The sun dipped low, shadows stretching across the capital's stone streets. After hours in the market, the four returned to the inn. Their packs were heavy with supplies, armor and weapons fitted close to their frames. They ate in silence at the common hall — bread, stew, roasted meat passed between them.
Noctis sat apart, sealed armor still upon him, his golden-crimson eyes watching but never partaking. He did not eat. He had no need. His hunger was for something else.
When the meal was finished, the women retired briefly to their rooms. The hall emptied, lanterns dimming as night crept over the city.
Later, soft footsteps approached his door.
It opened without a knock. Iris, Clara, and Tina stepped inside, cloaks already slipping from their shoulders. Their eyes were lowered, their obedience absolute.
Noctis stood waiting, his claws flexing faintly at his sides. The Grid pulsed within him, his body burning with new strength and the weight of untested power.
They came to him in silence. Flesh met flesh, their voices rising in gasps and cries as he pulled them into his grasp. His hands, his will, his newly forged dominion pressed into them, every motion sharpened by the arsenal of blood and blade he now carried within.
The room filled with heat, their bodies arching, his hunger met in full. Their devotion was total. They offered themselves as freely as they had followed him into Redhaven's shadow.
While pleasure consumed the inn chamber, another stir shook the city.
At the cathedral, high priests knelt in their sanctum, hands raised in prayer. But the air cracked. Their chants faltered. A presence pressed against their senses, dark and heavy, suffocating the wards woven into the walls.
One priest gasped, clutching his chest. Another cried out: "Something has entered the capital. A shadow beyond our knowing."
At once, notices were drafted, seals stamped, and runners dispatched. Messages spread to hunter barracks and zealot enclaves:
A dark presence has entered the city. Prepare all divisions. Double the watch. No soul moves unchallenged after nightfall.
Back in the inn, the chamber quieted at last. The women lay tangled in the sheets, breathless, bodies trembling with exhaustion and heat.
Noctis stood at the window, bare skin faintly glowing with the pulse of his essence. His eyes burned golden-crimson as he looked toward the cathedral spires, bells tolling in the dark.
"They know," he murmured.
And still, he smiled.
The cathedral bells tolled through the night, a warning carried on the wind. Priests whispered in tight circles, parchments rustling as new orders were sealed with wax. Hunters in sun-crested armor spread into the streets, their patrols doubled, their lanterns burning white. Zealots carried charms and relics, raising them toward alleys, doorways, windows.
The capital stirred uneasily. A shadow had been felt, but not seen.
Hunters swept the market first, their boots striking stone in practiced rhythm. Priests followed, hands raised, golden light burning in their palms. They stopped at every corner, every stall, searching for the trace of a dark aura.
And yet… nothing.
The trail vanished near the western quarter.
Inside the inn, the women slept in silence. Noctis stood alone in the common hall, claws flexing faintly at his side. He willed the Grid forward.
A dome of crimson mist unfurled — but it did not reveal itself as blood. Threads of Faith twisted through it, reshaping, hardening, shining. To mortal eyes and priestly senses alike, it radiated not corruption, but sanctity.
The ward shimmered, anchoring itself around the walls and roof.
It glowed faintly like the work of a skilled priest. A holy barrier that concealed, not revealed.
Noctis stepped into the shadows and was gone.
Hunters swept past the inn. Priests raised their relics. The barrier pulsed gently, radiating harmless sanctity. They nodded and moved on.
The western quarter was cleared. Their quarry had vanished.
Noctis moved through the alleys, silent, cloaked in the veil of his false ward. He climbed the outer walls in silence, scaled rooftops, and looked ahead.
The cathedral spires glowed like fire against the night sky, but he turned his gaze beyond them.
The royal castle rose at the city's heart, walls layered in stone thicker than any other, towers crowned with banners of gold and white.
That was his aim.
The cathedral might stir and hunt in the dark, but even its high priests would not dare strike openly at the royals. Within those walls, even faith's reach bent to politics.
Noctis's golden-crimson eyes burned beneath his helm.
He slipped forward, every step drawing him closer to the castle gates.
The cathedral sanctum glowed with candlelight, shadows wavering across the faces of the high priests. Incense choked the chamber, meant to purify, but the air remained heavy with dread.
