Chapter 80: Final Chance

Ezra wandered through a dark, oppressive void.

Shadows pressed in from every side, their forms shifting and whispering secrets he could not hear or understand. seaʀᴄh thё Nôvelƒire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The ground beneath his feet was uneven, a mix of cold stone and slick, unidentifiable material. He felt a chill in the air, the kind that seeped into his bones and refused to leave.

He walked forward, each step echoing ominously. The darkness seemed to go on forever, an endless labyrinth with no clear path or destination.

Occasionally, he stumbled over things he could not see, each fall reminding him of how vulnerable he was in this place.

He felt a sense of foreboding, as if they were eyes in the darkness, watching his every move.

He strained his senses, trying to pick up any hint of light or direction, but the void revealed nothing.

After what felt like an eternity, he saw a faint glow in the distance, a pinprick of light that stood out like a beacon in the darkness.

He moved towards it, hope flaring in his chest. The closer he got, the brighter the light became, until all around him was light and he was consumed by it.

Ezra startled as the light fell away, leaving him blinking in the sudden darkness. He found himself standing in a vast, dark throne room.

He had entered the room through a side door. He looked around and could instantly sense how old, how... ancient, the chamber was.

He moved forward, his sense of familiarity growing. He felt like he knew this place within his bones. As if it had a map that had been written right into his being.

The chamber was immense, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadows far above.

The walls were covered in grand murals, each one depicting scenes of battles and conquests that could not possibly be real. The figures in the murals wielded powers that he struggled to understand.

The throne itself was very impressive, its back leading up to a mural of a vast, gnarled tree whose branches spread out across the wall, intertwining with the side of the murals that seemed to be telling a story of a great kingdom.

A red carpet led from the throne to the massive double doors at the other end of the room, flanked by towering columns that reached up to the ceiling.

The throne room was incredibly silent but that silence was broken by the distant and muffled echoes of Ezra's footsteps as he moved forward, as if drawn by a force he could not see.

Ezra immediately realized that this was a dream, but it felt unsettlingly real. He wasn't trapped in anyone's body and his senses were heightened, every detail of the throne room vivid and tangible.

As he approached the throne from the side, he saw a figure seated upon it. The vampire progenitor, his presence radiating authority and power.

He was also radiating an intense Aura of misery so strong, Ezra felt like mourning with him. The progenitor was stroking something laid across his lap.

Ezra moved closer, his curiosity piqued. As he drew nearer, he saw that the progenitor was gently running his fingers along the length of Shadrach's sword.

The weapon gleamed under the darkness, its dark blade somehow reflecting the crimson hues of the carpet below.

Suddenly, the heavy doors burst open, the sound reverberating through the room.

A woman entered, her presence immediately commanding attention. She was beautiful, young, and unmistakably human.

She wore a black mourning dress that flowed around her like liquid shadow, calling attention to her grace.

As she moved, she left smudges of color on the world behind her, as if the very fabric of reality was being altered by her passage.

The woman approached the throne and bowed deeply, her head touching the floor. "My King," she greeted the progenitor, her voice filled with reverence and a touch of grief.

The progenitor's golden eyes remained fixed on her, his expression unreadable. "I am not your king, Valaren." He said, his voice calm but firm. "I rule over vampires, not humans."

"It doesn't matter. You will always be my king." The woman lifted her head, her eyes pleading. "Please. I beg of you. Take my soul as a weapon against the wolfskins and the renegade vampires."

"I know you plan to craft weapons against them. Make me into the weapon that strikes fear into their hearts. Let me take everything they have and not give back! Let me be the darkness that smothers their light! Let me be the nightmare to their daydream!"

Ezra blinked in shock. This couldn't possibly be the same Valaren who is now a dragon inside of me. The very idea seemed absurd to him.

The progenitor shook his head. "I cannot take your soul from you, Valaren. Your soul is yours and yours alone. Besides, you are kin. One does not do that to kinsmen. If there was anything I ever learnt from my mother, it is that."

Ezra could feel her desperation from where he stood. "My life is already forfeit, my king." She pleaded, her hands clenching her dress tightly.

"My enemies wait for me outside this palace. The moment i step outside, I die. It is better for me to die and live on as a weapon than to die for nothing."

The progenitor's gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something almost like sympathy in his golden eyes. "You believe this is the only way?" He asked. "I can send you somewhere far away to live out the rest of your days."

"Yes. This is the only way, my king. No matter where I go on this earth, they'll find me." Valaren nodded, her eyes shining with determination. "Please, my king. Grant me this one mercy."

There was a long silence, as the progenitor sat, considering her request. Finally, he nodded. "Very well, Valaren. I will accept your soul."

He extended his hand, and Valaren moved forward, offering her wrist.

The progenitor's fingers closed around it, his touch gentle despite the gravity of the moment.

Then, he looked up, his golden eyes meeting Ezra's gaze with an intensity that was almost physical.

"Do you understand what you must do now?" The progenitor asked, his voice resonating through the throne room.

Ezra stumbled back, the force of the progenitor's gaze almost too much to bear.

The intensity of those golden eyes seemed to pierce through him, filling him with a sense of purpose and urgency.

"This is your final chance to claim the soul, Ezra Matten." The progenitor proclaimed. Before he could respond, the dream began to dissolve around him.

The throne room faded into darkness, the images of Valaren, the progenitor, and the ancient tree all slipping away like sand through his fingers.

"Seize it."