The king sat silently in the palace chambers, his silver-plated armor untouched beside him, catching flecks of moonlight that filtered through the stained-glass windows.
The room was dim and vast, its silence broken only by the distant thrum of war drums and the faint quiver of the thick wooden doors under the pressure of thousands gathered beyond the palace gates. The stone beneath his feet felt colder than usual. His council stood around him, uncertain, tense, their faces tight with worry, eyes flickering like candlelight.
"When will the Western warriors arrive?" the king asked, his voice low and heavy, laced with the weight of sleepless nights.
"Soon, Your Highness," replied Edwards. His scarred face remained stoic, but the worry in his tone betrayed him. "We received word they had entered the capital forty minutes ago."
The king's eyes narrowed beneath his silver circlet. "What's delaying them? Without reinforcements, we are no match for those monsters."
He had barely finished speaking when the palace doors burst open. The sound was a thunderclap against the heavy air. A breathless messenger ran in, his boots echoing off marble, armor clinking with every labored step.
"Your Highness! The Western battalions have arrived!"
A sigh of relief echoed through the chamber like a wind lifting from a suffocating heat, though the king's expression remained grim, carved in stone.
"How many?" he asked, already rising to his feet.
"Five thousand , Your Majesty."
The king finally stood and walked toward his armored stand. Dust motes floated around him in shafts of morning light. He took a deep breath as a page scurried to his side, assisting him with the weighty silver breastplate. The sound of buckles and clasps tightening echoed through the chamber.
"At least we now outnumber them." He gripped the long silver spear leaning against the wall. Its sharp edge shimmered, reflecting his hardened face in a broken line. "Summon the horns. Let the gates be prepared."
Outside, the gates of the palace had turned into a wall of defenses.
Soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder, lined in tight formation. Archers atop the high stone walls had their bows drawn, flaming arrows nocked and ready, the tips glowing like fireflies in the rising sun. Below them, riflemen stood in a tense row, their silver bullets carefully loaded, hands trembling slightly on the triggers. Behind them, the sword bearers, clad in gleaming armor, stood with blades drawn, shields pressed tight to their chests.
The air was heavy with heat and anticipation. The scent of burning oil, sweat, and dust mingled with the metallic tang of fear. Boots scraped against cobblestone. Eyes darted. Throats swallowed.
And then the crowd parted.
A figure stepped forward from the enemy line.
Valerius.
The vampire king.
He stood unnaturally tall, his black robe rippling behind him like smoke against a storm. The fabric shimmered faintly, embroidered with blood-red thread in ancient symbols. His skin was pale, deathly pale, like carved alabaster, and his lips the color of dried blood. But it was his eyes that froze the soul, crimson red, glowing softly like embers in the dark.
Behind him loomed his army. A thousand vampires, each clad in matching black-and-silver armor, eyes empty of emotion. They stood in utter silence. No banners waved, no drums beat. Only a heavy, oppressive stillness.
Even though they were outnumbered, their presence was suffocating. They did not need numbers. They were fear itself.
Just then, the sound of thundering hooves echoed from the west. The Western battalions had arrived, streaming in like a tide of silver. Their horses kicked up clouds of dust as they lined into formation, sun-etched armor gleaming like the surface of a river. Their commander rode out first, broad-shouldered, eyes bright with fire.
"Your Majesty!" he shouted, raising a gleaming longsword. "Your humble servant and the army of the West have answered the call! Just give the word, and we shall attack with all we have! We shall die defending our homeland!"
The king gave a small nod, his throat tight. The swell of pride and dread churned within him. He gripped his spear harder, knuckles white against the steel.
Elias stood beside him, his cloak fluttering lightly in the breeze, hands locked around the hilt of his sheathed blade. His gaze remained fixed on Valerius, unreadable, eyes sharp like drawn steel.
Valerius stepped forward, voice cutting cleanly through the heavy air.
"I don't want war," he said. "Let us talk. If we come to an agreement, no one needs to bleed."
The king did not answer at first. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Elias leaned toward him, whispering, "Invite him alone. Do not trust others."
The king raised his voice. "If you truly want peace, step through the gates alone. You and no one else."
Valerius smirked. A small, confident curve of the lips. Then, without hesitation, he began walking forward.
The massive gates groaned as they opened, ancient hinges screaming like waking beasts.
Inside the palace chamber, soldiers flanked the walls, swords in hand, every movement watched.
The grand hall was cast in warm sunlight, beams piercing through tall stained-glass windows depicting ancient victories of man over darkness. Yet none felt victorious now.
The vampire king entered with measured steps, every inch of him composed and controlled. His robe glided silently behind him. His crimson gaze swept over the room, resting on each guard and general before stopping at the king.
He came to a halt, his hands folded before him.
"I came for only one thing," he said, his voice neither loud nor soft, but carrying deep authority. "I want to co-rule this kingdom."
The room seemed to inhale sharply all at once.
Gasps broke through the walls. Ministers stepped back. A few whispered behind palms.
The king stared at him, his expression unreadable. His fingers tightened around the shaft of his spear, veins bulging through the gloves.
"You… want the throne?"
"Not alone," Valerius said. "I want partnership. We've lived in shadow, but not without reason. We possess strength, knowledge, and legacy. Your kingdom stands on a crumbling foundation. But with me beside you, we rebuild...stronger."
"Your people are attacking my borders," the king spat, anger blooming in his voice.
"To force your hand," Valerius answered calmly. "Thats the best way to have your attention "
Elias took a step forward, his voice quiet but firm. "And if we say no?"
Valerius's gaze drifted to him. His crimson eyes narrowed slightly. "Then I will return to my army. And we will crush your walls. Burn your cities. And drink your people dry."
"Then you are no better than the monsters of legend," the king said, stepping forward slightly.
Valerius bared a hint of fang in a cold smile. "What you call legend is merely your version of our history."
A long silence followed.
The king turned to face his generals, then Elias, then the guards. His eyes were clouded—not with fear, but with the weight of responsibility. The silence stretched.
"Give me until dusk," the king finally said. "We will give you an answer."
Valerius gave a single nod. "I will await it." He turned without another word and exited the hall, his steps as silent as his entrance.
When the gates groaned closed behind him, the room erupted.
"He cannot be trusted!" one minister roared.
"This is heresy!" cried another. "This is worse than surrender!"
Elias remained silent at first, then looked toward the king. "We can't accept. But we can't go to war unprepared. We need a plan."
The king stared at the closed doors, his jaw c
lenched. The light from the window fell across his face like a blade.
"I know," he murmured. "And dusk is coming."