A robed elder slammed his palm against the table. "We felt it! The presence was here, in the city. And yet—" His voice cracked, words breaking into anger. "And yet you return with nothing?"
Hunters stood rigid before the dais. Their captain, armor scarred from a dozen campaigns, removed his helm. His face was set, jaw hard.
"We searched every quarter," he said. "Every alley. Every square. Priests blessed the streets as we passed. If something was there, it has been hidden."
A younger zealot hissed, clutching his charm of the Sun. "No mere shadow can mask itself from consecrated light. You were deceived. Or worse—you did not look hard enough."
The captain's eyes narrowed. "My men combed the city until dawn. If we pressed harder, if we tore into homes, half the capital would riot. Do you want the blood of innocents on the cathedral's hands?"
Murmurs spread. Some priests shifted uneasily. Others scowled.
An older priest, his voice calmer but edged with steel, leaned forward. "The presence was undeniable. Old. Heavy. It is not a common cultist. Not a heretic. This is something deeper."
A zealot spat the word like poison: "Vampire."
The chamber fell into silence.
Hunters exchanged glances. Some scoffed. Others tightened their grips on their helms, recalling the whispers of burned villages and vanished patrols.
"If such a thing walks in the capital," the captain said slowly, "then why did it not strike? Why vanish instead of tearing the city apart?"
No answer came. Only silence.
At last, the eldest high priest lifted his staff, silencing the chamber. His voice was weary, but it carried the weight of judgment.
"We will not announce this to the people. Panic would serve the shadow more than silence. Hunters will triple their patrols. Zealots will reinforce the wards at every gate. And you—" He fixed the captain with his gaze. "—you will guard the cathedral itself. If it comes, we will be ready."
The zealots murmured prayers. The hunters saluted, though their captain's eyes remained cold.
Orders were given. Torches were lit. The night stretched on with more boots on stone, more charms raised against the dark.
And yet… the presence they had felt was gone.
The city's heart had already been pierced, and they did not know where the shadow walked now.
The Aetherflame Palace rose from the capital's heart, its black stone towers etched with banners of the Sun. Torches burned along its battlements, casting long shadows across the courtyard.
Inside the high council chamber, King Vaeltharion sat upon the dais, silver eyes watching the assembled lords and priests.
"The cathedral stirs," he said, voice calm, even. "Their high priests whisper of a darkness in the city. They claim it lingers still."
Murmurs rippled through the hall. Some lords frowned, others scoffed.
Prince Kaelen stepped forward, measured and precise. "If the cathedral cannot prove this claim, it may be little more than fear. The people must not see weakness in their shepherds. Panic breeds discontent."
His younger brother, Prince Ryvar, slammed a gauntleted fist against the table. "Fear or not, I will not let hunters dictate the safety of the crown. If there is a shadow, we will meet it with steel."
The queen's voice cut through their words, quiet but firm. "The cathedral's dread is real. I feel it in the wards. Something presses against them. Not broken. Not weak. Simply… concealed."
Silence followed.
The king leaned forward, his silver eyes narrowing. "Then we prepare. The cathedral may watch the streets. We will guard the throne."
Beyond the chamber walls, another presence moved.
Noctis stood upon the palace's outer wall, the city spread below him. Cloaked in silence, he slipped from shadow to shadow, scaling stone and parapet with claws that cut silently into mortar.
The wards shimmered faintly, lines of golden light running along the palace's outer shell. He pressed his hand against them. His blood surged, crimson weaving over gold.
The barrier bent, shimmered, and allowed him through.
He entered the palace grounds without sound.
Servants bustled in the lower halls. Guards patrolled with measured steps. Lanterns flickered in long corridors.
Noctis moved unseen among them, his essence suppressed beneath a veil of crafted sanctity. Hunters stationed at the gates did not even glance his way.
Upward he went, past storerooms and barracks, past halls lined with statues of ancient kings. His golden-crimson eyes flicked toward the grand chamber where voices still rose in debate.
The royals spoke of darkness.
And the darkness had already entered their halls.
The palace patrols had doubled. Guards marched in pairs, boots striking stone in rhythmic unison, spears glinting under torchlight. Lanterns burned brighter, their glow sharpened to drive back shadows.
