Mortal Realm Finest Gathers 2

The air shifted.

Two figures emerged from the dim edges of the grand hall, their presence like a blade drawn in absolute silence. A man and a woman, dressed in flowing black, their forms sleek yet ominous, their auras like unsheathed daggers—silent to most, yet deafening to those with power enough to perceive it. Their very existence was a statement, not of mere strength, but of sovereignty over shadows themselves.

Even Dracula, the Vampire Emperor, felt it. Not because he couldn't ignore them, but because he allowed himself to acknowledge what they represented. House Obsidian's will. Pyris's will.

Their movements were smooth, unnatural in their precision, as if time itself hesitated around them.

They did not speak, yet their message was clear. They would guide Dracula to his seat—not as servants, not as inferiors, but as Phantoms of House Obsidian, reminding him of where he stood tonight.