x
Chapter One: The Fall of Sanctuary
The Church bell tolled thrice—slow, heavy, and unnatural against the cold midnight air. Its echo rolled across the hills like a mourning wail, but no one came to pray. The doors stood open, candles flickered without wind, and the altar glowed faintly beneath stained glass shadows. The scroll was here. The vampires could feel it in their bones.
A tall figure in a tailored overcoat stepped into the sanctuary, his boots silent on the marble. Behind him, others followed, dressed not as monsters, but as gentlemen—handsome, pale, and poised like foreign diplomats in mourning. Their eyes scanned the pews not for reverence, but for weakness.
They had come for the scroll—a relic older than the Church itself, said to be sealed beneath the altar and protected by holy wards only the innocent could break. But they were not alone. Hidden behind confessionals, beneath pews, and above the rafters, hunters lay in wait—crossbows loaded with silver bolts, holy water at the ready. The Church had not only opened its doors; it had baited them, knowingly.
This was no sanctuary tonight. It was a battleground.
The first arrow flew silently, striking the youngest vampire through the shoulder with a hiss of burning flesh. Chaos erupted. Latin prayers clashed with shrieks and snarls. Fire from holy lanterns cast monstrous shadows on the sacred walls.
In the chaos, he hesitated—the one who didn't fully belong. His skin didn’t burn like the others, only stung. His eyes flickered gold rather than red. Lucian , a hybrid. Born of both blood and breath, he was the unspoken shame of his kind.
"Go!" a voice barked in the chaos—his sire, choking on sacred fire. "Get out! You know where to go."
He ran—not out of fear, but purpose.
Through shattered windows and into the jungle night, Lucian fled. Behind him, the Church blazed like judgment. Ahead, the hills of Kalaw waited—misty, untouched, far enough from war and flame.
The Church was burning behind him, and still his heart pounded—not from fear of fire, but from what awaited him back home. He was not supposed to survive.
The moment Lucian returned to the clan’s hidden stronghold deep within the caverns of Hkakabo Razi, silence met him like a noose. The great stone hall, once echoing with revelry and power, now watched him like a grave. The Council stood in a circle, their robes dyed in ancient blood, their eyes like ice.
"You were warned," the Clan Leader intoned, voice void of warmth. "You brought shame. You led our kind into a holy trap."
Lucian dropped to one knee, silent.
"You are no brother of ours. You are a mistake born of compromise." The sentence was clear: execution. Not as a traitor—but as a liability.
Before judgment fell, a whisper of silk echoed through the chamber. A tall woman stepped forward from the shadows, her veil shimmering like wet moonlight. In her hand: a letter, sealed in red wax marked with the cross of the Church.
The room stirred.
"From the Sanctuary’s ashes," she said, voice lilting, "comes truth."
The Clan Leader took the letter, read it in silence, then raised his gaze with fire in his eyes. Kalaw. The scrolls had been moved before the ambush. The Church planned this all along—lure the vampires in, purge the threat, then hide the relic once more under new protection.
“We ride again,” the leader snarled, tearing the seal. “This time, to end it.”
He selected his finest warriors. None questioned the decision—except for the fate of the hybrid.
"Let him be destroyed," one elder growled.
But a voice rose—older, steadier. His mentor, cloaked in ash-gray robes and a thousand years of grief. “He fought with honor. He survived where others fell. He deserves one last chance.”
The hall fell quiet.
The leader’s eyes flicked to Lucian. “Fine. One more chance. You’ll walk beside those who scorn you. Prove your blood. Fail—and your mentor dies with you.”
Lucian said nothing. He only stood, bowing his head in silent agreement.
As they prepared for their journey to Kalaw, whispers echoed in the halls. Not just of scrolls or betrayal—but of fate. For the scrolls could only be read by one who was pure… and none among them believed such a being still existed.
ns18.226.166.121da2