Noctis slipped between them, each movement a breath of silence. When a pair of soldiers turned unexpectedly, he was forced to act. His body blurred, sliding into a side hall, then into a chamber before the door could close.
He found himself in a vast room, walls draped in silk, a great bed dominating the floor near the window. Golden lamps burned with soft light, casting shadows across ornaments of silver and pearl.
Noctis's eyes narrowed. This chamber… belongs to a woman of rank.
Soft footsteps echoed outside. He leapt, claws sinking into the ceiling. His body anchored, muscles silent, eyes fixed on the door.
It opened.
A woman entered, her gown of deep sapphire silk sweeping across the floor, jewels glittering in her hair. Grace marked every step. Her presence carried weight — regal, commanding, untouchable.
Noctis's gaze sharpened. The queen.
Maids followed quickly, their hands busy with fabrics and jewelry. They moved to her side, unfastening clasps, removing ornaments one by one. Noctis crawled along the ceiling, shifting his position above them, silent as shadow. None of them looked up. None noticed the predator above their mistress.
When the last clasp was undone, the queen's pale shoulders glistened under the lamplight. She sighed, her voice soft but weary.
"Has the king spoken? Will he come tonight?"
One maid lowered her head. "No, Your Grace. His health remains fragile. He rests still."
The queen's shoulders fell with a quiet breath. "I see."
She dismissed them with a gesture. The maids bowed and slipped out, leaving the chamber in silence.
Noctis waited until she moved to the bed. The silks drew back, her body sinking into the sheets. She turned her face toward the window, eyes heavy. Then, almost idly, she looked upward.
Her breath froze.
Two golden-crimson eyes glared down at her from the ceiling.
Skill Activated: Binding Stare
Her pupils dilated. Her lips parted, breath caught, body frozen in place. Hypnosis seized her mind, bending will into silence.
Noctis dropped soundlessly, landing beside the bed. His shadow spilled across the sheets.
He leaned close, his voice a whisper edged with command. "Tell me… the situation outside. The cathedral. The hunters."
Her voice trembled, half-choked with awe and submission. "The priests… they panic. They sent hunters across the city. They search… but find nothing. They sense only fear. The king… too weak to act."
Noctis's lips pressed against her skin, fangs grazing lightly as his hands traced her figure. She gasped, her body tensing under his touch even as her voice continued, answering his questions, moans spilling between words.
Her report came in fragments — patrols doubled, wards reinforced, zealots restless — every detail torn from her lips as his touch commanded both her body and her truth.
Her head fell back against the pillow, voice breaking in a cry. His crimson eyes never left her face, hunger and satisfaction mingling in their glow.
The queen was his now, in body and in voice.
The queen lay frozen beneath his gaze, her body trembling though her voice had already yielded to his questions. The hypnosis bound her, yet her breath came shallow, chest rising and falling with each second.
Noctis leaned closer, lips brushing her neck, his hands moving slowly across her body. His touch was deliberate, unhurried, tracing her curves with the same precision he commanded on the battlefield. She tried to resist, teeth clenched to keep her voice from breaking, but the effort was fragile.
A muffled sound escaped her lips. Her eyes widened in shock at herself, but his mouth pressed lower, kissing along her collar, down her shoulder, across her form. Each contact was fire, pulling another shudder from her throat.
Her body betrayed her.
The silence of the chamber broke with soft gasps, faint moans she tried desperately to swallow. Noctis's hands pressed firmer, guiding, commanding. He moved lower, and the sound of slurping filled the room, slow and deliberate.
Her fingers clutched the sheets, her body tensed, her breath ragged. She bit her lip to stop herself but the tremor of a moan slipped free.
Minutes passed before he rose again, golden-crimson eyes gleaming. His lips glistened faintly as he licked them clean, a low hum of satisfaction escaping him.
The queen stared at him, eyes wet, tears at the edges as her body quivered beneath the sheets. Her breath was heavy, uneven, a mixture of dread and something she did not name.
Noctis let the crimson mist of his armor dissolve, leaving his form bare. He leaned forward, his weight pressing down, pinning her between his strength and the bed.
