I.
The city of Veridia was a monument to the impossible compromise, an architectural testament to the divine headache. It was split down the middle by a serpentine river, the Vena, where the two great faiths met but never mingled.
To the east, reaching arrogantly for the day-lit heavens, stood the Aetherium Temple. Its towers were spun glass and polished white marble, designed to capture the first kiss of the sun—the chosen currency of the Aether-Gods. Here, light was not just illumination; it was structure, power, and law.
To the west, hunkering under the eternal shadow cast by the towering western peaks, rose the Sanguine Cathedral. It was built from basalt and jet-black obsidian, its countless gargoyles seeming to drink the moonlight. Here, silence was reverence, and the only true authority was the deep, rhythmic pulse of the immortal heart—the chosen currency of the Sanguine-Vampires.
Between them stood Elias Vane, High Titheman, and the most miserable twenty-four-year-old in Aethel.
Elias was one of the few mortals licensed to cross the Vena without escort, a privilege granted by centuries of delicate détente. His uniform reflected his burden: a tunic split perfectly down the center. The right half was blinding Aetherium white, embroidered with golden threads that shone with a captured sunray. The left half was deep, velvet Sanguine red, lined with stark black leather, smelling faintly of old clove and copper.
Today was the Day of Dual Reckoning, the day the Tithe was due, and Elias felt the weight of both pantheons pressing down on his shoulders like two opposing tectonic plates.
He stood first on the eastern side, in the blinding central courtyard of the Aetherium. Sunlight refracted off the marble, burning the air around him. The God-Priests, tall and slender figures draped in linen, observed him with crystalline, unblinking eyes. They looked like creatures made of pure thought, too clean for the grime of mortal life.
"The offering, Titheman Vane?" the lead Priest, Brother Kyrus, asked, his voice smooth and devoid of human inflection.
Elias knelt, opening the first of his two ornate boxes. It was lined with reflective silk. Inside lay the Sunstone—hundreds of flawlessly cut topaz and citrine gems. These were not mere jewels; they were reservoirs of solar energy, collected and purified by mortal artisans. This was the Aether-Gods' price for order, for crop yield, and for keeping the sky from falling.
"One thousand, seven hundred Sunstones, polished and charged, Brother," Elias recited, the ritualistic chant hollow in his mouth. "The full tithe, as mandated by the Covenant of Solus."
Kyrus barely glanced at the box. "And the mortal compliance?"
"Perfect. Ninety-nine percent of the populace paid their levy. The remainder were dealt with by the City Watch, as is customary."
Kyrus nodded once, a barely perceptible motion. "Good. Compliance is the only true act of worship. Order ensures existence. Now, the second tithe."
Elias stood, feeling the heat from the Aetherium side linger on his skin. He closed the Sunstone box and hefted the second, heavier chest. It was locked with seven iron clasps and lined with lead. This was the Crimson Flasks, the contribution meant for the Sanguine Cathedral.
"The Vampires' due must be delivered first, Brother Kyrus," Elias said, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his tone. "That is the balance. Their deadline is sunset. Ours is midnight."
"The God, Solus, dictates the terms of existence, Titheman. The parasites are simply a necessary inconvenience," Kyrus said, his voice flat. "But go. And do not let the taint of their chaos linger on you."
The dismissal was casual, but the warning was sharp. The Gods hated the Vampires' chaos, their insistence that emotion and appetite were power. The Vampires, in turn, hated the Gods' cold, calculating order.
Elias bowed, feeling like a shuttlecock batted across the net, and made his way to the Vena bridge.
II.
Crossing the bridge was like walking from a summer meadow straight into a winter cave. The temperature dropped twenty degrees. The sounds of Veridia—the rattling carts, the street vendor cries—were muffled by the vast, oppressive shadow of the Sanguine Cathedral.
When he reached the western side, the air felt heavy, saturated with the scent of damp stone and something metallic.
He was met not by Priests, but by a single figure: Kael.
