CHAPTER FOUR: The House of Night
In the Vampires Kingdom
darkness Set inside the vampire kingdom hidden beneath an ancient mountain, Vampires all gathers revealing Their laws, pride, power, and hunger are revealed. Luna's father is shown alive but held captive and feared. Dorian enters as a high ranked vampire, trusted by the king himself. Shadows, politics, secrets, and power rule the night here.
The House of Night lived where no sun ever ruled.
Deep under a black mountain that touched the clouds, there was a city built of stone and shadow. No flowers bloomed here. No birds sang. The walls were smooth and cold like they had been carved by something older than time itself. Fire burned blue in long torches that never went out. The air smelled of metal, dust, and something sharp like blood that had dried long ago.
This was the vampire world.
They did not sleep in coffins like old stories said. They lived in halls and towers cut into rock. Their homes were carved from darkness. Their windows showed no sunlight, only drifting black clouds and wandering mist.
High above the rest of the city stood the Dark Throne.
A massive hall with tall stone pillars shaped like wings. The roof rose so high it looked like it pierced the sky. At the back of the hall sat a throne cut from pure black stone. It was not decorated, not pretty, not shiny. It did not need to be.
Power lived in it.
And on it sat King Vaelor.
He did not wear gold. He did not wear crowns. His power did not come from objects. It came from his eyes. Eyes so dark they reflected no light at all.
When he stood, all others bowed.
When he spoke, even the oldest vampires listened.
Below him stood the five Elders. The leaders of all vampire bloodlines. Old as stone. Cold as the dead.
They gathered tonight.
And so did the guards.
And the prisoner.
Marcus was dragged into the center of the great hall in black chains. Chains carved with glowing red marks that burned into his skin. He did not scream. He never did.
He stood tall.
Too tall. Too calm. Too dangerous.
His skin bore scars no vampire could heal. His eyes burned silver in the torchlight. Not red. Not black. Silver.
The mark of both.
Half wolf. Half vampire.
A thing that should not exist.
A thing that terrified them.
Two guards shoved him to his knees.
King Vaelor leaned forward slightly.
"Marcus Blackfang," he said. His voice echoed without effort. "You live. Most in your place would not."
Marcus lifted his head slowly. Blood dripped from his mouth but his smile was strong.
"Most of you could not kill me even if you tried," he said calmly.
A ripple of anger passed through the room.
One of the Elders stepped forward. Elder Ceros. Skin like dried bone. Voice like broken glass.
"You are alive because we allow it."
Marcus laughed softly.
"No," he said. "I am alive because you are afraid."
The chains burned brighter.
King Vaelor raised a hand.
Silence fell.
He studied Marcus with something not quite hatred. Not fear either.
Curiosity.
"You are powerful," the king said. "Too powerful for one body. The wolf in you wants freedom. The vampire blood wants the throne. And you… you want your daughter."
Marcus stiffened.
The hall felt colder.
"Say her name again," Marcus whispered, "and these walls won't hold you."
The chains glowed hotter.
King Vaelor smiled.
"She lives," he said. "And that is why you breathe."
Marcus shut his eyes.
He did not beg.
He did not break.
He only listened.
"You are a weapon," the king continued. "A dangerous one. And weapons are either used… or locked away."
Marcus opened his eyes.
"Then one day," he said calmly, "I will break this cage and burn your kingdom to ash."
King Vaelor stood.
The ground trembled.
"Take him below," he ordered.
And the guards obeyed.
Deep under the hall, beneath seven stone levels, beneath locked doors and cursed steel, Marcus was thrown into his prison cell.
It was not small.
It was not dirty.
It was empty.
A wide black room with one narrow window looking into darkness. No chains on the walls. No torture tools.
Just space.
And silence.
Vampires soon learned something simple.
Chains made him stronger. Pain did nothing. Hunger changed nothing.
So they trapped him with nothing.
Not even company.
Or so they believed.
Footsteps echoed quietly.
Someone entered the shadows.
Marcus did not look up.
"I know you are there," he said calmly.
A young man stepped into the dim light.
Tall.
Slim.
Dark hair falling into sharp eyes that glowed faint red.
Dorian.
One of the king's own.
Not a servant.
Not a soldier.
Something else.
"You see everything," Dorian said quietly.
"I smell your heartbeat," Marcus answered.
Not hostile.
Not warm.
Just truth.
Dorian moved closer.
"I was told to watch you," he said.
Marcus looked up.
Eyes silver.
Cold.
"You will fail like the rest."
Dorian swallowed.
"Maybe," he said. "But I was chosen."
Marcus studied him closely.
"Then you are not like them."
Dorian did not answer.
He sat on the stone bench across the cell.
Quiet.
Waiting.
Watching.
King Vaelor had chosen Dorian for a reason.
He was not cruel like the guards. Not twisted like the elders. Not blind like the others.
He still remembered being human.
In the halls above, the council gathered again.
The elders argued.
"The hybrid is too strong!"
"He corrupts our blood!"
"He must die!"
King Vaelor slammed his hand against the throne.
The hall cracked beneath it.
"He stays alive," the king said.
Silence.
"He is rare," Vaelor continued. "And rare things belong to kings."
Elder Nyx stepped forward.
"The pack still hunts him," she warned.
"So let them," the king replied. "Their hatred keeps him weak."
"And his daughter?" Elder Ceros asked.
Vaelor's eyes darkened.
"She is watched."
Back in the prison, Starlight failed to exist.
But Dorian returned every night.
He brought water. Sometimes food. Always questions.
"Why do you not break the walls," he asked one night.
Marcus smiled softly.
"Because when I escape," he said, "I do not want walls left standing at all."
Dorian stared at him.
"You are not like stories," he whispered.
"No," Marcus said. "Stories are kinder."
Dorian hesitated.
"Do you miss her?"
Marcus closed his eyes.
Every part of him tightened.
"Yes."
A single word.
Heavy.
Dorian looked away.
In another part of the kingdom, whispers grew.
Some vampires said the prisoner was a god. Some called him cursed. Others wished to touch his power.
But none dared enter his cell.
Except Dorian.
Days passed.
Weeks.
Marcus did not grow weaker.
He grew quieter.
Stronger.
Dorian began to notice strange things.
Walls trembling when Marcus dreamed. Lights flickering when he grew angry. Wind rising from stone.
"You could rule here," Dorian said one night.
Marcus laughed.
"I ruled once," he answered. "It cost me everything."
One evening, King Vaelor came himself.
He stood outside the cell.
"You are revered and feared," he said to Marcus. "Even in chains."
Marcus looked at him through the bars.
"I am not yours."
The king smiled.
"Everything in my kingdom is."
Marcus stood.
The air shook.
Dorian tensed.
Marcus stepped close.
"Then touch me," he said. "And see who truly owns this place."
For one heartbeat, fear flashed across the king's face.
Then it was gone.
He turned away.
"Watch him closely," he said to Dorian. "If he moves… warn me."
Dorian nodded.
But his eyes followed Marcus.
Not with duty.
With doubt.
Deep in his cell, Marcus whispered his daughter's name for the first time in years.
And in the forest far away…
Something heard him.
The vampires went back to their dark lives.
The king waited. The elders schemed. The guards watched.
And the prisoner remained.
But not alone.
Not anymore.
Dorian sat in the shadows.
Listening.
Learning.
Wondering if saving a monster could one day set the world on fire.