The Night My Kingdom Falls

I never thought my home could fall.

Not like this.

Not to fire, nor to swords that gleamed under the crimson light of a false moon.

Vinahirana was supposed to be eternal. My father had always said so—the Supreme Bloodline was unshakable, unbreakable. We stood above all other vampire races, blessed by ancient power, destined to rule until the world itself crumbled.

But as I stood there, watching the kingdom burn, I realized how wrong he was.

How wrong we all were.

Screams echoed from the lower districts, shrill and full of despair. The scent of blood filled the air, thick enough to choke me. Beyond the palace walls, the city was drowning in crimson.

The invaders—the traitors—were already inside.

I could hear them. Their boots thundered against the marble halls, their voices snarling orders to cut down every last one of us. They were no foreign army.

They were vampires.

Our own kin.

I stepped back from the balcony, my breath coming in shallow gasps. Fear coiled in my chest, strangling the air from my lungs. I was a princess of Vinahirana, heir to the Supreme Bloodline—but I had never held a sword.

I had never been trained for war.

I had spent my life surrounded by silk and candlelight, reading poetry under the glow of moonstones. My father said my strength lay in my blood, not in battle. I was meant to inherit, not to fight.

But there would be nothing left to inherit.

The throne room was eerily silent. The great council—once filled with my father's most trusted lords—lay in pools of their own blood. Their eyes were vacant, their bodies torn apart by the very warriors sworn to protect them.

And my father—

My throat tightened.

He had been here. I had seen him, standing proud before the gilded throne, refusing to flee even as the doors had burst open with fire and steel.

But now, he was gone.

The heavy doors of the chamber stood ajar, splattered with dark crimson. A trail of blood led through them, vanishing into the endless corridors of the palace.

Had they taken him?

Was he still alive?

I wanted to run—to find him, to beg him to tell me what to do. But my body refused to move. I was frozen, my hands trembling at my sides.

I was not a warrior. I was not strong.

"Find the princess!"

The shout sent a jolt of panic through me. They were looking for me.

The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave of ice.

They weren't just here to take the throne.

They were here to end the Supreme Bloodline.

To kill me.

I stumbled back, my breath quickening. My golden eyes darted around the throne room, searching for an escape. There was only one path left—the Blood Vaults.

It was a forbidden place, buried deep beneath the palace. Even I had never been allowed to see it. But I knew what lay within—the relics of our ancestors, the weapons and secrets of the first Supreme Vampires.

If I could reach it, if I could just find something to fight with—

But I don't know how to fight.

The thought paralyzed me.

I had spent my life being told I would rule. But what was a ruler without a kingdom?

What was a princess without a throne?

"The east wing is clear—she must be in the throne room!"

They were close. Too close.

I clenched my fists, forcing down the terror rising in my throat.

If I stayed here, I would die.

And I was not ready to die.

Not yet.

I turned and ran.

Darkness swallowed me whole.

The moment I slipped through the hidden passage, the air grew damp, thick with the scent of old stone and something else—something ancient. The walls pulsed with veins of crimson light, flickering like dying embers.

This was Vinahirana's forbidden depths.

The Blood Vaults.

I had never been allowed here. Not even once. This was the sacred place of our ancestors, the heart of our kingdom's power. Yet now, it was my only refuge.

Footsteps pounded above.

They were in the throne room.

"Find her!"

I moved faster, my heart hammering against my ribs. My dress was torn, the silks dragging against the stone, but I didn't care. I needed to keep going.

The path ahead spiraled downward, deeper into the abyss. Every step echoed against the hollow corridors. My hands traced the stone, feeling grooves of runes carved by the first Supreme Vampires—words of power long forgotten.

Then—

A door.

Massive, twice my height, engraved with the emblem of my bloodline—a crimson sun eclipsed by shadows. At its center was a single handprint.

I knew whose it was.

"Only the Supreme King may open it."

I swallowed. My father was gone. He should have been here, guiding me. But I had no time for grief.

I pressed my hand against the stone.

