The keep's veins ran with whispers. Noctis walked them without care, his aura masked, his robes the color of the clan's own. Vampires passed him in dim corridors and glanced away, their eyes sliding off him as though he were simply one more wanderer returned to the Covenant's fold. None questioned. None challenged.
He lingered near the great hall, where the Covenant argued still. Voices rose and broke against the stone vaults. Some cried that the demons must be appeased, that survival demanded submission. Others cursed the abyss, spitting the words as if the very taste of them soured the tongue. Fear mingled with rage, desperation with pride. Centuries of rot cracked open in their arguments, old wounds bleeding fresh.
Noctis drifted along the edge of the chamber, leaning into the shadows of a carved pillar. His Omen Eyes burned faint beneath the mask, watching every flicker of hand and eye, every tremor in the marrow of those who spoke. He catalogued them all. The bold, the fearful, the zealots, the doubters. Threads for the noose he would tighten.
And then the hall stilled.
A ripple passed through the chamber as a door at the far end opened. Vampires rose to their feet as one, voices strangled into silence. Into the hush walked a figure slight and composed, every step measured, her presence drawing eyes like a tide.
At first glance she seemed young. Barely twenty by mortal measure, her face smooth, her lips red, her eyes bright as cut garnet. Her hair spilled black and straight over her shoulders, her body slender yet curved, wrapped in silks traced with sigils of blood and fire. But Noctis felt it the moment she entered.
Her bloodline pulsed old. Older than the Covenant, older than the Isles. Older even than the collapse of the progenitor's courts. She was not some girl crowned by chance—she was an elder, a relic who had worn centuries like a second skin. Her marrow thrummed with time, power coiled in the shape of youth.
And he knew her.
Memory rose unbidden: a council long ago, before betrayal, before chains. Her voice had been one among those who voted to cast him aside, to abandon the progenitor's heir when shadow grew long and enemies pressed. She had spoken against him then, her words honey and venom together. And now, here she was, striding into the Covenant's hall as though nothing had changed.
Noctis's smile curved slow and sharp.
She took her place at the head of the table, followers spilling in behind her—two dozen strong, their armor marked with her sigil, their eyes burning with devotion. They moved like a tide in her wake, silent but heavy, claiming the hall by sheer presence.
Noctis leaned into the shadows and let his gaze roam her form. The silks clung to her figure, hinting at curves that drew eyes even as her aura demanded obedience. She carried herself with the arrogance of one who believed her power secure, her beauty unassailable, her word law.
His tongue brushed his teeth. He locked his lips, savoring the thought. Tonight would be a celebration.
He marked her.
The Grid burned her essence into his sight, a red thread in the weave of the Covenant, pulsing brighter than all others. She would not escape him. She would not hide behind centuries or silks.
Noctis watched, silent, as she raised her voice above the Covenant.
"Brothers. Sisters. The demons' demands grow without limit. They bleed us, yet we endure. But how long? How long will we bow before them?"
The chamber roared in response, some with anger, some with fear, some with hollow agreement.
Noctis's smile widened.
He would not reveal himself yet. Not tonight. Tonight he would watch, he would listen, he would let her speak. And when the moment came, when she least expected—when she looked upon him not as sovereign returned, but as nothing more than another shadow in her hall—then he would take his due.
The Reaver hummed faint in its disguise, orbitals whispering against the dark. His laughter pressed at the back of his throat, eager to spill, but he swallowed it down.
Soon.
The elder believed herself safe among her kind. She believed the world unchanged. She believed him gone.
Noctis's smile gleamed faint in the shadow. Tonight would be the first step in teaching her otherwise.
The Covenant's great hall had dissolved into noise, voices rising and falling like the storm outside. Noctis had mingled until the torches burned low and the first pale thread of dawn crept through cracks in the stone. He walked among the lesser vampires as if he belonged to them, planting whispers into their marrow, feeding their doubts like kindling to a smoldering fire. Rumors bled across the chamber with every step he took: elders bowing deeper to the abyss than they admitted, secret pacts made in shadows, tributes stolen by rival clans. By the time the company broke to return to their chambers, suspicion and anger had sharpened between them like drawn blades.
He did not leave with them. He listened. He followed. In the press of muttering voices he found the one he sought—the elder who wore the form of youth, the woman whose marrow pulsed with centuries. Selandra Veythra, Matriarch of the Veilblood Clan. She walked from the hall trailed by her followers, their eyes glassy with devotion, their armor marked with her sigil. She moved like a queen in exile, her slender form wrapped in silks that clung to her body, her beauty polished until it gleamed. To the others, she was untouchable, the voice that turned arguments into law.
To him, she was memory.
The dagger in his chest. The betrayal in her eyes. The night when the clans cast him into chains and sold him to the church, and her hand had been the one to strike first. He remembered her face then, just as youthful as now, as though the centuries had passed her by. He remembered the tremor in her wrist as she drove the blade in. He had never forgotten.
Her chamber lay high in the keep, guarded by two armored vampires at its door. They saw nothing when he passed them. Their eyes slid away from him as though the corridor had emptied itself. The sigils carved into the arch glowed faintly, warding against intrusion, but his Omen Eyes traced the gaps. He slipped between them like smoke, the wards quivering but breaking before his will.
