Urislantia, Capital City of The Urislanda Kingdom
The golden chambers of the Urislanda royal palace were filled with the warm glow of chandeliers, but the air inside was tense. The king of Urislanda sat at the head of a long table, flanked by dukes, ministers, and military advisors. He leaned forward slightly, brow furrowed, as a flurry of messengers had come and gone all day with troubling news—or lack thereof.
Garandale had gone silent.
Not just diplomatic silence. No birds. No mages. No traders, no scouts. No wayscroll transmissions. It was as if the entire city had fallen off the map.
A court mage, pale and visibly shaken, stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty… we've confirmed the impossible. Garandale has vanished from all scrying mirrors and divination spells. It is no longer present on the physical plane."
Murmurs erupted among the nobles.
"Vanished? You mean destroyed?" one general barked.
"No," the mage said gravely. "Displaced. It had been moved."
Charlotte's father, King Eldran Ray Urislanda, shot to his feet. "My daughter is in that city. What do you mean, 'moved'?"
But the mage had no answer—only a quiet, haunted look that said this was a type of magic no one in the court had prepared for.
King Eldran slumped back into the ornate chair.
Duke Cedric Ray Grandoble rose from his seat, his voice steady but grave.
"There is something else I must inform you of, Your Majesty. Along with my daughter and the Princess, there were seven other noble girls present—daughters of highborn families from the neighboring kingdoms. The three princesses of Osarith, as well as the daughters of two dukedoms, a marquessate, and a county."
The words struck like thunder.
The King slammed his fist down onto the table with a force that rattled goblets and scrolls. "Damn it!" he growled, his voice echoing through the chamber. "Have their families been informed?"
"No, not yet," Duke Cedric replied. "But delaying too long would be just as dangerous as silence. These are powerful houses—our allies. If they hear of this from anyone else…"
"I know," the King said, cutting him off, voice now tight with urgency. "Send word immediately. Use the royal mages."
He looked around the room, locking eyes with every duke, minister, and knight.
"We will tell them the truth: Garandale has vanished, and their daughters with it. We will promise action. Because if we lose their trust—if this becomes a diplomatic firestorm—we risk not just the Duchy, but the entire balance of the Western Efox alliance."
The chamber fell into grim silence. Only the flicker of torchlight danced on the walls, and the unspoken question hovered in the air.
* * *
Several hundred miles east, a different kind of tension gripped the headquarters of the Hunter Order. Built like a fortress atop a cliffside, the Hunter Bastion had a clear view over the vampiric corruption line. Dozens of scouts, exorcists, and specialists had been mobilized to monitor the growing Progenitor threat.
Commander Velan Thorne stared at the field reports with narrowed eyes.
"Garandale's supply route has gone dark. We've lost all contact. No convoys, no magical signals. It's like the whole city was plucked from the earth."
At his side, Hunter-Scribe Taria flicked through a report and swore. "There's something else. We detected a Class Five spatial anomaly. For a few seconds, the rift spike matched readings from ancient mass-teleportation rituals—like the kind used during the Old Kingdom wars."
Velan turned sharply. "A ritual strong enough to move an entire city? Who in the world still possesses that kind of power?"
Taria didn't answer. She didn't need to. Because if such power was being used now—within reach of the Vampire Progenitor's territory—then everything about the war was about to change.
* * *
When everyone regained their senses, the first thing they noticed was the blood-red moon glaring down from above. The second was the darkness—it was night now. They had definitely been moved far from the central region.
The girls tried their wayscrolls again. Still nothing.
Loretta's expression hardened. "Check our food stores," she ordered.
While the situation was dire, Loretta couldn't abandon her duty as Garandale's Governor. Cut off from supply lines with no idea when more food would arrive, her first priority was clear: take stock of current reserves and ration them carefully. Only then could she reassure the population and prevent panic—or worse, chaos and looting.
One of her attendants rushed off without question.
Wasting no time, Loretta began organizing scouting parties to survey the surrounding area. Once the initial commands were issued, she gathered the others in a hall within the manor to plan their next steps.
