Warbonded

Vampire capital: Vireholt.

Vireholt never truly slept, it exhaled raw power with it's gothic towers laced in iron thorns. The vampire capital pulsed like a living thing.

A raven perched atop the tower's spire, craning it's neck left and right as if trying to peer into the soul of the person standing at the foot of it.

She stood tall and proud as if rivalling the looming tower.

The general, the daughter, the blade.

She walked the obsidian steps of the tower that pierced the sky, ignoring the salutes of crimson-armored guards as she passed. Her midnight cloak trailed behind her, and at her side, the ancient sword hummed softly, not in warning, but in hunger.

The blade had one true purpose, to consume the blood of it's enemies. To shower in werewolf muddled blood.

She paused at the edge of the highest balcony, gazing across the endless sprawl of Vireholt. From here, she could see the high spires of the Blood Caste temples, the smoking battlements of the Bone Foundries, and far beyond, the shimmer of the enchanted wall that separated their empire from the wild lands beyond.

The werewolf Citadel lay somewhere out there. Proud, loud and defiant. And one man inside it wouldn’t leave her thoughts. Klaus. She exhaled sharply and turned away, she wouldn't dwell on him because his blood will soon be coating the blade.

~~~

Inside the Grand Hall of the Crimson Flame, the lesser generals knelt in perfect silence. A black fog filled the upper air, crawling through the cathedral ceiling.

The obsidian mirror in the center pulsed once. Then a voice, low, ancient, and commanding filled the room.

“Report.”

Nejire stepped forward without bowing, she wasn't into the ass-kissing show of obedience.

“Atlas outpost has fallen. The southern territories have been secured. Resistance has been… minimized.”

Long silence followed. When the voice returned, it slid into her bones, she fought the shudder that threatened to pass through her. Not out of fear but something unpleasant.

“And the Citadel?”

“Still preparing. They rally like fools who don’t know they’ve lost before the battle began.”

“Their general, does he pose a threat?”

The words made scoff and she fought an eye roll.

“Barely, I'll take him out before he knows it,” she said.

“Bring me his head.”

“I will not fail you.”

The voice exhaled smoke, and the mirror went dark. The room emptied quickly, the generals avoiding her cold gaze.

She remained behind, making a turn towards the Ember Archives, a forbidden wing of the royal library, sealed with blood wards and guarded by twin statues of chained angels.

She pressed her thumb to the iron sigil. It opened with a creak.

Inside, ancient scrolls lined the walls. Tomes bound in flesh. Maps that pulsed with veins.

She found what she was looking for: The Lore of the First Bond.

She skimmed it with sharp eyes.

“A True Bond, once formed, cannot be severed by blade, fire, or decree. It is prophecy’s marrow. It is fate’s design made flesh.

Her stomach twisted as slammed the book shut.

~~~

The next morning, she walked the Black Parade — the military corridor that stretched from the throne tower to the barracks. On both sides, vampire soldiers stood at attention.

Some saluted her, others whispered behind their fangs.

“Daughter of the Void.”

“She bleeds differently.”

“She was made, not born.”

She ignored them. Always had. Always would.

In the eastern yard, sparring matches were underway.

A new recruit- tall, pale and arrogant challenged her. She wondered if he was stupidly brave or just courting death.

“I’ve heard you don’t bleed,” he sneered, raising his blade. “Let’s test it.”

Nejire didn’t reply, she simply nodded.

The duel, to his detriment, lasted seconds with his shattered sword at her feet.

Blood gushed from every cut she slashed on him.

The yard was quiet as she made her way out.

~~~

In the silence of her quarters, she stood before the large mirror- the one piece of glass not cursed in the entire fortress- staring at her reflection. Unless it was an enchanted mirror, vampires had no reflection, it was a puzzle why she had one, a secret she hid well too.

Silver eyes stared back at her as she pushed back her raven-black hair. Expression carved from marble.

Was this what strength looked like?

Or was she just a tool?

A knock sounded on the door, and out of habit her hand flew to her sword as she opened it.

It was one of the Blood Priests.

“You are summoned,” he said, bowing deeply.

“By my father?”

“No. By the Mother of Ash.”

Nejire stiffened, a summon by the Mother of Ash wasn't a good thing.

~~~

Inside the Temple of Ash, the high priestess waited in a circle of flame. Her robes were stitched from the skin of traitors. Her face hidden behind bone.

“You walk close to betrayal,” the priestess said.

Nejire stepped inside the circle. “Is that a warning?”

“It is a prophecy.”

“I don’t believe in those.”

“You will. When the bond takes more than your heart.”

Nejire stepped closer, her voice cold, she didn't try to deny the 'bond' the seer spoke of. “Then tell me, seer, what do you see?”

The priestess’s head tilted.

“A sword in your hand. A man at your feet. And behind you… a city burning.”

Nejire’s eyes flickered.

For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then, “If I am his fury… then let me burn.”