The fortress of Obsidian Reach stood like a wound against the night sky. Black spires rose jagged into the heavens, their tips glowing faintly with stolen blood. It was here the seven vampires gathered when the world demanded their unity. Centuries of silence had not dulled the place—it still reeked of conquest.
Draziel, eldest and fiercest, was the first to arrive. His crimson cloak swept across the stone floor, and when he spoke, his voice rippled through the empty hall like chains dragging across stone.
"The prophecy spreads," he said, his fangs glinting. "The mortals whisper of a blade. They grow bold with their songs. Boldness must be crushed."
From the shadows, Lyssa drifted in, her body dissolving into a mist that curled into the form of a woman. Her voice was as soft as breath against a neck.
"Crushed? Or silenced more cleverly? Fear fades when it grows too familiar. We must drown them in despair."
A door slammed open, bones rattling against the walls. Morvak entered draped in bone armor, skulls clinking on chains that hung from his shoulders. "Why waste words? Let us raise their dead and march them back upon their cities. That will silence their tongues."
Then came Kaelith, pale lips wet with fresh blood, his eyes wild with hunger. He dragged a broken villager behind him, tossing the corpse onto the floor like discarded meat. "Let them sing their little prophecy," he snarled, licking his fangs. "When the Dawnbreaker is mine, their voices will feed me for eternity."
Seraphine appeared next, her beauty woven from lies. Silks that weren't real clung to her perfect form, and her smile was a dagger. "The prophecy is useful," she purred. "Hope is a mirror. Mortals will stare into it… and I will shatter it, so they cut themselves on the pieces."
At last, the air grew hot. Flames licked the walls as Ashar entered, his eyes glowing like dying embers. His siblings turned to him with sneers and mockery.
"The outcast arrives," Draziel said. "Tell me, brother… does the fire inside you still burn you alive?"
Ashar ignored him, stepping into the circle. His voice was low, but it carried weight.
"The prophecy cannot be dismissed. If the Dawnbreaker exists, one of us will fall to it."
Veyra, the Seer, entered last. Her blind eyes glowed faintly, her pale hands trembling. "Not one," she whispered. "Six. Perhaps… seven."
The hall fell silent. Her words clung to the air like frost.
Draziel's hands clenched into fists. "Lies!" he thundered. "The blade will be destroyed. I will see to it myself."
Kaelith hissed, his throat growling. "No… it will be mine."
Seraphine's laughter tinkled like broken glass. "You are all fools. I alone will wield it."
Ashar stood apart, staring at the black stone beneath his feet. He said nothing more, for within him, a thought burned he dared not speak: What if the blade is not meant for conquest, but for redemption?
The gathering ended in fury, each sibling vowing to find the Dawnbreaker first. When the fortress emptied, only Veyra remained, trembling. She had seen the truth in her visions—seen Ashar's hand closing around the blazing hilt. And she knew the war of blood and flame had already begun.
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