Present day
The morning bells rang again, their loud, heavy, and merciless echoes tearing through the slave courtyard as early as dawn, vibrating against the cracked walls and broken roofs.
Inside the female dormitory, the sound felt even harsher as it seeped through the worn-out structure of the building, which stood like a dying thing patched together with uneven planks, its walls peeling and its roof sagging in places where rain had long taken its toll. The air was thick with the scent of dampness, sweat, and exhaustion, and bodies were scattered across the ground where female slaves lay asleep in thin, worn-out clothes that barely shielded them from the cold.
Hazel was among them, a ginger haired girl with freckles scattered on her cheek bones, looking small probably due to malnutrition.
She was lying still on the hard floor with her eyes closed. Her face carried the strain of restless nights, and the dark circles beneath her eyes made her look older than her age.
The bells rang again the second time, louder this time, and the stillness in the room shattered instantly. The female slaves jerked awake in panic, scrambling to their feet and bumping into one another as fear overtook their tired bodies.
Hazel's eyes snapped open, confusion flickering briefly across her face before fear settled in, and she pushed herself up quickly despite the stiffness in her limbs and the weakness that clung to her body.
Heavy footsteps approached from outside, slow and deliberate. And before some of the female slaves could fully awaken, the doors burst open as the vampire slave masters entered with long, braided leather whips hanging loosely in their hands. Scanning the room with complete disinterest, they began to lash out at anyone still on the sleeping on the floor.
The first lash came down without warning, splitting the air with a sharp crack that was quickly followed by a scream, and they did not stop there as more whips snapped across skin, striking those who were still slow to rise.
"Aaaargh,"A woman to Hazel's left let out a guttural scream as the leather bit into her shoulder
Hazel flinched as her heart pounded violently against her chest. She tried to move faster but she was not fast enough as a whip struck her back, sending a sharp wave of pain through her body and forcing a gasp from her lips as she stumbled forward.
"Move, you useless things!" one of the masters barked, his voice cutting through the chaos with ease.
The slaves did not hesitate as they rushed out of the dormitory, fear driving their exhausted bodies forward. Hazel followed behind with uneven breaths. Even with the fresh welt blooming on her skin, she rushed into the courtyard, joining the line of shivering figures.
Once outside, the female slaves were quickly divided as orders were shouted and tasks were assigned without care. Hazel, along with the other female slaves, was taken to the newly constructed buildings in Vulnathe.
The buildings stood tall and polished, a sharp contrast to the place they had come from, with clean walls, wide windows, and smooth Italian floors that reflected light even in their unfinished state, making it painfully clear that they were never meant for people like them.
"Clean everything and scrub it," a lead slave master ordered coldly. "Those italian floors must shine like mirrors.
The female slaves immediately got to work as buckets were dragged across the floors and cloths were dipped into water before being pressed against the surface with urgency.
Hazel dropped to her knees in the grand foyer of the first building. The bucket of water before her was lukewarm and grey, the lye soap harsh enough to peel the skin from her fingers. She began scrubbing, her hands moving quickly despite the ache in her body as the cold surface seeped into her skin, but she ignored it and continued working. Beside her, the other women and girls worked in a rhythmic silence, the only sound being the scuff of brushes against stone. Hours bled into a blur of back-breaking labor. Hazel's knees were raw, and her vision swam as she scrubbed.
"You, you over there!" a voice suddenly shouted.
The sound cut through the room. Every head turned instinctively, a ripple of pure terror passing through the slaves because the slave master call means more work assigned to you.
"All of you darn scumbags return to your works; I'm talking to that fucking ginger over there," the slave master snapped harshly.
Hazel's heart stopped. She looked up slowly, her hands trembling as they clutched the scrub brush. "Me... me? Are you calling me, master?"
"Yes, scum, you, of course," the master sneered, his lip curling in disdain. "You are the only ginger here. Get over here now."
Hazel stood on shaking legs, walking toward him. The other slaves eyes followed her. She saw the pity in the faces of the older women, the way they looked away to hide their tears. But then she saw Mara who was brushing the floors near a pillar. Her face wasn't filled with pity; she wore a smug, sharp grin. Ever since the orphanage had offloaded Hazel to the slave camps, Mara had nursed a bitter, jagged hatred for Hazel. To Mara, seeing Hazel suffer was the only thing that made her own life bearable.
Hazel stopped in front of the slave master and immediately bowed her head, her hands trembling slightly at her sides, but before she could say anything, a whip struck her back with force.
"Aaaaaargh, my back, "A sharp scream escaped her lips as pain surged through her body making her to fall on her knees.
"I called you, but see how you were walking," the master said coldly as he lashed her again, and again, each strike cutting deeper than the last. "Wasting my precious time."
The whip rose and fell again. And again. The sound of leather meeting skin filled the hall, a wet, rhythmic thud that made the other slaves flinch. Hazel curled herself into a ball, trying to protect her face as the master flogged her until the thin fabric of her shirt was filled with blood.
By the time the master stopped, her vision had already blurred and her breathing had become uneven.
The slave master looked at her with disgust before speaking again.
"Since you have so much energy to lag when I call you," the master hissed, breathing heavily, "you are assigned this entire building next to this one. You will scrubevery floor and wash every room. You finish it before dusk, or you face another set of punishments. Do you understand?"
"Yes... master," Hazel sobbed, her voice a broken whisper.