For a moment—nothing.

Then, pain.

A sharp, biting heat surged into my palm, and I gasped. The door was drinking my blood.

The runes flared, and the door groaned open.

Inside, the vault stretched into a cavernous abyss, filled with relics of forgotten wars—swords bathed in silver, spears carved from bone, armors that still whispered the names of the dead.

But in the center, beneath a pale beam of light—

My father.

He was kneeling, his back straight even as blood poured from his lips.

And standing over him—

A monster.

I froze.

This was no vampire.

It was stitched together, a grotesque mockery of life. Flesh from a dozen bodies was sewn into one hulking form, veins pulsing with something black and vile.

Its face—if it could be called that—was a jagged puzzle of stolen features. One eye was sunken, another too large, bulging out like it belonged to something inhuman.

But its grin—that was what made my breath stop.

It was too wide, too knowing.

"Little princess," it rasped. Its voice was wet, bubbling from a throat that didn't belong to it. "You almost missed the end."

It lifted something gleaming and red.

My father's heart.

A scream tore from my lips, but my body refused to move.

My father—

The Supreme King of Vinahirana—was dead.

The creature delightly munch his heart from its hand, and his body slumped forward. Blood pooled at my feet, warm, thick—too real.

I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't think.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

He was supposed to be immortal.

He was supposed to be strong.

Yet here he was—lifeless.

The monster chuckled, licking the blood from its fingers. It wasn't just killing him—it was savoring it.

Something inside me cracked.

Not sadness.

Not fear.

Something deeper.

The air trembled.

The relics in the vault began to hum, whispers seeping into my ears.

"Drink."

The voice came from the center of the vault.

My father's last words echoed in my mind.

The world felt empty.

My father knelt before me, his form once proud and unshaken—now a husk, stripped of its divinity.

His blood still dripped from the monster's mouth, pooling beneath him like spilled wine. His heart—his very essence—was swallowed into nothing.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't even scream.

Everything inside me shattered.

The monster turned, its grin stretching unnaturally wide. The patchwork of stolen flesh contorted, each part of its body writhing as if the souls of the damned still clung to it.

"Princess Aminah," it purred, savoring my name like it was already devouring me.

"Move."

My body refused.

"Run."

I was trapped.

It took a step forward, and the vault trembled. The weight of its presence made the walls groan, as if reality itself rejected its existence.

It was built from suffering. A fusion of death, stitched together with cruelty.

And it was walking toward me.

"No."

The whisper didn't come from my lips.

It came from something deeper.

The relics of the vault sang again. A hum vibrated through the walls, a pulse that echoed through my chest. The whispers grew louder.

"You are not powerless."

Then— i saw it.

Beneath the throne, in the center of the vault, a chalice rested on an altar of bone.

It was midnight black, reflecting no light—a void, pulsing with power.

The Chalice of the First.

The very foundation of my bloodline.

My feet moved on their own, drawn toward it.

The monster laughed.

"Oh? You think drinking from that will save you?" it sneered, voice gurgling with amusement. "Your father drank from it once too. Look what good it did him."

My fingers curled around the chalice.

Its surface was cold. Not like ice, but like emptiness—as if it was forged from the abyss itself. The power within it crawled against my skin, recognizing me, calling to me.

I lifted it—

And did not drink.

I held it to my chest, pressing its cold surface against my racing heart.

The monster's smile faltered.

"Princess?"

I looked up.

My breath was steady. My hands no longer trembled.

"I don't need to drink," I murmured.

Outside, a new sound split the silence.

A piercing, inhuman shriek.

The vault trembled again, but this time—it was not from the monster's presence.

It was from what had come for him.

The ceiling cracked.

Then—the first shadow fell.

A shape descended like a spear from the heavens, black wings spread wide, its golden eyes burning with hunger.

Then another.

And another.

Wyverns.

They came like an unholy storm, pouring in from the broken ceiling—drawn by the scent of fresh death.

Drawn by him.

The monster stumbled back.

