Just as the dagger was about to fall, Zephyr vanished. In the blink of an eye, he had escaped, his figure nothing but a wisp of smoke in the moonlight. He would now be hunted, branded a traitor to his own kind. But he didn't care—he couldn't afford to care. His heart was chained to Luna, and he would rather face the wrath of his father than be separated from her forever.
Lord Valak's face twisted in anger as the witches gathered around him, their shadowed forms swaying in the dim, flickering light of the torches. The coven, led by the enigmatic and powerful Morgana, had become his last resort, a gamble in a war he knew he could not win alone. Vampires were a different breed—faster, stronger, and immortal. His human armies could not match their prowess, and Valak's rage was a silent tempest he could barely control.
Morgana's cold, spectral eyes bore into him as Valak recounted his request for their aid. The witches remained eerily still, their presence imbued with an unnatural silence that unsettled even Valak. He knew better than to cross them lightly, for their power was as old as the earth itself, steeped in the dark arts and the blood of centuries.
Morgana's lips curled into a subtle smile, her voice like the whisper of the wind through a graveyard. "You come to us, Valak, seeking power to destroy the vampires. But you must know, nothing in this world comes without a price."
Valak squared his shoulders, trying to conceal the unease that crept up his spine. He knew the witches would demand something steep, something he would loathe to part with. Yet, he had no choice; Khyronia hung in the balance, and his dominion over it would soon slip from his grasp if the vampires remained unchecked.
"Tell me what you want," Valak spat, his voice thick with impatience.
Morgana's eyes gleamed with malevolent delight. "There is a descendant… a child of noble blood, whose veins carry the power to free our lord from his eternal prison. The bloodline of Queen Cassandra runs through this child, though hidden from our sight by an ancient magic. It is this descendant you must find."
Valak's eyes narrowed. "And how do I find this descendant?"
Morgana stepped closer, her cloak rustling softly against the stone floor. "There is an ancient symbol, a mark that has been burned into your flesh for generations, Valak. The witches of old placed it there when they struck their unholy pact with your ancestors. The mark will guide you. When you are near the one we seek, it will burn with the fires of recognition."
The information came like a punch to Valak's gut, a revelation both startling and damning. He had never paid much attention to the mark on his neck—a simple, inherited scar that he believed bore no significance. Yet now, it held the key to finding this mysterious descendant, the key to unleashing the very power Morgana and her coven desired.
The witches had no knowledge of Luna by name or face; all they knew was that she was of royal lineage, a descendant of the long-dead Queen Cassandra, whose blood carried the ancient curse that bound their demon lord in the Abyss. Morgana's gaze was calculating, her words laced with venomous intent.
Valak, still in the dark, had no inkling that the very girl he had so callously threatened—the girl he had intended to kill in a fit of rage—was the witches' target. His mind reeled with thoughts of conquest and vengeance, unaware that Luna's blood would soon be the most sought-after prize in all of Khyronia.
"Do this," Morgana purred, her voice serpentine, "and the power you seek will be yours."
But there was a warning in her eyes, one Valak failed to grasp. The witches, even in their desperation to free their demon lord, were creatures of treachery. They would grant Valak the means to wage his war, but like all deals with the dark arts, this one came with an unspoken burden. Their price would not end with the capture of the descendant—it would only begin.
Morgana's words rang hollow with false promise. "And once you have delivered what we require, our pact will be sealed."
Valak nodded, his pride blinding him to the true peril he was courting. "Consider it done."
But in the dark recesses of the witches' lair, Morgana shared a knowing glance with her sisters. Valak was but a pawn in their game, and though he believed he was on the cusp of securing his victory, the witches had plans far beyond his simple desire for dominance. Even if Valak succeeded, he would be but a stepping stone to something far more dangerous—the release of their demon lord, who had been cast into the Abyss centuries ago.
As Valak departed, Morgana's smile faded into something far more sinister. "He thinks he knows what he's playing with," she muttered, her voice dripping with contempt. "But the fool has no idea of the storm he's inviting. The price he pays will not be in gold or blood—it will be in his very soul."
The witches would demand more from Valak than he could ever imagine. And when the time came, the cost would break him. They would extract their toll with ruthless precision, for there was no greater price in the world than power, and Valak, in his arrogance, had given them all the leverage they needed.
As Valak rode back to his stronghold, he could feel the mark on his neck tingling faintly, unaware that the ancient sign was awakening, leading him ever closer to his doom.
