Kael's council
The bells tolled across the Kingdom of Dusk and Fang.
Not the bells of war or mourning, but the old bells, the ones forged before the Veil, before the sundering, before even Kael Noctaryn wore his first crown of bone and black iron. They rang now — slow, cold, and deep — from the spires of Duskhold, shaking loose dust not touched in five thousand years.
In the heart of the fortress, beneath a dome of shadowglass and ashroot stone, the Crimson Hall had been summoned to assembly.
Twelve thrones formed a circle around a spiral of glowing runes carved into obsidian. Some seats were filled by ancient nobles, Count Clans who had ruled for millennia. Others stood empty — abandoned, extinguished, or cursed. At the center of the circle rose the Throne of Sable Judgment, jagged and immense, like a star carved from a bleeding void.
And upon it sat Kael Noctaryn, King of Vampires.
He had not spoken in over an hour.
He did not need to.
The room was filled with silence so complete it crushed the senses. The gathered vampires — Counts, Lorebinders, Nightwardens — waited like statues in the frost, unmoving, undaring.
But not Sylara Viremont.
First of Kael's blood. General of the Bladebound. Head of House Viremont. And utterly fearless.
She stepped forward, her armored boots echoing sharp against the glassy floor. Her twin swords, Narrowfang and Whisperbind, crossed on her back like death's promise. She bowed — barely.
"The Veil bled," she said. "I felt it. We all did. The pendant has awakened."
Kael's eyes opened slowly, golden-red and deep as a dying sun.
He nodded once. "It begins."
Across the room, Count Draeven Malcroth stirred, hunched and ancient, his flesh inked with spells, his robe heavy with dust and secrets.
"The human boy carries the mark of Duskwither," he croaked. "There can be no doubt. But… the pendant's light is not steady. It flares. Flickers. He resists."
Sylara scoffed. "He's a mortal. He doesn't know what he is."
"No," Kael said quietly. "He knows nothing."
Countess Avyra of House Norell, pale and draped in gossamer shadows, leaned forward from her throne. "Then what are we waiting for? Send the Bladebound. Bring him across the Veil before the wolves reach him."
Sylara straightened. "I've been ready since the first toll."
Kael's gaze darkened. "You will not seize him."
She bristled. "Father—"
"He is not prey," Kael said, standing now, his voice a still storm. "He is heir."
The chamber recoiled. Even Draeven's breath caught.
Sylara's expression sharpened. "You mean to crown him? He's still human. Weak. Breakable."
"Exactly," came a new voice — cool, distant, yet filled with warning.
All eyes turned to Draeven.
"The boy may carry both bloods — vampire and wolf — but neither has awakened. His mortal frame holds the lineage, yes, but not the power. Not yet."
Kael descended the dais slowly, the runes beneath his feet flickering with his steps.
"Explain," he said.
Draeven bowed his bald head. "He is as a vessel. A mirror. The pendant amplified his bloodline enough to breach the Veil. But unless the old ritual is performed, his soul will remain human. The dual legacy inside him will war… and tear him apart."
"What ritual?" Sylara asked sharply.
Draeven's voice dropped low.
"The Rite of Sundering."
Gasps broke from several Counts.
"That rite hasn't been performed since—"
"The Binding War," Draeven confirmed. "It is dangerous. Painful. If mishandled, it could destroy him. But it is the only way to safely unlock both halves of his nature."
"And if we don't?" Sylara asked.
Kael spoke: "Then the prophecy dies with him."
For a long moment, none spoke.
Then Kael turned, his mantle of shadow and crimson silk sweeping behind him like a storm cloud.
"Prepare the altar at Hollowfang's Spire. Send word to the spiritwalkers — quietly. The ritual must be ready by the time he crosses the Veil."
"And the wolves?" Count Varion asked. "They will move soon. Raen will not sit idle."
"He's already moving," Kael said. "I felt the Moon stir."
He looked toward the highest arch of the chamber, where a stained glass window cast fractured moonlight across his throne.
"The wolves will not dare touch him until the ritual is done. They know what will happen if they awaken him unbound."
"And if the boy refuses the rite?" Sylara asked, voice cool again.
Kael turned slowly. "Then we persuade him."
Sylara smirked. "And if persuasion fails?"
Kael's eyes gleamed with ancient fire.
"Then we remind him what sleeps beneath his skin."
A final toll shook the foundations of Duskhold. The old bells rang once more — and then fell silent.
The room stood in stillness, as Kael returned to his throne, shadow and prophecy curling around his feet like mist.
"Send the Bladebound," he commanded at last. "But not to take him. Not to scare him. Only to watch."
Sylara bowed low. "As you wish."
Kael looked out beyond the stained glass, beyond the fortress, beyond the realm.
"To awaken a king," he whispered, "we must first unbind the blood."