It turned, lifting its stolen hands in defense, but it was too late.

The first wyvern struck.

Talons ripped into its patchwork flesh, tearing apart the seams that held it together. The thing screamed, thrashing, its form unraveling as its stolen limbs were peeled away—one by one.

It had been built from death.

And now, it would be consumed by it.

The wyverns did not hesitate. They descended like vultures, feasting upon the flesh, their teeth sinking deep.

Its stolen eyes rolled in terror.

It had come to take everything from me.

But in the end—it was only meat.

I did not move.

I did not look away.

"Run, my lady!"

The words barely reached me through the chaos.

My lungs burned, my legs screamed, but I could not stop. Not now. Not when everything I had ever known was already gone.

Vinahirana had fallen.

Our grand halls, once bathed in moonlight, now drowned in fire and blood. The sky, once the home of silent watchers, now tore apart in a frenzy of beasts and betrayal.

And above all—the wyverns.

Their cries split the air, neither mournful nor triumphant. Just hungry.

I tightened my grip around the black chalice, its weight unfamiliar yet grounding. The blood within had not yet dried, its warmth a bitter reminder of what I had lost.

Father.

I refused to look back.

I had already seen enough. His body. The wyverns descending. The rebels' jeers turning into screams.

The world had collapsed in mere moments.

And now—I was running.

But for what?

"We must reach the ravine!" Sir Rhalis shouted ahead of me, his voice hoarse from battle.

My father's most trusted knight. My last protector.

He was covered in wounds, his armor shredded from claw and fang, but he still fought.

Even after everything—he still fought.

I was not like him.

My body moved, but my mind refused to catch up. My thoughts were fragmented, drowning in the echoes of the throne room.

"Drink, and you will live."

"Drink, and you will be reborn."

I hadn't.

I couldn't.

The whispers of the Blood Vault had clawed into my skull, but I had refused them. Refused the gift. Refused to become something more.

And now—I would die as I was. Weak.

The scent of ash thickened. The trees ahead were alight, the forest burning as though the gods themselves had forsaken us.

Behind us, the rebellion had crumbled into chaos.

I heard them scream.

The same soldiers who had torn through my home, the same warriors who had cast my father's crown into the dirt—they were dying alongside us.

The wyverns did not care for their cause.

Flesh was flesh. Blood was blood.

"Go!"

I flinched at Rhalis's voice, my legs faltering for only a second before I forced myself forward. The edge of the ravine loomed ahead—a steep drop into the unknown.

Escape.

Or death.

A shadow passed over us.

I barely had time to turn before the wind slammed into me, knocking me onto my knees.

Above, a wyvern descended, its golden eyes locking onto mine.

A predator's gaze.

It knew I was different.

It knew I was prey.

"Stay behind me!"

Steel flashed, and Rhalis was already moving. His sword tore into the wyvern's jaw, black blood spraying across the dirt.

For a moment—it staggered.

For a moment—I thought he had won.

And then, I heard it.

The sickening crack of metal giving way.

The wyvern's tail pierced through him.

I froze.

My voice caught in my throat, my body refusing to move as Rhalis gasped, blood spilling from his lips.

And yet—he still fought.

Even as he was impaled, he twisted the blade deeper.

The wyvern shrieked, its wings flaring in agony.

But it did not die alone.

With a final, brutal motion, its tail ripped free.

Rhalis was dragged with it.

"NO!"

I reached for him.

But there was nothing to grasp.

He was already gone.

The last knight of Vinahirana—devoured by the sky.

My breath hitched, my vision blurring as the edges of my world collapsed.

It wasn't real.

It couldn't be real.

I wanted to scream, to curse the gods, to do anything—

But then the ground cracked.

The ravine's edge crumbled beneath me.

I stumbled—no, I fell.

The sky twisted, flames and shadows blurring into nothing.

The wind roared past my ears, but I did not scream.

There was no fear left.

Only silence.

And as the abyss swallowed me whole, I clutched the chalice to my chest—

And finally, let go.