Oakridge proved both sanctuary and prison. The Human city sprawled across the valley in a chaotic jumble of architecture—ancient stone buildings from the early settlements standing shoulder-to-shoulder with newer wooden structures, all connected by a labyrinth of cobblestone streets, narrow alleys, and bustling market squares.

  For five days, Tris, Eli, Viktor, and Lyra had managed to establish themselves in a small, dilapidated apartment above a chandler's shop in the city's eastern quarter. The Human owner, a ruddy-faced man named Garnt, had asked few questions when they offered three months' rent in advance—using gemstones Lyra had wisely secreted about her person before their escape.

  "Humans usually care more for currency than curiosity," Lyra had observed as they settled into their cramped but serviceable new home. "So long as we pay our way, they're content to leave us be."

  She had proven correct, at least initially. The four of them quickly established a pattern—Lyra and Viktor ventured to the markets during daylight hours when the streets were busiest and anonymity easiest to maintain. Meanwhile, Tris and Eli remained in their apartment, studying Human customs through books Viktor purchased, planning their next steps.

  By night, they would switch—Tris and Viktor, whose Vampire nature made darkness their element, would explore the city, mapping escape routes and identifying potential resources. Eli and Lyra would remain behind, working on disguises and creating falsified identification papers using techniques Lyra had learned in her years of moving between bloodline territories.

  It was precarious, but it worked. Their Vampire-enhanced illusions had held long enough for them to acquire appropriate clothing and cosmetics to maintain their Human appearances more conventionally. Eli's distinctive white hair remained brown through careful application of walnut hull dye, while specialized creams helped maintain her skin's altered coloration. The slight points of her ears remained hidden beneath carefully arranged hairstyles.

  On the fifth night, two nights before the full moon, Tris stood at the grimy window of their apartment, staring out at the moonlit rooftops of Oakridge. Behind him, Eli sat cross-legged on their shared mattress, carefully transcribing Human legal documents for a local administrator—work she had secured that provided both income and valuable insight into Human governance.

  "You're brooding again," she observed without looking up from her meticulous script.

  "Just observing," Tris replied, though a slight smile tugged at his lips. In their short time together, she had already learned to read his moods with uncanny precision.

  "Brooooodiiiing," she insisted, finally glancing up. "I can feel it radiating off you like heat from a forge, my love."

  Tris turned from the window, his expression softening as he beheld her—hair loosely braided, sleeves rolled up, a smudge of ink on one cheek. Even in these humble surroundings, engaged in mundane work, she remained the most vivid being he had ever encountered.

  "Perhaps I am," he conceded, moving to sit beside her. "The full moon approaches. Our powers will peak, but so will our visibility to those who hunt us."

  Eli set down her quill and touched his face gently. "We've been careful. The city is vast. They can't possibly—"

  "They're already here," came Viktor's voice from the doorway.

  Tris and Eli turned to find Viktor and Lyra entering the apartment, their expressions grave despite the market goods they carried. Viktor set down his burden and moved immediately to the window, peering out with the hyperawareness of a predator sensing danger.

  "What happened?" Tris asked, already on his feet.

  "East Market," Lyra answered, securing the door behind them. "Three Vampires, disguised as Humans but unmistakable to those who know what to look for."

  "How can you be certain?" Eli asked, though her tone held no doubt—merely a need for confirmation.

  Viktor turned from the window. "The way they moved through the crowd—too fluid, too precise. Their clothes were correct but worn unnaturally, as if they'd studied Human fashion but never inhabited it." He met Tris's eyes. "And the scent—that unmistakable predatory aura that we mask but they made no effort to conceal."

  "Styx would send only his best hunters," Tris mused, his mind racing. "Elite trackers who've hunted in Human territories before."

  "They weren't trying to blend in," Lyra added, her expression troubled. "At least, not to our eyes. They wanted us to know they were there."

  "A message," Tris concluded. "They're letting us know we've been found."

  "But why announce their presence?" Eli questioned. "Why not simply ambush us?"

