Ravenshade – Two Days Before Caveen's Arrival
The moonlight was pale, silvering the forest's edges that guarded Ravenshade. Inside her chamber, Lysandra stood at the balcony, her long black hair cascading down her back like a silken curtain. Her eyes scanned the dark woods, sensing something… off. The shadows tonight felt alive, too quiet, too still—as if holding its breath.
She had sensed it for days now. A presence that lingered beyond the veil of magic and light. A whisper of something old… ancient… watching.
A knock came at the door. Calm. Measured.
Lysandra turned sharply, every inch of her body alert. "Come in."
It was a woman she didn't recognize—dressed in black robes, her face hidden behind a veil made of rune-etched silk.
Before Lysandra could summon her magic, a sharp pain bloomed in her neck. A dart.
She gasped and fell to her knees, her vision spinning, her limbs heavy.
From the darkness behind the woman emerged two more robed figures.
"We mean you no harm... yet," the first whispered. "We only want your truth."
Those were the last words Lysandra heard before the world turned black.
---
Somewhere Far from Ravenshade – The Crimson Order's Sanctuary
When Lysandra woke, she was bound—not with chains, but by magic. The room was dim, lit with violet flames flickering across obsidian walls. Runes crawled along the floors in demonic script, and in the center stood a circular sigil—one she recognized only from old forbidden texts.
This was no ordinary coven.
This was the Crimson Order.
She was in the very heart of those who still worshipped Lucifer—the fallen deity whose bloodline had once ruled the underworld and who now lay dormant, waiting to be reborn.
A man stepped into the circle. His presence was chilling. He wore crimson robes lined with bones, and his eyes glowed faintly gold, like smoldering coals.
"Welcome, Lysandra Moonwell," he said smoothly. "Or shall we call you by your true name… Lysandra of the Dierus line?"
She glared at him. "You have no right."
"Oh, but we do," he purred. "We've watched you. Ever since the temple incident. The way you brought Caveen back from the brink with a whisper. A miracle? No. An inheritance."
He stepped closer. "You brought a man back from a cursed black arrow meant to erase soul and blood. That power belongs to no witch... unless she is born of something greater. Something... infernal."
Lysandra's eyes widened.
"Yes," he smiled darkly. "We searched the Moonwell archives. You are the last direct living descendants from the children born from Dierus Moonwell and Lucille, Lucifer's eighth child."
"No... That's a myth," she whispered.
"Is it?" He leaned down, tilting her chin. "Your aura sings of both moonlight and brimstone. The rarest blood. And you, dear Lysandra, are the key to the resurrection."
"I will never help you," she spat.
"You already are," he replied, and with a wave, conjured a parchment and ink. "You will write a letter. To Caveen. To keep him from storming the world to find you. Tell him you left of your own will."
"Never."
He snapped his fingers, and an image formed midair—Elara, asleep in Maika's arms. Peaceful. Safe… for now.
Lysandra's throat tightened.
"No harm will come to her," the man said. "If you cooperate."
With a trembling hand, she wrote. Each word like a blade in her chest:
>I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't find the words. Every time you looked at me, I felt them, burning on my tongue, but I swallowed them like poison. I loved you. I still do. But I can't keep pretending I'm strong enough to face your hatred. I have something to do. If I don't come back... protect our daughter.
-Lysandra
She signed it, sealing her sorrow within every stroke.
As soon as she dropped the quill, the man smirked and gestured. Two acolytes took the letter and disappeared through a red portal.
Lysandra stood, straining against the magical restraints.
"I will destroy you," she hissed.
"We count on it," he replied with a grin. "Only rage will awaken what sleeps inside you. We need you to remember who you are. Not Lysandra the mother. Not Lysandra the broken lover. But Lysandra, child of the Underworld and Moon, the key to our god's awakening."
---
Meanwhile, in the Crimson Order's Archives
In a darkened wing of the sanctuary, a crimson-robed scholar pieced together a prophecy etched in ancient blood.
