The Night Crimson Hollow Burned
Crimson Hollow was never meant to last.
A hidden city carved into the mountains, a fortress of blood and shadows, a place where the Vampires ruled without fear of daylight or consequence. Mortals whispered its name in terror. Even some immortals avoided it, knowing those who entered rarely left with their souls intact.
For centuries, the Hollow thrived—until the Night the Day Walkers came knocking.
It started with a single torch.
A flicker of flame on the outskirts, barely noticeable against the eternal gloom. But that was the thing about fire—once it starts, it devours.
By the time the Vampires realized what was happening, the city gates were already ablaze.
Dorian Vale, a Day Walker whose reputation carried weight even among his own kind, led the charge. Unlike others who favored quiet eliminations, he was a spectacle of destruction. He didn’t just want to kill the Vampires.
He wanted them to fear.
"Come out, come out," Dorian called, his voice echoing through the burning streets. He strolled through the chaos like he had all the time in the world, a long silver blade resting against his shoulder. His crimson cloak swayed behind him, stained with the blood of the fallen. "Or do you prefer to cower in the dark?"
A shriek tore through the air.
A vampire lunged from the rooftops, talons extended, fangs bared—
Dorian sidestepped, too fast to track.
One clean arc of his blade—
The creature’s head hit the ground before its body even realized it was dead.
The streets erupted into a warzone.
Vampires poured from the shadows, desperate to defend their stronghold, but they weren’t facing terrified mortals tonight. They were facing predators.
Day Walkers.
Beside Dorian, Celeste Morryn twirled twin daggers, their silver edges glinting like stars. A vampire lunged at her; she caught it mid-air, snapping its wrist before driving a blade through its throat.
"Not so fun when we fight back, huh?" she taunted, watching it crumble to dust.
Flames licked up the sides of buildings, embers swirling in the air like fireflies. Screams echoed in every direction. The Vampires of Crimson Hollow had built their city on suffering—on stolen lives, on whispers of fear.
Now, they were the ones running.
And Dorian wasn’t done.
His target wasn’t the fledglings or the mid-ranked Night Stalkers. No, he had come for Silas Crowne, the self-proclaimed Prince of Crimson Hollow.
The one who had slaughtered his brother centuries ago.
The one who had thought himself untouchable.
Dorian found him deep in the ruined palace, seated upon a throne of polished bone.
"You," Silas sneered, dark eyes gleaming with rage. He rose to his feet, his regal air faltering as the city burned around him. "You dare come here?"
Dorian tilted his head. "Dare?" he echoed, taking a lazy step forward. "I invited myself."
Silas lunged.
The fight was brutal, a whirlwind of blades and claws, of shadow and fire. Silas fought like a beast backed into a corner—feral, desperate. But Dorian?
Dorian fought like a man who had already won.
A feint. A pivot. A perfectly timed strike.
His blade plunged into Silas’s heart.
For a moment, the Vampire Prince gasped, fingers clawing at Dorian’s arm. A choked sound left his lips—not a scream, not a plea.
Just shock.
"You thought you'd rule forever," Dorian murmured, twisting the blade deeper. "Should’ve known better."
Silas disintegrated into ash, his reign ending not with a roar—
But with a whisper.
By the time the sun rose, Crimson Hollow was gone.
All that remained were embers in the wind, the scent of scorched ruin, and a single message carved into the stone gates:
The Day Always Comes.
⚫🕊️
