The castle was heavier than usual.
The walls held a silence that pressed down on everyone in them. Shadows stretched out long within the halls as the last gathering began.
Aijack stood at the center of the throne room. His sword-sharp eyes passed over the circle of warriors. Twelve vampires, chosen for ferocity and loyalty, stood in rank before him.
With them were Oban, Klein, and Allisa—three names that meant something in different ways. Nine others stood around them, veterans of a thousand battles. Their energy was charged, but their faces were serene.
Aijack held up his hand. His voice cleaved the air like thunder.
"Tonight," he declared, "we end this war."
The words hit Oban like a punch. His body went stiff. Tonight? Why at night?
The thought burned in his mind before he was able to stifle it.
Klein, standing at his shoulder, looked back half-turning. His scarlet eyes burned.
"Why night, you ask," said Klein, grinning and responding before he was queried to. "It is simple. At night, our folk are at their strongest. The sunless sky does us a power. We batten blood, but grow stronger. That is why the dimension itself is perpetual night. And that," he paused, his gaze settling on Oban, "is why we proceed to-night."
Oban's doubts disappeared. He nodded silently.
It made sense now. The vampires would fight in the peak of their strength.
Aijack continued, "The mages will prepare. They will anticipate us. But that does not matter. We are not going to war in doubt. We are going to win."
The room erupted with the sound of the vampires slamming their fists on their chests at once.
"Victory."
Oban's heart pounded. He stared at Allisa. She didn't look at him. Her face was calm, almost cold, as if the war was just a piece of information to her. She didn't have any thanks for him for having rescued her before. No warmth. Just duty.
But he understood her better now. That was the kind of woman she was. Facts, not feelings.
The group marched off. Their boots echoed the marble floor with a rhythm that aligned with the beating of war drums. They marched through the great halls of the castle, lit only by torches that burned blue flame.
From a distant balcony, Amrin watched. She looked at Oban, her fingers closing into a fist around the stone rail. She could not hear his mind, but she remembered their last encounter. The way he had looked surprised by her surprise kiss, and the way he smiled when he did.
A small smile passed over her lips now. "Be safe, Oban…" she breathed into the night.
Oban walking with the others suddenly felt the burn in his chest. He remembered that moment when he was with Amrin. Her taunting voice, the surprise kiss. He smiled to himself, even before the fight. My life is spinning, but no longer empty, he thought.
From the upper window that faced the hall, Aijack gazed down at them as they passed by. His sharp eyes drank it all in—the soldiers, their captain, even the small smile of Oban. A small grimness creased the edges of his lips. So even in war, the boy has light, he thought. But he said nothing.
A far distance away, in the Mage City.
Yuji sat alone in a dark room. There was no light but from the tall, silver-framed mirror in front of him. Its face was not glass, but a rippling membrane of water and flame. The Mirror of What Is to Come.
He looked into it, his own face twisting into visages of things to come. He saw them—the twelve vampires. He saw their march, their quiet procession, their hunger for war.
And he laughed.
"Calling their deceased selves," Yuji drew breath. His voice was suave, but the smile on his lips was sharp. "Marching into the destiny that awaits them."
At his back, a group of mages stood at attention. Their robes were emblazoned with images of fire, earth, wind, and light. All of them combatants in their own right.
Yuji raised his hand.
"Get ready," he ordered. "Tonight is the night everything goes as planned. Do not do anything on your own without my permission. Do not deviate from my path. If you listen to me, we shall eradicate them all."
The mages bowed their heads.
"Yes, Great Yuji."
Yuji's glare returned to the mirror. His eyes became cold. "Vampires… your blood debt tonight."
There was darkness in the air at the vampire castle. Oban and the others were in a circle, their breaths held as the ritual began.
Black mist curled up from the earth, spinning into a pool of blackness. The walls groaned, the air grew tenuous, and the earth trembled. The portal to the world of men was being opened.
Oban's heart raced. His mind rang in his ears. If there was even a remotest chance to end this battle. should I try it? Should I do it?
And yet, as suddenly as the idea had entered his head, Klein's voice once again crept into his mind.
You can't stop what's begun," Klein said quietly. His telepathic voice was not judgmental. "This war is bigger than you. Bigger than me. Bigger than all of us. Don't waste your heart on foolish dreams."
Oban clenched his fists. He hated how reasonable Klein's words were. But he also hated that he had no say.
The mist grew dense, wrapping around them like frostbitten chains. With a fierce drag, the portal swallowed them.
The next moment, the city of mortals stretched out before their vision.
Back in the castle, however, in a hidden chamber deep inside, Aijack sat with the elder council. Their faces were ashen, their words grave.
"Will this night truly put an end to the war?" one elder asked.
Aijack leaned back in his chair. "It has to be. The mages are arrogant. Yuji has killed enough of us already. If we do not attack now, they will eventually come into our world. Better to meet them on their ground and settle it all in one night."
Another elder frowned. "And if we lose?
Aijack's eyes turned cold. "Then we shall lose honorably. But I believe not. I have chosen well. Those dozen are not simply fighters. They are the future. Even if I perish, they will carry on the blood."
The room fell quiet. The elders could not argue. They all knew it—this was a war of heritage, not simply a war for existence.
And then, it did.
The shadows broke. The portal spat the twelve vampires into the land of the living. They plunged not into open fields, not into forests, but directly into the heart of Mage City.
The cobblestone streets glowed in the light of the lanterns. White stone towers rose above them. Magic whispered through the air, hiding.
Oban's boots hit the ground. His breath hung in his throat. The city was awake, burning with vitality, ready for them.
Klein stood tall, his eyes icy. Allisa's hand was already on her blade. The nine others assumed positions, their stances sharp, ready.
Above them, from one of the great towers, a bell rang out.
The sound echoed across the city like a battle cry.
The war had begun.
And with it, Oban's heart sighed out one notion.
There has to be another way.
But the night offered no answer.