Kazan held his breath, pressing his back against the cold wall of the alley. On the main street, the procession was unlike any festival parade he had ever seen. No cheers, no conversations. Only the sound of footsteps, and the synchronized, wet thumping rhythm.
Thousands of city residents walked with their eyes fixed on the sky. Their right hands were clenched, pounding their left chests in a slow rhythm. Thump... thump... thump... It wasn't just a pat—they hit hard enough to sound painful, creating an echo that mimicked a heartbeat. In their left hands, small bowls contained blood.
"They're like puppets," Nix whispered, horrified.
Suddenly, another sound split the night air. Not thunder, not wind.
It was the sound of a violin.
Its pitch was high, clear, and heart-wrenching, as if its strings were made of tightly drawn nerve fibers. The melody was no ordinary song—it was a slow, sorrowful waltz, yet filled with oppressive power.
Kazan looked up. Atop the Blood Tower, facing the city square directly, appeared the silhouette of a standing figure.
That figure was King Vorodor Vladirescu.
His black cloak fluttered in the strong wind carrying the scent of a coming storm, yet his body stood rigid and unmoving. In his hands, a violin that seemed crafted from his own blood magic shone with a blood-red light under the dimming moonlight. The King did not look down; his eyes were closed, his chin resting on the instrument, savoring every stroke of his bow.
As the first note played, the movements of the people below changed. The pounding on their chests synchronized with the tempo of the King's violin. When the bowing became fast and staccato, the pounding on their chests became rapid and harsh. When the violin's note elongated and twisted sorrowfully, the people stopped pounding and let out long hisses, emitting red vapor from their mouths.
"He..." Nix swallowed, "He's not entertaining them. He's coordinating their movements with his playing."
Inside the palace room, Leon and Xuánhú also heard the music. The windowpanes vibrated softly in resonance with the violin's low notes.
"That sound," Xuánhú said, her ears twitching uncomfortably. "In my homeland, we use flutes to activate barriers. But this... he's using sound vibrations to synchronize the heartbeats of thousands with the frequency of the Eclipse. That's no ordinary barrier—he's weaving a blood dome, unifying all their lives."
Leon moved closer to the window, staring at the King's figure on the tower. "He's absorbing their energy, their blood, to fuel his protective magic."
On the tower, King Vorodor Vladirescu drew his bow across the violin strings with a rough yet graceful motion, reaching the climax of the piece. In the sky, the moon slowly being eclipsed by Earth's shadow seemed to respond. The red ring of the Ring of Fire began to form perfectly around the black shadow, emitting a strange light that made shadows stretch and spread.
As the highest note shattered the city's silence, the people below knelt simultaneously. The red mist emerging from the small bowls of every citizen in the streets now rose, swirling like a beautiful yet terrifying spiral staircase, drawn towards the King by the deathly song he played.
"The performance is about to end, Leon," Xuánhú murmured. "And I think something extraordinary will happen when he plays the next instrument."
The King drew the final note—a long, mournful, powerful sound. Simultaneously, the gathered blood mist around him exploded softly in all directions, spreading like a transparent dome of deep red descending from the sky. The dome perfectly covered the entire city of Cloţca, pulsing with the collective heartbeat rhythm of its people. The Blood Shield was active.
A brief silence fell, then the King set down his violin. His voice, amplified by magic, echoed throughout the city.
"Citizens! Knights and noble families of Cloţca! The night of trial has arrived!"
The people lifted their heads, their eyes still glassy but filled with hope.
"You have given your trust, and even a sliver of your life, for our collective protection. In return, I, Vorodor Vladirescu, swear to protect you. Not a single soul within this city will I allow to be snatched away by the monsters outside!"
Low cheers, full of relief and devotion, rolled through the crowd.
"And on this historic night," the King continued, his voice becoming more solemn, "I have an important announcement. Power is not eternal, and a leader must prepare his successor." He turned to the side. "My son, step forward."
From behind the curtains on the tower balcony, a young vampire man emerged. His hair was golden blond like his mother's, his eyes a brighter, less fearsome blue than his father's, yet there was a firmness in his shoulders. He wore neat vampire noble attire. He was Prince Klad Vladirescu.
"This is my son, Klad. After this Eclipse has passed and the threat is resolved, he will officially be crowned Crown Prince and heir to the throne of Cloţca. I have trained him, and I believe he will lead you with wisdom and strength into a new era!"
Silence fell among the people, then acceptance, sweeping through the crowd. They bowed respectfully to the young prince. "Long live Prince Klad! Long live King Vorodor!"
Klad bowed politely, his face serious as he accepted this great responsibility.
Behind the balcony, in the shadows, Prince Rael stood watching. His usually friendly and calm expression was now blank, unreadable. Only his fingers gripped the edge of the balcony tightly.
The King and the young prince then retreated from the tower, leaving the city's residents under the continuously pulsating blood dome.
Kazan pulled Nix's arm. "We must regroup with Leon and Xuánhú. Now."
The two of them slipped out of the crowd, taking advantage of the noise and attention still focused on the square, hurrying along the dark side streets towards the palace. They had to share information and plan their next move—inside a city now locked under a blood dome, with a King ready to sacrifice anyone for his kingdom's survival, and a new heir who might change everything.
=== CHAPTER 55 END ===