The castle of Craveth Hollow, carved into the cliffs above the Bleakmere Marsh, loomed like a fang in the half-light of Neyros. Its black towers clawed the ashen sky, and its halls dripped with crimson banners stitched from the blood-dynasties' conquests.

Through those halls walked Lady Sera, the Blood Regent queen of the vampires. She moved like flowing silk, pale and perfect, her beauty a blade sharper than any dagger. Vampires lined the corridors, bowing their heads as she passed. None dared meet her gaze. In Neyros, to look too long at the Regent was to risk your life.

She had killed her own before. She would do so again.

At the far end of the hall, the double doors opened into her throne chamber, where a lone figure knelt. The vampire assassin who had gone to Veyra.

His cloak was torn, his eyes lowered. "My queen," he rasped, voice tight with fear. "I... failed. I was seen. The beastkin gave chase. I escaped, but the mission could not be fulfilled. I was sent back to you."

Sera descended the steps of her throne, her bare feet silent upon the floor of dark, polished obsidian, veined faintly with crimson light as though blood itself pulsed beneath it. She circled him like a serpent, the faintest smile curling her lips.

"Failed," she repeated, her voice smooth as velvet. "And nothing more to report?"

The assassin swallowed. "No, my queen."

In a blur, she moved. Her hand swept in a perfect arc, and his head tumbled from his shoulders before he even registered the strike. The body collapsed with a hollow thud, blood spreading across the gleaming obsidian.

The Regent exhaled softly, as though brushing away an inconvenience. Her voice remained calm, almost detached.

"Failure is weakness. Weakness has no place in my dynasty."

She turned, her silken gown trailing across the obsidian floor, crimson reflections shimmering beneath her. To her gathered underlings, who stood frozen with terror, she spoke without raising her tone.

"I have been summoned. Maltherion calls the Umbral Court to gather."

Her crimson eyes glimmered in the torchlight as she left the hall, stepping over the fallen body without a glance. The other vampires bowed low, none daring to move until she was gone.

At the heart of Neyros rose the Dread Citadel of Vaelith, a fortress of obsidian and iron fused by necrotic flame. Its jagged towers pierced the ashen sky, its walls writhed with chained shadows that whispered and rattled though no hands bound them.

Upon a throne wrought from fused skulls and black steel sat Maltherion, the Shadow Sovereign. The created son of Corvanyth himself. 

He was tall, broad-shouldered, his body wrapped in layered armour more like a carapace than steel. Veins of dull crimson pulsed faintly beneath pale, corpse-like flesh, as though embers smouldered in his veins. His crown was jagged iron, shrouding half his face, leaving only his eyes burning faintly, twin coals that saw through flesh and bone alike. His presence filled the hall with silence heavier than death.

He waited.

The vast doors of Vaelith opened, and the first of his court entered.

Lady Sera, the Blood Regent. Pale as moonlight, lips crimson, silks clinging like liquid shadow. She glided across the polished crimson stone floor and bowed deeply, though hunger never left her gaze. Her legions of vampire knights were vast, and her ambition greater still.

Then came Vorin, the Hollow King. Cloaked in regal tatters, crowned with green fire, his skeletal frame rattling faintly as though every step summoned an unseen legion. His hollow sockets glared at Maltherion with loathing shackled by compulsion.

Zerik, the Shadow-Tongue followed, his scaled skin glistening faintly, serpent eyes gleaming. His forked tongue flickered as he hissed half-words and prophecies. A prophet, or a lunatic, none dared decide. Yet Maltherion tolerated him, for his visions too often proved true.

Last came the Shade Wyrms, three veiled necrosorceresses who moved as one, their voices weaving in unearthly harmony. Behind them crawled a half-formed abomination stitched from corpses, its many eyes blinking in chaos. They bowed in unison, never ceasing their chant.

Now the Umbral Court was gathered.

Maltherion sat unmoving, ember eyes sweeping over them. He raised one gauntleted hand, and silence drowned the hall.

He leaned forward, his gaze cutting through each of them like a blade.

"And now... you will tell me how Neyros shall strike the killing blow."

The silence of Vaelith cracked as Lady Sera stepped forward, her silks whispering across the crimson stone. She bowed low, but her eyes gleamed like blood-lit glass.

"My lord," she said smoothly, "my assassin failed. He was spotted before the final stroke. The killing blow must wait."

The hall shuddered as Maltherion rose from his throne, ember eyes flaring with fury. His voice thundered like a tomb collapsing.

"Failed? Your kind slinks in shadows yet cannot slit the throat of prey? Bring me this wretch at once. I will peel his soul apart myself."

Sera's lips turned up faintly, calm even beneath the Sovereign's wrath. "There is no need, my lord. I dealt with him already. His failure has been... erased."

Maltherion's hand tightened on the arm of his throne, the skulls beneath his grip cracking with a sharp snap. "Your incompetence festers, Regent. Yet his failings do not change the greater design. We still have our spy in Veyra. The human feeds us well enough."

The court stirred faintly at that whispers behind lowered eyes. None dared ask the spy's name.

Maltherion's voice dropped low, cold and final. "The mission was simple. Your assassin was to bleed the beastkin, slaughter them across the city. Enough to drive their Huntmaster into fury, enough to make Kael turn upon the Dawn Court itself. Isolated, mistrusted, he would have been easy prey for the knife."

His ember gaze burned into Sera. "Now the truth is known Kael has seen your vampire's hand, he now knows of Neyros's involvement in this. The plan is ashes. And so the next stroke must cut deeper."