  A grim understanding passed between the four of them. Viktor voiced it first: "Because they want us to run. To flee in panic and make mistakes."

  "Or to herd us," Tris added darkly. "To drive us in a specific direction, toward more of them waiting in ambush."

  Eli rose, quickly gathering the most essential of their belongings. "Then we don't give them what they want. We don't panic, and we don't follow their script."

  "Exactly," Tris agreed, retrieving the weapons they had kept carefully hidden since their arrival. "We need to split up temporarily and confuse their tracking."

  "Split up?" Eli's voice sharpened with concern. "That's exactly how prey gets isolated and taken down. You know, divide and conquer?!"

  "Not split up completely," Tris clarified. "Two groups, different routes, same destination." He outlined his plan quickly—Viktor and Lyra would travel east through the market district, creating a visible trail for any pursuers to follow. Meanwhile, Tris and Eli would move west, then circle back through the old temple quarter, meeting at the abandoned cathedral they had identified days earlier as a potential emergency shelter.

  "It could work," Viktor admitted after considering the strategy.

  "And its consecrated ground will slow them, at least marginally," Lyra added. "Even disguised, they'll feel the discomfort."

  They moved swiftly, gathering only what they couldn't afford to lose—weapons, some food, the small pouches of gems that represented their emergency resources. Within minutes, they were ready to depart.

  Before separating, Tris clasped Viktor's forearm in the traditional Vampire warrior's farewell. "Be careful, cousin. These aren't ordinary hunters."

  "Nor are we ordinary prey," Viktor replied with a grim smile. He glanced at Lyra, something unspoken passing between them. "Three hours. We'll see you at the cathedral, Fair Cousin."

  As Viktor and Lyra slipped out the back entrance of the building, Tris and Eli prepared for their own departure. Eli had transformed in the brief preparations—the slightly uncertain Drow Princess adapting to Human city life replaced by a focused, determined warrior. She checked the small daggers concealed in her sleeves and boots, her movements precise and practiced.

  "Ready?" Tris asked, securing his own weapons beneath his Human clothing.

  Eli nodded, her blue eyes clear and steady. "Let's make them regret hunting us."

  They left through the front of the building, moving casually through the evening crowds. Humans returning home from work or heading out for nighttime entertainment filled the streets, providing excellent cover. Tris kept his senses alert, scanning for the distinctive predatory presence of other Vampires.

  "Don't look," he murmured as they turned onto a wider boulevard, "but we have a shadow. Northwest corner, by the wine merchant's shop."

  Eli continued walking naturally, but he felt her tension. "Just one?"

  "That I can see," Tris replied softly. "There will be others coordinating and maintaining sight lines."

  They continued their careful progress through the city, neither hurrying nor dawdling, behaving exactly as Humans might while traveling with purpose. At each intersection, Tris sensed their pursuers—sometimes glimpsing them directly, sometimes merely feeling their presence like a cold finger trailing down his spine.

  "They're herding us," Eli observed as they found themselves subtly but unmistakably directed away from the route they had intended. "Every time we try to turn north, another one appears to block our path."

  Tris nodded grimly. "They're driving us toward the river."

  The implications were clear—the river docks would be isolated after working hours, with fewer witnesses and more opportunities for ambush. They needed to break the pattern.

  An opportunity presented itself as they passed a crowded tavern, its doors thrown open to the warm evening air, patrons spilling onto the street in boisterous celebration of some local Human festival.

  "Follow my lead," Eli whispered, suddenly pulling Tris toward the tavern entrance. "Laugh like I've said something hilarious."

  Tris complied, producing a convincing laugh as they slipped into the packed tavern. Inside, the press of bodies, the thick scent of ale and sweat, and the cacophony of voices created perfect cover. Eli navigated the crowd expertly, leading them toward what appeared to be a rear exit.

  "Kitchen door," she explained over the noise. "Leads to the alley behind."

