They walked in silence.
The path beneath Caelan's feet was carved from obsidian, polished so smooth it reflected the endless twilight above. Magic thrummed faintly beneath the stone, a quiet rhythm like the beat of a distant heart. The air was cold, dry, and still. Not a breeze stirred—yet the world felt wide open, as if waiting for him to take a breath too loud.
The woman who led him—the Head of House Viremont—moved without a sound. Her cloak swept behind her like a shadow given form, and her long, silver-white hair caught what little light existed in this realm. She had offered no name—only a title.
> "I am the Head of House Viremont," she had said after the emissaries left him. That was all.
It had been enough.
There was no warmth in her voice, no curiosity in her gaze. She hadn't looked back to see if he followed. She didn't need to. Her presence was not demanding—it was simply undeniable, like the hush before thunder or the weight of winter settling on stone.
Caelan followed.
He didn't know what else to do. Questions burned behind his eyes—about the visions, the pendant, the veil, his name—but none of them could pass his lips. Not yet. Not while they were under this sky.
And then the path widened.
The mist parted like curtains drawn open by invisible hands, and the world beyond revealed itself.
Caelan stopped in his tracks.
---
Before him, spread across a vast valley of shadowed peaks, lay the vampire capital. And it was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Noctisfall.
A city suspended in twilight, sculpted from obsidian, boneglass, and starlight. Spires rose like spears toward the sky, each twisted and crowned in silver-veined stone. Balconies bloomed like thorns from the towers, draped in crimson silk banners that fluttered without wind. Bridges arched between buildings like strands in a spider's web—some wide enough for carriages, others as thin and fragile as lace.
The sky above was locked in a permanent dusk—neither light nor dark. Violet clouds drifted slowly overhead, heavy and still. There was no sun, no moon, no stars—only a dim luminescence that seemed to bleed from the stone itself.
And the city pulsed. Not with noise, but with life. A still, ancient, watching kind of life.
Caelan's breath caught in his throat.
His guide—silent, unreadable—walked to the edge of the high bridge overlooking the valley. He stepped beside her, compelled by something in the air. Something familiar, like a half-remembered dream.
"This is Noctisfall," she said, her voice calm and precise. "The heart of the vampiric realm."
Caelan swallowed. "It's... alive."
She didn't respond. She didn't need to. The city answered for her.
---
They began descending the bridge.
The lower they went, the more details emerged. Buildings carved from black stone shimmered faintly in the half-light. Windows flickered with soft violet flames. Walkways hovered in the air, glowing slightly where footsteps touched them. Along the streets, figures moved like whispers—tall, pale, impossibly graceful.
Vampires.
Some walked in pairs, cloaked in silks and armor, speaking in hushed tones. Others rode sleek, six-legged beasts with eyes like polished garnet. None looked surprised to see Caelan. But some paused. Watched. Measured.
"Who are they?" he asked quietly.
"The bloodbound," she said without glancing back. "Noble clans. Warriors. Scribes. Artists. Descendants of the original lines."
Caelan's eyes narrowed. "Do they serve the King?"
She stopped. Turned to face him.
Her gaze was ice.
> "They are his blood. His creations. Every clan in Noctisfall was born from the blood of King Kael Noctaryn. He is the First. The Undying Flame. The Progenitor. There are no rivals in this realm—only His will."
The words rang with truth. Not loyalty. Not admiration. Faith.
Caelan nodded slowly, his heart drumming against his ribs. "And you?"
"I am the eldest of his bloodborn daughters," she said. "And I serve as he commands."
The answer chilled him more than the wind ever could.
---
They continued into the city.
Each district passed like a new layer in a grand cathedral built by hands that had never forgotten war. They crossed over the Cradle Rings, where noble houses coiled their estates around gardens of bloodvine and nightshade. Floating lanterns drifted through the air, glowing with soft indigo light. Music—haunting, slow, and aching—spilled from unseen balconies.
Then the Blood Galleries, long streets etched with murals that moved beneath torchlight. One showed Kael Noctaryn standing alone on a battlefield of ash, crowned in flame. Another, more disturbing, showed a woman in white armor bleeding into the earth as black vines erupted from her spine. A third… showed a child standing between two kings. One crowned in thorns. The other wrapped in chains of silver.
Caelan stared.
"That child…" he whispered. "I've seen them. In a dream."
The Head of House Viremont gave him a long look but said nothing. Her silence was not avoidance—it was judgment.
They walked on.
---
At the heart of the city rose the Palace of Thorns.
It towered above the rest like a sword plunged into the earth. Its spires were not decorative—they were defensive, wrapped in sharp coils of silver roots and pulsing veins of molten crystal. The air around it crackled faintly with restrained power. The very stone radiated age.
They ascended a floating disk platform, silent and smooth, lifting them toward the upper levels of the palace.
Caelan peered out as they rose. From here, the full scope of Noctisfall stretched before him. A kingdom of dusk, veined with glowing bloodlines. A city so old it remembered things the world had forgotten.
"This place," he murmured, "it feels like it's... waiting."
The woman beside him tilted her head. "It is."
---
They disembarked onto a wide stone terrace leading toward massive gates carved from black metal and lined with thorns of silver. A sigil glowed faintly on the gate's surface—an eye burning within a crown of vines.
Two towering sentinels in black armor bowed at their approach.
"Lady of Viremont," one said. "The King is ready to receive him."
Caelan's heart skipped.
"The King… Kael Noctaryn?"
She nodded once. "You stand upon his threshold."
The gates began to rise, not open—rise, as though lifted by invisible hands.
Caelan took a breath, standing before the ancient citadel that ruled this dark realm.
He didn't know what awaited beyond those doors.
He only knew he was no longer part of the world he'd come from.