The sky burned red with unnatural fire.
Smoke curled from the broken towers of the First City, where ancient stone met modern war. Shadows danced across the ruins like ghosts summoned by forgotten gods. And through the dust and ash, figures emerged—cloaked in crimson robes, their eyes gleaming like rubies soaked in blood.
The Crimson Council had arrived .
Seraphine stood at the center of the ruined temple, her breath shallow, her body trembling—not from fear, but from the pressure within her womb.
"They want me," Aeloria whispered.
"But they won't take me alive."
Kael stood beside her, sword drawn, muscles coiled tight. His gaze swept across the approaching vampires, calculating their odds.
Lady Nyxara crouched near the altar, whispering protective wards under her breath. Her hands trembled slightly as she traced sigils into the earth.
"They're here for the Heart," she murmured. "And for you."
Seraphine closed her eyes.
"I know."
"Let them come," Aeloria said softly.
"I'm hungry."
***
The first wave came fast.
A dozen vampire warriors clad in black armor surged forward, blades flashing in the dim light. They moved unnaturally fast, their forms blurring like smoke caught in wind.
Kael met them head-on.
Steel clashed against steel as he cut down the first attacker, his blade slicing through bone and sinew. Blood sprayed across the stone, steaming in the cold air.
Another lunged from behind.
He pivoted, blocking just in time. Their swords locked, the force of the impact sending vibrations up his arm.
"You don't have to die," the vampire hissed.
Kael bared his teeth. "Neither do I."
With a powerful shove, he drove his knee into the enemy's chest, then twisted his blade free.
The vampire fell.
Kael didn't stop moving.
There were more coming.
So many more.
***
Nyxara raised her hands, summoning the spirits of the dead.
From the cracked ground rose wraiths—pale, translucent figures wrapped in chains of memory. They howled as they surged forward, striking out at the council's soldiers with spectral claws that tore through flesh like paper.
One spirit latched onto a warrior's face, dragging him screaming into the dirt.
Another wrapped its arms around a woman's neck, snapping it with a sickening crack.
But the council was prepared.
A robed figure stepped forward, raising a staff carved with runes of fire and bone.
"Return to your grave!" he bellowed.
The wraiths shrieked—and vanished.
Nyxara staggered back, panting.
"They've learned new tricks," she muttered.
Seraphine turned to her.
"We need to move. Now."
Nyxara nodded.
But before they could retreat, a voice rang out across the battlefield.
"Queen Seraphine!"
Seraphine froze.
It was Lord Malrik , the traitor who had betrayed her.
He stepped forward, flanked by two towering guards clad in obsidian armor.
His expression was calm, almost regretful.
"This doesn't have to end in violence," he said smoothly. "You know what must be done."
Seraphine clenched her jaw.
"I know what you want."
Malrik gestured toward the altar. "We all want the same thing. The Heart. And the child."
"Tell him no," Aeloria whispered.
"Make him bleed."
Seraphine took a slow step forward.
"I won't give her to you."
Malrik sighed. "Then we will take her."
He raised his hand.
And the second wave began.
***
Seraphine fought like a queen possessed.
She moved faster than she should have, her body fueled by something deeper than rage—by desperation. By maternal fury.
A vampire lunged at her from the left.
She sidestepped and drove her dagger into his throat, twisting until the gurgle of death filled the air.
Another came from behind.
She spun, using his momentum against him, throwing him into a wall where he crumpled like rags.
Blood stained her hands.
Ash coated her skin.
And still, she fought.
"Yes," Aeloria whispered.
"Show them what you've become."
Seraphine gritted her teeth.
"No."
"You can't stop me," Aeloria said gently.
"Not anymore."
Seraphine clutched her belly, doubling over as pain lanced through her abdomen.
Something shifted inside her.
Something awakened.
***
Kael saw it happen.
Seraphine dropped to one knee, gasping.
Her veins pulsed faintly red beneath her skin.
Her eyes glowed.
And then—
A scream tore from her lips—not hers.
Aeloria's.
From deep within her womb, a voice echoed:
"I AM HERE."
The ground shook.
A shockwave of dark energy exploded outward, knocking vampires off their feet, shattering stone pillars, scattering dust and debris like falling stars.
The battle paused.
Everyone stared.
Even Malrik looked shaken.
"What is she?" one of the council members whispered.
Seraphine stood slowly, her breathing ragged.
Her voice was layered—her own, and something else.
Something older.
Something hungry.
"She is mine," Aeloria whispered.
"And I am hers."
Seraphine lifted her head.
And smiled.
Not with warmth.
But with hunger.
***
Later that night, after the battle had ended and the Crimson Council had retreated—scattered and broken—Seraphine sat alone in the ruins.
The Heart of the First Vampire pulsed faintly beside her.
Kael approached cautiously.
"You're different," he said quietly.
Seraphine looked up at him.
"I know."
He studied her carefully.
"Did she take you?"
Seraphine hesitated.
Then, softly: "Not yet."
"Soon," Aeloria whispered.
Kael swallowed hard.
"Then we need to move. Before it's too late."
Seraphine stood slowly, pressing a hand to her belly.
Inside, the pressure had changed.
No longer just hunger.
Now, anticipation.
"The final moon is rising," Aeloria said.
"And soon…"
"I'll be ready."