The first light of dawn spilled over the horizon like blood on snow, painting Duskveil in hues of red and silver. The keep seemed alive, its towers casting long shadows over the cliffs as if stretching out to the forests beyond, warning the world that the vampires were awake, and so was their fury.
Aelric stood atop the highest battlement, the wind tugging at his cloak. Below, the courtyard stirred with movement — recruits stretching, sword in hand, eyes bright with fear, excitement, or both. He could feel the weight of leadership pressing against his shoulders, heavier than any armor he had ever worn.
Kaelen emerged from the shadowed archway behind him, as silent and commanding as a storm. His eyes caught the rising sun, reflecting crimson fire.
"You've been up since the first horn," Kaelen observed.
Aelric didn't reply immediately. "I need to know who I'm leading, and what they can endure."
Kaelen nodded slowly. "Then you will know soon enough. Today, we bind the Houses together. We make the oath."
---
Inside the hall, the vampire lords had gathered once more. Their expressions ranged from reluctant respect to outright suspicion. The air was thick with the scent of incense and old blood, mingling with the metallic tang of armor.
Kaelen addressed them first, voice low and steady. "The demon threat grows with each passing night. If we remain divided, all that we cherish will be reduced to ash. The time for petty rivalry has ended."
Miren scoffed. "And you presume to unite us with words?"
"No," Kaelen said, stepping forward, blade glinting in torchlight. "With action."
He turned to Aelric. "The heir of Velmora will lead the first strike against the demon vanguard. By his hand, you will see our strength and our resolve."
Aelric felt every eye in the hall on him, some judging, some skeptical. He stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his blade.
"I swear," he began, voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings, "by blood, by night, and by the memory of those we have lost… I will fight for the survival of the Houses. I will not falter, I will not fail. I will spill my own blood before theirs touches ours. And I swear this oath in the name of Velmora, and all who dwell beneath its shadow."
A hush fell over the room. Even Kaelen's eyes softened, a fleeting flicker of pride breaking through the stoic mask he wore.
Miren stood slowly, placing a hand over his chest. "So be it," he said reluctantly. "I swear it."
One by one, the lords followed. By the end, the hall was heavy with the weight of promise, the air vibrating with unspoken tension and the knowledge that war would come soon, and none would escape its shadow.
---
After the ceremony, training intensified. Aelric led drills in the courtyard, his commands sharp, unyielding. Each movement, each strike, each block honed his soldiers' skill, but also his own.
The night approached, and with it, the whispers began — whispers of shadows moving too quickly, of eyes in the dark, of someone watching the council from places unseen.
Aelric noticed first. A subtle shift in the wind, the faintest sound of leather brushing stone. Then Kaelen did.
"They're here," Kaelen murmured.
From the shadows emerged a figure, cloaked and silent. Lady Seralyn stepped forward, voice quiet but firm. "The messenger returned. There is a traitor in our midst. Someone feeding the demons knowledge of our positions."
Aelric's hand went to his sword instinctively. "Who?"
She shook her head. "Unknown. But the markings left on the scouts indicate a vampire. One of ours has turned their back on the Houses."
The words hung in the night like a curse. Aelric's teeth ground together. "Then we will find them. And we will make them pay."
Kaelen's eyes met his. "Patience," he said, voice calm but deadly. "The traitor will reveal themselves. And when they do… the night will remember why vampires fear betrayal as much as death."
---
That night, Aelric couldn't sleep. He patrolled the ramparts alone, the wind biting at his skin. Below him, Duskveil's lights flickered against the black forest, and the distant cries of wolves—or worse—echoed.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness. Smooth, silent, almost unreal. Aelric's instincts flared. "Show yourself!"
From the black mist emerged a woman — tall, lithe, with eyes like molten violet and a smile that chilled his blood.
"You're restless," she purred. "I can help you with that… if you dare to take what I offer."
Aelric's fingers twitched on his sword. "Who are you?"
"Someone who knows the darkness in your heart," she said. "Someone who can make the demons regret every drop of blood spilled."
Her presence was intoxicating and terrifying. Aelric felt the hunger for vengeance stir, deeper and hotter than ever before.
"And what do you want in return?" he asked, voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside him.
"Only a drop of your blood," she said, "and your promise to embrace what you must become."
Aelric swallowed hard, the weight of choice pressing down like a blade to his throat. Somewhere, far below, Duskveil slept, unaware that the war had already begun—not with armies, but with the whispers of power and betrayal that would shape the future of every House in the land.