The maid placed the platter, heaped with a large portion of roasted pork leg, onto the dining table. The leg had barely been seared on the outside, the juices within still mingling with thick blood. Normally, such half-raw fare would be a favorite of the Advance Vampires. Even after enduring their weaning period and gaining control over their thirst for blood, they occasionally craved that taste of raw vitality. Yet tonight, the pervasive scent of blood in the dining hall seemed to do nothing for the master of the estate.

As darkness fell upon Cazarburgh, a terrifying silence engulfed the town. Its streets were eerily empty, lit only by sparse, flickering lamps, while bats occasionally screeched through the sky, their shrill cries cutting the air and sending chills down the spines of any traveler daring to pass through. Of course, no one in their right mind would choose this remote town, tucked beneath the Kingdom of Mego, as a destination. The journey through the Blood Mist Forest encircling Cazarburgh was no trifling matter.

The maid stood to the side, waiting for the lord and lady of the manor to dine, in case they had any requests. Serving while the master ate was a noble custom, one nearly forgotten in the annals of House Glory's past. For nearly a century, the remnants of this once-proud house had clung desperately to their old ways, preserving what little grace and dignity they could, wistfully recalling the privileges long since lost. Tonight, though, as the master reached for his utensils, the tremor in his hand betrayed the abandonment of both grace and dignity.

"Aya..." His voice quivered, much like the knife and fork in his hands.

"I'm here, my lord," the maid responded softly.

"What's the meaning of this pork leg?" His voice wavered dangerously.

The dining hall was disturbingly still. Across from him sat Lady Lesadita Glory, her utensils untouched, her eyes fixed on her husband as she swallowed nervously—the sound unnervingly clear in the silence.

"The skin was roasted, my lord," Aya answered, her own nervousness growing.

"Only the skin?" The master's gaze slowly shifted from the pork to the maid. "And this blood?" His fork pierced the hardened skin of the meat, causing a fresh stream of blood to ooze onto the platter. "Why is there so much blood?" His voice rose from its trembling depths to a high-pitched fury, and with a violent motion, he yanked the fork from the meat and flung it into the corner of the hall. "What the hell is with all this blood?!"

"Stark Glory," Lady Lesadita Glory bravely interjected, offering the terrified maid a moment to catch her breath. "Tonight is our daughter's birthday. As is customary for special occasions, Aya prepared a half-raw, blood-soaked meal. It is tradition, husband. It is... the custom of House Glory."

"Tradition? Custom?" Stark Glory sneered at his wife. "Oh, you know those words well, Lesadita. Then perhaps you can tell me why, for all your knowledge of tradition and custom, our daughter has chosen to break the laws that have governed vampires for over two thousand years, hmm?"

Lesadita Glory straightened, her posture now as rigid as her expression. From her modest, dignified attire to her poised dining etiquette, she was every bit the lady of grace. "Today is our daughter's birthday," she repeated, the large garnet earrings at her earlobes reflecting the flickering light from the chandelier above. "Tonight, she comes of age. Let's finish our meal, shall we?"

As expected, Aya knew that when her lady chose appeasement, Stark Glory's rage would only grow. "Don't deflect, Lesadita," Stark pressed relentlessly. "Answer my question."

Lesadita's response was to firmly pick up her knife and fork, cutting into the surface of the pork leg. "Perhaps you should be asking," she said, a touch of anger creeping into her tone, "why our daughter, on the night of her birthday, cannot sit here with us."

The maid held her breath.

"How dare you?!" Stark roared, slamming his fists onto the table. The long, timeworn elm dining table nearly cracked under the blow. "Ask yourself that question!"

The sudden outburst made Lady Glory flinch, her tears falling unchecked. "Ask yourself," she whispered, her voice breaking, "why on this night of all nights, you've banished her to the Blood Mist Forest!"

Aya felt her legs give way beneath her as she stumbled into the corner of the dining hall. No... Instinctively, her hand went to her neck, where she felt the bulging veins. Not now... Please, not now. The scent of blood in the dining hall thickened, and it wasn't coming from the ill-fated pork leg—it emanated from Lord Stark Glory himself. Whenever a vampire's anger flared, their blood would pulse wildly through their veins, filling the air with an overwhelming scent that could awaken the dormant bloodlust and hunger in other vampires.

I... I can't breathe...

