Before I could respond, a sharp female voice rang out.
"Who are you? And why did you destroy the City's Waystone?"
Although the presence behind me was no threat, it still caught my attention—no one should have been able to sneak up on me. That alone warranted curiosity.
I turned slowly, eyes narrowing with interest.
Standing a few paces away was a woman, perhaps in her late twenties. Her posture was calm, but I could sense the tension simmering beneath the surface. She wore what, according to Lilya's memories, was a maid's uniform of dark fabric, modest cut, functional and unadorned. Her eyes flicked over me cautiously, studying the snowy white fabric of my clothing, the unnatural sharpness in my features, and most of all my eyes. Crimson.
That was when her body stiffened.
"You're a vampire?" she asked, though her voice hinted at no real doubt—just confirmation of what she already feared.
"I am," I replied, voice smooth and measured.
She didn't retreat, but her fingers twitched slightly, as if restraining the urge to strike.
"What are you doing here?" she asked next, tone clipped but wary.
"Just looking around," I said, gesturing vaguely at the street behind me. "This city now lies within the borders of my territory. I thought it wise to get a sense of what I'm dealing with."
That admission unsettled her even more. Her lips parted slightly before she caught herself, voice tightening further.
"Your territory?" she repeated, like the words had scraped against her throat.
I nodded with a faint smile, amused. "Correct."
There was a brief silence.
"You're a Vampire Progenitor, aren't you?" she asked at last, her voice no more than a whisper now. Fear threaded its way between each syllable.
I dipped my head slightly, offering mock courtesy. "Will Von Mortis, at your service," I said lightly, enjoying the way her eyes widened.
She hesitated, then pushed forward. "Did you bring this city here?"
I raised a brow. "No. That was the doing of the clan that awakened me. Unfortunately, they didn't survive the encounter."
Her gaze sharpened. "What do you mean?"
"They attacked me moments after I awoke. Foolish. I killed them all."
I said it plainly. I saw no reason to hide the truth,my power was a fact but not a threat. Besides, transparency had a way of disarming mortals, especially when laced with confidence.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Then why destroy the Waystone?"
"To keep your people from fleeing the moment I appeared," I replied with a calm shrug.
"So you do have hostile intentions," she said slowly, her voice cautious but now probing.
"If I did," I said with a smile that didn't reach my eyes, "I wouldn't be standing here having this conversation. I would've leveled the city by now."
A silence fell between us as that truth sank in.
Eventually, she exhaled—a small, nervous laugh slipping past her lips. "I suppose that's true," she said, voice softer now.
"I'd like to speak to whoever's in charge of the city," I stated plainly, shifting the conversation forward.
She looked me over, gauging whether I was still playing some deeper game. I kept my expression open, neutral. There was no need for theatrics now.
"And," I added with a faint smirk, "I'd like to bring my companion along."
She raised an eyebrow. "I haven't even agreed to take you, and you want to bring someone else?"
"Well," I said, letting a slight edge bleed into my tone, "you don't have much of a choice. I'm being polite for my companion's sake but that courtesy has its limits. I am a Vampire Progenitor. I could bring this city to its knees with a whisper. I expect that to be respected."
Her demeanor shifted instantly. The fear returned, but now tempered by survival instinct. Her tone became more formal.
"Understood. I'll take you to the Governess. Will your companion be joining you now?"
I called out to Lilya with a thought. You can come now.
Okay, she replied.
A moment later, she appeared beside me. The woman flinched at the sudden arrival, eyes widening slightly in surprise.
Lilya looked between us, then down at the ground, visibly unsure. She wasn't used to being on the same side as the monsters from her childhood stories. Her posture was hesitant, her steps small.
I leaned closer and said gently, "Relax. We're not here to cause trouble. You don't have to worry about being seen as hostile."
Lilya gave me a sideways look. "You kind of lost the right to say that when you destroyed their Waystone."
I chuckled, pleased that my comment eased her tension a bit. Her retort felt like a good sign—humor and even cautiousness, meant she hadn't lost her footing completely.
The maid led us through the quiet streets. Shadows clung to the edges of buildings, and the moonlight cast everything in pale silver. The city was eerily silent, likely still reeling from whatever magic had pulled it from its home.
After about five minutes, we arrived at a large estate with tall iron gates, carefully kept grounds, and wide windows trimmed in gold. We stepped inside, our footsteps echoing faintly through the marble halls. She led us to a room that appeared to be a waiting area, though I could only guess by cross-referencing Lilya's memories.
"Please wait here," the maid said. "I'll inform the Governess of your arrival. Though, since it's late, it may take her some time to wake up and prepare to meet you."
"No trouble at all," I said smoothly. "I understand the limitations of your kind's inconvenient hours."
"Thank you for your understanding," she said, bowing slightly. And with that, she turned and left us alone in the soft, lamp-lit quiet of the room.
* * *
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.