  They emerged into the relative quiet of the back alley, the sounds of celebration muffled by the thick tavern walls. Without hesitation, they broke into a run, using the network of narrow passages between buildings to change direction repeatedly, doubling back and crossing their own trail to confuse any pursuit.

  After several zigzagging minutes, they paused in the shadow of a large storehouse to catch their breath and reassess.

  "I think we've lost them temporarily," Tris said, his enhanced senses detecting no immediate pursuit. "But they'll reacquire our trail soon enough."

  "Then we need to keep moving," Eli replied.

  They set off again. The old temple quarter lay ahead, its skyline dominated by the spires and domes of worship houses both active and abandoned. The cathedral they sought stood at the district's northern edge—once the pride of Oakridge, now largely forsaken as newer, smaller temples had drawn away its congregation.

  As they entered the temple district, the streets grew quieter, the buildings more imposing. Stone facades carved with religious symbols no Human truly knew the history of loomed above them, their shadows stretching across the cobblestones in the fading light. Few Humans walked these streets after dark, finding the abandoned temples unsettling—a superstition that served the pioneering fugitives well tonight.

  They were within sight of the cathedral—its massive structure silhouetted against the darkening sky—when Tris stopped abruptly, pulling Eli into the shadow of a decorative archway.

  "What—" she began, but fell silent at his warning gesture.

  "They've circled ahead of us," he whispered. "At least three, maybe four, blocking our path to the cathedral."

  Eli's expression hardened. "We fight through?"

  Tris considered their options.

  Before he could answer, a new sensation prickled at the edge of his awareness—familiar, yet unexpected. He tensed, turning his attention to a side street to their left.

  "There's another approach," he said slowly. "One they may not have covered as heavily."

  Eli followed his gaze. "The merchant's row? It's exposed ground."

  "Not the merchant's row," Tris said. "Beneath it. The old sewer access I found three nights ago connects to the cathedral's crypt."

  Understanding dawned in Eli's eyes. "Underground."

  They moved quickly to a narrow space between two buildings where, concealed behind discarded crates, a rusted metal grate covered the entrance to Oakridge's ancient drainage system. Tris knelt beside it, working quickly to lift the heavy grate with minimal noise.

  The opening revealed a dark passage leading downward, the distant sound of running water echoing from below. The smell that wafted up was unpleasant but not overwhelming—this section of the system carried primarily rainwater rather than waste.

  If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Eli descended first and Tris followed, carefully replacing the grate above them before joining her in the narrow tunnel below. The space was confined but navigable—tall enough for them to stand upright, wide enough to walk single file.

  "This way," Tris whispered, moving ahead. "The cathedral is northeast, perhaps two hundred yards."

  They proceeded cautiously through the damp tunnels, Eli easily navigating the darkness while Tris relied on his enhanced vision. The sound of dripping water and the occasional scurrying of rats accompanied their progress.

  As they neared what Tris estimated to be the position beneath the cathedral, a new sound reached them—voices from above, muffled but distinct. They froze, listening intently.

  "—checked the entire perimeter. No sign of them." "They can't have disappeared. Keep searching." "The others report similar results from the eastern approach. Perhaps they've gone to ground elsewhere."

  Vampire hunters, directly above them, combing the cathedral grounds. Tris and Eli exchanged glances, their eyes meeting in the darkness with perfect understanding. They needed to proceed with absolute silence.

  The tunnel forked ahead. Tris pointed to the right-hand passage—a slightly narrower conduit that, according to his exploration days earlier, led directly beneath the cathedral's ancient crypt. They moved forward with exaggerated care, placing each step to avoid creating even the slightest sound that might alert the hunters above.

  Finally, they reached what Tris sought—a vertical shaft with rusted metal rungs embedded in its stone side, leading upward to a heavy circular cover. If his mapping was correct, this access point would open directly into the cathedral's oldest burial chamber, a place consecrated centuries ago and rarely visited even by the cathedral's caretakers.

