The march took a night and a day. Noctis could have flown alone in hours, but the new bloodbound kin moved slower. They could not endure the sun. When dawn came, he ordered them into an abandoned fortress in the wastes. Stone sealed the windows. His aura held the doors against intruders. They slept through daylight in silence, their new oaths still raw in their veins.
At dusk, he woke them and continued. By the following night, the walls of Twilight Kingdom rose before them. Banners hung from the battlements. Torches ringed the gates. Word had already spread — the sovereign was returning.
The gates opened. The army lined the avenue. Saints in black armor stood at the head, wings folded. Queens waited on the steps of the castle, veils of sanctity and shadow alike drawn across their shoulders. Behind them, Veyra with the cleric guard.
Noctis walked first. His wings spread, halo turning slow. Selandra walked at his side, her body still trembling but her head held. Behind her came the line of women — her daughters, cousins, sisters, now marked.
The saints stiffened. Soldiers whispered. Suspicion ran quick across the courtyard. Noctis's gaze cut through them all.
"They are mine," he said. His voice carried against the stone. "Vampires bound to my blood. They follow me. They will not betray."
No one challenged. Even the saints lowered their eyes. The tension broke.
The castle opened to receive them. Servants blacked out windows and sealed shutters. The kin were shown to rooms, each chamber darkened so no light could reach them. Guards were posted — not to watch them, but to keep others out.
Noctis left them and entered the council chamber. The queens followed: Lyxandra, Seraphyne, Elyndra. The saints lined the walls. Veyra came last, carrying fresh scrolls.
Reports spread across the table.
Lyxandra: "The northern lines hold, but supplies will not last a month without reinforcement."
Seraphyne: "Ashara answered our messengers. Their knights will march within ten days."
Veyra: "The clergy have secured three new conduits. Faith essence is flowing stronger each night."
Noctis listened, silent, eyes on the map. When they finished, he spoke.
"The demons will not wait. The scouts already showed their camps. We march north within the week."
He looked across them all. Saints bowed. Queens lowered their heads. Veyra's eyes burned with faith.
"Prepare the armies," he said. "The war begins now."
The council was dismissed. Armies would be ready in a week. But Noctis's hunger was not finished. The training with Selandra's kin had tempered their wills, not his need.
When night fell, he summoned them.
The summons reached all: the queens, Veyra, Tina, Iris, Clara, and the bloodbound daughters of Selandra. They came to the royal chamber in lines, hesitant but compelled.
The first to arrive were the queens. Lyxandra opened the door, but before she could speak Noctis pulled her into an embrace and kiss. Her breath caught; her body yielded instantly. Seraphyne entered behind her, smiling at the sight, and stepped forward without hesitation.
The others followed. Tina, Iris, and Clara bowed once, then obeyed. Behind them came Selandra and her kin. The hallway was heavy with silence until they reached the doors — then they heard it. The chamber already shook with sound: creaking bed, muffled cries, the rhythm of dominance. They faltered.
Selandra's voice cut the hesitation. "Remember your vows. His blood binds you."
They obeyed. They entered.
The chamber became a storm. Silhouettes swayed and collided against the walls, their shadows cast by candlelight and halo flare. The air shook with moans, cries, gasps. The rhythm stretched into hours, night swallowing itself whole.
By dawn, Noctis still stood strong. But the women faltered.
A scream tore across the chamber. One of Selandra's kin collapsed near the window, her skin blistering in the rising light.
Noctis moved at once. A wall of blood surged up, sealing the window and darkening the chamber again. The smell of burning flesh hung sharp.
He knelt, studying the trembling woman. Her kin recoiled, fear sharp in their eyes. Selandra's whisper broke the silence.
"How is it," she asked, "that you stand in sunlight unafraid?"
All eyes turned.
Noctis answered flatly. "Holy power. The light no longer burns me."
Shock rippled through them. Wide eyes, stiffened breaths. The idea alone struck them harder than his fangs had.
He pressed a hand to the burned woman's chest. Light flowed from his palm. Her scream rose instantly, worse than before. Noctis's brow furrowed. He had forgotten. His sanctity burned them deeper.
He cut it off, cursing under his breath. Then he bit his wrist, let blood flow, and pressed it against her lips. The vampiric essence entered her, knitting flesh slowly. The cries dulled to whimpers, then silence.
He rose, his expression cold.
"Weak," he muttered. "So weak."
The others bowed their heads, silence filling the chamber.
Noctis turned away, already thinking of the war ahead.
Noctis studied the women in silence. Their breaths were shallow, their eyes heavy with fear and exhaustion. The burns on one's arm still smoked faintly despite his healing.
"Weak," he muttered again. Then his eyes narrowed. "Then I will make you strong."
