A single day had passed since the Argent Vale bled. Three vampire assassins had come under night's cover, two slain by Vale steel, one vanished into the dark.

In the Dawn Hall, Queen Seralyth sat upon her throne, the Necklace of Dawn faintly aglow at her breast. Around her, the Dawn Court stood uneasy: Caren with his usual poise, though his sly smile was absent; Brenn stiff as stone, muttering darkly; Lyra silent, her gaze distant; and Sir Taron watchful, gold-marked armour gleaming in the torchlight.

The chamber doors swung wide.

Kael stormed inside, cloak torn from travel, his daggers still at his sides, the scent of blood clinging to him. His stride was hard, his ears flat, his eyes burning with a fury barely leashed.

"The Vale was struck," he growled, his voice echoing across the marble. "Three assassins, vampires of Neyros. Two lie dead. One slipped into shadow."

The court stirred: Brenn cursed, Caren frowned, Taron's jaw tightened, Lyra lowered her gaze.

Kael stepped forward, claws scraping the stone. His words came sharp, unrelenting.

"My kin are butchered while you sit in counsel. Neyros sends its knives into Veyra's heart, and still this court does nothing."

His snarl rose, filling the hall.

"I will not see another dawn pass in silence. The Dawn Court must wage war on Neyros or the next body you mourn will be mine."

Seralyth rose from her throne, the Necklace of Dawn glinting as the hall fell into silence. Her gaze fixed on Kael, and though her expression carried sorrow, her voice carried steel.

"Your kin bled for Veyra, Huntmaster, and for that they will have honour in these halls. I grieve with you, and I share your fury. Neyros's boldness is no longer the work of shadows. It is provocation, deliberate and cruel."

Her hand tightened against the arm of her throne, golden light flickering faintly from the necklace.

"But fury alone will not shield our people. War is not yet possible. You know as well as I our hunters bring back less each season, our seas turn barren, and even our own folk grow restless. To march on Neyros now would bleed us on the battlefield while famine devours us at home."

She stepped forward, her voice rising with resolve.

"We will not ignore Neyros's strike. But first, we must mend what is broken within our walls, feed our people, strengthen our ranks. Only then will we meet shadow with steel."

Kael's claws screeched against the marble as he stepped closer, his ears flat, his voice rough with rage.

"Famine, coin, excuses!" he snarled. "While we talk of bread, my kin are slaughtered in their sleep. Do you not see, Seralyth? Neyros does not wait for us to be ready. They strike now. They bleed us now. And every day we delay, more beastkin will lie in the dirt."

His eyes blazed, daggers flashing faintly at his sides as though his hands ached to draw them.

"You say we cannot march on Neyros, then give me another way. I will not return to the Vale with only words of patience. My people demand justice. They demand action. And so do I."

The chamber tensed, Brenn shifting his weight, Caren watching intently, Taron's hand resting lightly on his sword hilt. All eyes turned back to the queen.

Before Seralyth could answer, Lyra spoke, her voice calm but firm.

"The Vale is clearly Neyros's target," she said, her eyes settling on Kael. "If they are to strike again, it will be there. But war is not the only answer. Protection can be given without marching armies."

The court stirred as Lyra went on.

"I will offer the Archgriffin of the Luminar Woods," she said, her tone carrying weight. "It is Falrion's own gift, a guardian of claw and wing. If it were to watch over the Argent Vale, no assassin would dare cross its skies or walls. The Luminar Woods will not be left bare, the Chimera still prowls its glades, fierce enough to keep them safe."

Lyra turned to Seralyth, then to Kael. "Let the Archgriffin stand as shield for the Vale. It will not bring back the dead, but it may spare more from joining them."

The chamber fell quiet, the thought of such a beast soaring over the Vale stirring both awe and unease. All eyes turned to the queen.

Seralyth rose once more, her hand brushing lightly against the Necklace of Dawn as she spoke.

"Then it is decided. The Archgriffin will leave the Luminar Woods and take wing to the Argent Vale. Let it stand as guardian to your kin, Huntmaster, until this shadow is lifted."

Kael's ears flat, but he gave a curt nod.

"My thanks, Queen, and to the court," he said, his voice low but edged. "But do not mistake this for an end. A beast, no matter how mighty, cannot replace vengeance. My kin lie cold, and I will not rest until their killers are ash and bone."

Lyra inclined her head, hands clasped before her. "I will give the word. The Archgriffin will take to the skies before nightfall and roost over the Vale. Your people will have its protection."

Kael turned sharply, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strode toward the doors.

"Stay," Seralyth called after him, her tone softer than before. "The court still needs your voice."

He stopped only long enough to look back, his eyes shadowed with grief and fire.

