Ancestral Lineage - Chapter 415

Chapter 415: Nocternis. The Ever-Dark World of Blood

The night was alive.

A soft wind drifted through the Grand Avenue of Vherosia, carrying with it the faint hum of lanternfire and the crisp scent of fresh dew upon black cobblestones. A lone carriage, polished obsidian with silver trimmings, rolled slowly down the wide street. Its glass windows glimmered in the crimson light pouring down from the Red Moon, a constant, unwavering eye that had watched over this world for as long as any could remember. The wheels clacked rhythmically, like a beating heart within a world that had long outgrown the concept of day.

The sky was endless night, velvet-black and sprinkled with faint stars, but their light was dim beside the overwhelming glow of the Red Moon. That moon was more than a celestial body; it was a pillar of existence, the anchor of this world. It painted everything with a gentle red sheen: rooftops, mist, faces, and the faint golden lanterns lining the street. Shadows stretched, but they were not sinister things here. They were familiar. Lived in. Trusted.

On either side of the avenue stood elegant buildings of black stone and silver-etched glass, their tall gothic arches seamlessly blending the old world with a refined sense of modernity. Mansions with wide balconies overlooked the streets like silent spectators. Iron streetlamps stood at every corner, their warm amber glow harmonizing with the moon’s crimson hue.

People walked the streets, not hurriedly, but with a quiet, graceful rhythm. They wore long coats, suits, waistcoats, and polished boots, their movements smooth, deliberate, as if the world itself bent to their calm. These were the vampires of Nocternis, the sole inheritors of this perpetual night. Their eyes shone faintly in the dark, not in hunger, but in quiet power.

Humans lived here too, though not as prey. They moved through the streets in simpler clothing, often with the sigil of their patron family stitched on their sleeves or collars. Here, existence was defined by equivalent exchange. Blood was given willingly, in return for protection, wealth, or longevity. It was a system built on structure and consent, not tyranny. No screams echoed through the night; no one feared their neighbor. This was their shared world, ruled not by fang and fear, but by oaths and order.

Far beyond the clustered streets of the city center rose the Crimson Spire, the royal castle.

The castle was vast; an architectural marvel built upon a jagged cliff, its silhouette stretching proudly against the red-tinged sky. Its towers were carved with intricate runes, its black marble walls reflecting the moonlight like polished obsidian. Windows glowed faintly with warm gold and deep scarlet, making it look less like a fortress and more like the throne of an eternal dynasty.

It was here that the Royal Bloodline resided, the oldest of their kind, the arbiters of law and balance. Around the castle, on terraced hills, stood grand mansions belonging to the noble houses; ancient vampire families with their own traditions and power. Each estate bore its own symbol and color, and elegant bridges of black stone connected these estates like veins reaching toward the heart of the city.

Down below, the streets narrowed into intimate alleys lined with small cafés, perfumeries, apothecaries, and bloodhouses, places where humans and vampires mingled under soft lanternlight. A trio of vampires sat outside a café with porcelain cups in hand, their laughter soft and melodic. A human server in a crisp vest and gloves moved among them without fear, exchanging small pleasantries.

High above, the Red Moon drifted through a sea of quiet stars, a silent monarch over a world that had never known the sun. The moonlight wasn’t cold here; it was a living warmth, like an embrace that belonged to all. The streets hummed faintly with the music of string instruments and soft conversation. Mist rolled in, gathering around boots and lantern bases, turning every corner into something out of a dream.

In the distance, a clock tower struck the eleventh bell. A sound like silver ringing through silk. It was not a warning. It was the rhythm of their world.

Nocternis did not fear the night.

It was the night.

And under the gaze of the Red Moon, life moved elegantly, eternal, and beautifully still.

…

Inside the Crimson Spire, the world felt heavier.

The great hall was vast and hollow, the ceiling lost somewhere in the crimson-lit dark. Columns of polished black stone climbed upward like petrified trees, and a grand chandelier, made of bone-white crystal and wrought iron, hung silently from the shadows above, glowing with soft, blood-red light. Heavy velvet curtains, the color of old wine, framed tall, arched windows, through which the Red Moon poured its unwavering gaze.

A long, obsidian table stretched through the center of the chamber, its polished surface reflecting the faint lanternlight like still water. Around it sat figures shrouded in elegant darkness; their faces were barely visible beneath the shadows cast by the moonlight. Every presence in the room exuded quiet weight, the kind that could crush nations if unleashed.

The air was still, yet alive with a silent tension, like a string drawn tight. No one moved without reason. No one spoke unless it carried weight. Even the wind outside seemed to hush when it reached the great hall.

At the head of the table, beneath a cascade of scarlet light from a tall stained-glass window, he sat. The Vampire King.

His voice, when it came, was calm, not loud, not booming; but it filled the chamber like an inevitable tide.

“The order of the night has been disturbed.”

Every figure in the room stilled, as if the very sound had locked their bodies in place. The king’s tone carried neither fear nor rage… only certainty. A statement of fact that no one could, or dared to deny.

“Something… foreign stirs beyond the Veil. The equilibrium we have kept for centuries is trembling.”

The words sank into the silence like stones into deep water. A faint whisper of unease moved among the gathered; barely a rustle, but in this room, it was thunder.

A single gust of cold wind slipped through the open slit of a high window, rustling the flame of the lanterns and making the shadows dance. The obsidian table caught the shiver of light, stretching their figures across its surface like specters.

“For the first time in an age,” the king continued, voice low and steady, “the Red Moon… has flickered.”

A ripple of breath. A quiet inhale. No one dared to interrupt.

The Red Moon had never faltered. Its constancy was their foundation, their source of strength, of power, of balance. For it to flicker, even for a heartbeat, was not merely strange. It was an omen.

The king slowly leaned forward, and though no one could clearly see his face, they could feel his gaze settle on each of them, measured, piercing, unrelenting.

“Something is coming. And it is not of this world.”

The last words echoed, carried by the cold draft like a soft requiem. A silence followed, thick and heavy. The figures at the table exchanged no words, yet a single truth lingered between them all:

Whatever it was that lay beyond the Veil had touched their eternal night.

And the Red Moon had whispered back.

But… was the king right in his judgment?

Only time would tell…

I’m finally introducing the Vampire World. The plane from another timeline, from which Kael came. He was the first vampire in all worlds, and this is the world he ruled before he died.

If you don’t remember Kael, he is the vampire Ethan from another world. There were two Ethans from other worlds. Kael, the vampire and Dri, the dwarf.