He raised his left hand. A shallow cut opened across his wrist. Blood flowed — not crimson alone, but threaded with black flame, white-gold light, and marrow-gold glow. Divine, abyssal, progenitor. His essence entire.
The chamber filled with its aura. The women staggered back at the weight of it.
"Drink," Noctis commanded.
None moved. The silence thickened until he spoke again, voice sharper.
"Selandra. First."
Her breath caught. She hesitated, eyes wide, but the blood oath pulled her forward. She knelt, raised his wrist, and pressed her lips to the wound.
The taste struck her like fire. Her body shook. It burned through her veins, sharp as sanctity at first, making her whimper. But then the fire dulled. The pain folded into warmth. A calm spread through her marrow. She gasped and pulled back, clutching her chest.
Her eyes widened. Her body felt different. Stronger. Whole.
Noctis's voice cut across her stunned silence. "Test it."
"Test…?" she asked faintly.
He turned to the wall of blood that sealed the windows. His hand gripped it, tearing a small hole. A spear of sunlight broke through, cutting into the chamber like a blade.
"Put your hand in the light," he ordered.
Her lips trembled. Fear rose sharp again, but the command was stronger. Selandra stepped forward, lifted her hand, and held it into the ray.
Nothing happened.
The light rested on her skin. Warm. Gentle. She shuddered. She should have burned. She should have screamed. Instead, for the first time in her life, she felt the sun.
The chamber froze. The other women gasped.
Selandra turned her hand slowly, staring at it. Her voice broke in disbelief. "The light… does nothing."
Noctis nodded once. He raised his wrist again, blood still flowing. "Next."
This time they did not hesitate. One by one, Selandra's kin came forward. Each drank. Each shook at the burn, then sighed at the warmth. Each tested themselves in the beam of light. Each felt the same — no fire, no agony, only heat against skin.
By the end, all stood together in awe, the sun touching their hands for the first time. Tears broke down their cheeks, trembling at the impossible.
Selandra whispered, voice hoarse. "Not even the progenitors could bear this. Not even they…"
Noctis looked across them, his wrist still bleeding, his expression flat. "You are mine. And through me, you are more."
They bowed, tears falling freely. For the first time, their moans of obedience were replaced by quiet cries of joy.
The chamber fell silent, save for the faint hum of the blood wall sealing the dawn away.
The chamber glowed for the first time in centuries.
Noctis's voice cut flat across the women. "The wall comes down. The rays will blind at first. Endure it. Adjust."
They braced themselves. He gave the command. The blood wall dissolved.
Light poured through the windows. A spear at first, then a flood. The women flinched, shielding their eyes out of instinct. The brightness stabbed their sight. Their breaths came sharp. But slowly, their vision began to steady. The blur thinned.
One by one they lowered their hands. The city of Twilight lay outside, rooftops glinting, banners catching the sun. They had never seen it like this. They stepped closer, awe breaking over their faces. The sun warmed them instead of burning. For the first time, they looked upon day without fear.
Then Selandra gasped. Noctis had pressed her against the glass. His body sealed her in place. Her moan echoed through the chamber, sharp at first, then low and desperate.
His voice came behind her, cold and commanding. "You have taken my blood. You have taken strength no progenitor before you ever knew. The sunlight no longer rejects you. Now… you pay."
Her cries answered him. The others froze, wide-eyed, then softened. Even the coldest among them smiled faintly. They understood.
The debt was not coin, nor fealty, nor service in war. The debt was themselves.
One by one, they stepped forward, forming a line beside Selandra. Their voices rose as one: "Master. Please… take your pick."
Noctis stilled. For the first time in months, their submission surprised him. Then he laughed — low, cruel, amused.
They did not realize what they had done. By framing it as their own play, their own choice, they had stripped away every last defense of pride. Their debt became eternal, their bodies a ledger only he could balance.
The chamber drowned in shadows and sound.
For six nights and days, the rhythm did not cease. The walls shook with moans, cries, echoes. Shadows swayed endlessly across the chamber. Servants whispered. Saints kept their distance. The war council delayed in silence. Even the envoys of allied nations heard the rumors but held their tongues. No one dared interrupt the sovereign.
When the seventh dawn broke, the women trembled in exhaustion. Some collapsed where they stood. Others clung to one another, still murmuring devotion. Selandra lay nearest the window, her breath ragged, her eyes still faintly glowing with Noctis's blood.
Noctis stood unbowed, his halo steady, his gaze sharp. He looked across them all.
"You are mine," he said. "Forever."
None spoke. They only bowed their heads, tears and smiles mingling, their debt sealed.
Seven nights had passed when Noctis emerged. The fortress gates swung wide, the sun at his back no longer hidden. The court had gathered, queens and saints at the front, envoys from the allied kingdoms beyond. Whispers rippled as he crossed the courtyard, his halo steady, his stride calm.
