Through the Northern Woods

Melchior, his voice polite but firm, addressed Augustus. "Augustus," he began, "why are you here so late? Has Master Rhysand finished dinner?" The question, though seemingly simple, carried the unspoken weight of centuries of careful management and control. Augustus, usually cheerful and helpful, stood stiffly, his usual smile gone, replaced by a serious expression that spoke volumes. His answer confirmed their worst fears. "Mr. Bozrah," he said, his voice unusually formal, "that's exactly what's wrong."

Augustus explained that Master Rhysand had left, not quietly, but by violently slamming the castle door-an action unheard of in their long history together. This unexpected action was far more than a mere inconvenience; it was a serious disruption of the carefully balanced existence they had maintained for centuries. Their worst fear was that Rhysand, their master, was reverting to his uncontrollable, primal nature as a vampire-a hunger for the fresh flesh and blood of young animals, even other vampires. For centuries, they had painstakingly guided and trained him, ensuring that he only consumed carefully prepared meals of cooked young animals. The blood of those animals, collected during meticulously planned hunts, was processed by the castle's vampire hematologist-who added a special serenity draught to suppress Rhysand's thirst for raw flesh and blood, controlling his monstrous urges.

Melchior, showing a rare sign of alarm, gave orders with the authority of a seasoned leader. "Augustus," he said urgently, "continue your search in the other direction. Peregrine and I will investigate this way. Rhysand's violent departure suggests something very serious is happening-something that threatens to undo all our careful work." The gravity of the situation was palpable; the carefully constructed equilibrium of their lives hung precariously in the balance. Augustus, looking worried, nodded and left, his movements precise and controlled, reflecting the meticulous order they all strived to maintain.

Before Melchior and Peregrine could begin their search, Ametheous appeared-his arrival as unexpected and unsettling as the news of Rhysand's departure. His serious words confirmed their worst fears. "Rhysand is in the northern woods," Ametheous said, his voice powerful and serious, "consumed by uncontrollable rage and his primal hunger. You must help him immediately. The way he left shows his centuries-long struggle against his vampiric nature has failed." The weight of centuries of careful control and the potential for catastrophic consequences hung heavy in the air. With a shared sense of dread, but also with the unwavering determination born from years of facing hardship and mastering their unique challenges, Melchior and Peregrine set off, their footsteps echoing the seriousness of the situation, the memory of that violently slammed door a stark reminder of the danger they faced-a danger that threatened not only Rhysand.

Melchior and Peregrine found themselves deep within the northern woods. Darkness enveloped them, punctuated only by the sporadic twinkling of fireflies hidden beneath the boughs of a giant willow tree and the gentle rush of a nearby stream. An unsettling stillness hung in the air, a fragile peace easily disturbed. As if sensing their presence, the fireflies abruptly extinguished their lights, plunging the woods into a deeper, more ominous darkness. The sudden silence amplified the sense of unease, transforming the woods into a place of foreboding.

Melchior, his voice barely a whisper, offered a silent prayer, a plea for safety and a desperate hope that the past would not repeat itself. "Master, please, don't let this happen again," he murmured, the words lost in the oppressive quiet. His anxiety was palpable, sensed as much as heard by Peregrine, who reacted instantly.

Without warning, Peregrine pulled Melchior behind the thick trunk of a massive oak tree. Melchior, startled, hissed a question, his voice sharp with surprise and annoyance. "Why?!" he demanded, though his whisper was barely audible. Peregrine, however, simply pressed a finger to his lips, a silent command for silence. He then spoke, his voice low and strained, "Quiet. I smell vampires nearby."

Melchior's eyes widened as he cautiously peered around the tree. What he saw filled him with a mixture of horror and recognition. Before him stood a group of vampires, clearly from the Sirvwen kingdom, easily identifiable by their shocking state of disrepair. Unlike the vampires of his former kingdom, Sirvyan-a kingdom known for its refined elegance and strict control over their bloodlust, especially under Rhysand, the only son and heir-these creatures were the epitome of depravity. Rhysand, however, had left Sirvyan for reasons best left unmentioned, leaving Melchior and other loyal servants who had cared for him since infancy to follow him. Rhysand, initially reluctant, had eventually allowed them to join him in his self-imposed exile. These Sirvwen vampires, however, were a stark reminder of the darkness that Rhysand had sought to escape. They were drunk, reeking of stale alcohol and decay. Their clothing was tattered and filthy, their bodies covered in festering, maggot-infested wounds that had remained open and untreated for centuries. These weren't just wounds; they were the visible manifestation of a terrible curse inflicted by the Goddess Thalassa, a curse so feared that its origins were shrouded in secrecy. Even King Wendalyv Maurwen of Sirvwen, despite his subjects' affliction, remained untouched by the Goddess's wrath, a fact that only deepened the mystery and terror surrounding the curse. The contrast between these vampires and those of his former kingdom was stark and horrifying-a grotesque perversion of everything the Sirvyans had striven to be. These Sirvwen vampires were not just different; they were a horrifying reflection of unchecked darkness, a stark warning of what could happen when the inherent savagery of their kind was left unrestrained. The stench alone was almost unbearable.

