Dawn never fully came.
The first hint of pale light creeping over the horizon was swallowed whole as a vast shadow passed overhead. Caspian lifted his head just in time to see it—an enormous silhouette eclipsing the sky, wings stretching wider than the Citadel's tallest spires.
A bat, well, calling that a bat wasn't enough, since it was much bigger, big enough to swallow a couple of creatures of the night whole in a single bite.
The air trembled as it descended, the sound of its wings shaking the ruins themselves. Creatures of the night emerged from every shadow—crawling from collapsed buildings, clinging to walls, gathering in the shattered heart of the citadel like worshippers answering a silent call.
Caspian watched from afar, unmoving as the giant bat descended from the sky.
The giant bat landed in the city's center, where blood already pooled thick and dark. As it folded its wings, flesh twisted and reshaped, bones snapping into place until a tall, slender figure stood where the beast had been.
Their lord had returned, with a long cut bleeding from his chest from a previous fight, that's why he wasn't there at the siege of the Citadel of the stars.
The Tyrant of the Moon, as Caspian thought fitting to call him, tilted his head back, his long and bloodsoaked hair flowing like a waterfall at his back, inhaling deeply as the blood responded to his presence, flowing toward him like obedient rivers.
"…Still weak," he muttered, voice low and venomous. "But it will suffice."
Caspian's claws tightened, the voice of the Tyrant alone was enough to send chills through his spine.
"After I regain my power," the Tyrant continued, irritation bleeding into his tone, "I will fly east and tear that damn luminous chicken from the sky, and i will feast with the blood and flesh of those who treats him as their hero. It's been far too long."
A cold sweat dripped through Caspian's face.
"East…"
The Tyrant stepped forward, and the blood surged, forming a vast, unnatural lake. Without hesitation, he walked into it, crimson blood swallowing him whole. One by one, the creatures of the night withdrew, retreating into the ruins, curling into stillness like corpses returning to their graves.
Silence fell over the ruined citadel.
Caspian waited patiently.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then more.
Nothing moved.
Only when he was certain—absolutely certain—that the citadel had entered a deathlike slumber did Caspian finally breathe out.
"…This is my chance."
He moved quickly but carefully, scavenging what he could from abandoned homes and broken stores. Food he ignored. Instead, he took wineskins, flasks, anything that could hold liquid—and filled them with blood drawn from the city's grim remains.
He hated himself for how practical it felt, it felt like a sin.
When he was done, Caspian stood at the edge of the ruined Citadel and looked east, where the sun had risen.
"If someone like him hates you so much" he murmured, baring his fangs in a grim smile, "you must be strong."
Strong enough to kill a Tyrant, perhaps.
With the crimson moon setting down, Caspian turned his back on the Citadel of the Stars and began his journey toward the east
Toward his only hope to escape this nightmare.
Or toward his death.
Two different outcomes, one journey.