"I believe you are quite familiar with the series of events that led to the Great War?" Bat asked, his voice as ancient and cold as the stones lining the council chamber. The thick veins on his pale hand bulged, contracting further as he clasped both hands together with a sound like cracking wood.
Davon nodded respectfully. "Of course, My Lord. The war that led to the alliance between all…"
He faltered, searching for the right word. But it eluded him.
"Why are you hesitating?" Ronald growled, his upper lip curling to reveal a fang. "Say the damned word those bastards coined!"
"…Forgotten Races," Davon muttered, shame lacing every syllable.
"There's no need to be ashamed," Bat chuckled, the shrillness of his laugh echoing like metal on stone. "If we had won that war, they would be the forgotten ones."
He leaned back, a toothy grin tugging at his wrinkled lips. "Shall I continue, or do you have questions?"
Davon glanced around. It seemed none of the elders were pressed for time.
"None for now," he answered simply.
"Very well." Bat's grin widened. "Our alliance lasted over a century—a century bathed in blood and hardship.
"For us vampires, it became even worse after Blood Rose seized the throne. The internal strife nearly tore us apart. Yet, within a mere decade, she proved why she deserved the crown. She wiped out every noble bloodline that dared oppose her. Entire legacies—gone, like dust on the wind."
He paused, his eyes glinting. "But that act, impressive as it was, proved a double-edged sword. We became fragmented and few. We lacked the strength to aid our allies. One by one, the other Forgotten Races fell to ruin."
"In the end, only we and the werewolves remained. And even we, despite fighting with all our might, could not turn the tides."
"Hard to believe," Davon murmured.
"Shocked that your so-called livestock became this powerful?" Bat scoffed.
Davon scratched the back of his neck. "Since birth, we nobles were taught that vampires were death's chosen descendants—second in strength only to the Ancients themselves."
Bat's voice dropped, grave and reverent. "And that was true… until she came."
Davon felt the chill creep in even before the name was uttered.
"Locksworth," Bat said slowly. "The Silver Reaper."
A weight settled over the room. "Her strength was beyond comprehension. And that was only the beginning. The true threat was in the spells and reforms she introduced—she reshaped the way humans and elves wielded magic. Mages who once cowered in battle became deadly warriors overnight."
"And it was through her… that your cousin's betrayal began."
Bat's voice trailed off.
"Forgive me," a melodic voice chimed in. All turned as Elder Linda—radiant and eerily composed—spoke. "Perhaps I should take over from here?"
Bat gave a silent nod. "Knock yourself out, Linda."
She smiled as if recounting a lullaby, though her words dripped with sorrow. "The werewolves fell next. And soon… only we remained."
"Blood Rose, seeing the odds stacked high against her, summoned all remaining vampire families. She called it the Great Culling—a final stand against the Four Races."
Suddenly, CRACK!
Linda's gloved fist slammed the table. The chamber trembled. Frost-laced icicles rained from the ceiling. Davon flinched, staring wide-eyed at Linda's contorted face—her fangs bared, eyes glowing with ancient fury.
"Still," she hissed, trembling with rage, "She led us to that suicidal stand. And it nearly wiped us from existence."
Then, just as swiftly, her smile returned, unsettling in its calmness. "And yet, right at the cusp of oblivion, your cousin struck. A betrayal… that brought an unexpected twist even Blood Rose couldn't foresee."
"The Silver Reaper, your cousin Dianne, and Blood Rose—three fates tangled in a storm of blood and prophecy."
"At Blackwood, our final stronghold, the Silver Reaper came with a proposal. None of us saw it coming. A duel—champion against champion. Blood Rose, arrogant to the end, volunteered as ours. Locksworth accepted the challenge, of course."
Linda's voice lowered. "And the terms? They suspiciously favored us—regardless of outcome."
"If Blood Rose won—either by death or submission—then the Four Races would retreat, granting us a century of peace. But if she lost… then the Silver Reaper would execute her and give us two weeks to vanish from the Forever Realm. Any vampire caught afterward… would be hunted down and annihilated."
Davon now sat on the floor, chin resting in his palm, eyes wide. "If not for Dianne… I might not have lived to see today."
Linda's voice, now distant and echoing, drew him back to the present.
"And so… the duel began…"
---
Elsewhere…
In a cold dwarvenstone chamber, lit only by a faint glow , a pale figure lay bleeding against the wall.
Davon gasped, clutching the translucent shard embedded in his abdomen. Blood spilled between his fingers, pooling across the floor.
"No need to continue," said a woman's voice from across the room.
Matriarch Hilda stepped forward, her eyes cool yet knowing. "I already know how that fight ended."
"How many of your kind are left?" she asked, raising one finger.
Davon gritted his teeth. His instincts screamed to stay silent… but the pain was too much. "After all the stress she endured for me… and I still fail her."
"…Nothing more than a hundred," he confessed.
Hilda raised an eyebrow. "Is that why they're trying to resurrect Blood Rose?"
Davon shook his head. "No… I wasn't sent. I came on my own."
She blinked. "You weren't?"
"I owed a debt," Davon said, looking upward as his vision swam. "I wanted to repay Dianne."
"By bringing back the very monarch she betrayed?" Hilda asked, clearly amused.
"I know… it sounds stupid." He gave a weak chuckle, then groaned. "Maybe… she wanted to fix her mistake."
"Ha! HA! HA!"
Hilda's laughter rang out, loud and genuine. "Doesn't sound like something Dianne would do."
Davon managed a smile. "So the stories were true… you two knew each other."
"You care to share how that happened… Reaper?" he teased weakly.
Hilda exhaled slowly. "First of all, it's Hilda. And… I'm afraid I can't."
Davon coughed, blood dripping down his chin. "Can you at least take down the Huntran who… ended her?"
Hilda's eyes narrowed. "A Huntran, hmm? I knew that boy was different."
She paused. "Though I wonder why he kept that from the vampire elders."
"What… what would you—" Davon coughed violently.
"Don't worry." Hilda approached slowly, her voice soft. "I'll avenge your cousin. And my friend."
Davon barely registered her words.
"As for the heart…" Hilda knelt beside the cube. "I think I've found a use for an ancient monarch."
Davon smiled. "That… makes me glad."
And with that… he breathed his last.
Hilda stood, calm and resolute. She placed the heart back into the dwarvenstone cube and straightened.
"Time to get that knife."
With a cold breeze at her back and purpose in her step, the Silver Reaper exited the tower.