Morning arrived. The fog stayed, clinging to the stone streets like a living veil. It had always been this way. A shroud that never lifted, a night that never fully ended.
And somewhere, unseen, something kept it that way.
Outside, the battlefield held the grim remains of the previous night's war. The bodies of fallen vampires lay in the wide field.
The sun would claim their bodies slowly, turning their forms into drifting embers. No graves were needed. Their remains would quietly fade beneath the sky.
A short distance away, a separate pyre burned for the human and beastkin warriors who had been lost. Mourning families stood in clusters around the pyres. Some whispered prayers. Others simply watched the smoke rise.
The remains of the four Lycans who had fallen? Gone. No one had seen where their bodies went, there was no trace of them.
From the distance, atop the castle's high terrace, Rage watched the sorrowful scene unfold. He said nothing, merely observing the weight of mortality as it settled over those left behind.
Vaelith approached. The soft rustle of her dark robes announced her presence. She stopped beside him and looked down at the grieving below.
"Sorrow is the cost of existence," she murmured. "Every kingdom, every throne, every cause is built upon sacrifice."
Rage glanced at her. "You sound like you are trying to convince yourself of that."
A smirk tugged at her lips, but it did not reach her eyes. "We all do."
Rage spoke again. "What do those Lycans want in your kingdom?"
Vaelith turned to him fully. "Ebonwake holds the Kingdom Core of Shadows, sealed beneath this castle. These cores are not just relics. They are the life of our lands. They give power, strength, and the right to endure."
Vaelith nodded. "Many kingdoms exist without a core, forced to struggle and fight for survival. The Lycans, as strong as they are, are not eternal. They age. They weaken. They fall. But with the Core of Shadows, they could rise above."
"Why not just take the cores and split them? Everyone gets a piece. Everyone gets along."
Vaelith shook her head. "It does not work that way."
She let out a laugh. "Once, the lycans were offered sanctuary within Ebonwake, a place among us in exchange for service and labor. But they refused." Her smirk faded, replaced by cold certainty. "They did not seek a home. They sought a throne."
Rage folded his arms. "They mentioned attacking again during the next full moon. That means next month, right?"
Vaelith's gaze darkened. Her voice was edged with certainty. "No. They did not mean an ordinary full moon. They spoke of the Nightfang Moon, a phenomenon that appears once every two years."
Something in her tone made him pause. "And that moon makes them stronger?"
"Yes," she murmured, her gaze drifted toward the distant horizon. "Full moons always empower them... but the Nightfang Moon? That is when they ascend to their peak." She met his eyes, solemn. "What you witnessed last night... was their full power."
Only five of them had attacked. Five Lycans. Yet the kingdom had nearly collapsed. The battlefield showed the marks of their assault. Deep claw marks cut across shattered stone. Bodies were torn apart. Entire formations had fallen in moments. Even with their walls, their warriors, their strategies, Ebonwake had almost fallen.
Vaelith's voice broke the silence, measured but heavy. "The previous Nightfang Moon, we drove them back. It was brutal, but we endured." She exhaled slowly. "Last night was different."
Her gaze sharpened. "Their new alpha has matured. Fenrath."
Without Rage's interference, Ebonwake would have fallen. Their forces barely held, and even then, only because he had cut through the Lycans. If he had not been there, it would have been different.
Rage exhaled, hands resting on the terrace railing. "So... do I stay?"
Vaelith regarded him with the poise of a queen. "That is what I like about you. You are sharp." Her voice was smooth but commanding. "Your path does not end here, nor will I be the one to chain you in place."
But something in her eyes showed a deeper concern. A flicker of unease, one she masked well, though not well enough. Rage did not notice.
Instead, he changed the topic. "That reminds me... where did you even find me?"
Vaelith turned with measured grace. Her voice carried the weight of certainty. "To the east, beyond these walls. A stream winds from a cave near the farmer's land. It is a quiet place, yet it led you to us."
Water. Darkness. A cold, endless fall. The memories clicked.
Rage straightened. "That stream... I must have come through it."
He glanced east.
