In an old, crypt-like passage, a young woman, seemingly no older than twenty, calmly walked the dark tunnel. Her pale, beautiful complexion, framed by long, platinum hair and subtle, elongated elven ears, was mostly hidden beneath a dark, heavy cloak that concealed a black, skintight assassin's suit with a long cloak.
She seemed to need no light, for the only illumination came from her deep red eyes, which scanned each section she passed.
Every so often, she would pause, glance back, and listen for anything or anyone that might be following her.
She continued like this for what seemed to be hours, perhaps even a full day, without so much as a complaint or a word. The young-looking woman, maintaining a stoic expression, kept at it, occasionally passing through doors with intricate designs that demanded her blood to open.
She seemed to know them quite well.
Some areas she needed to cross had set timings before a mechanism attempted to cut off her head or pierce her heart; she passed through them with ease, almost as if gliding.
And yet, she took her time reaching her destination. Her expression suggested she did not care or mind, but her right hand at times gave her away: it quivered, revealing how much her mind was reeling at what she had to do.
Evalyn Creset was calm on the outside, but that was only because hundreds of years had molded her to become that way, as if her emotions were dulled by time.
But today, something was different. She was not only excited to the point of wanting to start a large-scale massacre to calm her boiling blood but also terrified (not for her life, but of the look her master would give her).
She finally reached the last door, the one that allowed only her passage. Unlike the others, it required not only her blood but also an injection of her power, the very thing that bound her to her master.
She used a sharp nail to poke her finger for what seemed to be the hundredth time today and uttered a few cursed words, ones that, when spoken, caused all the shadows around to crawl toward her spot, even in the absolute darkness.
The mixture of power and blood created a strange key, one that would lift the final seal and allow her to see her beloved one once more. The plate of metal and stone, covered in dried blood of many races and now layered with ancient shadows, began to retract until the mechanism finally clicked and the door opened fully.
Inside, the subsequent darkness was instantly dispelled by a particular flame.
It pulsed purple and black, its subtle light placating the surrounding shadows and lulling them into a state of rest. However, the flame sensed her presence and the shared dominion they held, causing it to roar into life, making the small room turn almost unbearably hot, almost as if she had entered a volcano.
Evalyn, however, did not let it continue and get out of control. She called out a name: "Ivares Noctis."
The angered wisp of purple-black flame suddenly stopped growing but continued pulsing with a raw power that made it seem almost sentient. The flames rushed at the girl, as if questioning her return.
But Evalyn did not flinch or move. The flames carried no malice; they acted more like a loyal pet that had heard its master's name.
The flame grew, swirling around her and urging her forward. She began to move, walking slowly toward the light, which now rested atop an altar. A sheathed sword stood mounted above the altar's golden decoration.
One might expect a coffin or a soft bed, but her master, Ivares Noctis, did not trust being exposed that way.
The girl picked up the sheathed sword as the flame danced around her, gently lifting her cloak without burning her, just slightly like an impatient child.
Evalyn's hands, however, trembled violently. She breathed in and out a few times, trying to steady herself before performing the ritual. Slowly, she recalled her master's last words, the final instructions for the unbinding of his tomb.
She knew the blade would not leave the sheath otherwise. She carefully injected her power into the sheath while her blood-soaked hand held onto the blade.
With unparalleled control over her blood, she caused it to ensnare each part of the blade while a black, shadow-like power seemed to eat away at the sheath until they met, causing the blade to quiver slightly.
"Return to thee, blood of the bound," Evalyn whispered, her voice husky as a powerful aura began to encircle her. "As one of your dominion, I have fulfilled my pact. All debt is repaid."
The flame, an ancient elemental, sensing its master's return, engulfed the blade, causing it to shake violently, enough so that Evalyn dropped it in a hurry. She cried out at her mistake, but before she could pick it up, a shadow stirred around the blade, lifting it up as a floating hand manifested itself from the darkness.
Soon the rest of the body began to form: long, well-toned arms quickly connected to the hands, and a well-sculpted chest, along with a pair of long, muscular legs. Finally, a handsome face, along with all its features, began to form.
Evalyn, who knew exactly who stood before her, began to blush. She could not look away; before her stood her master in all his glory.
"Say… you wouldn't happen to have my armor, would you?" Ivares asked, staring at her with deep crimson eyes, adjusting his vision, which he had not used in centuries, while pulling his long black hair back with his hands.
"Certainly, here, master!" Evalyn hurriedly opened her shadow. From it, some of the finest garments, created by dwarven smiths and elvish woven masters, began to appear.
Within seconds, tendrils of shadow began to pick up each piece. Ivares caused his form to disperse into mist to don the armor and clothing.
"Appreciated, Evalyn. Now tell me where I am, and is your mission complete?" Ivares fixed his gloves, putting them on normally as he grabbed them from a tendril of shadow that helped hold them for him. His gaze looked over the fabric a few times, noticing a discrepancy; it lacked the power it usually held.
"About that, we have a huge problem, my lord. The Mistress… her revival after three hundred years, well… something went wrong with it. I waited for her to near her eighteenth birthday to wake up, following your instructions, but I believe I was wrong; I should have done so earlier."
Ivares's eyes glowed a darker shade of red as those words left her mouth. Even the purple flame decided to hide behind Evalyn to shield itself from the force caused by his master's wrath.
"Tell me more. What happened, and who do you suspect caused it?"
Evalyn's throat seemed to have dried up; her voice would not leave her. But her continued existence, even as an undead, was proof there was still a chance for forgiveness.
"She… has become two. The soul somehow split, and her bloodline seemed to also have weakened. She may not even be suitable to be a hunter in this life… As for who did it, I believe it was one of our own, who and why I do not know… I have killed all but five of us to be sure that it did not affect you, my liege. I may even have become hated by the others, but there was no other way. I believe you know by now that your power has fallen considerably; my apologies... master."
Ivares sneered. Within his sleep, he recalled feeling the death of his kindred, but he knew if Evalyn decided to do so, it was for the best.
"No use thinking about that. I will find who did this and kill them off, even if it's more than one of the twelve houses. For now, they must be expecting my return, knowing full well the day I will come back will be soon… Let's not keep them waiting then; before that though, let's strengthen the covenant."