Beneath the obsidian spires of Virelle, deep within the Palace of Eternal Night, the Crimson Council gathered in secret.
Twelve figures sat in a circle of bone-throne chairs arranged around a central dais where a single black rose burned without flame.
They were not men or women—not truly. They were something older, something cursed by time and blood.
Vampires. But not as most knew them.
They were the Firstborn , the remnants of an age when death was a door and life was a currency. Their eyes gleamed like polished rubies. Their voices were velvet over steel.
And tonight, they spoke of Seraphine.
***
"She must be stopped," said Lord Malrik, his voice smooth and cold as ice. "The Devouring Child has begun to stir. We all know what that means."
Across from him, Lady Velitha tilted her head, her pale lips curling into a smile. "Yes. It means power beyond measure."
Malrik's fingers tightened on the armrest of his throne. "Power we cannot control."
"Control?" Velitha laughed softly. "Since when did we seek control? We seek dominion."
Another council member, Elder Korrin, raised a skeletal hand for silence.
"The queen carries something ancient," he rasped. "Something older than even us. If she refuses to relinquish it, we must take it."
Malrik leaned forward. "You would kill her?"
Korrin's red eyes gleamed. "Only if she forces our hand."
Velitha stood slowly, her crimson robes trailing behind her like spilled blood.
"We have waited centuries for this," she said. "The prophecy speaks of a child born not to live, but to consume. A being forged in hunger and darkness. And now, after all these years, she stirs once more."
She turned her gaze toward the burning rose at the center of the chamber.
"We do not destroy such a gift," she whispered. "We claim it."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the council.
Malrik remained silent, his expression unreadable.
But inside, he seethed.
He had seen the signs. He had heard the whispers in the wind, felt the unnatural pull of the queen's womb.
That child was not meant to be born.
Not by any law of nature or magic.
It was a thing summoned from the void between life and death.
And it would bring ruin.
Unless someone stopped it first.
***
Later that night, Malrik left the council chamber alone.
His footsteps echoed against the marble floor as he descended into the palace catacombs, where the air was thick with dust and old blood.
There, hidden behind a wall of carved stone, lay a sealed vault—one that had not been opened in centuries.
He pressed his palm to the sigil upon its surface.
The lock cracked open with a whisper.
Inside, wrapped in silk and shadow, was a dagger made of pure obsidian.
An artifact of the old world.
One capable of severing even the strongest magical bonds.
Including those between mother and child.
Malrik lifted it carefully, feeling the weight of destiny settle into his hands.
If the council refused to act…
Then he would.
***
Back in her chambers, Seraphine stirred in restless sleep.
The voice within her womb was quiet tonight—but its presence was heavier than ever.
"They speak of me," it whispered at last.
"They want to own me."
Seraphine shifted, clutching her belly.
"No one owns you," she murmured in her sleep.
"Except you," the voice replied gently.
"For now."
Outside, the wind howled.
Somewhere in the castle, a door creaked open.
And footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Soft.
Silent.
Coming closer.
***
At dawn, Nyxara arrived with news.
"The council is moving," she told Seraphine. "They've decided your fate."
Seraphine sat up slowly, exhaustion weighing on her bones.
"What did they decide?"
Nyxara hesitated.
"They will not kill you," she said. "But they will not let you keep her either."
Seraphine's breath hitched.
"They mean to take her."
Nyxara nodded grimly.
"And they'll kill anyone who stands in their way."
Seraphine looked down at her belly.
"Let them try," the voice whispered.
Seraphine closed her eyes.
So it had come to this.
The vampires wanted her child.
But they didn't understand what they were dealing with.
Aeloria was not theirs to claim.
She was not a prize.
She was a storm.
And Seraphine was the only one who could stop her.
Or unleash her.
***
Later that day, Kael returned from his trials.
He found Nyxara waiting in the corridor outside Seraphine's chambers.
"You've changed," she observed.
Kael gave a small, bitter smile. "I let go of the past."
Nyxara studied him carefully. "Then you're ready."
"For what?"
"To protect her."
Before Kael could respond, a sharp knock echoed down the hall.
A guard entered, face pale.
"My queen," he called. "Lord Malrik requests an audience."
Seraphine's heart pounded.
She knew what he wanted.
And she knew he would not leave empty-handed.