Aya's terror was not without cause. The blood of noble Advance Vampires was far more potent than that of ordinary vampires, their scent almost unbearable for a lesser vampire to endure. Even with House Glory's decline, Stark's blood still carried the weight of nobility. No... I have to... maintain my human form... The overwhelming scent of blood began to cloud the maid's mind, and the bones in her back creaked as her bat-like wings threatened to tear free from the flesh and fabric that confined them. Endure... Endure...

"A good question, Lesadita," Stark muttered, veins now visible on his neck, pulsing ominously. "Had I not exiled her, she would have been executed by the Council tonight—condemned to death by bloodletting, the noble punishment. And then, you wouldn't have even a strand of our daughter's hair left."

At that moment, just as Aya was on the brink of losing control, another scent reached her—softer, more calming, like a fragrant balm. It was the scent of Lady Lesadita's blood. Though she had not been born a noble, her blood carried the traits of a woman of unwavering confidence and courage. She was trying to balance out the terrifying aura her husband exuded, though such defiance came at the cost of exposing her own vulnerability.

"The Council's judgment is unfair," she murmured. "You should have fought harder for our daughter's rights."

"Rights?!" Stark's enraged bellow made the candles in the chandelier flicker violently. "What rights does a vampire who has tasted human blood deserve?!"

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"A vampire who has tasted human blood deserves nothing!" Stark's voice boomed, his eyes bloodshot, veins bulging ominously along his neck and hands as if he were on the verge of transformation. Aya, still clutching the wall for support, forced herself to stand.

"A sixteen-year-old vampire who drained two humans dry! According to the Council's law, even a single bite that leaves a wound on a human's neck is punishable by the blood whip. But our sweet daughter, Ilsa Glory, has killed two people!" Stark's eyes were filled with rage, his hands shaking, as he held himself at the brink of losing control. Lesadita Glory let her tears flow freely, unwilling to wipe them away. The air in the room thickened with the scent of blood from both of them, a dangerous clash that could easily escalate into a violent confrontation. Aya had seen it happen before. Her father, once a servant of another noble family, had died trying to defend her against their cruel wrath. He had risen up against a far stronger vampire and was torn apart, reduced to a pool of blood before her eyes. In the face of pureblood nobles, lesser vampires stood no chance.

If the Glories fought tonight, the outcome was certain. Bloodlines and strength aside, the raw power difference between a man and a woman would tilt the scales in Stark's favor. What should I do? Aya was torn. She could never forget that House Glory had taken her in when she had nothing, and they had treated her well. It shouldn't come to this...

"Ilsa said they attacked her first. She was the victim," Lesadita said, her voice thick with emotion. "You heard her say it yourself."

"They attacked her?" Stark barked out a laugh, leaning back in his chair. It seemed the confrontation hadn't escalated to physical violence yet. "An old man in his eighties, toothless and needing help just to walk! The other—a boy of twelve who can barely aim straight when he takes a piss! What could they have done to our daughter? Seduced her? Do you believe that?"

"I believe her," Lesadita said quietly, wiping her tears. "Ilsa has no reason to lie to us."

"You believe her!" Stark sneered, his voice filled with venom. "It's your indulgence that has ruined her! Sixteen years old, the prime of her youth, and she should be learning history and politics at the noble academy, refining herself into a lady of grace and stature! Instead, she's spent her days running amok in the lower districts!"

"And who do you think she learned the habit of staying out all night from?" Lesadita retorted sharply. "It's not like her father spends many nights at home, either."

Stark's anger ebbed slightly, a cold smile tugging at his lips. "Do you think I've been out gallivanting? Is that what you believe, Lesadita? That I've been enjoying myself? Ha! No, I've been groveling at the feet of the other nobles of Cazarburgh, flattering them, scraping by just to keep our house afloat! I've debased myself, running errands for them like a servant, all for the sake of House Glory's future."

He slammed his fist on the table again. "Do you know what happened to that merchant caravan?"

Lesadita didn't respond, staring down at the table. She knew full well what sacrifices her husband had made for their family.

"The very same caravan the grandfather and grandson were a part of. They had been complaining about missing people and threatened to appeal to Queen Shirley Farland of Mego if the Council didn't handle it. And what do you think would happen if that reached her ears? The Godma Empire is already ravaging the northern borders, and the entire Kingdom of Mego is on edge. The Council couldn't allow that!"

"Then bribe them," she murmured. "Give them gold."

