Three days felt like a hundred years.
The moment Cyril opened his eyes inside the stone coffin, he could no longer suppress the gnawing urge within him.Before the sun fully dipped behind the mountains, he was already cloaked in his mantle, racing through the last rays of dusk toward Elena's home.
He tore down the familiar forest paths—And froze.
Elena's house had been reduced to ashes.
What once was a warm, welcoming cottage now stood as a ruin of charred beams and crumbled stone.Blackened timber jutted from the scorched earth; the soil itself had cracked from the heat.The scent of burnt wood and seared flesh clung thickly to the air.No voices, no life—Only the occasional crackle of embers broke the suffocating silence.
Cyril's pupils contracted violently.He rushed into the ruins like a wounded beast, tearing through the wreckage.
No corpse.No blood.
That alone allowed him a fleeting breath of relief.Maybe — just maybe — she was still alive.
Then, amidst the grey ash, something caught the light.
He staggered forward and pushed aside the debris with trembling fingers.There, half-buried in the soot, was a pendant — its silver chain scorched black, the oval medallion engraved with a symbol intertwined of wings and sun—
The crest of the Lightborne.
In an instant, blood thundered in Cyril's ears.He understood everything.
Lucien had not attacked merely for revenge.It had been Elena's blood they sought all along.
And if Lucien had known, Wilhelm certainly knew too.Otherwise, how could Lucien have commanded such a force the last time — those elite vampires, organized and deadly?
The blood of the Lightborne was a sacred relic among vampires.It could enhance their strength, prolong their lifespan, even grant fleeting moments of survival under sunlight.
No vampire could resist such a prize.Not even a High Elder of the Night Tribunal.
Cyril clenched the pendant so tightly that his knuckles whitened and his hand trembled.
He knew exactly what they would do.They wouldn't simply drain her dry.They would steep her body in a specially concocted serum, letting it soak deep into her flesh and blood—Maximizing the potency before they feasted.The pain of that process would be worse than being devoured by a thousand insects—A slow, excruciating erosion of body and soul.
"Elena..." he whispered hoarsely, his voice like a blade scraping over stone.
The next moment, he became a black shadow hurtling through the night.
——
Night Tribunal Palace—A fortress of obsidian perched atop the mountain peaks.Crows circled the turrets; bloodvine choked the walls; a chilling aura seeped from the very stones.It was the sacred seat of judgment for vampirekind—A forbidden dominion.
When Cyril pushed open the massive gates, night had not yet fully fallen.The guards at the entrance gaped in shock, for the dormant pureblood had returned—Carrying with him a suffocating killing intent.
"Your Grace—please—"
But before the words finished, Cyril's burning crimson gaze swept over them.No one dared to block his path.He stormed down the grand corridor like a hurricane, shoving open the Council Hall doors with a crash that shook the castle.
High Elder Wilhelm stood beside the throne, lazily leafing through a scroll.Upon seeing Cyril, he merely frowned."Carvain? What is the meaning of this?"
"Where is she?" Cyril growled.
"Who?"
"Elena."Cyril lifted the scorched pendant and tossed it at Wilhelm's feet."Her house is ash.Don't you dare tell me you know nothing."
For a moment, something flickered in Wilhelm's eyes—But then he smirked, feigning indifference."Such fuss over a missing human girl? You must be mad."
"Stop lying," Cyril said, advancing step by step, his voice scraping like a blade."You knew she was of the Lightborne."
Wilhelm's jaw twitched — subtle, but telling.He stood up, cold authority lacing his words."You're insane. Leave now, or—"
"Or what?"Cyril's voice dropped to a whisper, each syllable dripping with menace.
"Or you'll be branded a traitor," Wilhelm snarled, "and the Tribunal will hunt you down."
Cyril laughed — a low, guttural sound."You think you can judge me?"The silver-red blaze in his eyes deepened, swallowing every trace of sanity.
He stepped into the shadow of the throne, the floor trembling beneath his feet.The pendant at Wilhelm's boots swayed like a tiny, bloodied sun.
"This is your last chance," Cyril said softly, his voice razored with fury."Where is Elena?"
"I told you, I don't know!" Wilhelm shouted.
"You worthless liar."
In a blur, Cyril lunged—his hand clamping around Wilhelm's throat, lifting him effortlessly and slamming him against the stone wall.The hall shuddered in silence.
"You dare—!" Wilhelm rasped, struggling to summon his power.
But his strength was laughable before the wrath of a pureblood.
"I could let you live," Cyril whispered coldly, "if you tell me the truth."
Then he twisted his wrist—Fingers morphing into claws—And plunged them into Wilhelm's left shoulder, slicing through flesh with surgical precision, avoiding fatal points yet invoking unbearable pain.
"Aaahh!"Wilhelm howled, his face contorted in agony.
"You forced my hand," Cyril said, mechanically calm.
"Please—" Wilhelm gasped, "I swear... I don't... have her..."
Cyril's eyes narrowed.His claws shifted—This time digging into the right shoulder, ripping another torrent of blood.
"You think I'll believe you?" Cyril murmured.
He let go — only to smash Wilhelm's knees with a brutal kick, forcing him to kneel before him.
"Since you refuse to confess," Cyril said, lifting his bloodied hand,"there's no reason for you to keep breathing."
"Wait — Carvain —" Wilhelm shrieked, desperation leaking from every pore,"we can negotiate — don't forget, if you kill me, the entire Tribunal will brand you a traitor—!"
"And?"Cyril loomed over him, voice low and broken."If she's dead, I don't care if the whole world hunts me."
Wilhelm opened his mouth—But when he saw the inferno raging in Cyril's eyes, he realized — too late—
The pureblood standing before him was no longer the dormant noble he once knew.He had become something far more terrifying.
A madman.
In the next instant, blood splattered the stone walls—Cyril's hand tore Wilhelm's heart from his chest.The High Elder crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Cyril stood above him, gasping for breath, drenched in blood—But his crimson eyes never wavered.