The ancient halls of Bloodhaven echoed with silence as Aarav walked through them, the dust of centuries thick in the air. Cracked stone walls still bore the faded symbols of his former rule—sigils of loyalty, power, and vengeance.
Despite the ruin, there was strength in this place. History. His history.
Draven led them deeper into the stronghold. The corridors twisted like veins, each turn revealing glimpses of the past—empty war rooms, shattered thrones, scorched banners bearing the blood-red phoenix that once marked Aarav's dominion.
"This place hasn't seen light in over a hundred years," Draven said, his voice low. "After the fall, we sealed it. Some of us stayed. Most fled. But those who remained… we waited."
"Waited for what?" Kieran asked, trailing behind with a wary gaze.
Draven looked over his shoulder. "For him." He nodded toward Aarav. "Even when the Elders declared him dead, we didn't believe. The blood oath wasn't broken. We felt it."
Aarav placed his palm on a worn stone pillar, feeling a faint warmth. This fortress was more than stone and shadow—it was alive.
"How many are left?" he asked.
Draven's expression darkened. "Not many. The Elders raided us. Took prisoners. Executed loyalists. Those who survived scattered. I can gather maybe twenty, if we call the banners."
"Then call them," Aarav said without hesitation. "Tell them the king has returned."
Draven nodded. "They'll come. But… there's something you need to see first."
He led them into a sealed chamber. The doors were carved with ancient vampire runes—wards of protection, secrecy, and pain.
Inside, the room was circular and lined with stone coffins, each bearing a name Aarav recognized.
Kairos' Knights.
His most loyal warriors. His brothers and sisters in blood.
Draven stepped aside. "They're not dead. They're in blood-sleep. Hidden here after the last siege. We didn't have time to wake them… but now that you're here, maybe they'll answer your call."
Aarav approached the nearest coffin, kneeling beside it. He brushed away centuries of dust, revealing the name etched into the lid:
"Nyssa Vire—The Bladed Flame."
His second-in-command. His fiercest defender.
He bit into his wrist, letting his blood drip onto the stone. It hissed as it touched the surface—then glowed.
A faint pulse trembled through the chamber.
Kieran took a cautious step back. "What's happening?"
Veyron raised an eyebrow. "I think… she heard him."
The coffin shuddered.
And from within, a voice whispered in an ancient tongue:
"I serve the blood. I rise for the flame."
Cracks spread across the stone lid—
Then, with a low boom, it burst open.
A pale hand emerged from the darkness. Then another.
And from the coffin rose a warrior, her eyes glowing like burning coals, her twin blades strapped to her back. She looked directly at Aarav—no confusion, no hesitation.
Only loyalty.
"Kairos," she said, voice hoarse but unwavering. "Is it time?"
Aarav nodded. "Yes, Nyssa. We have a war to win."
To be continued…