As the master walked away, Hazel dragged herself back to her bucket and went to the next building. Through the tears blurring her vision, she began to scrub. She scrubbed with all her might, the salt of her tears stinging the fresh wounds on her shoulder. She had to finish. She couldn't take another lashing.
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The Lunareth - In the royal castle
The Lunaretha is a vast and breathtaking city in the south, built to reflect the power and elegance of the vampire elite. It is not just large in size but grand in every sense, designed specifically for pureblood vampires and a select few from the middle-class vampires. Every structure, from the towering mansions to the polished streets, speaks of wealth, control, and ancient authority.
Humans, shadeborn, and witches are not permitted to own property there, and their presence is rare and unwelcome. Loretta exists as a symbol of dominance, a place where only those of status and lineage are allowed to thrive.
At the heart of the city stands the royal castle, an imposing structure that overlooks everything beneath it, reminding all who enter of the power that rules over them. The Lunaretha also contain the grand houses of the noble Lords, each one a display of legacy and pride, as well as the official buildings of the Luminai Accord, where decisions that shape the realms are made.
The entire city is magnificent, almost unreal in its perfection, but it is not a place for just anyone. Only those with immense wealth, influence, and deep-rooted lineage can live within its walls. In Loretta, it is not enough to be rich; one must belong to old money, to power that has existed for generations.
Working as a servant there even gives you status and recognition as you will be well respected.
For anyone without status, the Lunaretha is just a dream.
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"Bang!"
The heavy oak doors of the King's quarters slammed shut, the sound echoing like a cannon shot through the vaulted hallways.
Prince Killian strode out of the room, and the air seemed to shift with his presence. His jet-black hair fell slightly over his forehead, framing a face that was sharp, cold, and undeniably commanding. His dark eyes held no warmth, only a quiet, dangerous intensity that made it difficult for anyone to meet his gaze for long. His tall, well-built body moved with controlled power.
"Kilian, you must listen to your father!" Queen Elowen shouted, her silk skirts hissing against the floor as she hurried to keep pace with her son. "He is the King, and he wants what is best for you, for the kingdom!"
Prince Kilian didn't slow down. His stride was long and arrogant. "The King should fucking know his lane," Kilian responded, his voice as cold as a mountain glacier. "He can't mandate me to apologize to Lord Tivan just for not recruiting his useless son to my Alpha team."
So yes, every year, Kilian personally vets and trains a select group of vampires. The training was always brutal. He then picks the best and recruit them to his personal army he calls ALPHA team.
Queen Elowen sighed as she tried to keep up with him.
"Kilian, please," Elowen said, her voice turning persuasive as she began to lag behind. "Lord Tivan is powerful. He will not take this lightly. You dismissed his son like yesterday's rag in front of the other vampires."
Kilian stopped abruptly and turned, a mocking smirk playing on his pale lips "Of course he won't, since it wounds the pride of the house of Redmayne, But mother, you should have seen how his son, Dorian, fights. He fights like a weakling. I've seen common-class vampires—even the scum humans—fight better than him."
"It doesn't matter how he fights. Kilian!" the Queen insisted. "It's about politics. You should apologize to avoid problems with the Great Houses and their Lords. We need their loyalty."
Kilian's eyes flashed with a dangerous light. "Mother, I am not apologizing. In fact, Dorian will apologize to me. He will apologize for disgracing himself and his House in my presence with such a pathetic display."
He turned on his heel and began walking toward the training grounds.
"You are not going to do that, Kilian!" the Queen's voice echoed through the adorned, gold-leafed hallway. "I forbid you!"
Kilian didn't turn back. "Watch and see, Mother," he muttered under his breath, his jaw set in a hard, stubborn line.
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Vulnathe- After dusk
The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the world in a shroud of purple and grey. Inside the new building, the air was cold and smelled of damp stone.
Her body felt disconnected from her mind, a numb machine of pain and repetitive motion. She had already completed the upper floors, and only two rooms remained.
She had already completed the upper floors, and only two rooms remained, while outside, a female slave master sat comfortably in a rusty carriage. She was a silhouette against the moonlight, waiting with a cruel patience for Hazel and the few remaining slaves to finish their duty.
"It is just two rooms, Hazel, you can do this," Hazel whispered to herself. Her voice was cracked, barely audible. "Just two rooms. Don't stop. Don't look at the window."
She knew it was past dusk. She knew she had failed the master's deadline. Every muscle in her body screamed for her to lie down and never get up, but the fear of the whip was a more powerful motivator than exhaustion. She scrubbed the last corner of the final room until the Italian floor reflected the dim light of her guttering candle. Trembling, she stood up, picked up her heavy bucket, and walked out of the building to report to the female slave master.
When she reached the carriage, she bowed her head low immediately.
"Mistress, I am through with my duty," she said her voice shaking.
The female master looked looked down at her with a look of pure, unadulterated scorn before replying in a cold voice, " Perfect, but you did not finish before dusk, so you will be punished."
Hazel gulped, her fingers twitching at her sides. She braced herself for the punishment.
"You will not ride with us back to the slave camps," the mistress said with a cold, jagged smile. "You will walk."
Hazel's heart sank. The camps were miles away through dangerous, vampire-patrolled territory. "But mistress—"
"Walk! Before I decide to give you two hundred lashes instead!"
Hazel swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.
"Yes, mistress."
The carriage door closed, and the other slaves climbed in as the wheels began to turn.
Hazel stood there for a moment, watching it leave.
Then, with slow and painful steps, she began to walk alone into the night.