"My dead wait for me," Kael said. "I will tend to them first."

Without another word, the Huntmaster left the hall, the sound of the doors echoing through the chamber long after he was gone.

In the depths of Neyros, the lair of the Shade Wyrms pulsed with foul light. At the centre, a cauldron boiled with black ichor, its surface shifting with ghostly faces that shrieked before dissolving into smoke.

The three sisters swayed in unison, their whispers twisting together into a single, broken chorus.

"Thyra is ended," croaked one.

"The mistressss undone," hissed another.

"Our curse struck true, her blood lies in the Vale," finished the third, their laughter rising in jagged harmony.

But as the echoes faded into the hollow chamber, their bodies trembled. The spell had been vast, draining their strength to the marrow. Their eyes burned faintly, sockets rimmed with exhaustion.

"One assassin lost..." muttered the first.

"One assassin fled..." rasped the second.

"Power ssspent... we wait, we weave again," whispered the third.

The cauldron hissed louder, a plume of steam curling upward like a warning. The Wyrms leaned back, breathless but satisfied. Thyra Veyth, Lady Sera's prized blade had been broken by their hand. For now, their power lay thin, but in time the shadows would swell again.

In the shadowed halls of Craveth Hollow, Lady Sera reclined at the great feast table, its blackwood surface polished to a mirror's sheen. A thrall stood beside her, eyes vacant, arm outstretched as her fangs pressed lightly into his wrist. Crimson ran slow across her lips as she drank in measured silence.

The doors opened, and one of her assassins staggered in. Pale, shaken, blood spattered across his leathers. He bowed low, voice trembling, spoke of the night in the Argent Vale, of the ambush gone awry, of Kael's fury, and of Thyra's collapse.

At the name, Sera stilled. She drew her lips from the thrall's wrist, the blood still warm against her tongue. Her gaze cut through the assassin like a blade.

"Clear the hall," she commanded.

The chamber emptied in moments, save for the lone vampire kneeling before her, trembling beneath her silence.

Thyra. Her favoured blade. Her pupil. The one she had turned with her own fangs, shaped into the Mistress of the Veilborn. Gone. And not by Kael's daggers, nor Veyra's guards, but by sorcery.

Sera's thoughts curled dark and cold. The Wyrms... only their rot could twist a curse to bring Thyra low.

Her voice broke the stillness, smooth and calm, but edged with venom.

"You live only because you saw what befell her. That makes you useful. You will walk beside me to Vaelith, and you will tell Maltherion all you have told me."

The assassin swallowed, his fear thick in the air. He dared not look up.

Sera leaned back, her fingers wiping the last trace of blood from her lips.

"Pray he finds your story more worthy than your failure."

The throne room of Saltspire Keep was no gilded hall of kings but a cavern of sea-stone, carved from cliffs that groaned beneath the waves. Barnacles clung to its walls, chains rattled in the salt-stained air, and half-sunken ships' timbers had been reforged into a jagged dais. Upon it sat Rovan Blackwake, the undying Pirate-King, his black cutlass resting across his lap. Its blade shimmered faintly, as though swallowing the torchlight instead of reflecting it.

Unlike the courts of other rulers, no piles of gold or jewels glittered in the Saltspire. Rovan kept his treasures aboard his flagship instead, for the sea was his kingdom and the deck his throne. The keep was stone and salt, but his ship was his true home.

At his side stood Jax Flint, his first mate a wiry, sharp-eyed killer with a grin that never reached his eyes. Jax had been at Rovan's right hand for decades, quick with his loyalty and quicker with his blade.

Rovan unfurled the crow's parchment, Seralyth's seal broken by his scarred fingers. He read the Dawn Queen's request for trade, her offer of alliance, and let out a low, humourless chuckle.

"Veyra," he said, his voice like waves battering rock. "They've never called to Tharos before. And Seralyth... I've never set eyes on her." His hand tightened over the cutlass hilt, the weapon humming faintly as though it shared his curiosity.

He looked at Jax, a smile tugging at the edge of his salt-cracked lips. "What say you?"

Jax tilted his head, arms folded, the glint of gold rings in his ears catching the firelight. "Sounds like opportunity, Captain. They're desperate, famine or fear, I'd wager. And desperate rulers pay well."

Rovan's grin widened, dark and sharp. "Aye. Opportunity." He rose, boots striking against wet stone, and turned toward the window where the sea lashed at the cliffs. "Send the crow back. Tell Seralyth the Salt King will meet her at her own port."

Jax gave a sharp nod and left to give the order. Rovan lingered at the window, the cutlass whispering in his hand.

"Let's see, Dawnkeeper," he murmured to the waves, "what light is worth when the storm comes."

End of chapter three - part one.