The Crimson Dominion rose before Seraphina, a jagged silhouette tearing through the heavens, its spires like broken teeth against a sky the color of dried blood. Wind howled through the canyon-like streets, carrying the iron stench of old battles and the faint rot of something long dead. Seraphina pulled her cloak tighter, the fabric snapping like a war banner. Her boots crunched over gravel strewn with bone fragments—whether animal or something else, she didn't care to guess. Somewhere in that labyrinth of black stone waited answers. Or death. Maybe both.
The Shadow's voice had haunted her since the Hall of Ancestors, a serpent coiled in her skull. You belong to us, it hissed, softer now but relentless. She dug her nails into her palm, focusing on the pain. Not yet, she told it. Not ever.
The city gates loomed ahead, twisted ironwork fused into the shape of snarling wolves. No guards stood watch. No one needed to. Vampires didn't fear invaders—they were the invasion. Seraphina slipped through, her dhampir senses flaring. Decay clung to the air, undercut by smoke from distant forges. The streets coiled inward like a spider's web, all leading to the Obsidian Spire at the center. Its peak vanished into low-hanging clouds that pulsed faintly red, as though the sky itself bled.
She expected leering faces, hisses of half-breed trailing her like old ghosts. Instead, the vampires here moved like puppets with cut strings. A woman with ink-black hair slumped against a doorway, fingers plucking listlessly at the frayed hem of her dress. A vendor shuffled past, his cart stacked with vials of crimson liquid, eyes downcast. The silence unnerved her more than any threat. This wasn't the fanged glory the ballads described—this was a corpse of a city, picked clean.
Her hand drifted to the dagger at her hip. Father's dagger. The memory surfaced unbidden: his calloused hands guiding hers, the blade flashing in firelight as he murmured, "Never let them see you hesitate." She'd been eight when the hunters came. Ten when she stopped screaming his name in her sleep.
The Spire's shadow fell over her, colder than the wind. Twenty steps led to a pair of doors carved with scenes of butchery—vampires feasting on battlefields, tearing into knights like ripe fruit. Seraphina climbed, each step echoing. Before she reached the top, crimson-armored guards materialized from the gloom. Their breastplates gleamed like fresh blood, faces hidden behind helms shaped into leering demons.
"Halt." The lead guard's voice was a rasp, as if he'd forgotten how to speak. "Turn back, mongrel."
Seraphina kept her shoulders loose. "I've come to speak with the Council of Elders."
A snort. "The Council doesn't parley with gutter-scum."
She tilted her head, letting her cloak fall open just enough to reveal the dagger. "Even gutter-scum who knows where the Sunless Blade sleeps?"
The guards went still. Legends whispered of the Blade—a relic forged to sever a vampire's bond to darkness. Most considered it myth. But myths held power here.
The lead guard stepped closer. Up close, his armor smelled of rust and cloves. "Lying to the Council means a slow death."
"Good thing I'm not lying." She held his gaze, though her pulse hammered. They're testing you. Wait.
A full minute passed before he jerked his chin. "Disarm her."
Seraphina's jaw tightened as a guard patted her down, confiscating two throwing knives and a garrote wire. The lead guard grunted approval. "Clever little rat." He seized her arm, fingers bruising. "Move. Speak only when spoken to."
The doors groaned open.
Inside, the Spire's throat swallowed her whole. Black marble floors reflected the glow of floating witch-lights, their blue flames casting long shadows. The air tasted of ash and incense. They ascended a spiral staircase, passing tapestries that writhed with enchantment—scenes of massacres that seemed to bleed as she passed.
At the top, the guards shoved her into a circular chamber. Seven thrones of basalt sat in a crescent, six occupied by figures shrouded in smoke and shadow. The seventh, larger and set higher, stood empty. Seraphina's skin prickled. That throne radiated malice, a hunger that gnawed at the edges of her vision.
"So." The voice came from the central throne, smooth as oil. A woman leaned forward, her face a mask of porcelain beauty, eyes like chips of glacial ice. "The dhampir thinks herself worthy of our audience."
Seraphina bowed, just deep enough to avoid insult. "I seek only to share what I know."
"And why," rumbled a male elder with a scar splitting his lip, "should we not bleed you dry where you stand?"
She straightened. "Because the Sunless Blade isn't a myth. And I've seen where it's buried."
A beat of silence. Then the female elder smiled, revealing fangs. "Intriguing. But words are wind. Prove your worth, little hybrid."
A snap of her fingers.
The floor shuddered. A section of wall slid aside, and two guards dragged in a shackled human—a boy, no older than fifteen, his face streaked with dirt and terror. Seraphina's stomach lurched.
"A gift," the elder purred. "Drink, and we'll consider your… proposal."
The boy whimpered. Seraphina's mouth went dry. The Shadow in her mind stirred. Yes, it crooned. Take what you are owed.
She approached slowly. The boy's pulse fluttered in his throat, sweat and fear sharp in her nose. Her fangs ached. It would be so easy. A taste, just enough to—
*Father's dagger. The way he'd looked at her, human to the bone. "You're more than your hunger."
Seraphina knelt, gripping the boy's trembling shoulders. "Look at me," she murmured. His eyes met hers, wide and wet. With one swift motion, she yanked the chain's weak link apart. "Run."
Chaos erupted. The boy scrambled for the door as the elders rose, hissing. Seraphina spun, dagger in hand, as guards surged forward.
The female elder laughed, high and cold. "Foolish child! You've doomed yourself!"
Seraphina bared her teeth. "I've doomed you." She hurled a witch-light at the empty seventh throne.
Flames erupted. Not blue—gold.
The throne screamed.
Black tendrils writhed, forming a figure with burning white eyes. The Shadow. Her Shadow.
"You…" it thundered.
Seraphina grinned, wild and feral. "You forgot, Elders. I'm not just a dhampir." She raised her palm, where a blood rune glowed. "I'm the key."
The rune flared. The chamber shook.
And the Spire began to burn.