  Tris gestured for Eli to wait as he ascended the rungs silently, pressing his ear against the heavy cover to listen for any presence above. Hearing nothing, he applied steady pressure, gradually shifting the ancient metal disc until a narrow gap appeared. Cool, dry air from the crypt filtered down, carrying the scent of old stone and lingering incense.

  A quick visual inspection confirmed the space was empty. Tris pushed the cover fully aside and pulled himself up into the crypt, then reached down to help Eli emerge from below. They replaced the cover carefully, concealing their entry point.

  The crypt was a vaulted stone chamber filled with ancient sarcophagi and memorial plaques. Faint moonlight filtered through narrow clerestory windows near the ceiling, casting weak illumination across the stone floor. At the far end, a set of worn steps led upward, presumably to the main cathedral level.

  "Do you think Viktor and Lyra made it?" Eli whispered, her voice barely audible even in the perfect stillness of the crypt.

  Before Tris could respond, a new sound reached them—the unmistakable metallic ring of weapons clashing somewhere above, followed by a cry of pain that Tris recognized immediately.

  "Viktor," he hissed, already moving toward the steps with supernatural agility.

  They ascended the stairs rapidly, emerging into the cathedral's vast nave. The scene that greeted them was one of chaotic combat—Viktor and Lyra, backed against the high altar, defending themselves against six Vampire attackers who had shed their Human disguises in favor of combat efficiency.

  The cathedral's interior, once magnificent, now stood in partial ruin. Rows of broken pews offered obstacles and cover for both attackers and defenders. Moonlight poured through shattered stained glass windows, casting multicolored patterns across the battleground.

  Viktor wielded a short sword with expert precision, while Lyra fought with twin daggers, her mixed bloodline heritage granting her a fluid fighting style infused with Drow finesse. They had already downed two attackers, but the remaining six pressed their advantage relentlessly.

  Tris drew his own weapons—standard-issue sword and dagger—and charged forward without hesitation. Eli matched his pace, her sleeve daggers already in hand, her movements precise and deadly.

  They crashed into the rear of the Vampire attackers with devastating effect, the surprise of their arrival creating momentary chaos in the enemy ranks. Tris cut down one immediately, his blade finding the vulnerable spot at the base of the skull where even Vampire healing struggled to repair damage quickly enough to prevent death. Eli wounded another with a lightning-fast series of strikes to the hamstring and lower back, crippling his mobility.

  "About time you joined us," Viktor called, a grim smile lighting his face despite the bleeding wound on his shoulder. "We were beginning to think you'd found better entertainment."

  "The night is young," Tris replied, falling into the familiar battle banter that had characterized their training sessions since childhood.

  The fight intensified as the Vampire hunters recovered from their surprise and adjusted their tactics to the new threats. These were no ordinary enforcers but elite hunters, likely drawn from True Lord Styx's personal guard. Their movements were precise, coordinated, and lethal—each attack flowing seamlessly into the next, forcing the four fugitives into an increasingly defensive posture.

  One hunter—a female with copper-colored hair and eyes like shattered obsidian—drove Tris steadily backward with a series of attacks too fast for Human eyes to follow. Only his royal training and enhanced Vampiric reaction speed allowed him to parry and counterattack, but even so, he found himself giving ground.

  "The True Lord sends his regards, little Prince," she hissed during a momentary blade lock. "He regrets you declined his hospitality."

  "I found the accommodations rather limiting," Tris replied, breaking the lock with a twist that nearly disarmed her. "No view, terrible service."

  “Precarious little brat!” She snarled and renewed her attack with increased ferocity. Across the cathedral, Eli faced her own determined opponent—a massive Vampire wielding a war hammer that shattered stone and wood wherever it struck. Lyra and Viktor fought back-to-back against the remaining three, holding their own but gradually tiring.

  They couldn't maintain this indefinitely. Despite their skill, they were outnumbered and—in Tris and Viktor's case—weakened by days of inadequate feeding as they had given much of their food to Lyra and Eli while denying any rejections. The cathedral, which should have provided consecrated ground, seemed to offer little impediment to these elite hunters.

