widened, and a faint tremor ran through her slender frame. It was a reaction so sudden, so out of character for the usually placid matriarch, that Cheryl instantly forgot her simmering rage and pride.
"Grandmother? What is it? What's wrong with a purple bat?" Cheryl asked, her voice tight with genuine alarm. This had to do with her daughter after all.
Clarice turned, her face a mask of sudden, cold dread. "Every summon in our line, Cheryl, since the first of our kind, has manifested as red. A crimson predator, reflecting the blood we draw and the ferocity of our lineage. The red tiger, the red fox, the red viper... never purple. We have never had a purple summon."
She grabbed Cheryl's arm, her grip strong. "The only connection to a purple vampiric being we have ever known... is your great-great-grandfather. Alistair Bloodsworth. His natural aura, his life force, was always described as a deep, profound violet."
Cheryl's breath hitched. Alistair, the strongest vampire on the continent, the man who was supposed to be in deep slumber, awaiting the time of the Great War.
"Dismiss the ninja, Cheryl. Now." Clarice commanded, her voice low and urgent.
"Kaelen, you are dismissed. Monitor the exterior perimeter, and do not, under any circumstances, allow anyone near the west wing entrance," Cheryl managed to say, her own silver eyes wide with the dawning horror.
Kaelen vanished instantly.
Without another word, the two ladies rushed from the living room, their elegant dresses a blur of black and crimson silk against the cold, gray stone corridors.
They went deeper and deeper into the mansion, descending flights of ancient, winding stairs, past silent, moldering sub-floors where forgotten relics lay wrapped in dust. The air grew heavy, damp, and chillingly still, the silence broken only by the frantic thud of their heels.
Finally, they reached the lowest, most heavily warded recess of the mansion…the Crypt of the Founder.
The room was circular, carved from solid obsidian, with ancient protection runes glowing faintly on the walls, powered by a throbbing, central heart-rune set into the floor. In the center lay the coffin.
It was a monolithic slab of polished, midnight-black iron, sealed with massive, silver-wrought chains and seven heavy, perfectly circular seals of purified white crystal, each bearing a powerful blood-rune. The surface of the iron was cold to the touch, designed to keep its occupant in a state of stasis for centuries.
With shaking hands, Cheryl worked to disengage the magical seals, while Clarice simultaneously focused her mana, forcing the chains to snap and recoil. The process took several agonizing minutes.
With a final, desperate surge of shared effort, the two women pushed the enormous iron lid off its tracks. It scraped against the obsidian floor with a deafening, metallic shriek, echoing in the confined space.
Cheryl and Clarice peered into the iron depths, their faces inches apart.
The sarcophagus was empty.
No body. No dust. Just a thin, perfectly preserved layer of violet-tinted silk lining the bottom.
A deep gasp, filled with a terrified realization, tore from Cheryl's throat. "He's… he's gone."
Clarice didn't speak. She simply leaned against the edge of the coffin, her violet eyes wide, fixed on the empty space. Her face was bleached of all color, the shock of a thousand years finally settling on her ancient features.
"The King of Vampires…grandfather Alistair… he's been gone for God knows how long," Cheryl whispered, the terror sinking in. "And the purple bat… Lucia's summon… it's a piece of him. Where is he, Grandmother? Where is grandfather?"
Clarice straightened, the tremor leaving her frame, replaced by the rigid, ancient strength of her lineage. The horror was now channeled into cold resolve.
"I do not know where he is, Cheryl," Clarice stated, her voice a low, chilling whisper that demanded absolute attention. "One hundred years ago, your grandfather nearly died slaying the black dragon. He was in no state to simply walk away from stasis."
She walked to the wall, her slender fingers tracing the glowing runes. "The bat must be a connection that binds your daughter to her great-great-great-grandfather. Alistair has reached out to Lucia, deliberately or otherwise, from wherever he is in the world."
Clarice turned, her violet eyes burning with a focused intensity. "This changes everything. Your vendetta, your war is secondary now. My husband is loose, and he is somehow communicating with our youngest generation. We must understand why."
She grabbed Cheryl's arm with force, her grip unyielding. "We are going to the Blacksun farm. Now."
Cheryl immediately struggled against the iron grip. "Grandmother, you can't! I... I haven't seen Rowan in years! Not since I left him, I can't just show up on his doorstep. It would be too humiliating. He will ask why I abandoned him, why I hid his daughter from him—I am not ready to face his judgment!"
"Silence, child," Clarice commanded, not even bothering to temper her tone. "Your pride and your embarrassment are irrelevant. You will accompany me because my sudden appearance alone would put Rowan on high alert, and we need him cooperative, not defensive.
You will be my camouflage. You will play the concerned mother finally visiting her child, and you will ensure we are granted access without suspicion."
Clarice's expression was final. "You have abandoned your husband, but now I may have lost the head of our entire line. You will not lose your daughter's future because of a bruised ego. We will go, we will observe the child, we will assess the nature of this purple familiar, and we will find a lead to Alistair."
With a sharp pull, she dragged a protesting, mortified Cheryl out of the Crypt.
As they emerged from the dark corridors, Clarice snapped a quick order to the nearest servant. "Prepare a hidden convoy. Simple wagons, unmarked guards. We leave immediately for the Blacksun farm. Discretion is paramount. No one is to know the Matriarch of the Bloodsworth line is leaving the estate."
The servant nodded and set out to make immediate preparations. In the middle of the night is when they would depart.