The jungle mist shimmered like a mirage as the trio pressed onward through endless greenery. Ilyas led the way, behind him moved Callaia, her dark hair blending with the undulating shadows. Aeon followed, quiet yet alert.

 “You’re pretty slow.” Callaia mocked. 

 He looked back with irritation. “You’re awfully chatty. You complain a lot for a paladin.” 

 “Am I supposed to be the strong silent type?” 

 “I’d prefer it. We’re trying to be sneaky here.” 

 “You’re the least stealthy one here.”  

 “Says the shiny tin can with a dress.” He snickered.

 She looked down at her overly long surcoat. She grumbled and continued forward. 

At the crest of a small hill, the three warriors paused. Below them, the land opened into a vast plain punctuated by spires and crumbling stone battlements, their silhouettes etched against a brooding sky. In the distance, a ruined gateway framed a sprawling necropolis—the outskirts of a vampire kingdom. The structures, carved of weathered stone and draped in creeping ivy, exuded an uncanny aura of eternal dusk and dangerous majesty.

Ilyas's gaze hardened as he surveyed the hostile terrain. The unnatural silence of the area gave way to the low murmur of the wind, carrying with it the scent of ancient decay. Every muscle in his frame tensed in anticipation. Ilyas stepped closer to the ridge, his eyes narrowing as they swept the horizon. A gleam caught his attention in the distance—a smooth, unbroken wall rising from the ground like an obsidian mirror, polished to perfection and bathed in an eerie twilight glow. Along its length, organized patrols moved in silent precision, their deliberate steps and watchful stares betraying centuries of disciplined vigilance. Bright red eyes glowing from each of them. 

 “Wait, I think I see our place.” 

 Callaia peaked her head close to his. “Where? How sure are you?” She strained her eyes, seeing beyond the mist, she could make out faint outlines of what he saw. “Huh, I can see?” 

 “Perks of your newfound gift.” Ilyas glanced at her neck. 

 She frowned, reminded of her new state. 

 Ilyas smirked, finding humour in her irritation. “Walls further ahead. Seems the other kingdoms aren't as busted up as Umbratara.” 

 Aeon began to laugh. “Unfortunately not.” He stepped in front of the two, placing his hand on the ground. “Let me see if I can sense them.” A green flow flickered from his hand, dispelling shock into the ground. His expression turned serious. “There's four pulses within the area. Not exactly within those walls, but an outpost near them. Try to see if you can spot it.” He pointed towards where he felt the beats.

 Ilyas could see the outpost. It wasn’t nearly as guarded. Atop the tower, he couldn’t see anything. They were probably at the top floor however, bound. The fact that Aeon could sense them made him feel relieved, they weren’t dead.

 Aeon held his hand on the ground a bit longer. “It’s probably a trap, and they might be coerced into abiding. General Taldris isn’t one for games.” 

 “Perfect, then let’s get to it.”

Callaia crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "With what plan?”

Aeon shifted his weight, peering over the ridge. "She’s right. We must be cautious."

Ilyas smirked. "Caution doesn't mean cowering in the shadows. Unlike some, I can handle myself."

Callaia huffed. "Handle? You’d be dead right now if it weren't for your fangs.."

 He tilted his head down. “Yeah, as if I was trying to kill you.”

Aeon's gaze darted between them. "Enough. Your past clash is not relevant. Now, what's the plan?"

Ilyas shot a quick glance at Callaia and replied, "I'll be vanguard, taking them out, Callaia, you stay back and scout, you’re still not fit for combat. Aeon, circle behind to intercept any surprises and give me support." 

"That’s it," Callaia snapped, glaring as she stepped forward. "You think I’m unfit for this?"

Ilyas's eyes burned with a cold, steady glare. "You just underwent a virus taking over your body. Even though there was barely any of it, the vampirism is going to take its toll on you."

Callaia's expression twisted into a snarl. "Frailty? I’ve fought through a lot more than a little filthy disease-"

Ilyas stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. "I'm not trying to underestimate you. I'm trying to remind you that you’ve just been turned, and no matter how weak the strain, it’s still hectic. I’m here to protect you, so you won’t fight, not right now."