  As if sensing his thoughts, the copper-haired Vampire smiled cruelly. "Surprised by our ease of movement? Consecration means nothing to those who've drunk from the Chalice of the Blue Flame."

  A ritual Tris had only heard whispered of—one that temporarily neutralized a Vampire's traditional weaknesses at great cost to their long-term health. These hunters had sacrificed years of their nearly immortal lives for the chance to succeed in this mission. A dedication he respected, but now was not the time for respect.

  The battle continued to escalate, spilling across the cathedral's vast interior. Pews splintered under hammer blows, ancient canvases ripped from walls as combatants used them for momentary defense, and marble statues of forgotten saints toppled and shattered on the stone floor.

  Humans would speak of this night for generations, Tris realized—a supernatural battle in their abandoned cathedral, glimpsed perhaps by late-night passersby or distant witnesses seeing flashes of metal meeting metal through the shattered windows. It would become legend, then myth, then finally a story to frighten children—exactly the kind of tale the occulted bloodlines encouraged to mask their continued existence.

  The fight reached a crescendo as the massive hammer-wielder cornered Eli against the cathedral's rose window. The stained glass, already cracked with age, vibrated dangerously as she dodged blow after devastating blow.

  "Eli!" Tris shouted, desperately trying to reach her while fending off his own opponent.

  The hammer swung in a deadly arc toward Eli's head. She ducked, but the massive weapon continued its trajectory into the ancient window. With a sound like a thousand crystal goblets shattering simultaneously, the rose window exploded outward, showering the street below with fragments of colored glass.

  Moonlight—nearly full, merely this night through to the next from completion—poured through the jagged opening, bathing the cathedral interior in silver radiance. The Vampire hunters hesitated momentarily, their sensitivity to moonlight overwhelming the protection granted by their ritual preparation.

  In that brief pause, a new figure entered the battle—dropping silently from the exposed rafters above, landing with perfect grace between the scattered combatants. Slim and elegant in the distinctive battle armor of the Vampire royal guard, she straightened to her full height, a blue and white longsword gleaming in her hand.

  Durandal! Tris’s attention was immediately drawn to it.

  Time seemed to freeze as everyone registered her presence. The hunters stared in confusion—was she reinforcement or enemy? Tris and Viktor exchanged baffled glances, equally uncertain of her purpose.

  The copper-haired hunter recovered first. "Lady Mirabel," she acknowledged with a stiff bow. "We didn't expect your personal intervention. The situation is under control; we have them cornered."

  Mirabel's expression revealed nothing as she surveyed the scene. "Indeed you do, Septima." Her voice was cool, aristocratic. "Most impressive."

  Then, with movement too swift for even Vampire eyes to track completely, Mirabel spun and drove Durandal directly through Septima's heart. Before the hunter's expression could even register shock, Mirabel withdrew the blade and beheaded her in a single fluid motion.

  Chaos erupted anew. The remaining hunters, realizing betrayal rather than reinforcement had arrived, attacked Mirabel with coordinated precision. But she moved with the deadly grace of centuries of experience, Durandal flashing in the moonlight as she cut down two more hunters in rapid succession.

  "The sword!" Viktor cried in recognition. "It's Durandal!"

  Durandal—his great-grandmother's legendary blade, said to have been forged from moonlight and mountain silver, a weapon that only those of true royal blood could wield without suffering its burning touch. A sword he had thought lost when he was locked up more than two weeks ago.

  Mirabel carved a path through the remaining hunters, fighting with the perfect economy of movement that came only with vast experience. Within moments, the last of True Lord Styx's elite lay dead or dying on the cathedral floor.

  Blood dripping from Durandal's gleaming blade, Mirabel turned to face Tris. Her expression softened slightly—the stern aristocrat giving way to something almost maternal.

  "Yvelia would be proud, Fair Prince," she said, stepping toward him. "It's time you carried her legacy again."

  Tris approached cautiously, still uncertain of her true allegiance despite her actions. "Why, Lady Mirabel? Why risk everything to help us?"