The envoys bowed stiffly, then stepped forward as one.
"My lord," one began, his voice urgent, "the demons march. Their army has left the northern wastes. They are moving south. If they reach the valleys, they will cut through the heart of the kingdoms."
Another raised his voice, desperate. "You must act. You destroyed their lairs before — only you can stop this."
Noctis stopped at the base of the stairs. He regarded them, his expression unreadable. Then he asked flatly:
"And what does that have to do with me?"
The words struck like a blow. Silence rippled across the court.
"I have the strength to destroy them," Noctis continued, his voice cold. "But why should I? When I cleared the lairs, your kingdoms gained safety. When I killed titans, you inherited their bones for steel. Now an army marches, and you come begging again. What do you offer in return?"
The envoys faltered. Some flushed with anger. Others clenched their fists. One dared to shout:
"Do you mean to hold us hostage? To let demons slaughter us unless we bend to you?"
Noctis laughed. A low, sharp sound. "Hostage? No. Reality. What can you do? Your armies falter against single lairs. Against titans, you collapse. And now you threaten me?" His gaze swept them like a blade. "You threaten the only one who can erase the demon army?"
The envoys stiffened, rage searing their composure.
Noctis's voice cut sharper. "Return to your kingdoms. Tell your rulers this: safety comes under my rule. Join under my sovereignty. The Twilight Empire. Refuse, and let the demons burn you. I will not waste my blood to protect vassals who do not exist."
The courtyard stilled. The envoys' faces burned with fury. None spoke further. They turned, cloaks snapping, and left the fortress in silence.
The queens and saints exchanged glances. None questioned him.
Noctis stood at the center, calm, the halo spinning slow behind his head. The line was drawn.
The envoys returned to their kingdoms in silence, rage still fresh in their eyes. They expected resistance from their rulers, perhaps war councils, perhaps weeks of debate. Instead, they found the opposite.
Every ruler agreed immediately.
Kings, queens, high princes — each signed their acceptance the moment the proposal was laid before them. The envoys and their councils were left stunned, mouths half-open as the seals were pressed to parchment.
None of them knew. None remembered. But Noctis had already bound their wills long ago, before the first titans fell, before the Covenant purge. One by one, he had broken them in chambers and cloisters, his stare and blood weaving commands into marrow. Their obedience now was not choice, but memory already carved. The alliances of months past had always been his making.
Days later, the envoys returned one by one to Twilight. Each delivered the same message:
"Our kingdom accepts servitude. We stand as vassals under the Twilight Empire."
Noctis sat at the head of the hall when the last words were spoken. His smile was cold.
"That is the wisest decision you will ever make," he said. "Now prepare your armies. In four days you march north. You will meet me on the field to fend off the invasion."
The envoys bowed and left at once, their faces pale.
That night, Noctis gathered his own court. The queens stood close, the saints at his flanks, Veyra in the shadows, scrolls in her hands. The air was heavy. Concern ran sharp across their faces.
Lyxandra spoke first. "My lord, if the demons are already marching south, can even you delay them long enough?"
Noctis raised his head. "I will." His voice was flat, certain. "I alone will meet them. I will slow their advance. In that time, you will prepare the armies. When you are ready, you will march north and join me."
The chamber rustled with unease. One of the saints stepped forward. "If you can fight the horde alone, my lord… why mobilize the armies at all?"
Noctis laughed — short, sharp, like steel scraping. "For show. The might of the Twilight Army must be seen. And for precaution."
Confusion rippled through them. "Precaution?" Seraphyne asked.
Noctis turned his gaze across them all. "Think. Armies do not move without command. These demons march in formation. They are being led."
"Led?" Elyndra whispered. "By titans?"
Noctis shook his head once. "What if it is something even the titans obey?"
The words froze the chamber. Realization struck at once.
Veyra's voice broke the silence. "A high-rank demon."
Noctis nodded. "More than likely. If it commands titans, then its presence warps the field. If I face it alone, I may be preoccupied. The titans would run unchecked. That is where the armies come in. You will hold the line while I cut down as many titans as possible. When the time comes, I will take the head of the high-rank demon myself."
The room held its breath. None doubted him. The only sound was the distant wind outside, cold against the stone walls.
Noctis leaned back, halo turning slow behind him. His words settled like iron.
"Four days. Prepare. When the demon lord shows its face, the Twilight Empire will answer."
The night stretched long across the fortress.
This time, the sovereign did not unleash himself as before. With the queens, with Veyra, with the women who had stood at his side since the earliest campaigns, his pace slowed. The bed groaned with steady rhythm, not violence. Their breaths rose soft, gasps and whispered pledges blending into the silence between heartbeats. His touch was precise, calculated — domination tempered with favor. They collapsed in his arms trembling, but not broken, murmuring his name in awe.
