He followed silently, keeping his head down while he was led ahead. Even though he was not being pushed or shoved, he was still surrounded. One vampire was pulling at one of his chains firmly, while the others marched behind him, to make sure he would keep walking.

Bastian eyed every corridor they crossed, all lighted by the moonlight that came through the windows. There were a lot of vampires around, awake for the night. Every time he walked by any of them, they would blink in surprise, to then whisper anxiously. They debated why he was alive, and most importantly, in that wing of the castle.

When they passed by a big hall, he frowned deeply and averted his gaze, because there was a bigger crowd of vampires there. He heard how they said his name with apprehension and resent, the entire court believing him to be a fiend. After what happened, he finally could understand why.

He felt slight relief when they stepped into more secluded corridors, which also seemed endless. The castle was huge, worthy of an empress. He could not avoid glancing up at the red banners hanging on the tall walls, and the big doors that led to opulent chambers.

This place was meant for nobility, not humans. Vampires truly felt superior, and followed that belief strictly, enforcing division. Yet there he was, halting upon the last door of a grand hallway, secluded and private. A guard walked around him with keys to open it.

He blinked, seeing a fairly big room, only a little smaller than her main one. There were also two doors inside it. He was gently pushed forward, because he doubted to go in. The soldiers said nothing as he glanced back nervously, proceeding to close the door behind him. He heard them lock it, to prevent him from leaving.

They left him alone, and he found himself keeping still for a few moments. It was only when he stopped hearing their steps outside that he began to glance around himself. His mind was still trying to process all that had happened.

One thing he knew for sure, better than anything else. He was exhausted, drained, and his neck still hurt a lot. Not to mention how strained he was emotionally, more than ever.

That door…

He finally moved, wishing to sleep. With a weak huff, he pushed the door to his left, making it sway open. He raised an eyebrow, seeing that it was not a bedroom, but a small bathroom. There was a cabinet under the stony sink, which took his attention. He doubted for a second, but then he crouched, inspecting what it contained. There were towels, bathing oils, a brush, and even bandages. He was not sure if he was allowed to use them, because they looked lavish.

Bastian stood again, brushing the back of his neck in thought. A grimace grew on his face when he spotted the small mirror on the wall. He slowly ran a finger over the bandages that Nerys tied around his neck, noting how they were drying up. All ever slowly, he looked sideways, eyeing the stony bathtub in the corner.

He came out of the bathroom after an hour, brushing a towel against his now wet hair. As well, he had wrapped a new set of bandages over his wounds. A long sigh escaped him, and then he smiled sadly. He felt better at the moment, so he did not care if he was reprimanded later.

Even if vampires were slightly allergic to water, they still had intricate hydraulic systems, not only meant for the communal baths used by their human underlings. He had never been in a vampiric domain, so he had not been sure they established such things for themselves as thoughtfully. Perhaps they could not let go of all their humanity, as some of them wished.

Still, maybe this intricacy was simply due to her rule and directive. She had always kept herself on check, not once ignoring her form. She always displayed grace, not due to vanity, but for simple diligence. As a fighter, she considered her body a temple, which needed to be fortified at all costs.

Thinking of her beauty made him blush a little, but also ponder. He frowned at the robes he had worn, which were unsalvageable. Even if he managed to wash the blood off them, they would be no longer suitable for wear. They were ripped by her claws, and no sewing would mend those slashes.

He looked around himself while tying his long hair again, to prevent it from falling onto his face. The main room had nothing of interest, fairly simple even if pretty. There was a fireplace, a table with chairs, and a few paintings on the walls.

The door at his right could only be the bedroom, which he had not inspected yet. He ventured into it slowly, peeking warily, even if Nerys had commanded that no harm should befall him. His eyes glinted, because there was a big bed, which looked very inviting. Not even as a free man had he seen bedsheets as soft as those, a few probably made of silk. He was very tempted to drop there and doze off immediately, but he needed to do something first.

