Morning came slow and golden, the light spilling through the curtains in fractured ribbons. Dust hung in the still air, turning every beam into something alive.
Kieran woke first, blinking sleep from his eyes. Morlith stood near the window, still as a statue, staring at the horizon. The sunlight brushed his skin but did not burn him—it only painted faint warmth against his pallor.
"You look… different," Kieran murmured, his voice rough from sleep.
Morlith turned slightly, eyes faintly glowing under the morning light."Rest does little for immortals," he said. "But it grants thought. I have decided I cannot linger here. If any of my kind still walk the Earth, I must find them."
Kieran sat up, stretching. "You mean vampires."
"I mean those who once knelt beneath my sigil," Morlith corrected softly. "I need to know if they still remember the blood of kings, or if they've forgotten it entirely."
His voice held no pride—only a quiet ache. He moved closer to the bed. "But before we leave, I require strength."
Kieran didn't hesitate this time. He rolled up his sleeve and offered his wrist. "Careful," he said with a faint smile. "Last time nearly had me lightheaded."
Morlith leaned forward, catching his wrist gently between his hands. "You are far too trusting, hunter."
"Maybe that's why I'm still alive."
Morlith's lips curved faintly before his fangs brushed skin. The bite was soft, precise, restrained. He took only what he needed, then drew back at once, closing the small wounds with a murmured spell. The crimson in his eyes faded as he exhaled.
"Enough," he said quietly. "I will not take more than I must."
Kieran flexed his wrist. "You sure you don't need a second round?"
Morlith arched a brow. "Temptation is your most reckless virtue."
They dressed in silence, each preparing in their own way. Kieran crossed to the chest at the foot of the bed and drew out his father's old armor. The plates were forged from silver that had fallen from the heavens—blessed meteorite metal, his father once called it. When Kieran buckled the chestplate into place, the runes carved along its edges glowed faintly white, thrumming with divine resonance.
He caught Morlith watching him from the corner of his eye.
"You arm yourself in faith and irony," Morlith said.
Kieran grinned. "Well, you do tend to bring out the worst in people."
"I have that effect."
Kieran slung a chain of crucifixes around his neck and fastened a dagger to his belt. Then he unrolled a set of brittle maps, parchment that shimmered faintly when sunlight touched it.
"My ancestors used these to track vampire activity across the centuries," he explained. "The ink reacts to both moon and sunlight—it reveals coven locations."
Morlith studied the markings, his expression unreadable. "This one." He tapped a faint sigil near the southern woods. "A cathedral swallowed by the earth. That was once a seat of my house. If any coven endures, it will be there."
Kieran nodded and folded the map. "Then that's where we start."
Before leaving, Morlith stepped back and whispered in a language that made the air tremble. "Ex tenebris lux oritur, sanguis regum reveletur. Tenebrae audiant vocem meam et vestem meam coronent."
Shadows rippled around him. His clothes disintegrated into threads of light and darkness that wove themselves into regal attire—black velvet embroidered with crimson and gold, a high collar framing his throat, and a long mantle flowing down his back. When the light settled, he looked every inch a risen monarch.
Kieran blinked. "I've heard that word before," he said. "Tenebris. In the Bible, maybe? Something about God confusing people's language."
Morlith's lips curved in a faint, knowing smile. His voice dropped, resonant and old.
"Go to, let us go down, and there confound their language, that they may not understand one another's speech."
He turned toward Kieran. "Genesis eleven, verse seven. The day heaven broke the world's tongue. Tenebris was one of the first they scattered—neither holy nor damned, only whole. It was the language of balance. They feared what man and fallen might build if they spoke as one."
Kieran frowned. "So they divided the world so we'd never stand together again."
"They called it obedience," Morlith said, almost wistful. "I call it fear."
They left the estate by midday. The wind was cool, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain. Morlith moved ahead, silent and graceful, his cloak trailing through the grass. Kieran followed, armor glinting faintly with each step.
"They'll sense you," Kieran warned.
"They will sense us," Morlith replied. "Your blood shines like a beacon, Fallowridge."
"Guess subtlety's out the window."
Morlith gave a small, amused hum. "Your ancestors would have said the same."
Kieran hesitated. "You knew them?"
"Not personally. But I knew the bloodline. Hunters blessed by the heavens, feared by those beneath it. I did not think their line would ever walk beside mine."