> "The child born of blood divided—Magic and devil—shall awaken the Fallen Star. Her love shall burn, and her grief shall crack the veil of death."
The scholar smirked. "She doesn't know it yet… but she is our salvation."
----
The wheels of the black Landon estate vehicle rumbled against the cracked, forest-lined roads leading away from Ravenshade. Caveen hadn't slept in days, his mind racing with fragmented thoughts, worst-case scenarios, and the unbearable silence Lysandra had left behind.
She hadn't just disappeared.
She'd been erased.
The letter she left didn't sound like her—it lacked warmth, wit, fire. It read like a farewell written by someone who'd forgotten how to feel. Someone controlled.
The farther he drove from the manor, the more the pieces refused to settle.
Caveen adjusted the steering wheel with one hand, his other gripping the pendant that once belonged to Lysandra. He had taken it from her chambers before he left—just a small piece of her to anchor his storming thoughts.
"She wouldn't leave Seraphine. Or Alaric. Or... Elara," he muttered to himself.
And most of all—she wouldn't leave him.
Not like that.
He glanced at the enchanted map laid open beside him. Carlos had marked it with the coordinates of known Crimson Order hideouts and abandoned elite sanctuaries. There were more than a dozen possible locations, but the trail had already begun to whisper.
Animals were silent in the woods. Magic was distorted. And somewhere along the border near the dead zones of Shadowmere, Caveen had seen something—a glimmer of blood-red sigils burned into trees. Old symbols from the time of Lucifer.
Symbols that hadn't been used in centuries.
He stepped out of the car as the sun began to set behind the distant hills. The air was heavy. Ominous. Even his vampire senses felt... dulled.
Too much interference.
He activated the tracking crystal Maika had embedded in Lysandra's necklace months ago. A dull glow appeared, pulsing weakly.
"She's nearby," he whispered.
The ground beneath his boots was soft with dew and dried leaves. As he moved through the forest, shadows shifted unnaturally. The Crimson Order didn't use brute force alone—they were masters of manipulation, of illusion.
They had studied him, just as they studied Lysandra.
Why her? Why now?
Then it struck him—what Carlos had said.
"They found out... she brought you back."
The black arrow. The moment of death. The warmth of her magic reviving him.
If they knew that—if they had seen that—
His jaw clenched.
Lysandra was a direct descendant of Dierus Moonwell, the ancient light-blooded mage—and Lucille, Lucifer's eighth child, who vanished before the great betrayal.
She was a convergence of bloodlines the Crimson Order had long worshipped, long feared.
And they had her.
Not because she was weak. But because she was powerful.
Because she had something they needed.
A sharp sound broke his focus—steel scraping stone, distant and rhythmic. A coded ritual.
Caveen didn't wait.
He sprinted toward it.
---
Half a mile away
A clearing opened before him. An ancient ruin, cloaked in enchantments. At its center burned a circle of flickering black flames. The air was tainted with blood, incense, and forbidden runes.
Crimson Order acolytes.
Not many.
But enough.
He crouched behind a broken pillar, watching them. None of them looked important enough to be holding Lysandra. This was just a relay—a waypoint. A place they used to change directions, to confuse pursuers.
Still, one of them might know where she was taken.
He stepped from the shadows like death incarnate, emerald eyes glowing in fury.
The closest acolyte barely had time to scream before Caveen was on him, pinning him against the runed stones.
"Where is she?" Caveen growled.
The others scattered, terrified.
"I—I don't know what—"
Wrong answer.
Caveen's fangs extended. "Try again."
"I swear, I don't know where they took her—only the elders do!"
"Then give me a name. A place. A whisper of a direction."
The acolyte, trembling, stammered, "There's a stronghold… north of the Abyssal Flats. Only accessible under the Blood Eclipse… they said that's where they'd bring her. That she's… the key to the resurrection."
Caveen's heart stopped.
Resurrect Lucifer? Using Lysandra?
"You'll regret being part of this," he said coldly.
And with one swift strike, the acolyte crumpled unconscious.
---