Chapter 1.
PROLOGUE
“Arieon!”
A soft voice- muffled by panic and trembling beneath the weight of terror- rang through the Dark Rose Valley.
Little Arieon, barely seven by vampire years, stopped walking.
His small hand remained resting against the stem of a crimson rose as his deep sapphire eyes turned towards the female figure running desperately through the valley.
“Cev? What is wrong?”
He spoke softly.
Almost unnaturally softly.
As though keeping his voice calm might somehow keep the world from falling apart.
But Celestia was crying.
Not the quiet tears of a noble child taught to suffer with dignity.
These were the helpless, broken sobs of a little girl who had not yet learned how to carry grief.
Her delicate face was flushed from the force of her tears, her breaths coming shallow and unevenly as she ran towards him.
“Mother is dying!”
The words barely escaped her.
“Come with me!”
Arieon's expression changed.
“What?”
His composure- so strangely mature for one so young—fractured at once.
His feet carried him towards his sister before his mind had even caught up with her words.
“Y-yeah…”
Celestia struggled to breathe between her sobs.
“Father says he isn't going to leave the Realm Council… He does not wish to concern himself with Mother.”
Her trembling gaze fell upon the red-purple mark upon her brother's cheek.
She did not ask where it had come from.
She already knew.
Another silent wound left behind by their father's temper.
Arieon's eyes began to glisten.
Yet when he spoke, his voice remained strangely steady.
“What about the High Healers?”
He grasped her shoulders.
“Father cannot simply let Mother die like this.”
His voice trembled.
“What—what about the baby in her womb?”
His fingers tightened around her shoulders, intending to comfort her, though the panic rushing through his nerves made his touch far less gentle than he meant it to be.
“Everyone has failed.”
Celestia swallowed a sob.
“She is trying, but she- she c-can't.”
Her voice broke.
“Come with me. We need to see her- ”
She did not finish.
Arieon was already running.
Towards the Palace of Dark Blood.
The children loved their mother.
And perhaps that was why her death would take something from both of them that no immortal healer, no ancient spell, and no passing century could ever restore.
With her death, something within their souls would die as well—
leaving behind two hollow children who simply continued breathing.
Arieon tore through the palace corridors in desperation.
He did not stop when the worried butler called after him.
He did not stop when the High Guards moved to intercept him.
“Master Arieon!”
“Please, young Master—!”
They were not attempting to restrain him out of cruelty.
They were trying to protect him.
From a sight that could shatter an entire childhood.
From seeing his own mother die.
“LET ME GO!”
Celestia's cry echoed through the corridor.
Her tears had left her barely able to remain standing, yet she continued struggling against the guards.
Arieon's sapphire eyes darkened.
He whispered a forbidden incantation.
The air seemed to bend.
For one brief, unnatural instant, the guards' minds faltered.
Their attention slipped.
Their senses betrayed them.
Forbidden magic.
At seven years old.
Arieon slipped past them.
And ran into his mother's chamber.
The room was filled with anguish.
A cry of pain tore through the chamber, followed by desperate breaths, hurried footsteps, and the frantic murmuring of healers.
Amaaya lay upon the great bed beneath layers of dark silk.
Her face had become frighteningly pale.
The healers worked around her with desperate precision.
Silver bowls of enchanted water stood upon the bedside tables.
Bundles of medicinal herbs burned within ancient brass vessels, their bitter smoke curling towards the vaulted ceiling.
Runes of restoration had been drawn across the floor.
One by one, they flickered.
And died.
The strongest healing magic in the realm was failing.
“The restorative sigil is collapsing!”
one of the High Healers cried.
“Reinforce the western binding!”
“We have already reinforced it twice!”
“Then use the blood-binding!”
“It will not hold!”
Another healer looked towards the midwife.
“How much longer?”
The midwife's face had gone ashen.
“Not long.”
A silence fell.
The kind of silence that comes only when trained hands have exhausted every remedy they possess.
One of the younger healers lowered her head.
“May the Gods have mercy-”
“Do not pray yet,” the eldest healer whispered sharply.
Her voice trembled despite her attempt at authority.
“Work.”
They worked.
Desperately.
Hopelessly.
Until even some of the midwives had begun whispering prayers beneath their breath.
The child was still within Amaaya.
And Amaaya had already surrendered too much of her strength.
Arieon's legs nearly gave way.