Kael was an anomaly among the Sanguine. Most Vampires cultivated an air of ancient, aristocratic detachment. Kael wore patched leather and moved with the quick, coiled tension of a street fighter. He wasn't a noble-blooded Elder; he was a low-caste Blood-Pawn, often tasked with the grunt work.
"Look at you, Titheman Vane," Kael drawled, a cruel smile barely parting his lips. "White on the right, red on the heart. You're a bleeding wound in a dress."
"Kael," Elias greeted formally, ignoring the jab. "I have the Flasks. Lead me to the Matriarch's antechamber."
"Oh, she won't see you," Kael said, taking the heavy Crimson Flask chest from Elias with surprising ease. His hands were ice-cold against Elias's skin. "Not today. You only deal with me, the humble collector of mortal fluids."
Elias frowned. Lady Seraphina, the Matriarch of the Sanguine line, always received the High Titheman on the Day of Reckoning. It was a centuries-old tradition meant to reinforce the Vampires' connection to the populace—a morbid, possessive connection, but a connection nonetheless.
"The Matriarch is absent?" Elias asked.
"Absent, busy, transcended, who knows? Who cares?" Kael hefted the chest and began walking toward the Cathedral's massive bronze doors. "It's the Flasks they care about, Vane. Not your pretty face."
Elias hurried to keep up. "Then I require a signed attestation of receipt, as per the Covenant. And I need to present the report on mortal compliance."
"Report accepted. Compliance guaranteed," Kael dismissed him. He stopped before the great doors. "You mortals give us blood to keep us from taking your lives. You give them light to keep them from turning off the sun. The only thing that changes is the vessel. Now wait."
Kael placed the chest down and pulled a scroll from his own tunic, stamped with the deep, swirling sigil of the Sanguine Matriarch. He scribbled a quick, messy signature, then thrust the scroll at Elias.
"There's your receipt. Now go back across the bridge before the moon fully rises. The only thing that smells worse to us than daylight is a priest reeking of Gods' perfume."
Elias took the scroll, his brow furrowed. The signature was Lady Seraphina's, but it looked hasty, almost careless. He searched Kael's face.
"Kael, wait. I heard the summit was called. A mandatory peace summit between the ruling Elder Council and the God-Priests. I was told to expect tension, not this silence."
Kael's smile finally vanished. His eyes, usually a flat, reptilian gold, narrowed.
"Tension is a breath held too long. And silence…" Kael stepped closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper that seemed to echo inside Elias's skull. "Silence means someone has finally exhaled."
He then delivered the shock, the single word that chilled Elias to the bone, the message he was supposed to deliver to the Aetherium. Kael held up his hand, letting a single drop of his own blood pool on his fingertip, and simply mouthed:
"Finished."
The bronze doors groaned open just enough for Kael to slip inside with the Tithe chest, leaving Elias alone on the obsidian steps, staring at the drop of blood on the cold, shadowed stone.
III.
Back in the Aetherium, the response to the single word—Finished—was predictable fury.
"Outrage! Insolence!" Solus's avatar boomed.
The avatar was a column of intense, colorless heat, vaguely shaped like a man but too bright to look at directly. It crackled with energy, and the Sunstone tithe chest vibrated violently in its presence.
"You tell the Divine Solus that the Matriarch sends a peasant with a single, coded word?" Brother Kyrus shrieked, his composure finally breaking.
"It was not a peasant, Brother," Elias corrected, wiping a thin layer of nervous sweat from his forehead. "It was a low-caste collector named Kael. And I believe the word was intended to signify the end of the peace summit."
"The end of peace," the Avatar of Solus echoed, the sound like distant thunder. "Let them. We are the architects of order. If they choose chaos, they will be swept away in the divine cleansing."
A flash of intense light erupted from the Avatar, striking the ceiling of the Aetherium Temple. The Sunstone tithe instantly intensified, glowing so brightly it hurt Elias's eyes. This was the Godly contribution to the mounting tension: a demand for more reverence, more structure, more power.
"His Grace, Solus, demands that the mortal tithe for the next cycle be increased by one quarter," Kyrus announced, radiating self-importance. "This is non-negotiable. We must prepare for war, Titheman Vane."