Kieran glanced at him. "You're full of surprises."
"As are you."
By the time the forest thickened around them, the air had grown heavy. Twilight painted the path in gray-blue light. Ahead, the remnants of an old church jutted from the earth, half-swallowed by vines and stone. The map in Kieran's hand glowed faintly, confirming what Morlith already knew.
"They're here," Kieran said quietly.
Morlith's gaze sharpened. "Then let us see whether they remember their king."
They descended through the cracked doors into a vast undercroft. The scent of Earth and decay filled the air. As soon as they entered, torches lining the walls ignited with pale blue flame, casting long shadows across the stone pillars.
Kieran's hand drifted to his sword.
Figures moved in the dark—slender, sharp-eyed, their skin gray under the flickering light. A dozen vampires emerged, silent at first, until one stepped forward. He was tall, thin, his voice slick with disdain.
"The half-blood returns," the vampire sneered. "Tell me, royal bastard, which side do you serve now—Heaven or Hell?"
Morlith lifted his chin, calm but regal. "I serve balance. I seek only parley."
Laughter rippled through the coven. Another hissed, "Parley with filth? Your grandmother's shame still stains your face, mongrel."
Kieran's grip tightened on his sword, but Morlith raised a hand."Enough," he said quietly. "I came to offer alliance. Do not make me prove that I still command the night."
The leader smiled with sharp teeth. "Command? You command nothing but a forgotten name."
Morlith's eyes flared. The torches flickered red. "Do you truly wish to test me?"
The crowd jeered. One spat, "Half-breed." Another laughed. "Your grandfather burned for bedding a demon. You're the proof of their sin."
That word—half-breed—echoed through Morlith's skull like thunder. For a heartbeat, his face was unreadable. Then something broke.
"You should not have said that," he whispered.
The air erupted. Shadows burst from the floor, torches flaring crimson. The ceiling groaned as waves of power radiated from Morlith. He spoke in Tenebris, the syllables rolling through the chamber like a storm. Vampires flew backward, bodies slamming into stone pillars. Screams tore through the dark.
Kieran drew his sword, moving to Morlith's side, but two vampires lunged for him. The first bit down toward his neck—but the silver armor flared white-hot. The creature shrieked as its jaw burned away, collapsing into ash.
The second came from behind. Kieran spun, thrusting a crucifix against its chest. He shouted an old incantation from his father's hymnal. Holy fire ignited, consuming the vampire in blinding light.
Across the hall, one shouted, "He's Fallowridge! The hunter's heir!"
The coven turned on Kieran, panic breaking through their arrogance—but Morlith was already there. He moved like lightning, his form blurring between light and shadow. He caught one by the throat and slammed it into the ground so hard the stone cracked. Blood sprayed; his eyes glowed like twin suns.
"You would call me half-breed?" he thundered. "Then call me that in death!"
With a roar, he unleashed a wave of crimson energy that shattered every torch, plunging the chamber into pulsing red darkness.
Kieran ducked behind a fallen pillar as the blast rippled outward. When the smoke cleared, ash drifted down like snow. The coven was gone—scorched into oblivion. Only Morlith remained, trembling, chest heaving.
Kieran stood slowly, brushing dust from his armor. "You tried to reason with them," he said softly.
Morlith's head bowed. "And failed. I always fail." His voice was hollow. "They called me that word once—before they slaughtered my mother for birthing me."
Kieran stepped closer. "They made their choice."
"No." Morlith looked up, eyes dimming to amber. "I made mine. And now the others will know. Every coven is linked by blood. When one falls, the rest awaken."
Kieran's pulse quickened. "Then we move before they do."
Morlith's gaze hardened, the sorrow fading into something colder, older. "Then let them remember what royalty means."
He turned toward the shattered doors. Behind them, the ashes on the floor glowed faintly, forming intricate runes before vanishing into smoke—signals traveling through the hidden veins of the world.
Kieran sheathed his sword and followed. "What happens now?"
Morlith didn't look back. "Now," he said quietly, "the forest begins to take notice."
Outside, the moon had risen red as blood, hanging low over the forest. Wind swept through the trees, carrying whispers that weren't human. Morlith tilted his head, listening to them, then smiled faintly—a smile that promised both ruin and reign.
"So be it," he murmured. "Let them come."