Nine hundred years earlier, Serafall Valentine was a considerably simpler person.
She liked fighting, she liked winning, and above all else, she liked the feeling of realizing she was getting stronger.
There were no grand political plans behind it. The calculating General who measured resources, consequences, and body counts before moving troops did not exist yet. The Serafall of that time understood the world through a very direct kind of logic: if something was strong, she wanted to fight it; if something stood between her and what she wanted, she went through it; and if an opportunity appeared to advance even a little closer to the limit of her bloodline, everything else could wait.
That was why, when a territorial dispute between vampires and werewolves turned an entire frontier region into a battlefield, Serafall was perfectly happy.
"LEFT!" shouted a Valentine commander, trying to reorganize a formation that had already been broken several minutes earlier.