Aeon shifted his stance, clearly uncomfortable. "Enough," he murmured, though his tone betrayed concern. The tension crackled like static in the humid air beyond the ridge.

 Ilyas nodded, tapping a finger against his chest. "Those vampires are no joke. I know your strength, but I also know the limits set by our situation right now. Trust me." He paused, letting his words settle as he watched for her reaction.

Aeon interjected with a measured cadence, "I’m ready."

Callaia took a breath, the tension in her shoulders easing as Aeon's supportive tone steadied her. "Fine," she murmured, her voice softening. "I'll hold back until we have a clear opportunity. But if we're ambushed—"

"Then do as you please, if I die I don’t get paid anyway," Ilyas finished briskly, his eyes back on the tower. The stillness of the air made him worry. Were they being set up? 

Aeon squeezed Callaia's shoulder once more before letting go, his dark eyes reflecting both compassion and resolve. "You’ll be back to your old self soon." He offered a slight smile.

The wind shifted again, whispering secrets over ancient stones as Callaia sat down. Suika plopped on top of her head. The two others began their careful descent toward the outpost. Every step echoed like a heartbeat in the silent desert twilight. Shadows lengthened, merging with the gloom of the crumbling keep, and even the murmuring sand seemed to hold its breath.

"I got the rear," Aeon declared as they neared the outpost. "We’re set."

Ilyas motioned with his hand, signaling the beginning of their advance. "Stay alert," he ordered softly. "I’ll make this quick." He held his hand out, Dawnbringer materialising in his fist.

Ilyas charged in without hesitation, Dawnbringer igniting with an almost feverish glow as he burst through the entrance of the outpost. His stride was relentless. On the ground floor, a vampire snarled in fury as it lunged toward him, its eyes ablaze with malice.

"Come on then!" Ilyas roared, his voice cutting through the sudden chaos. With a swift, commanding swing of his sword, he carved a deep arc across the creature's midsection. The vampire's body jerked as crimson sprayed the area. I’ll show you all.

Another vampire hissed, "Your blood will feed the night! Erebus!" It charged him with razor-sharp claws. Ilyas met the attack head-on, parrying with the gleaming metal of Dawnbringer. The clash rang out—a symphony of force and determination. As his blade swept in a lethal curve, Ilyas grunted, "Is that all?" and severed a lifeless limb from his foe, leaving the creature writhing on the cold ground.

Aeon's steady voice emerged from behind a column outside. "Ilyas, watch your right flank!" he warned firmly. His tone was calm, yet pulsed with urgency. Another two appeared from the bushes on the left. Ilyas faced his palm at them, his eyes stalked them. He muttered under his breath, and spikes bursted from the ground beneath them.

"I've got it," Ilyas snapped as he pivoted gracefully, his newfound strength evident in every agile movement. "One down, two to go!" With that, he launched into another ferocious assault. The eerie silence of the outpost was punctuated by the sound of Dawnbringer striking flesh and steel meeting bone.

A guttural laugh came from the shadows. "You fool! Do you think your little toy can save you?" snarled the voice of a third vampire emerging over the staircase. Ilyas's eyes narrowed, and he gritted his teeth as he advanced. His blade whirled in arcs of deadly light, leaving a trail of fleeting sparks as it met its mark. In one swift, brutal motion, he cleaved the vampire cleanly in two.

Ilyas's chest heaved as he surged through the outpost corridors, his every step measured yet explosive with purpose. 

As he swept through the final hallway, Ilyas noticed every enemy on the ground floor had been toppled by his relentless assault. Standing amidst shattered remains, the carnage outlined by the pale glow of a distant, blood-red moon appearing, Ilyas paused and allowed himself a brief moment of grim satisfaction. He felt different. His heart pounded in the fight, yet not just out of fear. It was out of pleasure. He hesitated for a moment, looking at his bloody hands. They shook as he realised the grip the sword had on him was stronger than he thought.