One of Valentine’s Hideout

The chamber was cold. Not because of the stone walls or the high ceiling or the single torch that burned with black flame. The cold came from the people inside it.

Valentine sat at the head of a long table, his hands folded, his face calm. The pendant rested on the stone in front of him, its glow faint but steady. He didn’t touch it. Didn’t need to. Its presence was enough.

Around the table, the representatives waited.

The vampire lord sat to Valentine’s right. His name was Marius, and he had not aged in three hundred years. His skin was pale, his hair dark, his eyes the color of old wine. He wore a high collar and rings on every finger. His thralls stood behind him—three of them, silent, their eyes empty.

The werewolf alpha sat to Valentine’s left. His name was Fenris. Not the Fenris of legend, but close enough. His fur was grey, his muzzle scarred, his yellow eyes never stopping. His pack stood behind him, their human faces barely holding back the animal underneath.

The witch coven leader sat across from Valentine. Her name was Morgana. Her face was hidden beneath a hood, but her hands were visible—pale, long-fingered, stained with something dark. She had not spoken since she arrived.

The revenant king sat at the far end. His name was lost. He had been dead so long that even he didn’t remember it. His body was wrapped in bandages, and where his eyes should have been, there was only smoke.

Valentine looked at each of them.

"The blood moon is ten weeks away."

Marius nodded. "My thralls are ready. A thousand of them. Scattered across the northern cities. When the Veil falls, they will rise."

"A thousand?" Fenris growled. "That’s all?"

"Quality over quantity."

"Quantity has a quality of its own."

Marius smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. "Your pack has numbers. My thralls have discipline. There’s a difference."

Fenris’s hackles rose. "My pack has fought beside you before. We bled for your cause."

"You bled for your own cause. The land. The territory. The freedom to run without hunters on your trail." Marius’s voice was silk over steel. "Don’t pretend altruism."

Valentine raised a hand. The bickering stopped.

"Fenris. Your pack?"

The alpha’s jaw tightened. "Five hundred. Trained. Loyal. Ready to move on your command."

"Good."

Valentine turned to Morgana. The witch didn’t move. Her hood hid her face, but her hands tightened on the table.

"The wards," Valentine said.

"Weak in the north. Fragile in the east. The south is stronger, but not unbreakable." Her voice was low, rough, like stones grinding. "Three cities. I can bring the Veil down in three cities."

"Which ones?"

"Ashford is too well guarded. The capital is worse. But the coastal towns—Dunwich, Greyport, Saltmere. Their wards are old. Neglected. I can crack them."

Valentine leaned back. "And the cost?"

Morgana’s fingers twitched. "Blood. A lot of it. My coven will need to feed the ritual."

"You’ll have it."

She nodded. Once.

---

The revenant king hadn’t moved.

Valentine looked at him. "The dead?"

The king’s jaw creaked. "The dead remember. They remember the hunters who burned them. The priests who sealed them. The families who forgot them." His voice was like stones in a landslide. "I can raise an army. Ten thousand. Maybe more."

"Where?"

"Old battlegrounds. Cemeteries. Places where the Veil is thin and the dead are restless." He leaned forward. "But they will not follow me for land. They want revenge."

Valentine smiled. It was a small smile, not warm, not kind. Just satisfied.

"Revenge can be arranged in due time."

The table went quiet.

Valentine stood. The pendant glowed brighter, responding to his movement, his power, his will.

"The Veil has stood for centuries. It has protected humanity from the truth of this world. But the truth cannot be hidden forever." He looked at each of them. "The blood moon will weaken the Veil. Morgana’s rituals will crack it. Marius’s thralls will hold the cities. Fenris’s pack will hunt down anyone who tries to stop us. And the dead will rise to claim what was taken from them."

He placed his hand on the pendant.

"The Ashen Guard will try to stop us. They will send their hunters, their Prime Humans, their weapons. They will fight. They will die." His voice dropped. "And when the Veil falls, their world will become ours."

The vampire lord inclined his head. The werewolf alpha grunted. The witch’s hands relaxed. The revenant king’s smoke coiled in agreement.

Valentine sat back down.

"Prepare your forces. The blood moon is ten weeks away. When it rises, we strike."

The meeting ended.

---

Marius was the first to leave, his thralls trailing behind him like shadows. Fenris followed, his pack silent. Morgana vanished without a word, her hood the last thing to disappear into the dark.

The revenant king lingered.

"You trust them?" the king asked.

"I trust their self-interest."

"Self-interest shifts."

Valentine looked at the pendant. "Then I will shift with it."

The king’s smoke swirled. "The boy. The one from the neutral town. He heard our plans."

"He heard pieces of them."

"Pieces are enough."

Valentine’s smile faded. "The boy is a complication. Nothing more."

"He is Margaret Vale’s son."

"He is a pawn." Valentine stood. "And pawns are meant to be sacrificed."

The revenant king’s jaw creaked. "I hope you’re right."

He left.

Valentine sat alone in the cold chamber, the pendant glowing beside him.

He thought about Lucian. The way the boy had fought in the cave. The way he’d carried himself in the neutral town. The way he’d looked at Lillith without flinching.

A pawn.

He wasn’t sure he believed that anymore.

But he had ten weeks. Ten weeks to prepare. Ten weeks to gather his forces. Ten weeks to tear down the Veil and build something new.

The boy could wait.

The world could not.

A/N

Thanks for reading this far, I know it’s mid, but this is the best I can do with the little time I have.

I Will try in the future to do more better when I have free time.