The night before the strom

Chapter 5 – The Night Before the Storm

The moon hung low and heavy in the sky, painting the land in shades of silver and black. It was the kind of night when every shadow seemed alive, when the wind carried whispers that no one could fully understand.

Inside the royal vampire castle, the great halls were quieter than usual. Even the servants moved without speaking, their steps soft against the stone floors. The tension was thick, like invisible chains pulling at everyone’s movements.

Alara walked through the corridor toward her chambers. Her mother had ordered her to rest, but rest felt impossible. The hunters were out there — and among them, that strange man she had seen earlier. She didn’t know why she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

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When she entered her room, the fire in the hearth (fireplace) was still burning. She sat by it, staring into the flames. For a vampire, fire was a dangerous thing, but Alara had always found it beautiful. It was alive, wild, untamable — much like her people’s spirit.

She thought about the humans gathering beyond the forest. Most vampires saw them only as enemies. But Alara had always been curious. What made them so determined to destroy her kind? What gave them the courage to face creatures stronger and faster than themselves?

Her father always said it was hatred. But Alara wasn’t sure.

Somewhere out there, in the human camp, she imagined that tall hunter — the one who moved so slowly yet felt so dangerous. She pictured him sitting apart from the others, watching the mountains like he was studying them. She wondered what was going on in his mind.

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Far away, Riven sat exactly as she imagined.

The human camp was busy — hunters sharpening blades, magicians preparing charms (small magical objects for protection), mercenaries checking their gear. The air smelled of cooked meat and smoke.

Riven sat at the farthest edge of the camp, his back against a fallen tree, his walking stick resting across his knees. He could hear the distant howls of wolves in the forest, the quiet talk of hunters nearby, and, if he focused hard enough, the faint echo of the war drums from the vampire castle.

He wasn’t thinking about the reward. He wasn’t thinking about glory. He was thinking about the fact that somewhere in that castle was a royal blood vampire — someone faster, stronger, and more dangerous than anyone he had ever faced.

And strangely, that thought didn’t make him rush forward. It made him want to wait. To learn. To understand his enemy before making his move.

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In the vampire castle, preparations continued. Guards patrolled the walls in pairs. The magicians of the vampire clan — pale men and women dressed in deep crimson robes — stood at the gates, weaving protective spells. Their hands moved in slow, graceful patterns as faint silver light formed in the air around them.

Alara walked along the balcony outside her chambers. From here, she could see the dark outline of the forest and, far beyond it, the flicker of campfires. She leaned on the railing, her sharp eyes searching for that same figure she had spotted earlier.

She couldn’t see him in the distance now, but the memory of his calm, steady walk stayed with her. Hunters usually moved like wolves ready to pounce (jump suddenly). He moved like a man who had nothing to prove — and yet she knew he was dangerous.

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Below her, in the training yard, a group of younger vampires practiced with swords. Their movements were quick but unrefined. Her father’s voice boomed across the yard, instructing them, correcting their stances, demanding more speed, more precision (accuracy).

Alara’s heart — or what was left of it — tightened. She had been trained the same way. Strength first. Speed second. Never let your enemy see fear. Never give them a chance to strike first.

She turned away from the sight and returned to her chambers. She tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, she saw the tired, unreadable face of that hunter.

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In the human camp, the night deepened. Most of the hunters were asleep now, their snores mixing with the soft crackle of the dying fires. Only a few kept watch, pacing the camp’s edges.

Riven stayed awake, as he always did. His eyes were on the mountains, though the darkness made them little more than jagged shapes against the sky.

He had a feeling — not the kind you could explain, but the kind you trusted — that someone up there was awake too, watching back.

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Hours passed.

In the castle, Alara finally stood from her bed and went to the window. She looked out at the forest, at the faint glow of campfires almost hidden by the trees. She wondered if any of those fires belonged to him.

In the camp, Riven shifted his weight, leaning forward slightly. For a moment, he thought he saw movement in one of the castle’s high balconies — a shadow where no guard was supposed to be. He narrowed his eyes, but it was too far to tell for sure.

Neither knew it, but they were staring toward each other — two figures separated by distance, by walls, and by the unspoken truth that one was meant to destroy the other.

When dawn came, the world would change.

And when it did, the game between them would truly begin.

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