Low footsteps echoed across the narrow stone hallway. The owner of these footsteps kept walking, shivering from time to time—not from the endless cold surrounding him, but from the even colder beings waiting behind the massive oak door at the end of his path.
"Here goes nothing." He took in a deep breath, placing gloved hands onto the cold handles. With one massive shove, the ancient hinges creaked loudly, penetrating the still silence before granting entrance to the vampire.
"My lords. My ladies." The young vampire bowed, his bald head the only thing standing out from the massive layers of black fur shrouding his body. "It is such an honor for you all to consider me worthy to be graced by your presence."
Strangely, the five tall figures sitting behind the ornate black table remained silent, showing no signs they had even acknowledged his presence.
"Welcome, young one." A deep voice finally broke the silence. "Rise."
Davon rose to his feet, using a brief second to take a look at the elder who had spoken. What he saw almost made him croak—and it was made worse by the dim light from the chandeliers hanging above. Vampires in ancient poems and ballads were always described as the fairest of the fair, with some going as far as calling the beauty of elves ogre-like in comparison.
This, Davon had long believed to be law. But today changed that. That pale face, contorted by scars and bulging veins, refused to leave his mind. "So… this is the infamous 'Bat'," he concluded, finding it strange that the myths were true.
Bat—the last member of a forgotten vampire subspecies known as the Leather Wings.
"Who knows," Davon thought. "Maybe he's hot stuff among his people."
A loud cough brought him back to the matter at hand.
"Davon, right?" a female elder asked, her pleasant voice barely masking the malice beneath it.
Nodding vigorously, Davon confirmed his identity.
"Son of Blood Fang and heir to the Silver Moon Manor?"
Again, as if on instinct, Davon nodded.
"We, the vampire elders, are sorry about the loss of your father and relatives. But if I may ask…" There was a pause as she scanned the other elders' faces, as though waiting for silent approval. It came.
"How long were you asleep?"
Davon scratched his head nervously before replying. "Can't say, my lady."
"I was awoken by a long-lost cousin, you see… and after seeing that I had stepped out of my tomb—" Davon stopped. He had noticed a change in the elders' demeanor. A change that wasn't pleasant at all.
With a cough, he continued. "My cousin left without saying a word. I never saw her again."
"Did you hear any word about her whereabouts?" the Bat asked.
Davon shrugged. "Not exactly… but I was able to find out what happened to her recently."
"She's dead," he added, voice dipping into a somber tone.
"How?" the elders asked in unison.
The sudden question made Davon suspicious. He had a hunch now—they knew more about his cousin than they let on.
"An assassin and an elven monarch slew her in a tough battle."
"Hilda?" the Bat blurted out. "Killed by a measly human and elf?"
"Impossible," added a blonde, chubby elder.
"It seems, my lords and ladies, that you were quite… acquainted with this cousin of mine?" Davon's curiosity only grew with every second.
The elders ignored him, murmuring among themselves until finally falling silent. The Bat asked another question.
"Did you, by any chance, see a golden blade?"
Davon shook his head. "Her killers took it."
"Why didn't you try to steal it back?" A well-built elder with a curled moustache roared, shaking the entire room with a massive fist slamming into the table.
A glance of reproach from the Bat brought him to order. The man leaned back, muttering something about "spineless whelp" and "coward."
"Calm down, Ronald," the pleasant-voiced lady said, her words warming Davon like wine. "Any being capable of killing Dianne would make mincemeat of a normal vampire." She inclined her head toward him.
That word—normal—made Davon's blood boil. After all those millennia, they still saw him as weak.
"I hope I have not offended you, Davon?" the lady smiled, her rosy lips parting to reveal the most beautiful fangs he had ever seen.
"Not at all, my lady." Davon bowed. "In the presence of you all, I am nothing but a normal vampire."
"Regardless," Ronald waved him off, "I still find it hard to believe the traitor would die so easily."
"Perhaps the millennia made her weak," another female elder suggested. "She did not join us in sleep and has been awake since the last great war."
"Traitor?" Davon mumbled, forgetting where he stood.
"Yes," Ronald said, seemingly pleased. "Your cousin Dianne was once a great warrior, a loyal servant who fought valiantly for the vampire cause."
"But her glory was short-lived. She committed a betrayal so grave it led to the downfall of our kind."
"You haven't heard of this?" the Bat asked, surprised by Davon's ignorance.
"I'm afraid not," Davon smiled. "I was put to sleep during the later stages of the war and never saw the rest."
"By whom?" Ronald asked.
"The same traitor you speak of."
"Always did have a soft spot for family," the chubby elder chimed in.
"I doubt it," Ronald scoffed. "Probably wanted someone to continue her family's bloodline."
"Permit me to inquire… what exactly was this betrayal, elders?" Davon bowed.
"I can't believe we've become history teachers," Ronald groaned.
"Only because you asked politely," the fair elder smiled again. Davon's heart skipped—no, slammed—a beat.
"But remember this," the Bat added, his voice heavy as stone. "The blood she spilled, the secrets she carried… they still echo. And now, with that golden blade missing, history might just repeat itself."
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