When the vampires came forward, the air shifted. Selandra's kin braced themselves without words. Their bodies were stronger than the humans, their veins filled with his blood, and so he did not restrain himself. The bed thundered against stone. Their moans rang sharp, cries echoing against the vaulted chamber. They endured, not in silence but in devotion, their eyes glowing faintly with crimson light. Even in exhaustion, their hands clutched at him, begging for more.
By dawn, all lay still. Mortal and immortal alike, sprawled across sheets and floor, breathless.
Noctis rose. His body bore no strain, only calm. His coat hung heavy at his shoulders, his halo spun low. He cast one glance back at the chamber — queens curled together, saints' chosen trembling, Selandra's daughters collapsed in silence. None stirred as he left.
The courtyard awaited. Soldiers trained in silence. Drums beat faintly from the walls. Saints barked commands across the parade ground. The castle stirred with news of war.
Noctis stood at the threshold. His breath deepened once. His veins pulsed gold, crimson, black. Power surged.
Six wings tore into the air behind him. Two feathered crimson, two scaled and draconic, two formed of black fire. His halo flared, spinning with white-gold edges. The sound of the wings unfurling shook the stones.
One beat. The courtyard thundered. Banners snapped like broken whips. Dust and ash spiraled skyward. The soldiers below shielded their eyes.
Noctis rose, the fortress shrinking beneath him.
From above, he looked down once. The armies of Twilight and Ashara stretched below — saints already leading formations, priests marking supply lines, smiths dragging titan bones to forges. The empire moved like a single body.
A faint smile touched his lips. Good. But not enough.
He turned his gaze north. The horizon lay empty, but his purpose filled it.
He soared.
The air grew colder the further he flew. Mountains fell beneath him like teeth. Forests spread like scars across the land. His wings cut the clouds, leaving black and crimson trails.
Then his senses flared.
At first it was faint, almost buried beneath the stench of demon corruption to the north. But with each league, it grew sharper. A presence. Old. Familiar.
Noctis narrowed his eyes. He reached inward, opening the Omen Eyes. The world bled into layers: marrow threads, aura lines, veins of sanctity and shadow. The pulse became clearer. Not demon. Not angel. Something else. Something he knew in his own bones.
Blood. Ancient blood.
He slowed his flight, letting the sensation swell. His halo dimmed, eyes scanning the horizon. The presence answered in kind, like a heartbeat across distance.
It was vampiric. But not ordinary. Not fledgling. Not noble blood. Older. As old as his.
A progenitor inheritor.
The realization sent a current down his spine. Few of their kind still walked. Most had been culled, absorbed, devoured in ages past. Yet here it was, pulsing strong in the marrow-lines ahead.
The wind howled against his wings. His lips curved faintly, not into a smile but something colder.
"So. Not only demons." His voice carried to no one. "One of mine… or one who thinks they are."
He tilted his wings and surged forward, faster, the air tearing in his wake.
The sky split behind him. Below, the land blurred into streaks. Every league brought the presence closer, sharper. The demons were still days ahead — the titans, the high-rank commander — but this… this was different. This came from the northlands before the horde.
It was not waiting. It was watching.
Noctis let the silence hold. His wings thundered once more. His blood burned in answer.
The hunt had shifted. The war against demons would come, but first he would face kin — one as strong as himself, perhaps older, perhaps foolish enough to believe the throne of progenitors was still theirs to claim.
The sky carried him north, toward battle, toward revelation.
And behind him, the drums of Twilight still beat.
The wind tore around him as he flew north, but his mind was elsewhere. The presence grew sharper with each league, not demon, not angel, not beast. Vampire. Old. Familiar.
The marrow-threads pulsed against his Omen Eyes. The bloodline signature carried weight — ancient, layered, carved by time itself. He knew it. Not personally. But by confession.
Selandra's voice echoed in memory.
"You were betrayed not only by angels. It was by your own kind. Seven inheritors — one from each progenitor line. Each bound to an element, each believing themselves sovereign."
Noctis remembered the night she told him, her body trembling under his will, her words spilling like blood.
"One with flame, one with frost, one with shadow, one with storm, one with earth, one with light. And you — blood. Together they made the pact to destroy you, fearing your rise. They failed. But six remain."
Now, as he cut through the clouds, he felt it. A pulse that matched his own weight. Not Blood. Another.
A rival. An inheritor.
The thought did not anger him. It amused him. The demons marched south under a commander. Angels licked their wounds in silence. And now the inheritors stirred. The world itself moved against him.
He flexed his wings once, the sound like thunder. His halo spun faster, light warping through the clouds.
"Come, then," he murmured. "Show me which of the Seven dares to step into my sky."
Ahead, the horizon darkened.