The air in the Court of Crimson Petals was thick with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and old blood. It was a place of impossible beauty, a cavernous chamber carved from a single, massive geode of amethyst, its walls glittering in the light of softly glowing orbs that floated like captive will-o'-the-wisps. Elegantly dressed Vampiers mingled, their laughter a delicate, chiming sound that never quite reached their eyes. This was the heart of the nearest Sanguine City, Veridia, and the seat of its power.
The serene atmosphere shattered as the main doors of polished ebony were thrown open. Lord Valerius, the patrol leader, stumbled in. His fine leathers were torn, his silver hair was disheveled, and—most shockingly—he cradled one arm against his chest, the hand blackened and withered as if frozen solid. His remaining subordinate trailed behind him, his face a mask of pure terror.
All conversation ceased. A hundred pairs of crimson or silver eyes turned to watch their progress towards the throne. It was a seat carved from the fossilized heartwood of a World Tree, and upon it sat King Theron, a Vampier so ancient his skin looked like marble and his eyes held the weight of millennia.
Valerius fell to his knees at the foot of the dais, his head bowed. "My King," he rasped, his voice stripped of its usual arrogance.
King Theron did not stir. His voice, when it came, was soft, yet it carried to every corner of the silent hall. "Rise, Valerius. And explain the state of your... return. I sent out a patrol of three. I see two."
Valerius trembled as he rose. "Sire, we found our quarry. The Howlpact exile, the daughter of Borin. We had her cornered. The hunt was... proceeding."
"Proceeding?" the King echoed, a dangerous hint of ice in his tone.
"We were distracted," Valerius confessed, shame burning in his eyes. "A noise in the woods. When we turned our attention back, the wolf was fighting with renewed fury. But that is not the primary report, my Liege." He swallowed hard. "There was a boy. A human boy."
A faint, derisive murmur rippled through the court. A human? This was the cause of such a disgrace?
"Silence," Theron commanded, and the hall fell still again. His eyes remained locked on Valerius. "Continue."
"He was... nothing. Ragged. Wielding a rusted knife." Valerius's voice dropped to a horrified whisper. "He moved with unnatural speed. He engaged Cassian. He didn't stab him. He... he *touched* him."
Valerius held up his own withered hand. "He possesses a power, Sire. A coldness. A void. When he touched Cassian, my King... Cassian did not scream. He... he unraveled. His essence, his very being, was siphoned away. He turned to dust before our eyes. Nothing but dust."
The silence in the Court of Crimson Petals was now absolute, profound. The floating orbs seemed to dim. The courtiers were no longer amused; they were stunned. Such a thing was not possible. It defied the very laws of hemomancy, of Essence itself.
"He called it a 'consumption'," Valerius added, his voice breaking. "He is an abomination. A Hollow thing."
The word "Hollow" landed in the silent hall with the force of a physical blow. Older Vampiers exchanged glances of dawning dread. The legends were not just nursery tales to frighten fledglings.
King Theron leaned forward, his marble-like features etched with a sudden, intense avarice. The fear in the room was palpable, but the King saw beyond it. He saw possibility.
"A Hollow," he breathed, the word a caress. "A myth made flesh. A being that can absorb Essence... any Essence." His crimson eyes glowed with a terrifying light. "Do you comprehend what this means? A weapon that could neutralize a Werewolf's primal strength? That could drain a rival Lord's power? That could, perhaps, even challenge the edicts of the Celestial Spire itself?"
He stood, his presence filling the hall. "This 'boy' is no longer a mere curiosity. He is a resource of incalculable value. The she-wolf is irrelevant. This Hollow is now the primary target." His gaze swept over his court. "I want him found. I want him brought to me. Alive. And *untouched*. His power is the property of the Veridian Throne."
He pointed a long, pale finger at Valerius. "You will lead the hunt. Redeem your failure. Take a full cohort of my personal guard. Track them. Use every resource. But remember," his voice dropped to a lethal whisper, "if you so much as scratch him in a way I did not command, your fate will make Cassian's look merciful."
Valerius bowed deeply, his body trembling with a mixture of terror and grim determination. "It will be done, my King."
As the order was given and the court began to buzz with frantic activity, a figure detached herself from the shadows of a towering amethyst column. She had been listening from the start, concealed by the shifting light and her own preternatural stillness.
Princess Seraphina, daughter of King Theron, watched the proceedings with a face of flawless, impassive porcelain. But behind her dark, intelligent eyes, a storm of thoughts was whirling. A Hollow. Her father saw a weapon. The court saw a monster.
But Seraphina, who had read the oldest histories in the forgotten sections of the royal library, who was disillusioned with the stagnant decadence of her kind, saw something else entirely.
She saw an enigma. A paradox. A key.
As the court dispersed to carry out the king's orders, Seraphina turned and glided silently from the hall, her opulent gown whispering against the polished floor. She did not head towards the war rooms or the barracks. She moved towards her private chambers, her mind already crafting a plan of her own.
The king would send his brutish hounds to fetch the prize. But Seraphina was no hound. She was a huntress of a different sort. She would find this Hollow boy first. She needed to see for herself the creature who could inspire such fear and such greed. She needed to look into the eyes of this "abomination" and decide if he was the key to tearing down the world she so despised, or the one to build a new one.
The hunt was on, and the hunter had just become the hunted from two very different directions.