"Who is this commander that caught him?" King Altherion's deep voice echoed across the marble walls of the royal court. His crimson cloak draped over the steps of his throne, his sharp eyes piercing through the gathered assembly.
Sylwen Elaris, the Knight of Thorns, stepped forward, her whip-sword coiled at her hip. She bowed slightly, her silver hair brushing against her shoulder. "It was Commander Dragomir, Your Majesty."
The king's expression shifted, his brows lifting with approval. "A great job by this commander. Make sure he is rewarded accordingly." His gaze hardened as his voice grew heavier. "But my concern is not with the capture. My concern is this—how did a vampire enter our country? And how long has he been roaming free? I thought we eradicated every last one of them from Aldoria years ago."
A murmur spread through the court. Generals exchanged tense glances. Knights shifted uneasily in their chairs. Even the court-wizards stirred faintly, their robes whispering across the polished stone floor.
Breaking the silence, a figure stood. General Vaeron Draketooth—the Flame General—rose from his seat. His crimson and gold armor glinted under the torchlight, his broad shoulders towering above most men. A great scar slashed across his cheek, the mark of battles fought and survived. He bowed low before speaking, his deep voice carrying a tone of assurance.
"Yes, my lord," Vaeron began. "We had eradicated every last vampire, burned their nests, cleansed their strongholds, salted their graves. Their kind should have been nothing but ash and memory. The presence of this one is a mystery that should not exist. I will immediately send a team to trace his origins. We will uncover how he slipped through our vigilance."
Altherion's fist clenched around the hilt of his sword, Dragon-Slayer, resting against the side of his throne. The weapon gleamed faintly, as if it too hungered for answers. "Yes, General Vaeron. See to it without delay."
Vaeron's eyes blazed with fire-like determination. "At once, my lord."
The king leaned forward, his armored fingers drumming against the throne. "And tell me, General, what do we do with this vampire? According to Aldoria's constitution, an Obsidian Seraph does not stand trial. Their fate is execution. Should we proceed?"
The court seemed to freeze. The words hung in the air like a blade ready to fall.
But then—movement.
A chair scraped against stone as one of the court-wizards rose. The figure's presence was enough to draw every eye. His robes shimmered faintly with golden embroidery, runes glowing like trapped sunlight. His silver-gold staff, capped with a radiant crystal, glowed with a gentle brilliance.
Archmage Seraphel Dawnweaver, the Oracle of the First Light, had stood. He was the king's most trusted healer and one of the most powerful wielders of radiant magic in all the Light Realm. Even the generals straightened at his presence.
"My lord," Seraphel said, his voice calm yet carrying weight. "I have a request."
King Altherion turned, visibly intrigued. "What is it, Seraphel?"
The wizard clasped his hands before him, his eyes steady as sunlight. "I ask that we do not execute the vampire."
The court erupted in whispers. Knights exchanged shocked glances, generals frowned deeply, and even the other two wizards shifted uncomfortably. To request mercy for a vampire—an Obsidian Seraph, no less—was unheard of.
Altherion's brows furrowed. "You… wish to spare him?" His voice carried confusion.
Seraphel's expression remained composed. "Not out of mercy, my lord. Out of necessity."
"Explain," the king demanded.
The Oracle's voice carried clarity and conviction. "Vampires are the only creatures in existence with true natural healing and regenerative power. Unlike beasts or humans who require spells or potions, their bodies restore themselves by their very essence. But more than that… they are bound. They are connected."
"Connected?" Altherion's sharp gaze narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
The court leaned in, listening closely.
Seraphel raised his staff slightly, the crystal glowing with a pale light. "From years of study, I have uncovered fragments of their origin. These vampires are not scattered, independent creatures. They are children of one—born from a primordial vampire, the First of their kind. This being could create others by giving them its blood, binding them to its will. Every drop of that blood was a chain. A link."
The room fell into an uneasy silence.
Seraphel's voice deepened. "Which means, my lord, that these creatures are connected not just by lineage, but by thought. Their minds share fragments of a network forged in blood. If we study this one… we may trace it. We may understand how many remain. Where they hide. Perhaps even find the primordial itself."
Altherion leaned back, his expression unreadable. "And you need this connection… why now?"
The Oracle's eyes darkened with something rare—a trace of unease. "Because, my king, this is not the only news of vampires."
The words struck the court like thunder.
Altherion's voice grew sharp. "What do you mean?"
Seraphel exhaled, his staff glowing faintly. "Two more incidents were reported this very morning. Incidents that shake the foundations of what we believed."
The court stirred, whispers rising.
The Oracle continued. "The first—deep within a cavern, two vampires were discovered dead. Around them, a massive ritual circle carved into the stone. My researchers confirm the circle was active, pulsing with unfinished magic when the bodies were found. I have dispatched a team of scholars and plan to go myself."
The king's jaw tightened, his armored fist resting on the armrest of his throne.
"And the second incident," Seraphel said grimly, "was even stranger. Five adventurers of the Ironwolf Corps stumbled upon another such ritual. They interrupted it—perhaps even fought to stop it. Soldiers later found their bodies. All of them dead, torn apart. Only one barely managed to crawl to the nearest town before collapsing. His words told of a ritual incomplete, vampires fleeing the scene… and then he too died."
The court fell into heavy silence.
Seraphel raised his hand, and with a flick of his staff, two glowing sigils appeared in the air—circles of runes, identical in shape and form. "These," he said, "are the copies of the circles found at both sites. They are the same. Precisely the same. Too complex to be coincidence."
The runes rotated slowly in the air, casting pale shadows across the stone walls. Knights shifted uneasily. Generals muttered under their breath.
Altherion's eyes widened, the weight of the revelation sinking in. He rose halfway from his throne, his crimson cloak spilling across the steps. His voice thundered across the chamber. "What is going on? How are vampires resurfacing all of a sudden?"
The generals lowered their heads. The knights clenched their fists. The atmosphere grew thick, as if the air itself bowed under the tension.
General Vaeron Draketooth stepped forward, placing his hand across his chest. His scarred face was grim, his fiery eyes steady. "My lord, I will personally look into this. I will not delegate this to another. I swear on my honor as Flame General, I will see these creatures hunted, their rituals undone, their leaders exposed. And I will work alongside Seraphel, for if his research bears truth, we may yet find the heart of this darkness."
Altherion studied him, then gave a slow nod. "Very well, General Vaeron."
His gaze swept across the assembly, each knight and general meeting his eyes in turn. His voice hardened. "All of you—this is not some trivial disturbance. Our nation is at peace. That peace must last. And it will last only if we crush this threat before it spreads. I command every one of you—treat this matter with utmost seriousness. Handle it swiftly. Protect Aldoria."
The generals rose, placing their hands over their hearts. The knights knelt in unison, heads bowed. The court-wizards lowered their staves in solemn agreement.
Finally, Altherion turned back to Seraphel, his gaze lingering on the wizard's calm but determined face. "You may have the vampire for your research. But for security, a knight will remain by your side at all times."
Seraphel bowed his head gracefully. "I accept, my king."
The decision settled like a stone in the hearts of all present. The vampire would not die—not yet.