"Bribe them?!" Stark scoffed. "You don't understand human greed. They weren't after gold, Lesadita—they wanted the diamonds from Cazarburgh's mines! And those diamonds are the lifeblood of the vampires here! So the Council made a decision, one you can hardly imagine."

Lesadita's eyes widened in horror. "They... they ordered a massacre?"

"More fitting to call it a slaughter," Stark said grimly. "The Council planned to make the caravan's disappearance look like the work of bandits or beasts along the road to Cazarburgh, while seizing their goods. It was a twofold solution. And they needed an executioner."

"Stark..." Lesadita's voice trembled.

"Yes, me," he confirmed. His eyes gleamed with a mix of pride and madness. "I slaughtered them all in the judgment hall, watched their expressions shift from hope to confusion, then to terror. They had thought the Council would agree to their demands. It was the first time in over a century that I had killed. I slaughtered over a dozen people, while the other nobles watched, clapping and laughing as if it were entertainment. The scent of human blood made me sick, and suppressing my own bloodlust was unbearable. But they cheered."

Stark ripped the pork leg apart with his hands, tearing the meat into pieces. "And afterward, when they were reduced to broken bodies like this, I had to kneel before the Council and beg for our daughter's life. I had to plead with them to let her live, to exchange her execution for exile."

He collapsed back into his chair, the weight of his humiliation pressing down on him. "It was the greatest disgrace of my life."

"I'm sorry, husband," Lesadita whispered.

"Forget it, Lesadita." Stark waved a hand dismissively. "She's our daughter. I'm to blame, too. I always thought her path was set—raised in the nobility, educated at the finest schools, then married to some noble heir to restore our house. But now I see how foolish that dream was. Life has a cruel sense of humor." He gestured to Aya to clear the table. "Aya, I apologize."

The maid shook her head, swiftly gathering up the remains of the ruined dinner and retreating to the kitchen.

"What will become of our daughter?" Lesadita Glory finally broke down, wiping away her tears. "Can she survive in the Blood Mist Forest?"

"That will depend on her strength... and luck," Stark said, his voice heavy with resignation. His own tears had begun to flow.

"Will she become like those lesser vampires that roam the forest? The ones whose skin rots away, with no reason left, only the hunger for blood to drive them?" Aya, having returned to the dining hall, placed her hand gently on Lady Glory's trembling shoulder.

Stark considered her question. "Usually, only those born vampires who fail to endure the blood abstinence period become lesser vampires, exiled to the forest. But if an Advance Vampire returns to uncontrolled blood drinking, they risk becoming something even worse—an abomination more loathsome than any lesser vampire."

"What if Ilsa resists that temptation? What if she never drinks human blood again?" Lesadita asked hopefully.

"The temptation of human blood is so overwhelming that no Advance Vampire has ever tasted it again and successfully abstained afterward," Stark explained. "Most who break the taboo lose their minds entirely, driven by pure instinct. They're either hunted down by the Council or left to fight with the lesser vampires over territory and food. The rare few who manage to control their thirst and drink human blood sparingly... they become something the Council despises."

Lesadita furrowed her brow. "Something the Council despises? Even more than lesser vampires?"

"They're called Blood Calamities," Stark confirmed. His wife shuddered, instinctively gripping Aya's hand tighter. "A Blood Calamity is a vampire who can control their bloodlust and draw great power from drinking human blood while suppressing the madness. They're stronger, more cunning, and nearly immortal. But because of their sustained human blood consumption, they're ostracized from Cazarburgh, forced to survive elsewhere. Should a Blood Calamity rise among the nobility, it's seen as a disgrace, and they are exiled."

Stark sighed. "A Blood Calamity must survive on their own."

Lesadita looked up at Aya with tear-filled eyes. "Even if she can't return to Cazarburgh, I hope Ilsa can find a life in another city, hiding among ordinary people, free from suspicion and pursuit..." Aya knelt beside her, holding her hands tightly.

"You are my only daughter now, Aya..." Lady Glory finally let go of her strength, succumbing to her grief, sobbing quietly.

"This is the best outcome we can hope for," Stark agreed. "I've heard of one such Blood Calamity from the once-great House Gorod, who forged an alliance with House Edward in the Kingdom of Cynthia after being exiled. Ideally, Ilsa will find her way too..."

But then he sighed heavily.

"But do you really think our daughter will obey?"