A Spark In The Shadow

CHAPTER - TWENTY FOUR

Deep in the Drovok mountains where the sun never shined, was the secret home of the vampire king. His throne room, called Dravothrone, was a huge, cold cave made of dark stone that seemed to swallow all the light.

No warm fires burned there. Instead, tall, thin crystals in the walls gave off a faint, sickly green glow, making long, sharp shadows dance with every slight movement in the air. The air itself was still and heavy with the smell of old power, dust, and a faint, metallic hint of old blood.

On a throne made of carved black stone, sat Rowen, the Vampire King. His face was sharp and perfect, but cold. When he opened his eyes, they were like two deep, hungry red pools, glowing with terrible power. He had been king for hundreds of years, strong and patient. He thought his plans in the human world were moving perfectly without him. But now, something was stirring, a small disturbance in the deep quiet he was used to.

A single vampire, wearing robes as dark as the shadows, moved quietly toward the throne. This was a messenger, a scout who had gone into the human lands to find news and things to use. It moved with great respect, its steps making no sound on the polished black floor. It stopped many feet from the throne and knelt, bowing its head so low that its face was hidden in its hood.

"Speak," Rowen's voice was a low rumble, like rocks moving deep underground. It had no warmth or kindness, only raw power and a cold demand. The sound seemed to pull the air toward him.

"What's wrong in the human lands now?"

"My King," the messenger began, its voice a quiet whisper, shaking a little.

"Reports from the human lands. Troubles. Strange things happening. Lots of chaos. Our scattered vampire friends... they are being killed."

Rowen's red eyes narrowed a little, a hint of annoyance on his face.

"Killed? By whom? Be clear," he purred, his voice dangerously soft, but sharp like a knife.

"I don't have time for vague whispers. What chaos? What troubles?" he moved slightly on his throne, a silent movement like dust settling, but it felt like the earth itself was groaning.

"Has the human resistance become braver?"

"No, my King. Worse," the messenger stammered.

"A village far to the west, near the Whispering Woods. It was attacked. Many of our kind, the wild vampires who hunt without rules, were... destroyed. Turned to dust. By an unknown power. And it was fast, my King. A strong burst of dark energy. Unseen. And a figure moving very fast. Not fully human. Not fully... one of us." the messenger's voice dropped to a barely audible whisper.

"Some of the wild vampires, those who ran away after the kingdom's... change... they spoke of a boy. A young man. But with immense power. They spoke of the Shadescore."

Rowen's eyes, those cold red pools, lit up. The name of his creation, the one he thought was lost, the one he had filled with Ember's twisted light, sent a shock through him.

"The Shadescore?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft, but filled with a chilling wonder.

"It lives? And a boy has it? My nephew, maybe." a faint, cold smile, like frost on stone, touched his lips. He leaned forward, staring at nothing, as if seeing a vision.

"My difficult heir. I thought he was destroyed by his foolish defiance. But it seems Ember's last, desperate act was more successful than I thought. And now, he unknowingly helps my plan. How wonderful." he chuckled, a dry, harsh sound that held no humor, only cold, cruel satisfaction.

"He has survived the first draining."

"Yes, my King. And there's more," the messenger continued, gaining a little confidence.