Dawit's Arc

Chapter 1 of 4

Dawit unsealed the last vial of enchanted blood and knew he would never make another. He held it up in the tower hall, where orange light poured through the tall glass. The blood inside glowed richer than any human vein could offer. For centuries this brew had fed the Crown of the South, so his clan never had to hunt a living soul. Dawit had sworn to perfect it, to make blood so strong the hunts would end forever. But the shamans who enchanted it were dead. Their method died with them. He set the vial on the stone table and opened their old records. Page after page held prayers, not recipes. The shamans kept the true steps in their heads. Dawit pressed his long nails into the parchment. Without their method, he could not even begin refining. The stores would run dry. Then his people would return to the throats of humans, and every promise he made would break. The great doors groaned open. Crimson Prințesă entered in red lace, her long veil dragging across the floor behind her. She was Dracula's daughter, the first blood bender, and Dawit's lover. She had once taught him to fold moonlight into blood. She looked at the dead shamans' books and understood at once. "You're mourning paper," she said. She lifted the glowing vial and turned it in the light. "You don't need their prayers. You need their power source." "The enchantment is lost," Dawit said. "I have nothing to build on." "You have me." She set the vial down and took his hand. "The shamans folded spirit into blood the slow way. I fold moonlight. I can bend this blood the way I bend the living kind." Dawit stared at her. "You would rewrite their work from nothing." "I would replace it." Her red eyes held his. "But my life pays for blood magic, Dawit. Every fold takes from me. To refine a whole store, I would burn out." She drew off her ruby headdress and pressed it into his palm. The stones were warm. "The Mother taught me to draw from stored moonlight instead of my own life. This holds years of it. Use it, not me." Dawit closed his fingers around the headdress. Here was the path the dead shamans had denied him. Not their method, but a stronger one. He could build the perfect blood at last. He carried the ruby stones to the table and held them over the last vial. Crimson Prințesă guided his hands. The moonlight in the stones bled into the blood, and the glow turned deeper, brighter, alive. It worked. But the light in the rubies dimmed with each breath. The stones were draining faster than he had ever seen. Dawit had his method now. He had one problem left. He could perfect the blood only as long as the moonlight lasted, and it was pouring out fast.