The Blood of Vampire: Chapter 11 - Gathering the Wards of Syldavia
Jatex pulled the vault door shut beneath Fortress Valerius, but the simple act felt less like closing a portal and more like sealing his fate. The echoes of the Chronicle of the Void still vibrated through his consciousness: the immense, terrifying truth of The Sleeper, the required three Wards, and the brutal cost of the Iron Throne. He was no longer a revolutionary; he was a desperate custodian.
His moment of profound revelation was immediately countered by raw, tactical necessity. The activation of the Throne—a colossal surge of ancient spiritual energy—would have been impossible for Aerthos's sensors to miss. General Marius would know his sanctum had been violated, and the response would be swift and devastating.
Using the remaining power of the chamber's residual energies, Jatex executed a quick, complex Shadow-Blood Weave camouflage ritual, sealing the breach point with a spiritual signature designed to mimic a geological collapse rather than magical infiltration. It was a crude, temporary lie, but it bought them hours.
The Price of Information and Betrayal
Jatex raced back to the Citadel, finding Aeliana in the midst of a tense war council with the three members of the Crimson Watch. She confirmed his immediate fear:
Aerthos patrols were doubling, and communications intercepts suggested a massive troop mobilization focused on the general area of the fortress.
Before they could formulate a strategy, a shimmer of distortion appeared at the edge of the chamber. Master Rion, the cynical illusionist who aided Jatex at the gorge, materialized—impeccably dressed, completely silent, and radiating nervous calculation.
"My payment is due, Blood-Weaver," Rion stated, his silver eyes flicking over Jatex's tired, scarred form. "I provided the diversion on the Imperial Road; now I require unfettered access to Aerthos High Council logs. You promised."
Aeliana stepped forward, placing herself between them. "Our situation has changed.
We are facing a threat that transcends Aerthos."
Jatex raised a hand, stopping her.
"A promise is the only currency Master Rion values. And in this realm, trust, however fragile, is power." He retrieved a handful of fragmented spiritual encryption keys he had siphoned from the Fortress's main relay during his escape—far more valuable than the public logs Rion wanted.
"The logs are too monitored now," Jatex said, tossing the keys at Rion's feet. "These are the private encryption keys of Fortress Valerius's internal mage communications.
They will tell you when Marius wakes, how he fights, and where his deepest spiritual paranoia lies. Now, give me your information.
What does Marius plan?"
Rion pocketed the keys, a genuine, if brief, shock widening his eyes. "A generous payment. Very well. Marius is enraged. He hasn't reported the vault breach, only an internal 'sacred disaster.' He knows you took something vital. He's preparing to launch a full, overwhelming siege on the old Vaelanar lands—not to occupy, but to destroy the mountains themselves using siege mages and massive quantities of Iron-Sunder Weave charges. He wants to wipe you off the map to reclaim his honor."
This confirmed Jatex's terrifying realization: he could not stay. If he waited, Marius would annihilate the mountains, destroying the last vestiges of Vaelanar sanctuary, and worse, potentially destabilizing the entire region, which could weaken The Sleeper's prison.
The Hand of the King
Jatex consulted the Chronicle of the Void.
The three Wards—the Gem of Frozen Tears, the Chalice of Silent Light, and the Eye of the Golem—were scattered across the farthest corners of the realm. The quest could take months, possibly a year.
"I leave immediately," Jatex declared, turning to Aeliana. "Marius's siege is a slow burn. The threat of the Void is the immediate conflagration. The Throne is useless without the Wards. I will take the Obsidian Compass and begin the journey north for the Gem."
"And who rules in your absence?" Aeliana challenged, her silver-amber eyes resolute.
"The scattered Vaelanar will see your departure as cowardice. The humans will see a leadership vacuum. Kael's loyalists will seize control."
Jatex looked at her, seeing not just the woman he loved, but the only person who possessed the political acumen, the spiritual control, and the moral anchor to hold their desperate alliance together. He walked to the center of the chamber and manifested a sphere of pure, contained Shadow-Blood Weave energy. He then pressed the sphere to her chest, linking their spiritual cores momentarily—a visible act of absolute, irrevocable authority.
"You will," Jatex stated with the cold finality of a decree. "I grant you the title of Hand of the King. You possess the spiritual authority of this place in my stead. The Crimson Watch answers only to you. Your first duty is to stabilize the remaining Vaelanar factions and prepare the mountains for defense against Marius's siege mages. The Vaelanar must learn that passive defense is death; they must prepare aggressive counter-weaves using the principles you learned fighting the assassins. You are the Shield; I am the Sword."
He then addressed the three Crimson Watch acolytes, their faces masked by their dark cowls. "Protect the Hand. If Marius breaches the first defensive layer, the Throne must be moved from its current location to the Citadel's deepest spiritual nexus. Fail her, and you fail the realm."
The Northward Journey Begins
With the command structure established and the grim reality of their divided war accepted, Jatex performed the final act. He lifted the heavy Obsidian Amulet from around his neck—the focus gifted to him by Seraphina, now revealing its true function as the Warden's Compass.
He focused the last of his disciplined Shadow-Blood Weave into the Amulet. The obsidian stone did not glow with a visible light, but deep within its structure, a needle-thin streak of shimmering crimson-indigo energy appeared, pointing unerringly toward the far north: the Tundra.
Aeliana embraced him one last time, the coldness of his vampire form a stark pledge of his necessary devotion. "Return to me, Jatex. The realm will need its Guardian Key when the time comes."
Jatex nodded, his face a mask of iron resolve. He left the Citadel silently, melting into the pre-dawn shadows, heading north toward the distant, frozen lands. He was no longer running from his destiny; he was relentlessly pursuing the only artifacts that could save the world. The quest for the Wards had begun.