The nights following the traitor's escape grew long and razor-sharp.
Every candle in Duskveil seemed to burn with suspicion. Servants whispered in corridors, guards refused to meet one another's eyes, and even the ravens avoided the battlements.
Aelric hadn't slept in three days. The hunger gnawed at his ribs like a living thing, but he forced it down with discipline and fury. He couldn't afford weakness. Not now, not while the enemy hid behind familiar faces.
He stalked the lower halls in silence, passing tapestries that told of ancient vampire victories. The silk threads looked darker in the torchlight—blood woven into history.
Kaelen joined him at the stairwell, eyes red with both weariness and calculation.
"You've been hunting ghosts," Kaelen said quietly. "They're baiting you."
"I don't care." Aelric's voice was low, strained. "They're in these walls, Kaelen. I can feel them. The mark on that dagger wasn't random—it's a sigil of binding. Demon work."
Kaelen frowned. "So you think one of ours made a pact?"
"I don't think," Aelric replied. "I know."
Kaelen's frown deepened as the two descended into the lower chambers of Duskveil Keep. The air grew colder with each step, the stone walls slick with condensation. These tunnels were older than the throne itself — carved when vampires were still hunted by daylight and fire.
Aelric's torchlight flickered against the ancient runes etched into the walls. Some were faded, others freshly scratched — like someone had been down here recently.
He stopped, crouched low, running his fingers along the grooves.
"See this?" he murmured. "This carving was done days ago… and not by a demon's hand."
Kaelen knelt beside him, tracing the symbol. It resembled a coiled serpent devouring its tail — the same sigil found on the dagger the traitor used.
"That symbol," Kaelen said slowly, "was banned centuries ago. It belonged to the Order of the Veil — vampires who practiced shadowcraft. They were wiped out after the Crimson Rebellion."
Aelric's jaw tightened. "Apparently not all of them."
---
They pressed on, the corridor widening into a dim chamber filled with old weapons, dust, and forgotten scrolls. The scent of dried blood lingered faintly — old, but not ancient.
Aelric's senses flared. He felt presence here. A faint heartbeat, slow and steady, hiding behind the walls.
"Show yourself," he said, voice calm but edged with steel.
The silence stretched. Then, from behind an overturned table, a figure rose — cloaked, trembling, hands raised. A young vampire woman, no more than a century turned, her eyes flicking nervously between them.
"P-please," she stammered. "I didn't mean to—"
"Who are you?" Aelric interrupted. "And what are you doing in a forbidden passage?"
"I'm Lyssara… one of the scribes." Her voice wavered, but there was truth in it. "I… I've been copying old texts for Lord Kaelen's archives. I found something I wasn't supposed to."
Kaelen's brow furrowed. "What did you find?"
She hesitated. "Letters. Hidden behind the eastern archive wall. They were written in demon script, sealed with blood wards. I couldn't read all of them, but one had your name, my lord…" she looked directly at Aelric, "…and another had the name Serath."
---
The air seemed to vanish from the room.
Aelric stepped forward, eyes burning. "What did they say?"
"I—I don't know. Only fragments. But one said: The heir bleeds crimson; the bond remains unbroken. And another—"
Before she could finish, the torchlight flickered violently. Shadows twisted across the walls. The temperature dropped. A whisper, deep and mocking, slid through the chamber like oil.
"Curious little worms," the voice hissed. "Always digging where they shouldn't."
Aelric spun around, blade drawn. The shadow thickened, taking form — a silhouette with burning eyes and tendrils of smoke where limbs should be. A demon's shade, summoned through blood sorcery.
Kaelen's voice was sharp. "Get back, Aelric! It's a lure!"
But Aelric was already moving. The demon lunged, and he met it with steel and fury. The clash sent sparks across the stone — shadow against silver.
The shade screamed, the sound clawing at the edges of sanity. Lyssara fell to her knees, clutching her head. Kaelen shouted an incantation, his own blade glowing crimson as he joined the fight.
"By the old flame, be gone!"
Light seared through the chamber, and the demon shrieked — retreating into mist that dissolved into the cracks of the floor.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Lyssara's ragged breathing.
Aelric's chest heaved. "It knows my name, Kaelen. And Serath's. This isn't random — it's a message."
Kaelen nodded grimly. "And now the message is clear. Someone inside our walls is feeding them."
---
Later that night, Aelric stood alone in the great hall. Moonlight spilled through the tall stained windows, painting the marble floor in ghostly silver.
He stared at the velvet throne — his father's seat, now his burden.
He could almost hear the echo of his father's voice: Power will tempt you, my son. But vengeance will consume you.
He clenched his fists. "Then let it consume me," he whispered.
Kaelen's footsteps echoed as he approached from behind. "The hunt's tightening, my prince. But if we keep striking at shadows, we'll lose the war before it begins."
Aelric turned, eyes glowing faintly. "Then we bring the war to them. No more hiding, no more whispers. I want every corridor searched, every seal broken. If they think Duskveil sleeps, let them see what it means when vampires wake angry."
Kaelen smiled faintly, though his eyes carried worry. "As you wish, my lord. Just remember — shadows don't fight fair."
"Neither do I," Aelric said.
He looked once more at the throne — and for the first time, it seemed smaller than the storm gathering around it.