Darkness settled over her like a burial shroud, thick and suffocating.
Selene stood at the precipice of memory, or was it something more insidious?
The weight of certainty pressed against her skull, pushing, reshaping, rewriting. It was not a mere whisper but an undeniable, suffocating force that dictated reality itself.
A silver moon bled over the night sky, its glow illuminating the execution square of Blackthorn Keep in Erebus city.
The air hung thick with the scent of blood, the copper tang sharp in her nose.
Flames flickered in the iron sconces lining the perimeter, casting eerie shadows against the gothic spires of the fortress.
Hooded figures stood in a silent semicircle, watching, waiting.
Selene moved with practiced ease, clad in black leather and a high-collared crimson cloak that billowed behind her like the wings of a predator.
Her boots clicked against the stone, each step resonating with authority. She was no stranger to this place, to this moment.
This was her domain.
The prisoner knelt before her, bound by thick iron chains.
A human. Weak. Trembling. His face was gaunt, his body broken by days of captivity. He lifted his gaze, desperate, searching.
And she knew him.
The realization was like a dagger between her ribs, but it did not make sense.
It couldn't be real.
You know him.
No.
She didn't.
Did she?
The memory twisted, bending to the System's will, solidifying a truth that did not belong to her.
His name is Matthias Cain. He was a traitor. He sold out your brethren to the human resistance.
Selene's grip tightened around the hilt of the executioner's blade, an elegant thing of obsidian and silver. A weapon of judgment, of loyalty.
The man Matthias, shook his head, lips parting as if to speak, but no words came.
His throat was raw from screaming, from pleading.
And yet, she had not heard him.
She had never needed to. His crimes were evident, undeniable.
Were they?
A flicker of something, of herself, stirred beneath the surface, a voice buried too deep to reach.
She hesitated.
A mistake.
The System corrected it.
The scene sharpened, the details crystallizing into brutal clarity.
This was no illusion. No dream. This was the weight of history, of truth. The resistance was a lie. She had never fought for humanity. She had never been one of them.
She was this. A vampire. A leader of one of the noble factions that ruled over the earth with an iron grip.
The realization should have shaken her.
Instead, it settled into her bones with an eerie, suffocating rightness. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place.
Matthias's face blurred, his expression shifting.
The desperation faded, replaced by defiance. No longer a man begging for mercy, but a traitor caught in his final hour.
"You always knew it would end this way, Cain," she heard herself say, voice cold as winter's bite. No hesitation. No uncertainty. He spat at her feet, as though to prove her point.
She raised the blade.
Matthias clenched his jaw, shoulders tensing against the restraints.
"Selene."
A whisper. A plea? Or a test?
Her grip tightened as her eyes flickered from blue to brown. This is what you are. The System whispered, feeding her certainty like a slow, dripping poison.
Her eyes flashed blue and remained that way when she suddenly brought the blade down, a hateful frown sitting on her face.
A clean strike.
A single moment of steel slicing through flesh.
The body collapsed.
The head rolled, stopping at the foot of the dais. The blood pooled, dark and glistening, a crimson mirror reflecting her unreadable expression.
A roar of approval rose from the gathered vampires, their voices a chorus of loyalty and triumph.
Lord Veylan watched from his throne above, the shadows coiling around him like living things. He gave a nod of approval.
Selene turned from the body and bowed, but something inside her curled inward, recoiling. The memory wanted her to accept it. To embrace it. And yet...
Something was wrong.
She couldn't look at the body.
The memory shifted.
Another scene.
Another execution.
Another night like this one.
A woman this time, bound in silver chains, kneeling at Selene's feet. Familiar eyes. Familiar fear. A familiar face.
She knew her
She was a traitor, too.
No. No, something was wrong.
The memory deepened, pulling her further into its grasp.
It was undeniable, unwavering. Each scene carved itself into her mind with brutal precision. Again and again. Countless executions. Countless betrayals.
She had never fought for humanity.
She had always been one of them.
Hadn't she?
Selene's hands were clean. A lie.
Selene had never questioned her allegiance. A lie.
Selene had always belonged to the night. A lie.
Her knees buckled. The world twisted.
And then...
A whisper. Faint. Fragile. But hers.
This isn't real.
A splinter in the memory. A crack in the illusion.
The real Selene, buried beneath layers of forced history.
The moment wavered.
The torches lining the obsidian chamber flickered, their flames elongating unnaturally, casting rippling shadows across the ancient stone walls.
The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of aged parchment, spiced incense, and something far richer... blood.
Lord Veylan descended from his throne, slow and deliberate, his steps soundless against the polished black marble.
