Chapter 31: The Fall

Talan had been born and raised like any other Dothraki: with a sword in his hand and the certainty that his destiny was tied to his strength and speed. Before Vlad, his life had been simple: fight, plunder, and follow a Khal whose only vision was the next battle. But then he came.

At first, Talan had thought that Vlad was just another strong Khal, more cunning and fierce than the others, but mortal nonetheless. Soon, he realized he was wrong. He watched how his lord crushed each enemy without a single wound, how he never seemed to tire, how neither illness nor poison could touch him. He was more than a man.

And when Vlad granted him what he called "the embrace," Talan understood that he too had changed. He was no longer just a Dothraki warrior: he learned to read, he learned to write, his body was stronger and faster, and drinking the blood of his enemies was no longer just a ritual, but a source of power. For the first time in his life, he understood that true strength was not only in the sword, but in the power that his Khal offered them.

But the day Vlad entered the fire and emerged with four dragons, the last trace of doubt in his heart disappeared. That man was not just his Khal, he was the stallion who would ride the world, the only one worthy of ruling it.

And now, as he watched the dragons, he felt his heart race as he saw the black and red flames fill the sky, burning the fools who had tried to kill his Khal.

Xaro, on the other hand, was not having a good time. His plan had been to ally with Vlad and use his strength and prestige to kill the rest of the Thirteen, but now it seemed that the damn sorcerers had tried to kill the man. Xaro didn't know if it was true, but it didn't matter. What was clear was that the Eternals were in decline, and the city could not afford to seek justice for them when a Dothraki horde, with four dragons, was at the gates.

So he had to spend the next week appeasing Vlad and his wife, trying to convince them that this was solely the work of the Eternals, thus avoiding having to make too many concessions.

Fortunately, Vlad had agreed to meet with the council of the Thirteen to discuss the entire situation. Xaro hoped that a tribute of some ships would be enough to alleviate any tension between Qarth and the Impaler Lord.

The meeting began as it should, with the Thirteen around a table, and Vlad in the center, expressing his opinions. Vlad remained still in his seat, his gaze fixed on the center of the table, where the Thirteen sat tense, speaking softly, trying to flatter him and find some excuse to relieve their growing anxiety.

All eyes were on him, but Vlad remained silent the entire time, until he finally broke the silence with a question into the air:

—Are you ready? —he asked in a flat tone, as if he were merely stating a fact.

The Thirteen looked at each other, confused. No one understood immediately what he was referring to.

Xaro frowned, uneasy. The question made no sense to him, but before he could process it fully, the figure of Shyla, one of Xaro's most trusted assistants, calmly stepped forward next to Vlad.

—Everything is ready, my lord —she responded in a firm, almost reverent voice.

Xaro tensed, a chill running down his spine. Shyla had not been there moments ago; he had left her at his mansion, selecting tributes for Vlad in case they couldn't reach an agreement with him. His mind raced, and in the blink of an eye, his disbelief turned into a sense of terror.

Before he could react, the horror began to unfold. A chilling scream of surprise filled the air as blades plunged into the bodies of the Thirteen. Xaro watched, with wide eyes, as each member of the council fell, mercilessly stabbed by their own assistants, servants, and even their closest lovers. People collapsed to the ground, and the satisfied smiles on the faces of the traitors were unmistakable.

Xaro's body was the last to fall, the dagger piercing his neck with precision, just as he tried to scream. But his cry was drowned in his throat as he slumped forward, his vision clouded by the blood pouring from his wound.

—Now you are the new Thirteen, Shyla. I want this city under control. —Vlad announced coldly before turning to leave.

Shyla was one of the few progeny that Vlad had sent to Qarth years ago. She had been instructed to infiltrate the Thirteen, gain the trust of the other servants and assistants, and, over time, convert them to take control of Qarth from the shadows.

And she had done an excellent job, after all, she knew how to act. Shyla had been a prostitute before Vlad found her, aged and about to be thrown out of the brothel where she worked.

The man not only offered her power, but also youth... eternal youth.

What woman could refuse? So she agreed to become his spy, his assassin, his lover, whatever he wanted.

But Vlad sent her to Qarth, to infiltrate the circles closest to power. And, to be honest, it wasn't difficult for her to find allies. No assistant or maid in that city wanted to see their lord alive. Shyla simply offered them the same thing they had given her: she bit them.

Now, every member of the new Thirteen was a vampire progeny of Vlad.