Her body jolted as his chest touched hers. A sharp gasp left her lips, her arms instinctively moving to push him back — but the Binding Stare held her still.
She looked into his eyes, trapped between fear and surrender, as the bed shifted under their weight.
Noctis began to move. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. The frame creaked softly with each motion.
The queen's breath broke, a long moan slipping free despite herself. She turned her face into the pillow, trying to stifle it, but the sound returned again and again, louder, more desperate.
Her tears slid down her cheeks, but her body did not resist. Each shift of the bed carried another sound, another gasp, another shiver.
Noctis's gaze never faltered, his dominance absolute, his control unchallenged.
The queen moaned again, her voice high and trembling, filling the chamber as the night deepened.
The chamber was drowned in silence except for the rhythm of the bed shifting and the queen's unbroken moans. Her voice, once steady and regal, now trembled with rawness. She straddled him, her body arching, her face flushed as each motion sent shivers down her form.
Noctis leaned back, his eyes fixed on her. Every time her body tensed, another gasp tore from her lips, her shoulders shaking as if she could no longer hold herself upright.
"Tell me," Noctis said at last, his voice low, commanding. "Compared to the king. How is this?"
Her response was instant, unhesitant. "Yours," she moaned, her words spilling without restraint. "Stronger… more alive… his body is weak, old. Yours—" Her breath broke into another cry, hips trembling as she moved harder. "Your strength, your vitality… it's more than I've ever known."
Noctis's eyes burned crimson-gold, narrowing as he studied her. He felt her tighten, her body locking around him as her voice cracked into another cry. His claws dug into the sheets.
A low grunt escaped him. He surged upward, his arms encircling her back, pulling her tight into his chest. His lips brushed her throat, fangs grazing her skin.
Then he bit.
Hot blood rushed into his mouth, rich and regal, laced with the faint shimmer of divine favor. He drank deeply, his body still moving with relentless power. The queen moaned louder, her voice breaking into high, ragged cries. The sensation overwhelmed her, her body convulsing under the flood of stimulation.
Her eyes rolled back. Her voice faded into silence. She collapsed against him, unconscious, her blood still warm on his lips.
Noctis released her slowly, lowering her onto the bed. He licked his lips, his gaze sharp.
Then it appeared.
📜 System Notice[Royal Blood Consumed]New Path Unlocked: ???
Noctis's eyes glowed brighter. The Grid shifted within him, pulsing with a new, unfamiliar weight.
The queen lay unconscious, her pale skin glowing faintly in the moonlight, her breath shallow but steady. Noctis sat at her side, his lips stained crimson, his claws flexing faintly as the Grid erupted before his eyes.
The lattice of blood shivered violently, lines expanding outward into shapes he had never seen. A new branch ignited, its nodes burning with a different light — not the raw crimson of blood, nor the golden flare of faith. This was darker, heavier, lined in violet and obsidian.
System Notice
[Royal Blood Consumed]→ Lineage identified: Sovereign-borne→ Blood Grid Mutation achieved
New Branch Unlocked: Crown of Dominion
Crown of Dominion — Branch I
Sovereign's Presence
Cost: Passive (no upkeep)
Effect: Projects an aura of authority. Weak-willed mortals instinctively obey. Strengthens control over servants and bonded thralls.
Edict of Silence
Cost: 40 Blood Essence + 10 Soul Essence
Effect: Forces an area-wide compulsion; all voices within radius are muted. Suppresses both speech and spellcasting for 30 seconds.
Royal Mandate
Cost: 100 Blood Essence + 30 Faith Essence
Effect: Bestows a temporary command that cannot be disobeyed by thralls, servants, or weaker minds.
The nodes pulsed, waiting for him. Deeper into the lattice, he saw larger shapes forming, branches that hinted at greater power. Their names glowed faintly:
Crown of Eternal Night
Dominion Ascendant
The Throne of Blood
The sight of them sent a ripple through his veins. This was no simple doctrine. This was sovereignty made flesh.
Noctis's lips curved faintly. He turned his gaze back to the unconscious queen, her body sprawled across silken sheets, her blood still singing in his veins.
Royal blood opens the path of kings.
His claws flexed. His will grew sharper.
