Ryle reclined in his worn-out chair, boots on the desk, sipping tea with a satisfied smirk. Thea sat nearby, humming softly while polishing her swords, Twinlight. A quiet day. Finally.
"No crazed nobles, no blood magic, no cursed relics… we might actually be living like humans for once," Ryle muttered.
Thea gave him a sideways glance, a rare smile playing on her lips. "Don't jinx it, idiot."
Knock. Knock.
Ryle groaned dramatically. "That better not be another elf rebellion or some high priest accusing me of heresy."
He didn't move.
Another knock.
Ryle sighed, dragging himself to the door. "Boss, I already published an article four days ago. I'm technically on break. Emotionally, spiritually—"
He stopped.
His boss stood there, pale as death, eyes wide. Flanked by two tall figures in black cloaks.
"Ryle…" she whispered, voice trembling. "Just go with them. I beg you."
Ryle's violet eyes shimmered gold. He didn't sense malice—but he did sense immense pressure. Power.
"Thea," he called instinctively.
"She cannot come," one of the cloaked men stated flatly. "Only you."
Ryle looked at Thea. She stood, fists clenched, ready to fight.
But he raised a hand. "It's fine… I'll be back before dinner."
She didn't look convinced.
Neither was he.
The room was dim but lavish—golden threads in the black carpets, crimson chandeliers, blood-red roses on silver vases. A cold air of royalty laced with dread filled the air.
Then she walked in.
A woman with silver hair, glowing red eyes, and a presence that seemed to bend space around her. Wearing a dark corseted gown lined with ancient sigils.
"Ryle Astoria," she said, her voice smooth and commanding. "A human bearing the name Astoria… how poetic."
Ryle leaned back in his seat. "Did I win a blood lottery or something?"
She didn't laugh.
"I am Elizabeth Valemourn. Queen of the Vampire Kingdom."
Ryle blinked once. "...Neat."
"I have come for the Noctis Vitae."
Ryle arched a brow. "Your daddy want it?"
Her crimson eyes narrowed. "Varaziel, the progenitor. A general of the Demon King. He demands it."
"Can't he just send a love letter next time?"
"I'm not here to joke." Her tone sharpened. "Give it to me."
Ryle's smirk vanished. "And if I don't?"
She smiled coldly. "I know your weakness."
Behind him, Thea appeared—paralyzed mid-step, frozen in time. Her expression one of shock and pain.
Her mouth trembled. "Sorry… Ryle… I… can't move."
Ryle's claws flexed, fury boiling beneath the surface.
Elizabeth stepped closer to the cursed book sitting beside him. Her hand touched the Noctis Vitae.
She began to chant softly.
Ryle felt a piercing pain in his mind—and then blacked out.
Ryle jolted awake—face-down in a gutter, the sky above cloudy and gray. People passed by, oblivious.
He stood, rage and confusion coiling inside him. Where's Thea?!
He sprinted to the office.
Empty.
No Thea.
No Noctis Vitae.
Only a single note: "I'm sorry."
Ryle turned to his boss. "I'm taking a vacation."
She didn't stop him.
He flew straight to Tobin's home, landing in a blaze of purple flames.
Tobin stepped out with a cup of tea. "You look like you wrestled a war god."
Kessia peeked out. "Is Thea okay?"
Ryle's silence told them everything.
He explained—Elizabeth Valemourn, the cursed book, and Thea's blood being frozen.
Tobin clenched his fists. "We're coming."
Ryle shook his head. "No. This is my burden. If I fail, you can save her. But if we all go…"
He left them with that, wings flaring wide as he soared alone toward Valemourn.
The Vampire Kingdom was not what he expected.
Jagged cliffs surrounded obsidian cities. Crimson rivers reflected the moonlight, and the skies above churned with thick black clouds.
As he approached, a barrage of dark arrows greeted him.
Rogue vampires.
Ryle unsheathed his Hemlock blade, its aura crackling with violet fire. "Guess we're skipping introductions."
He cut through them, one by one—elegantly, efficiently.
Then, a voice echoed from the shadows.
"Even if you're not a true Astoria, I'll kill every Astoria."
A pale figure with silver tattoos and black horns stepped forward—Nelson Noctivar.
Once a low-class vampire.
Now, a self-made clan-slayer.
The two launched into a sky-shattering aerial battle. Swords clashed. Magic exploded. Noctivar moved like a beast—mad and precise.
Astoria nobles in Valemourn… fleeing during the civil war… dishonored.
Ryle gritted his teeth. "You're fighting a ghost, Noctivar. I'm not them."
"I don't care!" Noctivar roared. "Astoria blood is Astoria sin!"
Ryle's dragon fire enveloped the sky. The battle ended in a glorious inferno.
Noctivar's ashes fell with the rain.
Ryle didn't stop.
He found a village on the outskirts—burning, children crying, vampire women caged by rogue clans.
He cut down the captors, breaking cells open.
"You're safe now," he said.
One child looked up. "You're… not a vampire. Why help us?"
He hesitated. "Because no one helped me once."
They bowed. Ryle gave a curt nod before flying again—toward the capital.
Toward Elizabeth.
Toward Thea.
The city gates loomed ahead, ancient and towering. He hovered above them, eyes glowing, sword drawn.
As the first raindrops hit his cloak, he muttered:
"Let's get my partner back."