Inside, the air smelled of roses steeped in ash. The chamber was lit by crystals of blue fire, their glow bending across black silk curtains and a bed draped in sheets red as fresh blood. Selandra stood near it, sliding her robe from her shoulders, the silk whispering down her arms. Her skin gleamed pale in the cold light, her form slender yet curved, her beauty sharpened by the arrogance of someone who believed herself beyond reach. She lifted a hand to unclasp the gown at her breast—then froze.
The air shifted. A weight pressed against the walls.
Her head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed. "Who's there?"
The shadow moved.
She gasped, too slow. A hand closed around her throat with crushing force and drove her back into the wall. Her body struck the stone hard, the sconces shuddering in their brackets. She kicked at the air, nails raking across the arm that held her aloft, but she could not move it. She choked, lips parting in a strangled gasp.
Crimson light burned in the dark.
A voice rose with it, low and cutting, seared into her marrow before it reached her ears.
"Selandra Veythra… did you think I would forget you?"
Her eyes widened. The mask of youth cracked. Terror spread across her face. She had not heard that voice in centuries, had not seen those eyes since the night of betrayal. Her lips trembled. The name spilled out of her in a whisper broken by fear.
"Vaeltharion Noctis… Descendant of the Crimson Progenitor…"
Her body shook. She remembered. She had been there when the clans betrayed him. She had stood among the traitors. She had raised the dagger. She had driven it into his chest. And now he stood before her, crimson eyes blazing, wings unfolding behind him, horns glowing faint with green flame.
He leaned close, his grip unrelenting. His voice pressed into her bones.
"It has been a long time since we met. The last time, you and your kin sold me to the church. And you…" His lips curved, cruel. "…you stabbed me. You yourself drove steel into my chest. Do you remember, Selandra?"
She whimpered, clawing at his wrist, her beauty fractured by fear. Her voice cracked. "H-how… how are you here? You should be dead. You cannot—"
His hand pulled back and struck. The slap cracked across her face, the sound echoing against the stone. Her head snapped to the side, hair spilling over her eyes, tears bright against her pale skin. She gasped, trembling, pinned as though the wall itself had become his hand.
He leaned closer, crimson gaze searing into her.
"I am not here for your questions," he said, voice cold as iron. "I am the one who asks."
Her lips quivered, her body shaking against his grip. The crystals flickered in their sconces, shadows pressing tight to the walls as his wings spread wider, filling the chamber with sovereign weight.
The interrogation would begin.
And Selandra Veythra, Matriarch of the Veilblood Clan, would remember what it meant to betray the blood of the progenitor.
The crystals burned blue against black stone, throwing pale light over the elder's trembling body. Selandra Veythra pressed helplessly against the wall, Noctis's hand locked around her throat, her silks torn by the violence of his grip. Her eyes burned with fear, but he did not relent.
His voice was quiet, but the weight of it filled the chamber."Speak, Selandra. The covenant your clans forged with the abyss—was it their design? Or was it yours?"
She gasped against his palm, her lips trembling, marrow quivering with the pressure of his will. At last, her words spilled, ragged and broken."It was not the demons who led us first… no… it was others. Others of the blood. Not Crimson, but lines of their own. Inheritors, like you."
Noctis's eyes narrowed, crimson glow pressing into hers.
Her voice cracked, her body shaking."It was Kaeltharion Duskbane, Descendant of the Umbral Progenitor. He was the one who whispered rebellion, who told us the blood of Crimson could not hold the clans alone. He drew us from you with shadows and soft words. We followed him—fools that we were. We believed his loyalty… we believed his strength. He led us into betrayal."
The name cut like steel. Noctis felt his breath falter. Kaeltharion. The one who had fought beside him, whose hand had clasped his shoulder in the dust of battle, whose laughter had once rung across firelit nights. He had called him brother.
Selandra's words tore through that memory like claws.
Her eyes filled with tears, but still she spoke, as though the truth itself burned her."But it was not Kaeltharion who bound us to the abyss. It was Maltherion Draeven, Descendant of the Abyssal Progenitor. He gave himself freely, body and blood, to the void. He opened the gate. He took chains willingly. And when he bent the knee, when he spoke the oath, we were dragged with him. His blood became theirs, and ours became his slaves."
The room spun with silence.
Noctis's grip did not falter, but his eyes widened, burning brighter. Maltherion. The Abyss itself had claimed him. That was no surprise—his line had always lingered near void, hungry for its power. But Kaeltharion—Kaeltharion was worse. He had worn the mask of loyalty, of brotherhood. And it had been false.
For a heartbeat, disbelief warred against fury. His mind rejected it, but the marrow in Selandra's voice rang with truth.
"Lies," he whispered, though the word lacked force. His hand trembled against her throat.
She seized on it. Desperation flared in her veins. With a sudden cry she ripped blood from her arm, shaping it into a spike and hurling it at his head. The crimson spear flew with the force of centuries of practice—sharp, fast, meant to kill.
It shattered on impact.
