Ryle soared through the starlit sky, Thea held tightly in his arms. Her blood still stained his chest, but her warmth was there—faint, but present.
"I missed carrying you while flying," he muttered, his tone light but his grip fierce.
Thea gave a tired chuckle, her head resting against his shoulder. "I missed you being cocky."
He glanced down at her. Bruised. Pale. Yet still joking. His heart clenched. "You scared me."
"I scare myself sometimes," she whispered, eyes fluttering shut.
Ryle said nothing more.
The Dragon Mountain loomed ahead, its peak brushing the clouds, radiating warmth beneath its rocky skin. As they landed, ancient draconic auras stirred, recognizing their kin.
Vaelthia waited at the summit, her silver scales gleaming under moonlight. In her humanoid form, she looked like a towering priestess wrapped in fire—for that was what she was.
Ryle laid Thea gently on a stone slab carved by dragon talons.
"She needs you."
Vaelthia knelt beside her, placing clawed hands over Thea's chest. Glowing runes spread out across the rock, ancient dragon magic weaving through the air.
Blue and gold energy flowed into Thea's body, mending bones, sealing wounds, and reigniting her spirit.
Ryle watched in silence, fists clenched.
After a long while, Thea stirred. Her eyes opened—clearer, stronger.
"She'll live," Vaelthia said. "She's strong. But something unnatural clings to her blood."
Ryle turned away. His voice was quiet. "She said… one of them could control blood."
Ryle looked back at Thea, who sat up slowly, voice hoarse.
"It was a vampire," she murmured. "He didn't fight. Just snapped his fingers… and I couldn't move. My blood froze in my veins. Like I was a puppet."
Ryle's golden eyes darkened.
"I wanted to fight," she continued. "But… my body wasn't mine anymore."
Ryle stepped forward, kneeling before her. "You don't have to explain."
"I do," she insisted, gripping his arm. "Because I'm not afraid of dying, Ryle… but I was terrified of becoming a weapon against you."
Ryle stared at her.
And pulled her into a hug.
"I'd never let that happen."
Above them, the moon wept a single tear of rain.
Meanwhile… in Valemourn.
The royal prison lay in ruins. Fires crackled along the shattered towers. Vampire corpses, hundreds of them, were strewn across the ground—lifeless, mangled, cold.
Until…
A pulse.
Soft at first. Then louder.
The Noctis Vitae, resting in the broken throne room, began to glow. Its red shimmer turned into a pulsing heartbeat—an echo that shook the floor. Its cover opened on its own. Pages flipped in the windless air.
And then—
The corpses began to twitch.
One by one, dead eyes blinked open. Bodies jerked upright with sickening cracks of reformed bones. Blood pooled backward, reentering the mouths of the fallen. Limbs stitched back together. Screams of the dead and undead echoed in chorus.
Above it all, a voice spoke.
Low. Cold. Regal.
"My Artifact is back."
"The hero is already dead."
A hand rose from the center of the throne room—pale, veined with black fire. It grabbed the Noctis Vitae and pulled it downward.
"I am the one who will become the demon king."
At the edge of the Black Lake, Sylvaris stood alone.
She wore her humanoid form, hair like seafoam, cloak damp with mist. Her feet hovered just above the water, causing no ripples. Her eyes were distant, almost empty.
Then he spoke.
To no one.
"He's coming…"
He knelt, fingers trailing along the lake's surface.
"The leader."
She suddenly move on her own.
Sylvaris whispered, "Dravenith… forgive me."
Back in Valemourn…
Thousands of corpses now stood upright, glowing veins of crimson magic flowing through them. Some were warriors. Others were nobles. Some had died centuries ago.
But all obeyed.
A single figure emerged from the throne room. He wore a cloak of stitched flesh, a crown of horns, and eyes like red voids. At his side was the Noctis Vitae, now chained to his hip by shadow tendrils.
He raised a finger.
A skeletal wyvern landed beside him.
Varaziel.
General of the Demon King. Progenitor of Vampires.
He breathed in the air of the living world.
"Elizabeth," he said with faint amusement.
Beneath the shattered gates, her severed head twitched—eyes fluttering open.
"Varaziel…" she croaked. "Forgive me…"
He walked past her without looking.
"I don't forgive corpses," he said.