The torches lining the obsidian walls flickered, casting jagged shadows across the long table where the vampire authorities had gathered. The air in the meeting hall was thick with unspoken dread. At the head of the table sat Zereth, his fingers interlocked, his crimson gaze scanning the room with quiet calculation.
To his right, Zagreus sat rigid, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. He could feel it—the storm gathering on the horizon of fate, an inevitable disaster clawing its way toward them, ravenous and relentless. The prophecy, once nothing more than a ghost story whispered to fledgling vampires, had bled into reality. And now, it would devour them whole if they did not act.
Zereth finally spoke, his voice even, sharp. "The prophecy is no longer just a story told to scare fledglings. It has occurred and awakens. The cursed child's blood has tainted the land once more."