He opened a closet at the corner and was not surprised by the multiple sets of clothes inside. Most were all too fancy for his taste, befitting a noble. Though still more elaborate than what he would choose, there were some that were more discreet, as he liked.

Once he settled for some black robes that did not have her insignia embroidered on them, he let himself fall backwards. A content huff escaped him as he hit the soft bed, and he did not bother to crawl under the bedsheets, far too tired.

He closed his eyes, his mind quickly growing foggy, incapable of holding on for much longer. Nonetheless, the sorrow was still there, even when he fell into a deep slumber. He was worried, not as much for himself, but for her.

———–

Pained hisses echoed all around. She could only watch as everything burned to the ground, prey of the voracious flames that had been invoked.

She snarled, clenching her fangs as she dashed out of her small cottage, to make a run for it. It was easy to avoid some of them, for they were busy killing another, every stab of sword non-lethal.

The insurgents had never been this hostile or fierce. Her village was near the border, but no raid had ever been this daring and intense. The humans always struck cunningly, attacking rapidly and retreating right away. They always targeted vampires who roamed off, or loners.

This was not disputed territory, but the limits of their vast vampiric empire, secured by all clans. It should not be, yet this attack was led by multiple squads, which almost resembled an army. They were organized and commanded fiercely, as strong as some forces led by lords.

Her eyes widened, for another house crumbled due to the fire, right in front of her. The path was blocked, and she could only cower backwards, the mere proximity of the flames making her skin wither.

The vampire hissed in fear, seeing figures closing in on her. They finally spotted her between the hellfire they brought. She tried to claw at the first rebel who tried to seize her. They got a few scratches, but she soon was overpowered, quite easily. The torches they carried blinded and hurt her, causing her to cower in instinct.

They subdued her, pinning her arms at her sides. She eyed their daggers and swords with fear, but their torches with terror. Insurgents inflicted horrible torture on her kin sometimes, she knew. They could put to use stakes, fire, and blades, all without ever killing.

She was dragged away from the burning debris, into the nearby plain, where she could see every household they had destroyed. They pushed her to the ground, at the feet of an official. A hiss of pain escaped her, but then, she slowly raised her gaze. She trembled as those eyes pierced her coldly, hinting how much they yearned to see her burn. It was her most probable fate, considering how one of those hands twirled repeatedly, wielding a smoking glow.

Her ochre eyes narrowed intensely as she crouched, to then grab the vampire’s jaw strongly, glad to inflict pain. She spoke firmly and emotionlessly, questioning.

“Has any in your village seen a group of rebels donning gray banners?”

She was not pleased by the shake of head the vampire gave her, fearfully. Her eyes darkened more; they were the only thing that could hint her thoughts to others, for her face was partially concealed by a red fabric, slightly torn and slashed.

An old mage watched from a distance, unnerved, still unable to get used to seeing her like this. Her voice was always cold, and her determination was not passionate, but hateful. She once showed nothing but love in her gaze, yet now it was gone.

Lyssa let go of the vampire in order to stand again, her golden hair glinting as much as the sunlight, thanks to the glimmers of the nearby pyres. The next words were monotone, yet inquisitive.

“Have you heard of any human named Bastian?

He had disappeared after crossing these borders, a fact that made her hope she would find a lead. Sadly, she got no right answers, once more.

“N-no, I have never-“

She did not want to hear it. Her hand outstretched down, casting a strong flow of smoking fire, which silenced those words. She let out a derisive whisper as the vampire screamed, all ever tired.

“There is no reason for you to keep existing then…”

She watched without care how the vampire burned to death, ignoring the look her master gave her. All her troops found the slaying appropriate, and no one stopped her from turning flesh to ashes. Once there was nothing but charred remains and bone fragments, she turned away, whispering resentfully.

“I want you all gone.”

She would not stop. All dens would be cleansed, until nothing was left. She would see to it, for them.