An hour away from Blackthorn, an enormous campsite of white wood carriages stood in silence. Only the whistling wind and occasional screech from the giant ravens disturbed the peace.

A man sat in a majestic carriage; he wore a cloak of raven feathers that obscured his thin frame. He shuddered from the cold as his sunken grey eyes darted around the empty room; schizophrenic voices whispered inside his skull. They howled and cried, never stopping.

The Aurel hovered motionlessly in the corner; their smooth amber faces reflected Kieran's terrible appearance. He eyed his family's latest creations with irritation. They were the source of his suffering, sleepless nights, and degrading health. "Power comes at a cost, they said..." Kieran muttered as he rubbed his tired eyes.

Suddenly the Aurel's heads turned to face a dark corner of the carriage; Kieran felt a pulse of power as a cloaked woman emerged from the shadows.

Kieran quickly reached for his top hat to obscure the hideous scars covering his bald head that pulsed with an eerie black light. "Who goes there-"

"The purple eye calls; follow me." The purple-haired woman interrupted before she vanished.

Kieran's mana sight flared to life, and he saw a thin trail of mana left behind; without hesitation, he gestured to the floating Aurel. "Follow me," he commanded before dashing out into the winter night.

The wastelands were mostly flat, with few noticeable features other than mud and the occasional dead tree, yet Kieran couldn't catch a glimpse of the woman, only a trail of mana to guide the way.

The wind rustled the feathers of his cloak as he flew at his top speed towards Blackthorn. In the distance, the mountain range began with Blackthorn nestled at its base.

The mana trail led Kieran around the far side, avoiding Blackthorn entirely. He flew up the sheer mountain face and arrived at the edge of a moonlit lake. His puppets followed like phantoms without a sound.

The mysterious woman reappeared on the walkway to the sandstone fortress. She didn't even look his way as she walked towards the entrance.

"Prideful bitch." Kieran mumbled as he hesitantly followed. His heart raced, sweat covered his brow; his breath caused small stream clouds as he walked.

Within a few steps, he was out of breath and debated resuming his flying spell, 'Would the mysterious telepath find my display of Magic a threat? Those psychic mages are always the most paranoid...'

Kieran glanced sideways at his silent puppets, 'He would feel threatened by these alone, yet he invited me into his... castle? Maybe he is a friend of Duke Nightshade?'

Dizziness threatened to steal away his consciousness, so Kieran's mana circuit sprung to life and lifted his frail body on a cushion of air. Then, after catching his breath, he quickly followed the woman into the castle's courtyard.

***

"Those things are creepy as hell," Fay said while observing the courtyard from a third-floor window.

"Creepy but powerful," Damien didn't even look as he was busy mixing his blood with a jar containing angel tears. The white liquid turned a pinkish colour and let off a pleasant smell.

'The guest has arrived.' Zero's voice sounded through the soul link.

Damien stood up and dusted himself off, "It's showtime."

***

"Greetings Heir to the Ravenhall barony, Kieran Ravenhall." Damien stopped a few meters away, back straight with a cane in hand. "My name is Duke Nightshade, third in line to the Nightshade Kingdom and honorary Duke of Kassinki. I am also a Master Mage from the Mage Tower."

Kieran shifted uncomfortably on his cushion of air and gestured to the open courtyard, "Sir Nightshade, may I inquire about this meeting location?"

Damien smiled, "You are a Wind mage, yes? I felt an open space would feel more comfortable. Also, my castle lacks the decorations to impress any guests at the moment."

Kieran silently cast a spell to check for hostiles hiding within the castle; although the courtyard gave him the advantage, Duke Nightshade could be planning an ambush.

Along with the wind, he would hear the soft breathing of a waiting assassin or the hushed murmurs of knights, yet he heard nothing but the whistling wind and swaying of trees lining the lake's edge.

"Protect me," Kieran whispered to his puppets, and they moved in a defensive formation. "Forgive my lack of trust, but I doubt a Vampire would follow the Noble Pledge."

Damien shook his head, "Kieran Ravenhall, you wouldn't stand before me if I wished you dead. But, alas, I understand your silly sense of safety those puppets provide you."

Kieran resisted the urge to scratch his bald head; the voices hurt to listen to, but he remained strong, "I assume you are the psychic mage that spoke to me?"

