Draven moved silently through the crumbling halls of the Blackthorn Clan's castle, his mind racing with thoughts of the Silverfang Clan's impending retaliation. The air was thick with the smell of dust and decay, a reminder of the damage done during the recent attack. He knew that the Silverfangs would not rest until they had avenged their humiliation.
As he passed a broken window, he spotted a group of clan members struggling to lift a heavy beam to repair a fallen section of the wall. Instead of rushing to help, Draven leaned against the stone and watched. He noticed their struggles and the tension in their movements. They were trying hard, but their efforts lacked direction.
"Draven!" a voice called out. It was Mara, one of the younger clan members. "Can you help us with this?"
He pushed off the wall, a slight smile on his lips. "Of course," he replied, joining them. "But let's think this through first."
Draven examined the beam. "If we secure the base here first, it'll be easier to lift it into place. Let's use those stones for support." He gestured toward some smaller rocks nearby.
Mara nodded, grateful for his input. "Right! That makes sense."
As they worked, Draven kept his thoughts focused on their situation. He could sense the uncertainty among his clan members. They needed more than just physical strength; they needed a plan. If he could gather enough resources and prepare strategically, they might stand a chance against the Silverfangs.
Once the beam was in place, Draven stepped back to look at their progress. The castle needed more than just repairs—it needed to be fortified. He turned to Mara. "We should gather materials. Reinforcing the walls will give us an edge if they come back."
Mara looked at him, her eyes brightening with determination. "You're right! I'll gather the others and we can start collecting what we need."
"Good," Draven replied, his tone steady. "And make sure to keep an eye out for any potential threats. We don't want to be caught off guard."
As night fell, Draven moved to a quieter part of the castle, away from the noise of his clan working. He sat in the shadows, contemplating his next move. He was no longer the king he once was, but he still retained some of that power. But he still needed to be careful. He had to wait for the right moment to act.
His mind drifted to the Silverfang Clan. They were arrogant, and their desire for revenge would be their weakness. Draven needed to play this smart—he could use their aggression against them.
Just then, he heard a loud voice from behind him. "Look who it is, the useless servant!" It was Varrick, a member of the Blackthorn Clan who had always looked down on Draven when he was weak. Varrick had never witnessed Draven's fight against the Silverfangs, and his arrogance made him believe he could easily intimidate him.
Draven turned slowly to face Varrick. "What do you want?" he asked, keeping his tone calm.
Varrick smirked, stepping closer. "I want to know how a weakling like you thinks he can help this clan. You can barely lift a sword!"
Draven raised an eyebrow. "You might want to watch your words, Varrick."
Varrick laughed loudly. "Or what? Are you going to fight me? That would be a sight to see!" He took a step forward, preparing to shove Draven.
Instead of backing down, Draven took a step forward as well. "You should know your place ,Brat." With swift movements, he grabbed Varrick's wrist and twisted it, causing him to stumble.
Varrick's face twisted in shock and pain. "What the—"
Before he could react, Draven pushed him to the ground, pinning him there with a foot on his back. "Maybe now you'll think twice before challenging me," Draven said coolly, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Varrick struggled to get up but couldn't. "You… you can't do this! You're just a servant!"
Draven looked down at him, a small smirk on his face. "Not anymore."
Then, Draven activated his red eyes, the glow intensifying with his vampire magic. Varrick's eyes widened in fear as he felt the power radiating from Draven.
"Keep that in mind next time you decide to speak down to someone," Draven said, his tone casual, but the intensity in his eyes made it clear he was not to be underestimated.
As Varrick stumbled away, flustered and terrified, Draven felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him. He had shown Varrick that appearances could be deceiving, and he would not be taken lightly again.
Later, he returned to his quiet corner, focusing on the task at hand. The castle needed more than repairs; it needed a strategy. Draven knew he couldn't rush into action blindly. He would observe, gather information, and when the time was right, he would strike, ensuring that the Blackthorn Clan would not only survive but thrive against the forces of the Silverfang Clan.
To be continued…