“Sven?”

He stood still solid and unflinching, there were no hiccups, no tears… just an overwhelming feeling of melancholy that radiated from his figure. A gentle flickering of Azura light illuminated the side of the man, but more than anything made me realise that his shadow seemed longer.

“I tried, I tried so many times to convince the Lord otherwise after I heard. Willing to beg for just a reshuffle but I couldn’t change anything. Even worse, by my vow, I have no way to help you… I… can’t do a single thing! Not one damned thing!” his words turned into more of a deranged shout by the end, maybe yelling at the world itself than anyone else.

“So?”

“So I apologise! I can’t help you!”

“Apologies accepted, now can we keep going,” I said, walking ahead of him unperturbed by his words or worries.

Sven looked towards me walking ahead with an incredulous expression, seemingly racked between confusion and partial understanding. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand how he felt, Sven right now was probably filled with a deep sense of self-loathing for his inability to pay me back fully. Frankly, it was just that I didn’t have time, nor did I think Sven owed me anything.

“You aren’t mad? Or disappointed or upset?”

“I only feel one thing right now Sven.”

Fear.

A slow unsettling fear of what might occur tomorrow night and a deep driving will to do everything in my power to stop, run away from, or kill it. The more time I had to ponder it, the more my hands began to shake and my voice started to break. An impending sense of doom cascaded down towards me in a spiralling tumble I had no means to avert.

Neither I nor Sven spoke again while we walked to my room, the highest floor in a hallway on the northwest wing of the crypt. Even as I opened the door with my key and heard the familiar creaking of slightly rusted metal latches holding the wooden frame we didn’t exchange words.

Once or twice that night I thought about talking with my coven for what might have been the last time, but those thoughts were quickly dashed. No, my last night inside that cold and lifeless room filled with few things that I had even fewer uses for consisted of nothing but desperately tracing over Qixi’s notebook, trying to scrounge up any advantage I had.

The words however didn’t change, the meanings stayed the same, and I found no sudden breakthrough of enlightenment.

I was taken by sleep that night with my book in hand, trying my hardest to find a way out of my predicament. Ahh… the sheets… of this bed… accursed comfiness.

************

In a deep groove of Crevice, the bustling of people resounded all about from a series of structures hidden by the gleam of eternal twilight, of a night that never burned and a day that could never surface from the depths.

The sky twisted and turned under a glooming silver moonlight, glowing even more than usual due to the dwindling number of stars that encrusted the circlet of oblivion above. The biggest of the structures among the hidden groove of space was a large, hexagon-shaped arena, built from a combination of pale white bricks and a deep blackish purple metal.

Within the fervent chatter of hundreds if not thousands of either guest or host could be heard, all them looking down towards the massive black stone hexagon outlined with dust that sat in the middle, and the gates to the north and south that held the soon to be contenders.

Flickering Azure orbs of light floated every twenty or so metres extending out from the edges of the hexagon, making it clearer for all those attending that didn’t happen to be residents of the night. Among the massive structure that had mostly open bleachers for those attending along with facilities inside for comfort purposes, there were nine distinguish roofed patios, built on the highest level of the extending area and made so the resident of it would have both a clear view, and a domineering position above the masses.

Strange how despite having nine of these grandly decorated patios perfect for viewing, only two had occupants inside them. Within one of these two patios was a single woman with her attendant, adorned in a gown that began from the bottom at black and slowly transcended from grey to silver till finally becoming white around the neckline and collar, matching nicely with her snow hair.

Although this woman may have lacked the exact proportions that turned eyes on her slim frame, she maintained a certain air of charisma on her relaxed face with fair features and scarlet eyes that could control the mood of a room with nothing but a change of expression. She sat mostly upright leaning against the armrest of her glass chair slightly, crafted of an intricate design with countless small symbols and icons.

The room itself was covered with a smooth velvet rug and the walls were lined with various weapons or portraits. There was also an intricate array of fauna spanning from violet, azure, scarlet and black that neatly hung from the roof, filling the room with a sense of life and personality that the blandish bleachers lacked. Ironic, considering nothing in the room met the conventional definition of “Living”.

“Lady Zelkren, I believe the first Rite will begin soon.” The attendant and only other occupant of the room noted, a man in both suit and jacket with grey eyes and hair unbecoming of his youthful face.

“Good, I was beginning to think that perhaps sweet Keldri didn’t have the stomach to take on the duties of a crypt.” She replied, swirling a frosted glass of red liquid that gave off a distinct metallic odour. “That said, I would’ve preferred if he offered beverages fresh from the source.”

“My lady, in front of Thrall and Savrin maybe, but you know that will bring discontent to our guests. They paid to be here for a show of battle and to experience our culture, not to watch you feed.”

“Hah, I know some of them would love to watch me feed.”

“Some being the keyword there, my lady.”

The woman slumped a little, finding her attendant less of a help and more of a nanny. He wasn’t wrong though. As much as she preferred to hunt her own food, especially in battle, now was neither the time nor place to indulge. With humans of importance, both experienced and new to their culture present, it wasn’t suitable for the head of a clan to be openly preying upon them, not yet. That said, she was still more than a little tempted to rip the throats out of them. Such was the bane of infernal instinct.

“Have you any knowledge of the new stock besides our Sanguine?” She queried, eyes wandering between the two gates soon to release their contestants.

“Unfortunately not, we are unable to communicate properly until the Blood Rite is completed.”