"So... do I just take the same route back?" His tone was half-question, half-thought.
"I wonder if that old man with the boat is still there."
Vaelith folded her arms, her gaze steady. "Northeast lies Ebonwake Outpost, the heart of our trade. Its docks will take you where fate calls next, to Abyssal Tides."
Rage frowned. "I mean, my weapon was left in the cave with that one old man named Genma."
Vaelith shook her head slightly. "That is the least of your concern. Your weapon is safe. The old man can wait."
Rage tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Vaelith's eyes held a quiet intensity. "Weapons, no matter their quality, do not matter if the one who wields them is weak. Become strong. Learn how to fight without it. And then, when you have it back, who knows? Do not rely on it too much."
Rage nodded. "Makes sense."
She exhaled slowly, her gaze swept the distant horizon. "The Bandit has called for you."
Vera.
Vaelith inclined her head. "She seeks your help in restoring Abyssal Tides." She paused briefly. "It is cursed. The Bandit calls for its cleansing, to purge the rot in its council and protect what remains."
Rage crossed his arms. "Meaning?"
Vaelith's gaze darkened, her voice quiet but severe. "Infiltrators, demons. They have crept into the council's ranks, corrupting Abyssal Tides from within."
Rage's mind went back to his time there. The unease in the air, the way its queen felt... off. Mariselle had always seemed mysterious, but there was something deeper, something unnatural. And then there was the council, all appeared hostile toward him.
This curse... it had been there all along. He just hadn't seen it for what it was.
***
A carriage waited outside the castle gates. The crest of Ebonwake was etched along its side. The driver, a broad-shouldered beastkin with dog-like ears, held the reins in silence and waited.
Rage stepped forward, ready to leave. Then the sound of soft footsteps behind him caught his attention.
The four maids followed him. They wore traveling hoods that hid their faces. The shapes of their ears pressed against the fabric. They carried no visible luggage. Yet beneath their cloaks, the subtle weight of hidden items could be seen. Small movements showed the presence of whatever they had brought.
Rage turned to Vaelith, brow raised. "They're coming with me?"
Vaelith's smirk was laced with something colder. "Would you rather the kingdom... spend them elsewhere?"
Rage clicked his tongue, glancing back at the maids. Their heads remained bowed, awaiting his decision. He already knew the answer.
"Get in," he said.
The maids obeyed without hesitation, stepping into the carriage before him. Rage followed, settling in as the door shut behind them.
With a flick of the reins, the carriage rolled forward.
As they reached the outer district, another set of carriages joined them. Trade wagons carried textiles, goods, and supplies for Ebonwake's external routes. The convoy grew, becoming more than just his departure.
High above the castle, where once only the Queen's Banner had flown, a new flag now waved against the dark sky.
The King's Banner had been raised.
It had not been there before. Not when he arrived, not even hours ago. But now it stood beside Vaelith's own, a silent statement, part of Ebonwake itself.
Just as they reached the main gates, soldiers and generals lined the path. Dark armor gleamed in the light.
Then, as one, they bowed.
Rage arched a brow. Must be a ritual for sending off traders.
But the way their eyes followed him, the weight behind their movements...
This was not for the merchants.
***
By the time they reached the docks, the sky had turned the deep colors of evening, streaked with the last light of the day.
The harbor was busy. Dockworkers hauled crates onto waiting ships. Lanterns swayed from wooden posts, their flickering light casting long shadows on the pier. The smell of salt and wet wood mixed with the distant voices of traders making their last deals before nightfall.
Beyond the smaller boats, larger ships waited in the harbor. Their sleek, reinforced hulls were built for long voyages. These were not fishing boats. They were made for deeper waters and rougher tides.
One ship waited for Rage and his companions. Without a word, he stepped aboard. The maids followed. The vessel groaned softly under their weight. The deck was solid, but it moved slightly with the tide.
The crew worked quickly, finishing their preparations. When the last rope was cast off, the ship began to move from the docks, slowly swallowed by the vast sea.
[SYSTEM] Queen Vaelith : Loyalty 95%
[SYSTEM] Corruption : 25.0%