The skies above the Sanctuary groaned.
Dark clouds swirled like mourning veils, casting shadows across the ancient halls where time stood still. Thunder crackled like an angry god, shaking the foundations of the mountain. A storm had rolled in—but it wasn't just nature. It was power. It was fate.
Inside the birthing chamber, torches flickered violently as the walls trembled. Ancient runes on the floor began to glow—first soft gold, then deep crimson. The child had chosen this night. He would arrive amidst chaos.
And Seraphine—she was breaking.
"AHHHHHH!!"
Her scream pierced through the corridor like a blade, echoing across the stone halls and down into the chambers below. Lady Maika pressed a damp cloth to her forehead, eyes steady, but worry etched deep into her brow.
"Stay with me, Seraphine," she whispered urgently. "Just a little more. You're strong. You're almost there."
Blood soaked the linen sheets. The magic in the air was too thick, too ancient. It clung to every breath.
Seraphine's body trembled violently, her nails carving marks into the marble armrests of the birthing chair as if the stone itself could ground her. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, lips pale, sweat glistening down her temples.
Lightning flashed. Thunder roared.
And then—
A cry.
A single, high-pitched cry sliced through the storm.
It wasn't human.
It wasn't monstrous.
It was… divine.
The winds stilled.
The thunder halted mid-rumble.
As if the world itself paused to listen.
And then—silence.
The chamber was bathed in sudden, unnatural stillness. The rain slowed. Outside, clouds drifted apart like curtains unveiling the heavens, and the moon revealed itself.
Blood red.
Full.
Glorious.
An ancient omen long feared and long awaited: The Crimson Moon.
Lady Maika's eyes widened. She had seen many things in her long years—wars, love, death, resurrection. But this… this was the birth of something that hadn't existed in over a millennium.
The child.
The heir.
The King.
Seraphine gave one final whimper and then collapsed into unconsciousness. Her head lolled to the side, lips parted. Maika rushed to her side, fingers on her pulse. Faint—but alive.
"Thank the stars," she murmured, brushing Seraphine's hair back before lifting her head gently onto a velvet pillow.
She turned to the child.
He was glowing.
A faint, silver-blue light wrapped around his form. His skin shimmered like moonlight over a lake. His hair was as dark as midnight and eyes wide open, burning like twin suns. For a moment, he didn't look like a child.
He looked like a god.
The runes on the floor pulsed in response to his breath. Magic warped around him, bending to his existence.
And then—as quickly as it came—the light faded.
His features shifted, softening. The overwhelming aura stilled. And in the arms of Maika, the god-child transformed into what he truly was:
A baby.
A perfect, beautiful baby.
Round cheeks. Drowsy crimson eyes. A tiny yawn.
A splitting image of Alaric.
As if the universe had pressed the face of a fallen king onto this newborn canvas.
Footsteps approached from behind—fast, hesitant.
Carlos.
He stood in the doorway, hair damp from the rain, breathing hard. He hadn't meant to come. He wasn't sure if he should. But something called him here—the child's aura, perhaps. Or Seraphine's scream.
Or maybe… his own soul needed to see the result of everything he had given.
Maika looked up and nodded at him silently.
And then she placed the child in his arms.
Carlos froze.
His hands trembled the moment the warmth of the baby touched him. The heartbeat… the pressure… the hum of dormant power beneath fragile skin…
"Is this—" he whispered, voice cracking, "—what he feels like? Even as a baby… he feels like him."
The baby blinked once, reaching with tiny fingers for Carlos's collar.
And Carlos staggered back half a step, overwhelmed.
The child's presence was gentle—but deep inside, he felt it. The same energy that once pulled blood from his veins… the same force that had sustained Seraphine… the same ancient whisper that lingered in the halls whenever Alaric's coffin pulsed with dormant life…
It was all here.
In this baby.
Carlos looked down at the child—at his king, reborn—and let out a shaky breath.
"You little tyrant…" he whispered with a faint, broken laugh. "You nearly drained me dry, and now you look at me like you want more."
The child cooed in response, completely unbothered, like a celestial being enjoying its new, tiny vessel.
Carlos pressed the baby gently to his chest.
"…You're going to change everything, aren't you?"
Behind him, Lady Maika moved to Seraphine's side, brushing strands of hair away from her sweat-soaked forehead. She was pale. Her breathing shallow but steady.
"She'll be alright," Maika said softly, watching Carlos. "She gave her body, her blood, her soul. But the child is born now. The pull will stop."
Carlos nodded silently.
He couldn't explain it, but holding the child felt like standing on the edge of two worlds. As if one breath would carry him into light, and the next into darkness.
The child turned slightly, nuzzling into Carlos's warmth.
"You don't even know how many people are waiting for you," he whispered. "How many want to kill you. Worship you. Use you."
He glanced back at Seraphine, eyes filled with pain.
"…Or how much your mother gave up just to make sure you lived."
Lightning no longer filled the skies. The moon reigned now—bloody and beautiful. And in its crimson gaze, the legacy of the vampires had taken new form.
The heir to the ancient king had arrived.
And deep beneath the sanctuary, in a coffin carved with forgotten runes, something stirred.
A heartbeat.
Faint.
But rising.