The scent of sweet, ripe grapes had always been the pride of Count Elliot's country estate. For generations, those vast, terraced fields surrounding his elegant manor had produced the finest vintages in the realm—and hidden his family's darkest secrets. But tonight, the air did not smell of fermenting wine.
It smelled of sulfur, burning cedar, and the sickeningly sweet odor of roasting immortal flesh.
Elliot had been asleep in his private chambers when the screaming began. There was no warning. The alliance of opposition houses had not waited for the Assembly at Starshard Keep to settle our disputes. They had brought the war directly to his doorstep.
Through the heavy oak doors of his study, Elliot heard the frantic clashes of steel and the roar of a rapidly spreading inferno. His servants—and worse, his vampire kin—were being slaughtered in their beds. The attackers had brought alchemical fire, throwing it through the stained-glass windows of the lower vaults. Many of his family members never even had the chance to wake; they were cremated alive inside their very stone coffins, their immortal ash mixing with the soot of their burning home.
The door burst open. A loyal thrall stumbled into the room, his clothes already singed by the flames, coughing violently. He was desperately clutching a deep, jagged gash on his forearm where a piece of falling debris had sliced him open.
The scent hit Elliot instantly.
It wasn't the smoke. It was the rich, metallic perfume of fresh human blood spilling onto the wooden floor. In an instant, Elliot's rational mind vanished. The ancient beast inside him, starved and panicked by the encroaching heat, took absolute, violent control. He did not hear the roar of the fire or the screams echoing from the hallway. He did not care that his ancestral home was collapsing into ruin.
Before the thrall could even utter a warning, Elliot crossed the room in a silent blur. He pinned the servant against the burning doorframe, his fingers sinking like iron claws into the man's shoulders.
With a low, predatory snarl, Elliot buried his fangs deep into the thrall's neck.
The rush of hot, vital blood down his throat was completely intoxicating. The world around him faded into absolute silence. The crackle of burning timber, the heat of the flames licking at his boots, the desperate, choking gurgles of the dying man in his arms—none of it registered. Elliot was entirely trapped in the euphoria of the feed, drinking greedily, pulling every last drop of life from his servant until the body in his grip went completely limp and cold.
Only when the throat beneath his fangs ran completely dry did the spell break. Elliot snapped back to reality, dropping the shriveled corpse to the floor as a massive timber beam crashed through the ceiling just inches from where he stood, showering him in red-hot sparks.
A sudden explosion shook the floorboards beneath his boots. The ceiling began to cave in, raining burning beams of timber down upon them. There was no time to save his books, his coin, or his family. Moving with supernatural speed, Elliot vaulted over his desk, sprinted toward the high glass windows of his bedchamber, and threw himself outward into the cool night air.
He crashed through the glass, falling two stories before landing hard on the tiled roof of the lower stables. The impact jolted his spine, but his immortal body mended the bruised flesh in seconds. Below him, his personal groom was desperately trying to calm his magnificent black stallion, its coat shining like polished obsidian under the firelight.
"The horse!" Elliot roared, dropping down from the stable roof directly into the saddle.
Only three of his vampire kin had managed to escape the burning manor, their faces pale with terror and smudged with ash. They leapt onto the backs of their own horses, their eyes wide as they looked back at the grand country house crumbling into a massive pyre.
"To the Rosalie Colony!" Elliot commanded, digging his spurs into the black stallion's flanks. "The garrison knights are stationed there. The attackers will not dare strike us in front them !"
They rode like the wind, the heavy hooves of their horses pounding a frantic rhythm against the dirt road. Behind them, the shouts of their pursuers echoed through the dark. They were heavily mounted men, wearing the crests of the border houses. They wanted to finish what they had started. They wanted Elliot's head.
But a far more terrifying enemy was waiting for them in the East.
As the miles bled together, the pitch-black sky began to soften. A cruel, pale pink light began to bleed over the horizon.
Elliot's heart seized with a cold, primal dread. The sun.
the sun was their absolute executioner. The horses galloped faster, their lungs burning, foam flying from their mouths as they desperately pushed toward the distant, white-stone walls of the Rosalie Colony.
"Count Elliot! The light!" one of his companions screamed.
A single, brilliant beam of morning gold broke over the mountain peak, striking the trailing vampire in their small group. He didn't even have time to shriek. The moment the direct sunlight touched his shoulder, his clothes erupted into blue flames, and within seconds, he collapsed from his saddle, a heap of smoking black ash scattered by the wind.
Elliot's black stallion leaped over a fallen log, but the shadows of the trees were rapidly shrinking. The sun was rising too fast. The light was crawling up the road behind them, chasing them down.
Another beam pierced the canopy, angling directly toward his back. Elliot braced himself for the agony of combustion.
Suddenly, a horse surged beside his. His last remaining vampire familiar, a loyal cousin who had served their house for fifty years, threw his mount directly into the path of the light. He leaned over, using his own body and his heavy velvet cloak to shield Elliot from the sun.
"Live, My Lord!" he gasped.
The sunlight struck his cousin's back. The smell of burning flesh filled Elliot's nose as the vampire ignited like a torch. The loyal familiar held his position for three agonizing heartbeats, absorbing the deadly light, before his charred body tumbled lifelessly onto the dirt. His sacrifice gave Elliot the precious seconds he needed.
Elliot burst through the tree line and plunged into the deep, welcoming shadow cast by the towering white-stone walls of the Rosalie Colony.
"Halt! Who goes there?!" a booming voice echoed from the gates.
A squad of heavily armored knights, their polished silver breastplates gleaming in the morning light, stood at the colony entrance with their spears lowered. Behind Elliot, the pursuers halted at the edge of the forest. Seeing the colony guards, the attackers cursed, turned their horses around, and retreated back into the deep woods.
"After them!" the knight commander shouted, pointing towards the tree line. A detachment of cavalry immediately gave chase, though Elliot knew the attackers would easily vanish into the familiar borderlands.
The remaining knights surrounded Elliot, their weapons still pointed at his chest. He sat atop his panting stallion, covered in soot, his skin deathly pale, and his eyes wild with fury. He had completely ignored their orders to halt, riding like a madman directly into their ranks.
"Dismount and identify yourself!" the commander barked, stepping forward. "You ride into a peaceful colony smelling of ash and death. Explain your business!"
Elliot's jaw clenched. He wanted to tear the mortal's throat out for his insolence. But before he could speak, a ragged human figure stumbled out from the shadow of the gates. It was one of Elliot's surviving mortal servants, a thrall who had been sent ahead to the colony days ago to prepare for his arrival.
"Hold your weapons!" the servant cried, throwing himself between the spears and the horse. "This is Count Elliot of House Sanguis! A member of the Assembly! His estate has been attacked by bandits!"
The commander's eyes widened behind his visor. The knights slowly lowered their spears, exchanging uneasy glances. of House Sanguis, and they knew the Assembly was gathering nearby at Starshard Keep.
"My apologies, Count Elliot," the commander said, bowing his head slightly, though his eyes remained suspicious of Elliot's ghostly, soot-covered appearance. "We did not recognize you in such a state. Please, enter the colony. We will provide shelter and investigate this outrage."
Elliot did not thank him. He merely guided his horse past the guard into the cold shadows of the stone streets.
His home was gone. His family was ashes. But as he looked toward the distant, shining towers of Starshard Keep, his terror turned into a cold, beautiful rage. The opposition houses thought they had broken him. They did not realize they had simply stripped away his patience. At the Assembly, he would not just demand the annexation of the swamp He would demand their blood.