Damien nodded.

"So..." Kieran gulped, "You can help me? And if so. Why?"

Damien chuckled, "Rather eager, aren't we, little Baron. My requirements are simple. I wish to conquer the wastelands, and your territory lies to the far east of the wastelands. Either you accept my help and become an allied state, or I will crush you. Personally."

Kieran stared into Damien's unwavering eyes, "I don't believe you can."

"That unwavering confidence would make sense; the Aurel are spiritual beings, immune to most magic and physical attacks." Damien pointed his cane at the closest Aurel, "Ghosts that wander the cursed lands, I applaud you for enslaving such powerful spirits. But I doubt the price was cheap. Black Magic never is."

Kieran's corpselike eyes went wide, "How do you know about Black Magic?"

Damien swapped his cane to his other hand, "I know about all Magic and mysteries in this world. Which also entails solutions to such problems. The voices... you can hear them, right? To control the ghosts, the wails of the forsaken, you open your mind to their suffering. You needed Blackthorn residents as controllers, just like yourself. You thought you were strong; you wished to prove to everyone that you could handle the relentless voices..."

"Shut up!" Kieran shouted in his hoarse voice. He then pointed his boney finger accusingly at Damien, "You dare to tell me there's a better solution? What could a fucking Vampire know of Magic? All you do is suck blood and fuck all day in those caves!"

Damien nodded, "Indeed, most of my kind engage in such acts."

Kieran's just stood there pointing in confusion, "W-what... you... huh."

"Apart from my sister, the rest of the Vampires are brainless lust-filled brutes."

Damien tapped his cane on a jar beside his foot, "I understand you are angry; it must be hard to think straight, having not slept in weeks. Luckily I have the solution for you. This drug is produced here in Blackthorn."

Fay bent down and removed the lid while tilting the jar in Kieran's direction.

The wind mage eyed the pink liquid wearily.

Damien smiled and began his sales pitch, "There is no way to make the voices stop. But wouldn't listening to positive and nice thoughts help you sleep? If you swallow a spoonful of angel tears, the Aurel will only transmit their favourite memories instead of their resentment."

Kieran narrowed his grey eyes, "How can you know for certain? Have you tested this drug? Why is it pink? I've never seen such a bizarre-looking liquid."

Damien shrugged. "You have nothing to lose; you will die within weeks at this rate. Your father may even kill you for not bringing back the slaves you promised. House Ravenhall has remained a mere Baron family for far too long; your chance to soar above the rest is right before you..."

Kieran hissed to the closest Aurel, "Grab it." The Aurel floated wordlessly and picked up the jar.

Damien and Fay watched with interest as Kieran took a hesitant spoonful of angel tears secretly mixed with Damien's blood. It wobbled on the spoon like jelly.

Kieran gulped, and then without another second of hesitation, he downed the entire spoonful.

"Direct the drug's power towards your link with the Aurel." Damien clearly stated as Kieran fell to one knee. His black top hat fell to the ground, revealing his bald head covered in deep scars in a ritual pattern.

The dried black blood pulsed with power as if it was alive.

It took a few minutes, but Kieran Ravenhall eventually stood up, straighter than before. His grey eyes seemed more clear and focused. "Their screaming stopped... the crying and wailing... gone. One is singing a lullaby while another is reciting a poem."

He looked at his frail hands in amazement before looking at the jar. Greed flashed through his eyes. "How much?" He said without missing a moment, "I said how much!"

"This round is on me; may we prosper together."

Kieran struggled to hide his greed, and he quickly shook the Duke's gloved hand, "It's a deal then. I'll be back for more."

Damien had a mysterious smile that Kieran didn't like, "I hope so. See you soon."

Damien gestured towards another five jars of pink jelly, "Those are for you. See yourself out and have a safe trip back to Staedbergh." Damien turned on his heel and walked back into the castle without another word.

***

"Master, was that really alright? Won't that weirdo return with an army or something."

"I hope so. I can't be bothered to travel to Staedbergh myself to collect those powerful ghosts; far easier to get some power-thirsty noble to do it for me." Damien chuckled to himself as they walked through the dark castle, "Kieran Ravenhall is in way above his head."