Master Harkus of Revarin was 857 years old.

    He was practically in the spring of his unlife. Others might disagree, of course. But others were also dead. As a vampire, he outlived them all. And if they were fortunate, it wasn’t simply because he murdered them. Although that did frequently happen.

    Because for all the things vampires were, open to criticism was not one of them.

    A vampire’s pride was a thing more delicate than the windows of any cathedral. Yet rather than a weakness, it was their greatest strength.

    In order to stand atop the hierarchy of the world, it was also necessary to act the part.

    To be as regal as the moon upon its throne of night, accepting neither argument nor judgement from any creature or thing which could dare utter a word in their presence.

    With one exception.

    Other vampires.

    Despite all the creatures which wandered above and below the surface, vampires were the only peers they themselves accepted. Not even dragons were worthy of such an accolade. For all their legend, they still fell prey to the allure of gold. That made them little more than magpies with larger tails.

    But those blessed with the Sanguine Gift didn’t need crowns.

    They didn’t even need blood.

    A vampire never needed to lower themselves like a beggar collecting scraps for alms. They required nothing to survive. Yet although starvation would never find them, that didn’t mean they never hungered. It simply wasn’t a warm meal they craved.

    Instead … they cared only for the cacophony of the Oldest Dance.

    They coined it, long before lords, dukes and kings opted to steal it to describe their own petty acts of mischief. Because where humans skidded, stumbled and coughed in hope of tripping a single heel, vampires swept away the carpet and all upon it.

    And what they revealed as the walls came crashing down was a tapestry of scheming.

    A web so tangled that few could know where one plot ended and another began.

    It was the great masquerade. The unending game. A pathway to recognition.

    After all, vampires respected nothing if not wholesale destruction using the least possible effort. And in this, Master Harkus was well ahead of his rivals.

    His exploits in the Rozinthe Imperium was proof of that.

    Back when the Grand Duchy of Granholtz was greater in name than in territory, it was the finest empire the continent had ever known. Whether it was the height of midday or the small hours of the night, its grand plazas teemed with opportunity.

    There were markets flush with coins minted that very morning. Basilicas housing the wise and the foolish. Amphitheatres with more songs than there were ears to accommodate the endless talent.

    It was the centre of civilisation, overlooked by the shadows of mage towers an empress sat imposingly upon her throne like a statue come to life. A land of prosperity, risen to the sound of trumpets, marching boots and endless victory.

    … And it had all crumbled to a single whisper.

    That was the night of nights. As an empire slept, a plague awoke. And all it took was ridding the streets of the damnable cats which gnawed ceaselessly upon his robes.

    Because while humans knew fear, felines apparently did not.

    Master Harkus never included that point. But he had no need to.

    His curated version was a tale which left his audience mesmerised greater than any [Dominate Will] could achieve. And so he obliged like the gentleman he was, ensuring that every ear could listen and every voice pay tribute as he repeated his expert narration again and again … until eventually, for the very first time–

    Clink

    A glass came down, lightly echoing around the crypt.

    “Master Harkus,” said the bewitching lady opposite his table. “Your triumph over the Rozinthe Imperium was a truly monumental affair.”

    “Thank you, Mistress Katarine. In which case, allow me to provide more details about–”

    “And because it was so magnificent, I’m certain Lord Nosferatu is pleased with your success. However, as our patron god is no doubt omniscient and therefore always listening, I believe it’s best not to offer him a tale he’s already heard before. Too many times. In the past hour alone.”

    Beside her, the only man whose powdered wig was more glossy than his swirled his glass of oak matured blood. He gave it a sip, then deliberately lowered his glass down as well.

    “I agree with the good mistress,” he said, idly gazing at his surroundings. “We all enjoy a fair boast at this table. Yet it’d simply be a waste if such a compelling tale was told so often that our spawns hear it before they’re even made. They should hear it directly from the vampire himself.”

    Master Harkus offered a small chuckle … all the while planning which order their heads would roll into his coffin. It was the hardest decision he’d ever made.

    Mistress Katarine of Renigall and Master Florian of Astra.

    Both wore a smile of envy as red as the blood they’d wasted upon their lips.