The shards burst like glass, spraying across the chamber, fading into steam against his skin. His eyes never left hers.
Selandra froze, horror breaking across her face.
Noctis moved without a word. His fist struck her stomach with the force of thunder. The sound of marrow and flesh breaking filled the room. She folded forward, blood spilling from her mouth onto the floor. She gasped, choking, her body convulsing. One punch—just one—and she was broken.
Her mind reeled. How? How could he have grown so strong? Fear rooted her where once power had lived.
Noctis leaned closer, his gaze burning, his breath cold as stone. An idea coiled in him, dark and certain.
He parted his lips.
Selandra's eyes widened in terror. "No… no, not that—"
His fangs sank into her throat.
She shrieked, nails raking at his chest, legs thrashing. But her strength bled out with every pulse of her heart. The fight drained from her limbs, her voice broke into sobs, her body trembling weakly against him as he drank.
Her blood burned into him like fire through veins. The Grid shuddered open.
Memories flooded him. He saw Kaeltharion's shadowed smile as he whispered rebellion to the Covenant. He saw Maltherion standing at the abyssal altar, chains coiled around his arms, eyes black with void. He saw the clans bowing, one after another, until every elder's will was drowned. And he saw his own betrayal, through Selandra's eyes—the dagger trembling in her hand as she drove it into his chest, her marrow screaming even as she obeyed.
The visions seared him.
Noctis pulled back, his mouth wet with her blood, his eyes burning brighter than fire.
Selandra sagged in his grip, her beauty shattered by fear, her lips bloodied and trembling. Her eyes fluttered but never looked away.
Inside him, rage coiled tight. The truth was worse than any lie. Kaeltharion, the one he had called brother, had been the first to turn.
Noctis's wings unfurled, filling the chamber, black flame and crimson feathers searing the air. His aura pressed down, heavier than stone.
He stared at Selandra as she shook in his hand. His silence was worse than any roar.
Inside, the fury burned. His brother had betrayed him.
Selandra hung in his grasp like a broken doll, blood on her lips, her eyes wide with the weight of truths she could no longer hide. Noctis stared at her in silence, his crimson gaze unblinking, his wings spread wide in the chamber's blue firelight. Rage boiled within him still—the revelation of Kaeltharion's betrayal, the confirmation of Maltherion's abyssal pact. It seared hotter than flame, but he did not roar, did not strike again.
He chose something sharper.
The wings folded back into him, vanishing into marrow and shadow until only his armored form remained. His hand shifted from her throat to her shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of her silks. A single tug ripped them away, cloth tearing like paper. She cried out, fear lacing her voice, but he did not pause. He cast her onto the bed, her body sprawling across crimson sheets, the crystals above painting her pale form in trembling light.
Her voice cracked. "No… do not come closer!"
Noctis licked his lips slowly, his eyes narrowing. He lifted his hand, and from the air itself sovereign chains of blood and shadow erupted, lashing around her wrists and ankles. They dragged her limbs apart, locking them against the bed's corners, spreading her in the cardinal directions. She fought weakly, but the bonds only tightened, sinking into her marrow.
He stripped the armor of blood and essence from his form, each plate dissolving into red mist until only his true shape remained. He stepped onto the bed, looming above her. His voice came low, venomous, his lips near her ear.
"The last time we met, Selandra, you stabbed me in the chest." His crimson gaze burned as his mouth curled into a smile. "Now I will stab you back."
Her face twisted with terror. She screamed for help, voice echoing against the chamber's stone.
Noctis laughed softly. "Do you think anyone hears you? I placed a ward around this room the moment I entered. Cry as much as you like. No one will come. No one dares."
She writhed, summoning what remained of her power. But the moment she tried, her body spasmed, the chains tightening. Her strength drained from her marrow into nothing, the Grid devouring it at its source. A sudden shock coursed up her spine, her back arching in violent pain. Tears spilled from her eyes as she gasped, her body trembling.
Noctis laughed again, sharp and cruel. "That was only the start."
The night stretched on, the chamber filled only with her cries and his steady laughter.
When silence finally returned, the crystals burned low. Selandra lay bound where she had fallen, her eyes blank, whispers spilling from her lips without end. "I am sorry… I am sorry…" Her voice broke against the still air, a chant without strength.
Noctis stepped closer, his body calm, his aura steady. He leaned in and sank his fangs into her throat once more. She moaned weakly, her hands twitching uselessly against the chains. This time he drank deep, pulling her blood in streams until the Grid opened before his eyes, crimson letters burning across his vision.
[ Blood Memory Expanded ][ Veilblood Matriarch Essence Assimilated ]
He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes burned brighter than before, his rage unspent. Part of him wanted to end her here, to break her utterly, but another part hungered for more—the humiliation, the domination, the reminder carved into her marrow that she had betrayed the wrong heir.
His hand hovered above her throat once again. The temptation to kill her was sharp, but so too was the desire to keep her alive as a plaything, a reminder, a tool.
The decision lingered on his lips, his laughter spilling low into the chamber as Selandra whimpered softly beneath him.
The Sovereign had returned. And he would not forgive.