A quiet peace settled over the Sanctuary.
No more storms. No more thunder. No screams echoing off ancient stone. Only silence—gentle, pure, almost holy.
Seraphine awoke to the scent of rosemary and lavender, her limbs heavy, her throat parched, but her heart... steady.
For the first time in days, her pain wasn't physical. It was something deeper—aching with the vastness of love she had never known until this very moment.
She blinked, and her vision cleared.
There, resting in a bundle of silver cloth beside her, was him.
Her son.
Her everything.
He slept peacefully, nestled like a dream in her arms. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the impossibly small fingers curled into fists, the slight pout of his lips—he was perfect. Impossibly perfect.
She swallowed a lump in her throat and reached out with trembling hands. The moment her skin touched his, warmth surged through her, soft and radiant.
He stirred gently, as if sensing her presence.
And then, he opened his eyes.
Red. Glowing faintly. Familiar.
The same crimson pools that once haunted her dreams and warmed her soul now blinked back at her with childlike innocence.
Seraphine let out a laugh—choked, soft, tearful. She cradled him close, pressing a kiss to his tiny forehead.
"Caelum," she whispered, her voice shaking as tears spilled freely from her eyes. "That's your name, my little star. Caelum… It means heaven."
As if understanding, Caelum cooed and nestled closer into her warmth, his miniature fingers grasping the laces of her gown.
"You are heaven to me. The only light I have left in this world."
The door creaked softly, and Lady Maika stepped inside, her eyes soft but alert.
"You've named him," she said with a faint smile.
Seraphine looked up and nodded, still clutching her child. "Caelum."
Maika stepped closer, letting her eyes wander to the infant. She reached out, brushing a careful fingertip along his cheek.
"He is extraordinary," she said. "And dangerous."
Seraphine tensed, instinctively holding Caelum tighter.
"He's just a baby—"
"Yes," Maika interrupted gently, "a baby carrying the soul of the first Vampire King. The child may not be aware, but the power… it's in him. Dormant, yes, but not gone."
Seraphine's lips parted. She knew this. She had felt it during the birth—the pressure, the storm, the way the entire world stilled to welcome him. The Crimson Moon hadn't risen for her. It had risen for him.
"…So what do we do?" she asked quietly, her gaze never leaving Caelum's face.
"There is a way," Maika said. "A forbidden enchantment. An ancient rite. We can seal his nature—his vampire blood. Suppress it completely. Turn him… human."
Seraphine blinked, stunned. "Human?"
"He would grow like a normal child. No thirst. No aura. No awakening. His soul would remain dormant—perhaps for eternity. He would never know the wars. The burdens. The blood."
Seraphine stared at her baby, heart torn.
Make him human?
Take away his birthright?
Or… save him from a future soaked in death and prophecy?
"What would it cost?" she asked, voice cracking.
"My magic," Maika replied. "Your consent. And your blood… as his mother."
Seraphine glanced down at Caelum.
He blinked once, gazing up at her, innocent and unaware of the conversation his soul had heard many times over the centuries.
He yawned.
And her heart broke.
"I wanted him to be strong," she whispered. "I wanted Alaric to see him… to see us, and know we made something beautiful, something worth fighting for."
"You did," Maika said gently. "But do you want your son to fight for the rest of his life?"
Seraphine's eyes filled again. She leaned down, pressing her lips to her son's forehead.
"No," she whispered. "I want him to be free."
Maika knelt beside the bed and drew out a vial of crushed herbs and silver dust from her robe.
"The ritual must be done tonight," she said. "Before the moon wanes. While his soul is still quiet."
Seraphine gave a silent nod, clutching Caelum close.
She whispered, "You'll never know how many died to bring you here. You'll never know the blood your father and I spilled. You'll never know what they expect of you."
She looked into his eyes, as if they could remember.
"You'll just know love."
Maika held out a ceremonial blade—a silver one etched with lunar glyphs.
Seraphine took a deep breath, then cut the tip of her finger. The blood glowed faintly before she allowed a single drop to fall onto the child's chest.
A low hum filled the air.
The enchantment had begun.
Maika's chants were old—older than Seraphine had ever heard. They echoed not just through the room, but through time itself. The stone floor trembled beneath them. Candles flared high. And for a moment, the crimson moon pulsed in the sky above the Sanctuary, as if in protest.
The child stirred. Cried softly.
And then stilled.
A warm glow wrapped around his body. The ancient runes shifted—reworking the lines of fate itself.
And then, silence.
Maika fell back, drained but satisfied.
"It's done," she said softly.
Seraphine looked down.
Caelum slept in her arms, peaceful.
He was… human.
At least, for now.
The danger had been deferred.
But as Maika stepped out and left mother and child alone, she glanced once over her shoulder at the sleeping boy.
The glow in his veins may have faded.
But even suppressed…
The heavens knew.
The King had returned.