A wave of disgust washed over Melchior. "Damn, these Sirvwen vampires stink!" he hissed, his voice laced with revulsion as he instinctively covered his nose. His whispered curse spoke volumes about the intense revulsion he felt. He continued to watch, his heart pounding, as the Sirvwen vampires seemed to shift, their movements suggesting they might have sensed their presence.

Before Melchior could voice his growing apprehension, Peregrine reacted swiftly, pulling him away from their hiding place. They fled, their movements a blur of desperate action as they sought a new place of concealment. The chase was brief but the fear was intense, their hearts pounding a frantic rhythm against the backdrop of the silent woods. They found refuge behind another large tree.

Melchior, still agitated, tried to protest, only to find Peregrine's hand clamped firmly over his mouth. He struggled against the restraint, even biting Peregrine's hand in an attempt to free himself. Peregrine, however, remained firm, his grip unwavering. Only when Melchior finally quieted did Peregrine remove his hand, his voice low and urgent. "Be quiet, Sir. I sense they're looking for us," he whispered, his words conveying a sense of urgency that silenced Melchior's immediate complaints.

Melchior, catching his breath, grumbled about the necessity of covering his nose, his earlier fear momentarily replaced by irritation. Peregrine, however, seemed genuinely concerned, his worry palpable as he reached out and gently grasped Melchior's arm. His earlier calm demeanor had vanished, replaced by a look of genuine anxiety. "Are you alright, Sir?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Melchior, surprised by the display of worry, responded sharply, his annoyance still simmering. "Yes, I'm fine! You're overreacting!" he retorted, his voice a low growl. "It's excessive," he muttered under his breath, his irritation quickly giving way to a grudging acceptance of the danger they faced. Peregrine, relieved by Melchior's assurance, visibly relaxed, though a shadow of worry still lingered in his eyes.

As they cautiously peered from behind the tree, a new and unexpected development unfolded. A hauntingly beautiful voice, seemingly emanating from the stream, filled the air. It was a voice of such ethereal beauty that both men found themselves instantly captivated, their earlier fears momentarily forgotten. The melody was mesmerizing, weaving its way into their very souls. Melchior, lost in the enchanting sounds, whispered his appreciation, his words a testament to the power of the music.

The enchanting song, however, proved to have an unforeseen consequence. Melchior, completely enthralled, succumbed to the hypnotic power of the voice and drifted off to sleep. Peregrine, though equally captivated, managed to maintain a semblance of awareness, his concern for Melchior overriding his own fascination. With swift, practiced movements, he used his unique ability to manipulate light, creating a soft, floating luminescence to gently cradle the sleeping Melchior. He gazed down at his friend, his expression a mixture of concern and affection, before leaning down to gently kiss Melchior's hand.

"Be safe... Melchior," Peregrine whispered softly, his voice barely above a breath, as if the very woods were listening. The words were not just a simple farewell; they were a silent promise of protection, a deep-seated pledge that he would do everything in his power to keep his friend safe from harm. As he spoke, a wave of concern washed over him, knowing the dangers lurking in the dark woods.

With a focused determination, Peregrine began to channel his innate abilities. Unlike traditional spellcasting, which often required extensive training and knowledge of complex incantations, Peregrine's power flowed naturally from within him. It was an inherent gift, a part of his very essence as a vampire who could manipulate light. He had not learned this power from a teacher or through books; instead, it was an instinctive ability that he had honed over the years, shaped by his experiences and inherent nature.

He raised his hands, his fingers dancing gracefully as he concentrated. A shimmering, carpet-like form of light began to materialize before him, glowing softly in the dim surroundings. This magical creation was not just any ordinary light; it pulsed with life and energy, a manifestation of his will and intent. The carpet-like formation was designed to cradle Melchior gently, ensuring his safe passage back to the castle. Peregrine's heart swelled with a mix of hope and fear, knowing that this was the only way to protect his friend while he was vulnerable in sleep.

As he spoke the incantation, "Solara, lumina, dormi'tela, portus. Melchior ad castellum," each word carried weight and purpose. The first word, "Solara," invoked the power of the sun, summoning warmth and illumination. "Lumina" reinforced the light, amplifying its brightness and clarity. "Dormi'tela" was a command for sleep, a gentle assurance that Melchior would remain undisturbed during his journey. Finally, "portus" served as a gateway, a bridge connecting them to the safety of the castle. The phrase "Melchior ad castellum" specifically directed the magic to carry Melchior back to the castle, to the place where he would be safe.

With a final surge of energy, Peregrine watched as the magical carpet began to lift Melchior gently off the ground. The light shimmered and glowed, creating a protective cocoon around him. As Melchior floated away, Peregrine felt a bittersweet sense of loss mixed with relief. He knew that Melchior would be safe, but he also felt the weight of responsibility resting heavily on his shoulders.

This innate ability to manipulate light was not merely a skill; it was a part of Peregrine's very being, a reflection of who he was as a vampire. It allowed him to protect his friends and influence the world around him in ways that others could only dream of. As Melchior drifted away on the glowing carpet, Peregrine stood quietly, a silent guardian in the dark, knowing that he had done everything within his power to keep his friend safe in that moment of vulnerability.