The cathedral searched the streets. The palace stood blind. And here, in the queen's chamber, a new throne was already being forged.
The chamber had grown utterly still—save for the queen's breathing, soft and uneven, like the whisper of a candle fighting sleep. Noctis remained awake beside her, propped on one arm, studying the subtle rise and fall of her ribs beneath the silken sheets.
He should have left.
He knew that.
He had not planned to stay for dawn.
Yet something tethered him here—something he refused to name.
The shadows clung to the corners of the room, stirred by his magic. He could feel the faint echo of his bond inside her: a thread of power linking them, shimmering just beneath her skin. Not a chain, not a command… a resonance.
A response.
"You are far stronger than you pretend to be," Noctis murmured to her sleeping form. The words were low, almost reverent, as though he feared waking her. "And far lonelier."
She shifted slightly, turning her face toward him. A soft line of tension eased from her brow.
He reached out, brushing his knuckles down her cheek. Her skin was warm now—no longer chilled from fear or shock. Warm from him.
He had expected resistance. Panic. Desperation.
Instead, she had yielded with a grace that unsettled him.
Not submission.
Not obedience.
But trust forged in the dark, pulled from a place deeper than reason.
He was used to hunger, seduction, power—those things came easily. But this subtle vulnerability she offered him—wordless, fragile, sincere—felt like a challenge he had not anticipated.
The king had never touched her with strength. Never looked at her as Noctis did now: as a woman carved of dusk and fire, as a queen who had been starved of recognition.
What a waste.
What a betrayal.
Noctis let the thought simmer, heat rising in him again—but he forced himself still. The night had been long; she had nothing left to give.
He exhaled slowly, almost irritated with himself.
"Sleep," he said softly. "I will not take more."
The admission tasted strange on his tongue—like restraint he had not practiced in centuries.
He lay back, closing his eyes at last. The queen's breathing lulled him, her presence warm beside him, her magic brushing lightly against his like a hand in the dark.
Noctis did not dream. But he did not leave.
The Queen's Thoughts Upon Waking
Light pressed against her eyelids — warm, persistent, unwelcome.
The queen groaned softly, shifting. Every muscle felt heavy, softened by exhaustion so deep it seemed carved into her bones. Her breath trembled as she inhaled, her senses slowly sharpening.
Where…?
The scent hit her first — dark musk, cold metal, something electric and ancient.It wrapped around her like a memory of midnight.
Noctis.
Her eyes fluttered open.
The bed was a tangle of silk and shadow. The dawn seeped weakly through the curtains, painting the room in pale gold. She felt the place beside her instinctively—cool now, but faintly marked by the impression of a body.
He was gone.
A strange ache pulsed through her chest, unexpected and unwelcome. She pushed herself up slowly, dizzy for a moment. Her hands shook—not from fear, but from the overwhelming sensations of the night before. Her skin felt too sensitive, her pulse too quick, as though her body still remembered his touch.
Her thoughts spiraled:
He didn't force me.
He didn't have to.
Why… why did I trust him?
She pressed a hand to her neck, feeling for the wound. Nothing. No pain, no scar—yet her skin tingled as if the bite still glowed beneath the surface.
The king had never made her feel like this. Never made her feel seen.
He barely spoke her name anymore.
But Noctis…Noctis had looked at her as though she were carved of something celestial.
As though she were a queen worth claiming.
Her cheeks warmed at the memory of how he had held her, how she had reached for him without hesitation.
What have I done?
What will this mean?
A tremor ran through her—not of regret, but of realization. Something had changed inside her, quietly but irrevocably. She could feel it like a new heartbeat.
Not shame.
Not fear.
Power.
A connection pulsed under her skin—like a thread tied around her soul, humming with faint energy.
His energy.
"You fool…" she whispered to herself, though the words carried no true anger. "You knew what he was. And you still…"
Still chose him.
Still allowed this.
Still wanted more.
The queen drew the sheets around herself, sitting straighter.
Her pulse quickened—not in panic, but anticipation.
He will return.
She felt it.
In her blood.
In her bones.
And when he did…she would not face him as the quiet, overlooked wife of a dying king.
She would face him as someone awakening.
Someone dangerous.
Someone finally alive.