    How the two pretenders had crawled their way into the Nocturne Court, he would never know. All he knew was that one was required to die for their seat to be vacant.

    In true vampire spirit, he’d need to wait for another to arrive so he could murder at least three.

    “My apologies,” he said in a jovial tone. “It’s so rare to be visited by such esteemed members of the Nocturne Court. I’m afraid I’ve little to offer in terms of refreshments. But in words of entertainment, I have plenty.”

    “So you do,” said Master Florian with a nod. “But rest assured, we haven’t come to monopolise either. Not when greater refreshments and a larger audience is waiting to greet you. We came to inform you that the Nocturne Court has convened and made a decision.”

    Master Harkus paused, the button beneath the table ready to accidentally guillotine their heads instead of calling for more drinks untouched for just a few moments longer.

    “Oh? There was a meeting?”

    “There was, yes. All the most notable vampires were in attendance.”

    “When?”

    “Last month.”

    “How curious … I believe I was there, no?”

    “You were. But we had another meeting. Directly after you left. It was to discuss your application for induction as a full member of the Nocturne Court.”

    Master Harkus sat back slightly, surprised at the expediency.

    “Is that so? I was under the impression these things took time. As well as a vacancy at the table.”

    “Time has already been taken. Believe it or not, consideration for your inclusion was first submitted the moment the flames began to take Rozinthe’s capital. Needless to say, the utter collapse of civil society, the famine and the hundred years of bloody war which occurred afterwards significantly escalated the speed of the vetting process.”

    “Oh, I see ... and the vacancy?”

    “Mistress Mirleena sadly passed away a fortnight ago.”

    “That is terrible,” said Master Harkus, stunned that the paladin order he’d tipped off was actually successful. “How did she perish?”

    “It was most unfortunate. She’d survived an assault by a group of paladins who’d somehow stumbled upon her well-hidden lair. Yet during her relocation, she was discovered by one of the Sonnenritter. The 3rd, I believe.”

    A shudder ran through every vampire in the crypt.

    A feat only achievable by mention of the Holy Church’s very own clandestine organisation.

    Sisters were the natural enemies of all vampires. But the Sonnenritter were a blight so unholy that it was a shock they didn’t burn beneath daylight swifter than vampires did. Even among them, however, the 3rd was known to be particularly experienced in matters related to their kind.

    “I grieve for her passing,” said Master Harkus, the lie coming as easily as his look of sorrow. “Mistress Mirleena was ever a stalwart friend. I regret never having taken up her offer to dominate a kraken into slapping itself.”

    Mistress Katarine offered a respectful nod.

    “As do we all. However, there is an eternity to mourn and little time to fill up a vacancy. You understand, I hope, the–”

    Bwoomph.

    All of a sudden, a crashing noise reverberated throughout the crypt.

    It was like something very heavy had been dropped. Despite the amount of earth which existed between here and the surface, the sound was so clear that it left a slight ringing.

    “My apologies,” said Master Harkus swiftly. “My manor is currently undergoing renovations.”

    Mistress Katarine nodded, gracefully ignoring the interrupting.

    “It is fine … as I was saying, I hope you understand the peril in allowing a seat to remain unclaimed for too long.”

    “I do, yes. Not every vampire respects due process. Some consider it a bore worth murdering over.”

    “Indeed, and truth be told, I do not resent those who do. Bureaucracy goes hand-in-hand with vampiric matters. And this doesn’t always garner a favourable reputation. However, the formal process is necessary. It is no small thing to be promoted to the governing organisation of the shadows themselves. There are responsibilities. And both Master Florian and I personally vouched for your character to uphold them.”

    Master Harkus sat up straighter, all the while gently lifting his foot away from the raised tile to activate the window pointing directly at the opposite side of the table.

    “I’m deeply touched. For what it’s worth, I have always held both of you in the highest regards. If it is your decision to accept me into the Nocturne Court, then I will humbly accept this great honour.”

    Suddenly, a pause.

    Master Florian adjusted a loose strand in his powdered wig. He did it until Mistress Katarine cleared her throat. Repeatedly.

