The drums of war

Chapter 3 – The Drums of War

The air was heavier than usual. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Far in the mountains, the royal vampire castle was alive with noise. Servants ran through the halls, carrying messages from one part of the fortress to another. The great war room — a huge chamber with a round stone table — was full of the clan’s leaders.

Alara stood beside her mother, Serenya, listening quietly. She was not allowed to speak unless spoken to. Her father, Lord Veyric, sat at the head of the table, his silver eyes hard and cold.

“A group of hunters has entered the eastern forests,” one of the generals reported. “They are moving in small teams, searching the villages. Some magicians are with them. And the gangs have been paid to give them information.”

Veyric’s jaw tightened. “They are coming for us. Or for you,” he said, glancing at Alara.

Alara kept her face calm, but her fingers curled slightly. She knew being royal blood meant more than power — it meant being a target. Hunters wanted her dead. Gangs wanted to sell her to the highest bidder. Magicians wanted to use her blood for their own magic.

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In the human city, far away, the hunters were also preparing.

Riven stood in a dusty training yard, leaning on his disguised walking stick — the one that could open into a silver-tipped spear. Around him, the other hunters sharpened blades, packed arrows, and argued over who would get the biggest share of the reward.

One of the older hunters slapped him on the back. “You coming with us this time, Duskbane? Or are you going to stay behind and take a nap?”

Riven smirked slightly. “If I come, she’s mine.”

The others laughed, not sure if he was serious.

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Back in the castle, Serenya’s voice cut through the war room.

“We cannot run forever,” she said. “The humans will not stop. The magicians will not stop. So we must remind them why they fear us.”

Some leaders nodded. Others looked nervous. War meant risk. Even royal blood could be killed.

Alara’s father turned to her. “You will not leave the castle without permission. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” she said softly. But inside, she was already wondering what it would be like to see the world outside again — to walk in the human cities, to watch the hunters up close, to understand the ones who hated her kind.

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By the next morning, the hunters were marching toward the mountains. Magicians in their ranks carried staffs that glowed faint blue with protective magic. The gangs had already given them maps of secret paths.

And among them walked Riven — slow, quiet, looking like he didn’t care, while in his mind he was already planning.

In the castle, Alara stood on the tallest balcony, watching the first rays of dawn (the early morning sunlight) touch the distant hills. She could feel it — the war was moving closer.

The first clash (fight) was only days away.

And when it came, it would change everything.

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