Codex Mortem

Flames and coldness

Without pausing to respond, Raiden motioned for a nearby warrior and handed over the girl. "Take her to the barn, and keep watch until morning. She is not for claiming." he instructed tersely, his focus already shifting to the gathering of warriors ahead.

Barking orders to Liam, his First Aga, Raiden instructed him to gather three of the fastest trackers and three of the most skilled warriors, ready to await him in the hall. With swift efficiency, Raiden dispersed the remaining warriors, assigning them to reinforce strategic and defensive positions across their territory.

Entering the hall house, Raiden's mind raced with urgency. He knew Jayce would not be contained for much longer.

"Can you tell me what is going on?" Rhys's voice cut through the tension, his worry etched deeper upon his features with each passing moment.

Ignoring Rhys's inquiry for the moment, Raiden barged into his room, a sense of urgency driving him forward. Heading straight to the heavy chest in the corner, he knelt beside it, rummaging through its contents until he unearthed a small, round white berry. Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, he lifted his gaze towards Rhys. "This!"

Puzzled, Rhys opened his mouth to speak, but Raiden pressed on. "He is compelled to Her, Rhys. I don't know why, nor does he," Raiden confessed, his voice tinged with frustration.

Rhys waited, anticipation hanging heavy in the air, but no further explanation came. Just as he was about to inquire again, Raiden spoke once more, his tone grave. "Dilute this, and make him drink. Half of it, not all."

Lost for words, Rhys approached cautiously, his hand outstretched to receive the coated white berry.

Turning towards the window, Raiden peered out into the night, the moon's cold light casting long shadows across the earth below. "Don't go alone. He is much more powerful now. You cannot hold him down by yourself," Raiden warned.

.....

Bathing in the cold, clear moonlight, two dead horses lay sprawled on the ground, their once majestic forms now twisted and lifeless. Among the carnage, scattered body parts of vampires and werewolves painted a macabre picture of the fierce conflict that had unfolded.

In the aftermath, two human slave girls, their expressions frozen in terror, huddled together in a thorny bush, at the edge of the forest that draped the road. White as ghosts, eyes wide with fear.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his mind, the nixian king struggled to make sense of what lay before him. Time seemed to stand still as he grappled with the unexpected turn of events. She was nowhere to be found, her absence shrouded in mystery. Why had Declan struck earlier? THAT WAS NOT THE PLAN!

Closing the distance with swift agility, he knelt beside the wounded Declan, whose faint plea for salvation hung in the air. With a mixture of anger and disgust, Caleb seized Declan by the bloodied hair, his voice edged with urgency. "Where is SHE?" 

But even as he sought answers, Caleb's thoughts strayed to Illre, the head of the Dawners, whose absence was now obvious. He has sent the fool with them, to chase away any suspicions. Not that he cared for the dawner, yet he was still a leverage. His fury only grew as Declan's feeble response failed to provide the information he sought.

In the dim light of the moon, Caleb's gaze hardened as he met Declan's bloodied eyes.

"You don't deserve to live," he declared, his voice cold and unforgiving. "You've tasted Her blood when you had no right to. And now, defeated, you are nothing but a sore sight."

"You think you've won, Caleb," the wounded vampire rasped, blood trickling from his lips.

Caleb scoffed, dismissing whatever unimportant talk would follow.