    “It is true that a preliminary decision has been made for your acceptance,” he said, his intonation needlessly measured. “There’s still paperwork which needs to be completed, of course. You understand.”

    “Naturally, I do.”

    “However, with that said … there are some outstanding issues. Your spawn, for example.”

    Master Harkus laboured to keep his smile intact.

    A difficult thing when his last memories of her was blasphemy in the form of an explosion which did considerably more harm to his psyche than his body.

    Bwooooomph.

    … And even more so when another crashing sound filled the crypt.

    “My apologies once again,” said Master Harkus, his hand curling into a fist beneath the table. “My … assistants are not known for their handiwork.”

    “Yes, a common problem,” replied Master Florian amiably. “You can dominate a mind to make them believe they’re an excellent plumber, but that won’t help them with their actual handiwork. You needn’t worry. We’ve all tried that route.”

    “Indeed we have … now, about my spawn. You refer to Miriam, I take it?”

    “I do, yes. This … well, chatter about her not being very traditional in her choice of subversive activities isn’t a disqualifying fault. But it is a distraction. While most of the Nocturne Court find her actions to be amusing, I fear that such talk would be an unnecessary cloud during your ascension.”

    Master Harkus nodded.

    “I see. Your consideration is appreciated. And I am happy to offer good news in that regard. I have actually spoken with Miriam concerning her activities. It is, after all, the reason why I’m here.”

    “Goodness me. Then that’s excellent. How did they go?”

    “Splendidly. In fact, I believe that one more conversation is all that’s needed to truly instil in her any concerns you might have regarding her behaviour.”

    “Well, that would be most ideal! It would mean Mistress Katarine and I can remain to formally announce your ascension. Providing, of course, that we’ve reassurances from your spawn that her activities take on a slightly more … well, sinister nature going forwards.”

    Master Harkus’s smile strained at what was being suggested.

    “... You wish to meet her?”

    “It’d only be brief. Hardly an interview. I imagine just a minute or two is enough. Really, we just want to be able to say we’ve met her so that we can personally help assuage any rumours the malcontents would hope to continue. There will be many envious of your new position. But it’s one you’re more than qualified for. You scored extremely highly against our candidate evaluation criteria.”

    It took all his willpower to stop himself from immediately scouring the forest.

    That was an activity he’d actively hoped to avoid. Miriam was proving elusive, to the extent that even the trapper he’d raised to find her had yet to offer him any news. All he knew with any certainty was that she hadn’t left the vicinity. Or died.

    At least until he found her.

    “Of course,” he said calmly. “I’m certain Miriam would be delighted to meet you. It would be good for her to meet more of her kind. She has, as the rumours suggest, been somewhat reclusive. However, since she also represents me, I can assure you that–”

    Bwoooooooooomph!

    Suddenly, every vampire present reached out to hold onto the table as the crypt itself shook.

    A smattering of dust fell from the ceiling, caking shoulders and thoroughly embarrassing a vampire in the midst of what was very much an informal but also formal interview regarding his rise to the Nocturne Court and eventually the entire world order.

    “Goodness!” Mistress Katarine’s scarlet eyes widened. “Master Harkus, what is that abominable racket? Are you renovating the manor or demolishing it?”

    He barely had time to offer an excuse.

    In that moment, one of the brigands he’d dominated awkwardly came down the steps.

    With his eyes hazy and less than half of his faculties working, he didn’t even have the wits to wear the look of terror he should rightfully be wearing for being in the presence of three master vampires.

    “My lord. There are guests. I’ve been told that you’d want to know this.”

    Master Harkus’s mouth widened.

    “Guests? … What guests? Is it more of my kind?” Sёar?h the novёlF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    “I don’t understand, my lord.”

    “Is it more vampires,” he said, aggrieved.

    “I don’t know, my lord.”

    Master Harkus looked at his two peers.

    Both of them offered unknowing shakes of their heads. Neither seemed impressed. He didn’t blame them. His barrier was one which not even the greatest of mages should be able to easily avoid.

    “Well, what are they doing? … What is that awful noise I’m hearing?”

    The brigand paused, requiring every morsel of his wits to piece together a reply.

    “They’re throwing furniture.”