His heart hammered violently against his chest.
He could hear every frightened heartbeat in the chamber.
Every hurried breath.
Every whispered spell.
Every prayer.
And then-
His mother looked towards him.
Her eyes softened.
Tears gathered within them.
A trembling hand lifted towards his face.
She looked his bruised cheek.
Poor little boy.
Amaaya's pale-blue lips curved into the faintest smile.
“Arieon?”
Her voice was scarcely more than a breath.
“Is… Is that… Is that you?”
“Yes, M-Mother.”
Arieon rushed to her side.
He took her hand between both of his small ones, holding it with desperate gentleness.
Amaaya tried to smile again.
Even now, she attempted to spare her child from the full weight of her suffering.
“Sorry, boy…”
Her breath caught.
“I… I tried so hard…”
A weak laugh escaped her.
“To bring your sibling out.”
Her eyes closed briefly.
“Seems the little one finds it more comfortable in there.”
Arieon's lips trembled.
“Don't say things like that.”
His voice became fierce.
“Nothing will happen to either of you.”
He looked towards the healers.
“Where are the herbs? Is there no formidable spell? Anything?”
His voice broke into desperation. Scream of a command that was not meant to sound so rough.
“Bring us something useful!”
One of the High Healers stepped forward.
The old vampire's face was grave.
“We have used every restorative known to the High Houses.”
Arieon stared at him.
“No.”
“Master Arieon- ”
“No!”
His voice cracked.
“There has to be something!”
The healer's expression softened.
“We have invoked the blood wards. The restoration sigils. The marrow-binding. Even the old vitality rites.”
He lowered his gaze.
“None have answered.”
Another healer whispered from beside the bed,
“The mother's life-force is too depleted. Her body can no longer sustain both herself and the child.”
Amaaya's fingers tightened faintly around Arieon's.
“It won't work, Arieon.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“The blood loss is too much…”
She struggled for breath.
“And… the time is too little.”
Arieon shook his head violently.
“No.”
“Listen to me, boy…”
Amaaya's voice softened.
Arieon bent closer.
Her fingers trembled within his.
His throat tightened.
A terrible understanding began to settle inside him.
“Listen…”
She whispered again.
He listened.
And whatever she told him remained between mother and son.
For a long moment, Arieon said nothing.
Then he nodded.
Once.
Slowly.
Determinedly.
As though he had just accepted a command far too heavy for a child to carry.
Amaaya seemed to sink further beneath the weight of her exhaustion.
The agony became merciless.
The healers continued their work.
“ Her colour is fading.”
“Keep the ward alive!”
“We are trying!”
“Her life-force is collapsing!”
“Then hold it!”
The eldest healer's voice broke.
“Hold it, damn you!”
But even the ancient arts had their limits.
One final, trembling breath escaped Amaaya.
And then-
her body surrendered to the eternal darkness of death.
The room fell still.
Arieon stared at her.
For one heartbeat.
Two.
Then he broke.
Heavy, devastating sobs tore from the little boy as he clung to his mother's lifeless hand, as though holding it tightly enough might somehow keep her spirit from crossing beyond his reach.
He cried until the world itself seemed to disappear.
Until the voices of the healers became distant.
Until the palace became nothing more than darkness.
And somewhere beneath that darkness, one thing remained.
The words she had left him.
Become so powerful that they will never be able to hunt you again.
The words remained.
Forever.
By the time Celestia finally managed to rush into the chamber, Arieon had already fallen completely silent.
He sat beside his mother.
Quiet.
Motionless.
He lifted her hand and gently kissed the back of it.
There was no visible sign of grief within the depths of his eyes.
Only silence.
Only acceptance.
An acceptance forged from something far more dangerous than peace.
Purpose.
Celestia stared at him through her tears.
“What… what happened to her?”
Arieon did not look at her.
“Gone.”
His voice was soft.
Almost empty.
Then, after a moment—
“Let her rest, Cev.”
The healers bowed their heads.
The guards remained motionless.
No one spoke.
No one dared disturb the silence surrounding the dead Lady of House Ravenshade.
Later, Arieon would be punished by his father for using forbidden magic at such a young age.
But punishment could not undo what had happened.
The Dark Rose Valley would bloom again.
The ancient halls would continue to echo with the footsteps of immortals.
Yet nothing-
nothing-
was ever the same afterwards.