He leaned forward, his voice sharp as a blade. "Prepare your best assassin, Sera. No more games. No more pawns. Kill Kael. Tear out the heart of the Dawn Court, and Veyra will fracture."

A ripple passed through the chamber. None of the other courtiers spoke, but the displeasure was sharp in their silence. Sera had failed once and yet she was again given Maltherion's trust. Their envy coiled in the dark, masked behind still faces.

At last, Maltherion's ember eyes swept across the others. "And what of the rest of you? Speak."

Vorin, the Hollow King rattled his jaw of bone. "So long as my legions march when the time comes, I care not who carries your blade, Sovereign."

Zerik, the Shadow-Tongue hissed, forked tongue flickering. "Blood feeds blood. The beastkin's death will light the spark you seek. Yet I see teeth in the dark... teeth that may bite both ways."

The Shade Wyrms sang softly, voices in perfect unison. "We weave flesh and bone to serve the throne. But beware, Sssovereign the Regent's hunger growss with every kill."

Maltherion raised one hand, and silence returned. The crimson floor trembled faintly as if the Citadel itself obeyed him.

"Enough. You serve me, not yourselves. Soon Veyra will break and when it does, the shadow throne will rise over all."

The Shade Wyrms' warning echoed through the chamber.

"But beware, Sovereign the Regent's hunger grows with every kill."

A ripple stirred in the Court. Sera did not move, did not so much as arch a brow, but deep within her pale chest her anger burned cold and sharp.

Maltherion rose, ember eyes dimming to embers. "Enough. The Court is dismissed. Go prepare, plot, sharpen your fangs. The next stroke will decide the Dawnlands' fate."

The members bowed, one by one, and drifted into the shadows of the crimson hall.

In the outer corridors, silence pressed in. The crimson light of Vaelith glowed faintly through the windows as Sera's silks whispered across the polished stone. Ahead of her, the Shade Wyrms glided as one, their veils shifting, their stitched pet crawling behind them with its blinking, unnatural eyes.

No guards. No servants. Only them.

Sera's steps quickened until she drifted to their side. Her voice was velvet, almost sweet, but each word was honed like a dagger.

"You speak boldly for three husks stitched together. Whisper of my hunger again, and I will feed you each to your sisters in turn."

She leaned closer, lips curving faintly, though her eyes gleamed with quiet malice.

"I will peel the skin from your faces and bind your tongues together so that when one speaks, the other two choke. I will scatter your abominations across Neyros, limb by limb, so the carrion birds may dine for decades. And when you wail, I will keep you alive long enough to hear every scream."

The Wyrms said nothing, their veils shifting faintly as their chanting faltered. Their abomination hissed, its many eyes darting nervously.

Sera's smile never changed. "Pray your Sovereign values your craft more than I value your silence."

She drove her heel into the creature's side. It let out a shrill, broken wail as it toppled against the wall, its stitched limbs twitching helplessly.

Without another word, the Regent turned, her silks trailing behind her like liquid shadow. She left the corridor in silence, her path already clear.

It was time to prepare her assassin.

The great doors of the Dawnspire Citadel opened with a resonant echo. Sunlight spilled into the Dawn-Hall, glinting off the golden columns and bright mosaics that lined its walls.

Queen Seralyth entered with Lyra at her side, her hair gleaming with strands of gold where silver had once dulled it, her skin radiant, her bearing sharpened by a strength unseen in years. Around her throat lay the Necklace of Dawn, though none in the hall yet knew its name.

At the foot of the throne stood Lord Caren, robed in deep velvet trimmed with gold, rings glittering on his fingers, and Sir Taron, armoured in steel lined with gold, the crest of the Dawnforge bright upon his chest plate. Both turned as the queen entered and for a rare moment, both were struck silent.

"By the Light..." Caren murmured, bowing low, though his sharp eyes lingered in quiet appraisal.

"My queen," Taron said, dropping to one knee, his golden trim catching the sun, "you look as though Falrion's dawn itself walks with you."

Seralyth moved toward the throne, her voice calm but commanding. "What I found in the Luminar Woods was hope. I will share more with the Court in time. For now, know that Falrion has not forsaken us."

She placed her hand upon the throne. "Caren, my thanks for tending the capital in my absence. Tell me what has transpired?"

Caren's expression shifted, his charm tempered with weight. "You already know of the beastkin hunter found slain in the alleys. At the time, we did not know the hand behind it. Now... witnesses claim it was no mere cutthroat. They speak of pale flesh, inhuman swiftness. A vampire, my queen. Neyros's shadow in our streets."

Seralyth's eyes narrowed, her hand tightening faintly on the throne. "A vampire. In Dawnspire..."

Taron stepped forward, his voice clipped and blunt. "Worse, Majesty. Two nights past, one of Kael's scouts was struck down on the rooftops. The Huntmaster sought justice in secret, without the Court's sanction. He and his kin confronted the killer and lost. The vampire fled.

Seralyth's face darkened, the weight of both revelations sinking deep. "Reckless of Kael... but I will not pretend to be blind to his grief. First the hunter, now the scout. He has lost too much".

Her voice sharpened, ringing through the hall. "But this is no longer a matter for him alone. Neyros's hand moves within our walls. The Dawn Court must answer."

She turned to Caren. "Summon them. All of them. Every seat filled."

Caren bowed with a diplomat's grace, his smile faint and unreadable. "At once, my queen."

End of chapter two - part one.