Power radiated from him, a force that curled around Selene like unseen tendrils, pressing into her skin, coiling in her lungs.
The very air bent in his presence, thick with something evil; something ancient, something absolute.
He loomed before her, his cloak trailing behind him like liquid darkness.
"You are hesitating."
The words were soft, almost coaxing, yet they carried the weight of command. They curled around her ribs, settled into the spaces between her thoughts, trying to reshape them.
Selene's breath came shallow, uneven.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, a fleeting resistance, a tremor in the fabric of the memory.
No.
The word was a whisper, drowned beneath the overwhelming rightness of the moment.
Veylan's lips curled; not quite a smile, something more insidious. "There is no doubt in you, my dear. There never was. I'm so proud of what you've become and of everything you have achieved"
His voice was a velvet shroud, wrapping around her mind, pressing against her will.
Selene's heart, no, not her heart; something deeper, something instinctive, recoiled. A ripple beneath still water, barely perceptible but undeniably real.
The torches flared, an unseen wind stirring the heavy air. Shadows danced, elongated figures stretching across the chamber walls, their forms shifting, writhing.
The robed figures surrounding them remained motionless, their faces indistinct, blurred at the edges, as if they had never been meant to be fully seen.
The memory surged forward again, a tidal wave meant to consume, to drown her in its certainty.
And for a moment, just a moment; Selene felt herself being pulled under.
She was this. She had always been this. Hadn't she?
A daughter of the night. A sworn warrior of the vampire lords. Blood-bound. Loyal.
Hadn't she stood in this very chamber before, just like this? Hadn't she knelt before Veylan in devotion, not defiance?
The certainty was suffocating. It poured into her like thick, cloying liquid, filling every space, every gap where resistance might form.
The memory wrapped around her like chains spun from silk and shadow.
A flicker. A whisper.
The scent of iron, fresh and sharp. The taste of blood, familiar, exhilarating, necessary.
A figure was dragged before her, their body limp, bound in chains that glowed with the same pulsing sigils now etched into her own skin.
She knew this moment.
She had done this before.
A servant, a human, a traitor.
Selene's fingers curled around the hilt of a dagger, the metal warm in her grip, as if it had been waiting for her hand.
The blade shimmered, obsidian with a vein of crimson light running through its edge, enchanted steel, forged for one purpose.
The chamber hushed, expectant.
Veylan watched her, waiting.
This was her duty.
This was her purpose.
She stepped forward, each movement as fluid as breath, as inevitable as the turning of the stars.
The human lifted their head, eyes wide, lips trembling around desperate words; words that did not reach her, words that did not matter.
Selene raised the blade.
It would be swift. Clean. A single stroke, a release into oblivion.
The blade hovered.
Her own breath echoed in her ears, deafening.
Something beneath the memory screamed.
This isn't real.
The thought cracked through the illusion like lightning through a storm-heavy sky.
A hand; her own hand, shaking, just slightly. A hesitation that shouldn't be there.
This isn't real.
But it was.
The certainty came crashing down, as absolute as the night.
She had done this before.
She had stood here before.
She had ended lives for the other vampire lords.
Hadn't she?
The blade bit into flesh.
The figure collapsed.
Blood pooled at her feet, dark and thick, seeping into the grooves of the stone like ink drawn into parchment.
A roar of approval surged through the chamber.
The robed figures exhaled in satisfaction, their faceless forms shifting in a way that was wrong, unnatural.
Veylan's hand settled on her shoulder, a gesture of approval. Possession.
"You have always been one of us."
Selene's vision swam.
A crack in the illusion.
The weight of the dagger in her grip... too light.
The taste of blood on her tongue... too rich.
The scent in the air... too perfect.
The wrongness slithered deeper, wrapping around her spine, whispering.
What if this is true?
What if the resistance was the lie?
Her head tilted, as if hearing an echo from across a vast, endless void.
Hadn't she always belonged here? Hadn't she sworn her loyalty? Hadn't she raised this very blade, time and time again, for the only cause that mattered?
And yet.
And yet.
Something screamed inside her, buried deep beneath the flood of memory.
A splinter of doubt. A crack in the perfect façade.
Her fingers clenched around the dagger's hilt, tight enough to hurt.
The chamber was silent again, expectant, waiting for her to accept what she already knew.
Selene lifted her gaze to Veylan.
And she smiled.
Slow. Controlled. Calculated.
A daughter of the night. A sworn warrior of the vampire lords.
She had always been this.
Veylan's grip on her shoulder tightened, his approval a tangible weight. "You understand now."
Selene nodded.
"Yes, your Majesty"