“A pity, Keldri’s candidates are generally far more tame and slow to violence. Let us hope that his trend of good stock continues, I had hoped to snatch up a few myself.”

“And what of their sires? Don’t forget that most of these Fangless belong to subclan’s or individuals.”

“Hehe.”

The attendant frowned a bit, not liking the sound of his lady’s laugh that wasn’t of the standard dry kind she used for normal circumstances. It held a sort of true amusement he rarely saw in the woman that made him shiver a bit.

Across the way in another one of these patios sat Vannagrash, wearing his usual black jacket and pants with a plain white tunic underneath. Most of those in the room came and went as they helped to prepare for the coming event and entertainment. Even Vale was absent, checking on the validity of each weapon and making sure none of the sire’s or clan’s related to the Fangless might’ve tampered with them.

Although the Blood Rites were a sacred thing and a religious phenomenon to all vampire’s, it didn’t hurt to use it as a bit of entertainment for backers and those who found themselves deep within the web cast over Pora by vampires.

“Inform the guest’s and the workers that we will begin shortly,” Vannagrash commanded, sending a courier of the message rushing out.

“Why not use a communication earring?” Sella Rez, the first vampire Vannis had met when he awoke questioned, finding the apparent lack of convenience items odd. Sure they were Arcane forged, but the Vanna clan wasn’t lacking in wealth even if they didn’t hold a candle to the Rez fortune.

“I find during ceremonies of tradition, it’s more fitting to keep things as they once were. A small matter of convenience doesn’t mean much to me in the face of respect for those before us.”

“Hmm, that extends to the fairness of the Fangless, yes? You wouldn’t happen to take favourites among those you like or have ties to correct?” She said, prodding the head of the Vannagrash subclan for an answer.

“By Fall, no of course I wouldn’t. Am I saddened by those I thought promising being extinguished, sure, but that just means they were not meant to be for this life. Those who live, deserve their second chance. Those who die are meant for the grave.”

Vannagrash spoke his words with such a powerful aura of conviction and sincerity Sella struggled to find a fault in it. She had been placed there not only to observe how the Vanna clan handled their crypts, but also to make reports and deductions on whether or not they should entrust their own Sanguine to the Vannagrash crypt like the Zelkren had.

The political climate between the three main clans occupying Pora was never without tension and two clan’s entrusting their Sanguine to the crypt of a sub-clan branch of a main clan was ripe with danger. Their newest forces would be susceptible to both manipulation and magical plants, possibly ruining the current balance between the peaceful state.

It was no exaggeration to say that if Sella were to deduce wrong or something slithered past her inspection, war’s over Pora could break out between clan’s, something that never went well.

Those tinted glasses of yours aren’t just for show, what are you hiding Keldri?

Sella wondered, standing to the side and inspecting the grounds below as the crowd was riled up by the announcing stepping around the giant black hexagon. The room turned to a stiff silence as they waited for the proceeding to start till a quick knock resounded against the door to the patio, before a handsome and tall man draped in a crimson cloak with whitish blonde hair stumbled through like he owned the place.

“Qixi, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Vannagrash asked without moving his gaze back toward the man who sauntered forwards onto one of the empty seats closest to the edge.

“Just figured I’d grab a good seat, if my host is feeling hospitable of course,” Qixi said, sneering as he stole a glass of blood from one of the many attendants circling through the room.

“Do what you will.”

“Many thanks, I think I’ll feel free to wine and watch then, if I’m not a bother.”

“Bother is a most modest description of what you,” Sella muttered under her breath, annoyed and incensed by the presence of Qixi.

“I beg your pardon?” Qixi replied in spite of Sella's attempt to conceal her comment, his posturing straightening to the position of a predator as his eyes glossed over with a cold expectancy.

“You’re unwanted here you traitorous do-“

“Enough Lady Rez.” Vannagrash interrupted, feeling the increasing ferocity of Qixi’s Ichor ramping up by the moment. “Anyway, would you have a horse in this race Qixi, or perhaps someone that caught your interest?”

The man who had leaned forward fell back into his chair a bit, taking a second to consider Vannagrash’s question as his aura collapsed into the usual calm flowery scent. Vannagrash understood the man enough to know how his temperament fluctuated and how to quell it if the need arose. Distraction was a kind man’s best weapon and a cunning one's cruellest.

“No, not really. Everyone I encountered was rather unremarkable. Shame really, thought I might see something interesting.”

There was no lie or hidden truth in Qixi’s words. He truly did not believe anything or anyone he had encountered in the past few weeks were of interest. They were all stone in a river bed, destined to be turned smooth and domestic by the tides of their ambitious masters.

“Then you won’t be a cause for concern I presume?”

Qixi didn’t care to answer Vannagrash’s question, taking slow mitred sips of his cup while he debated hunting something fresher. Alas, within the Pale grounds he couldn’t kill so recklessly without inciting a Falling wrath. He may have been a twisted, malevolent man with little to no care for anything other than himself, but he held his respect close to his heart; anyone that earned it being granted patience and gratitude.

“Lady Velkren’s here isn’t she?” Qixi asked, slouching in his seat slightly and peering across to the other patios.

“Yes, as per my request.”

“Let’s hope her Sanguine doesn’t die then Keldri, that woman has got a temper like the pits of hell themselves.”

Or maybe your one most admirable quality is pissing people off.

Vannagrash kept those more casual thoughts to himself, turning back to the arena with eyes awaiting the fruits of his labour.