Dracula walked with deliberate steps toward the fortress of the conservatives, each stride exuding a quiet finality. His purpose tonight was singular, unshakable, and merciless—nothing less than the complete annihilation of the conservative clan.
The night itself seemed to recoil from his presence. The moon, pale and distant, bled faint crimson as if paying homage, and the air thickened, burdened with the silent weight of his intent.
"Dra…dra…cu…la…" one of the vampires stationed atop the watchtower stammered, his face twisting with dread. He snapped toward his companions with frantic urgency. "Let Lord Veylar know of this at once!"
Before the order could even be carried out, a voice rolled across the field—not shouted, not forced, but spoken as though it were a casual musing. Yet every single vampire on the wall heard it as if Dracula himself whispered directly into their ears.