The witches, shrouded in their dark magic, watched the horizon as the prophecy they had long waited for began to unfold. Unbeknownst to Valak, Luna—the very girl he had almost killed—was the key to everything. But they would not reveal that piece of the puzzle until the right moment, when Valak would be too entangled in their web to escape.
And when that moment came, Valak would realise too late that no deal with witches ever ended without treachery. He had sold more than he bargained for; he had placed himself at the mercy of forces far darker and more dangerous than the vampires he sought to destroy.
Back in Ashriel's realm, the news of Zephyr's escape spread like wildfire. Ashriel stood in silent fury, his hand still gripping the dagger that had been meant to end his son's freedom. He refused to respond to Valak's warning—acknowledging it would be seen as weakness. The vampires would never bow to a tyrant like Valak.
But the silence spoke volumes. The storm was coming, and all knew that Khyronia would soon be plunged into war once again. Valak, furious at Ashriel's defiance, could do nothing but stew in his anger. The human army was too weak to challenge the vampires outright. Only the witches, with their dark magic, could tip the balance. Yet Valak's arrogance blinded him to the true cost of his pact with Morgana.
Zephyr, on the run from his father's wrath, knew he could not flee forever. One day, Ashriel's forces would catch him. But for now, his mind was consumed by one thought—Luna. He had to find her, warn her, protect her. Even if it meant breaking every rule his kind had sworn to uphold.
And so, the stage was set. War between Valak, the witches, and the vampires was inevitable, but the true battle was yet to come. Hidden in Luna's blood was a secret that could unleash untold devastation—or salvation. The fate of Khyronia rested in the balance, and in the end, love and power would collide in a storm that would tear the realm apart.
***************
The trees swayed peacefully in harmony with the gentle rhythm of the wind, their leaves dancing under the golden gaze of the sun. It was a scene of serene perfection, as though the forest itself was content in its endless cycle of growth and decay. The dry leaves whispered softly in the breeze, a symphony of rustling that echoed the tranquillity of the moment. All seemed hearty and peaceful, as if this idyllic calm would last forever.
But the stillness was abruptly shattered.
The joyous song of the birds was silenced as they took flight in a chaotic flurry, abandoning their perches in terror. The forest floor, once undisturbed, crackled beneath the weight of approaching footsteps, heavy and hurried, breaking through the undergrowth.
It was Arcanos—his chest heaving, his breath ragged, as he sprinted with all the strength he could muster. Behind him, the reason for his desperate flight thundered closer: a monstrous wolf, unnaturally large, its black fur matted with grime and streaked with the stains of a hunter's hunger. It was at least three times the size of any wolf Arcanos had ever encountered, its eyes glowing with a predatory gleam. Its gnarled, blood-stained teeth glinted ominously in the dappled sunlight, and each ground-shaking step it took brought it nearer to its prey. The beast's growls rumbled through the air like distant thunder, while its breath, hot and fetid, carried the promise of imminent death.
Arcanos' legs burned from the effort of running, his heart pounding in his ears as his body screamed for rest. He had been fleeing for what felt like hours, yet the distance between him and the wolf continued to close. Desperation clawed at his insides as exhaustion began to set in. The trees blurred past him, their branches seeming to reach out, offering neither aid nor escape.
The beast, relentless and famished, surged forward, driven by the scent of his quarry. To the wolf, this human was not only a meal but a challenge—an adversary who had dared to run. But now, Arcanos' pace slowed. His muscles quivered, his lungs screamed for relief, and he knew, in that moment of surrender, he could no longer outrun the beast.
A flicker of defiance sparked within him. He had nothing left to lose. His chest rose and fell heavily as he skidded to a halt, dirt and leaves flying under his feet. He turned to face the wolf, eyes wide but resolute. Arcanos could feel the magic stirring within him, the strange power that had saved him before, but he didn't fully understand it. His hand trembled as it stretched out in front of him, though whether from fear or from power, even he wasn't sure.
The wolf, sensing the sudden shift in its prey, hesitated for the briefest of moments. It snarled, baring its fangs, saliva dripping from its snarling jaws, a low growl vibrating through its immense frame. It took another step forward, eyes locked on Arcanos, but the boy did not move. The forest fell eerily silent.
Arcanos growled in return, his voice low and primal. The ground trembled beneath his feet, the trees shuddered, and the wind stirred violently as though answering his unspoken command. The wolf, once so certain of its dominance, faltered, its growl caught in its throat as a sudden gust of wind tore through the forest with unnatural force.
In an instant, the beast was flung backwards, its enormous body crashing into the trunk of a towering oak with a resounding *boom*.