Elias felt sick. The current tithe already crippled the farmers and artisans of the city. A one-quarter increase would mean famine, desperation, and riots.
"Brother Kyrus, the populace cannot bear it," Elias pleaded. "They pay their dual debt precisely because the peace allows them to survive. If we push them too far, their compliance will break, and the entire structure of the Dual Tithe fails!"
"And what of the Vampires' demands?" Kyrus shot back, his eyes narrowing. "Did they not also raise their levy? Did they not also threaten?"
"No," Elias said, remembering Kael's casualness. "They took their offering with contemptuous silence. Their only message was 'Finished.' It suggests they are not preparing for a long war of attrition; they are preparing for a swift, decisive change."
Kyrus paused, considering this. "Change is the domain of entropy. The Matriarch's message is an unknown variable. Unknown variables must be eliminated."
The Avatar's light intensified again. "You were told to expect tension, Titheman. You are now witnessing the first drop of blood."
IV.
The tension snapped hours later, at the dividing line of the Vena River.
Elias had spent the evening organizing the disastrous new levy requirements when the sound of screaming drew him to the marketplace near the bridge.
A small crowd had gathered around a makeshift execution platform. The man being led onto the platform was Old Jasper, a weaver who had defiantly refused to pay both tithes for the last two cycles, arguing that the Gods and Vampires were equally "parasites."
"Look upon him, citizens of Veridia!" a God-Priest shouted from the scaffold, holding a glowing scepter aloft. "This is the price of Non-Compliance! Disorder yields only destruction!"
Old Jasper was bound to a wooden stake. The air above him began to hum. A swirling funnel of pure Aether-light—divine lightning—descended from the sky.
Elias watched in horror as the light struck Jasper. It was silent, absolute, and terrifyingly thorough. Jasper didn't scream; he was incinerated in a single, flawless moment. Where the man had stood, there was only a scattering of dark ash and a lingering scent of ozone. The crowd gasped, fear cementing their compliance.
Order ensures existence, the Gods claimed.
But then, the execution was violated.
From the shadows beneath the platform, a figure detached itself. It was a Sanguine Elder, one of the Matriarch's ancient lieutenants, a creature named Lord Veridian. He was draped in fine black silk, and his face was etched with a contempt so profound it was almost beautiful.
He paid no attention to the God-Priest on the scaffold, who was now sputtering in fury. Lord Veridian stepped through the smoldering ash of Old Jasper. He took a vial from his pocket—not one of the Tithe Flasks, but a personal reserve of dark, thick fluid.
He poured the fluid directly onto the ashes.
As the blood soaked into the ground, the ashes began to writhe. In moments, the form of Old Jasper rose again.
But it was not Jasper. His eyes were milky white, his movements were jerky, and his skin was drawn taut and thin. He was a Blood-Thrall, a creature animated purely by Sanguine magic, a husk stripped of mind, will, and soul—a walking, immortal servant.
Lord Veridian smiled, a flash of white fang in the gloom.
"The Gods may destroy the life of the mortal man," the Vampire's voice purred, amplified by some unseen power. "But we, the Sanguine, are the masters of the form. The soul is fleeting; the body is eternal. He denied the dualism in life; he now serves it eternally in death!"
The crowd erupted in terrified pandemonium. It was a terrifying, absolute display of combined, reciprocal power. The Gods destroy the body; the Vampires master the corpse.
Elias stood rooted to the ground. He realized then that the Dual Tithe, the peace, the entire system of governance—it was not held together by respect or tradition.
It was held together by the paralyzing spectacle of absolute, terrifying power.
And now, for the first time, both sides had used their terrible power not to enforce the peace, but to taunt the other.
Finished.
The single word echoed in Elias's mind. The Matriarch wasn't preparing for war; she had merely finished observing the peace.
He clutched the signed, hastily scrawled receipt from Lady Seraphina—a document that now felt like a declaration of war—and knew his role as a mere Titheman was over. The structure of Aethel had shattered, and the shrapnel would be covered in both light and blood.