This wasn't an accident.
Someone had deliberately cut them off from aid—isolated them for a reason. But what reason? As Loretta pondered the possibilities, a chill settled over her heart.
Who would dare to move them? And why now?
An hour later, the attendant returned, breathless.
"Our food stores are full, my lady."
Grace's voice steadied as she delivered the report. Loretta gave a slow nod, though the tension in her shoulders didn't ease.
Garandale was the breadbasket of the Grandoble Duchy—its fertile lands supplying grain, fruits, and vegetables not only to the Duchy itself but also to the bordering kingdoms. That the stores were full was a relief. If preserved properly, the reserves could last up to a year.
But the implications were heavier.
Without Garandale's exports, the rest of the Duchy would struggle. Especially during the winter months. Other regions could provide regular grains, yes—but not in the variety or abundance Garandale offered. Prices would rise. Shortages would spread. Trade routes might strain under the weight of panic.
There were magical greenhouses—thankfully—enough to offer limited relief in the coming months. But if no new supplies arrived within the year, starvation wouldn't just be a fear. It would become reality.
Loretta's gaze lingered on the dimming horizon outside the window.
For now, she had a single, urgent task: to steady her people. To stop fear from spreading like wildfire.
The real storm had yet to come.
Whatever the answer, one thing was certain: they were being hunted—or watched.
* * *
One Hour Until the New Year
The time had come.
We were led deep into a cavern, then through a winding series of tunnels until we emerged into a massive underground city. The darkness here felt alive, as if it would smother any light that dared challenge it—just like the gloom we'd lived in these past two years.
For twenty minutes, we walked through the city's hushed stillness until we stood before a colossal palace carved into the stone. It dwarfed every human palace I had ever seen, grand beyond comprehension.
Inside, a labyrinth of corridors gave way to an immense throne room. At its center rested a coffin—ornate, ancient, silent.
One of the vampires leading us checked a pocket watch and murmured something. The others sprang into motion, drawing a ritual circle around the coffin with practiced precision. While they worked, the one with the watch approached me and went over the steps again.
I was to lie in the coffin with the Vampire Progenitor. Then, on command, I must puncture my thumb on his fang and let a single drop of blood slide down his throat. I was to silently count to ten—then drive the ritual blade into his heart and leave it there. That would trigger the awakening, at which point he would bite my neck and begin the process of turning me into a Blood Consort.
Simple in theory. But the act of stabbing him in the heart—it felt wrong. Like it served a darker purpose no one would admit.
Cassius's words still echoed in my mind, even after all this time:
"That's a privilege far greater than being handed off to that Vampire Progenitor... puppet."
Still, the vampire motioned for me to take position.
I lay atop the Progenitor, breath caught in my throat. He appeared no older than eighteen. Striking. Beautiful. His features were sharp, symmetrical—unnaturally perfect. His raven-black hair drank the light around it, and he was dressed in white: silk shirt, smooth trousers, and soft slip-on shoes. Regal, yet unearthly.
A signal. It was time.
I pricked my thumb on his fang. Blood welled up and trickled into his mouth. I began the count.
One... two... three...
A strange weight settled in my chest. Doubt. Fear. I hesitated—counting too slowly.
Then, just as I lifted the knife to strike—
His hand snapped up, gripping my wrist with unnatural strength.
Before I could react, his fangs sank into my neck.
Paralysis washed over me.
"Who are you?"
His voice echoed inside my mind, calm but edged with steel.
"And who are these strangers encircling my coffin? And why did you try to drive a blade through my heart?"
A/N- This chapter brings an end to the introductory arc, and starting from the next chapter, the story will be told from the perspective of the main character. I hope you are excited for it, as while I had fun writing this intro arc, I was looking forward to writing the actual story. If we can get 50 power stones today, then I will release the next chapter early. Also, if you would like to support me, you can check out my p@treon through the link in the author notes. And finally, you can join my server to vote on names and things for the book by joining my Discord server. Well ciao!