  A sad smile touched her lips. "I knew Yvelia—your great-grandmother—better than most. We fought together, bled together." Her eyes grew distant with memory. "She saw the truth about the Ancient Agreement long before others dared to whisper it. She sought what you seek now—freedom for all from control, the right to choose one's own destiny."

  Mirabel held Durandal out to Tris, hilt first. "She would want you to have this for what is coming next. As you know, it responds only to the royal bloodline—the true lineage of the Old World, not the diluted nobility that serves the Anunnaki's purposes."

  As Tris reached for the sword, a silver dagger flashed through the air, striking Mirabel's extended wrist with such force that her hand, still clutching Durandal, was severed completely.

  Mirabel's cry of pain transformed into a gasp of shock as a second projectile—a silver-tipped arrow—pierced her heart with devastating accuracy. She collapsed, her eyes wide with disbelief then acceptance, like her death was long overdue, blood pooling beneath her on the cathedral floor.

  Tris whirled toward the source of the attack, his senses instantly recognizing the presence that had materialized in the shadows near the shattered rose window.

  "Father," he whispered, his voice tight with shock.

  King Drac stepped into the moonlight, his elegant features contorted with an emotion Tris had never before witnessed on his father's controlled countenance—devastation. But most shocking were his eyes—no longer a deep brown, but glowing crimson with awakened power.

  "I didn't want this," King Drac said, his normally commanding voice broken with emotion. "Believe me, my son, I sought any other path."

  Eli, Viktor, and Lyra moved to flank Tris, weapons ready but hesitant—this was the King of Vampires himself, a being whose power far exceeded their combined strength. A being who is second, or maybe third, only to the True Lord Styx himself.

  "You bound yourself to a Dying Oath," Tris realized, the pieces falling into place with horrifying clarity. "To find us and eliminate all witnesses."

  His father nodded, tears of blood tracking down his pale cheeks—the mark of profound Vampiric grief. "He left me no choice. The Dying Oath or… Gods I dare not utter it."

  "Father, please—" Tris began, but King Drac raised a hand to silence him.

  "I have failed as a King by bending to ancient pacts that should have been broken generations ago," he said, his voice gathering strength. "I have failed as a father by not seeing your truth until too late. I will not compound these failures by fulfilling this binding oath."

  To everyone's shock, the King turned the silver dagger he held and hovered it against his chest.

  "So be it. My death over yours," he said, his crimson eyes fixing on Tris with fierce pride.

  "Father, no!" Tris lunged forward, but the distance was too great.

  King Drac's gaze shifted to Eli. "Take care of my foolish, courageous son, Princess. He thinks too much and laughs too little. Please, make him socialize more often…"

  Before anyone could react further, the King plunged the dagger into his heart. His body arched, crimson eyes flaring brilliantly before beginning to dim. He collapsed to his knees, then pitched forward onto the cathedral floor.

  "Father!" Tris reached him in an instant, cradling the dying King in his arms. "Why? There must have been another way."

  Tris’s father smiled faintly, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "There is always another way, my son. You found it when you defied the Ancient Agreement. Perhaps..." his voice weakened further, "...perhaps you can succeed where Yvelia failed. Where I failed…"

  The King's hand reached up to touch Tris's face one final time. "Your eyes," he whispered. "Just like hers…"

  Tris felt something break within him—a barrier between conscious control and primal power. Grief and rage intertwined, flowing through channels long dormant in his being.

  But unlike the crimson eyes of ‘normal’ Vampire bloodlines, Tris's eyes flooded with brilliant sky blue light—the mark of royal blood in its purest form, unchanged since before the The Only War. The same eyes his great-grandmother had revealed in her greatest battles.

  On the floor beside them, Durandal began to glow with matching azure light, responding to the awakening of its rightful wielder. Mirabel’s severed hand, still clutching Durandal, did not dissolve to ash.

  Eli gasped, moving to Tris's side. "Your eyes," she whispered.

  Tris scarcely heard her, lost in the transformative power surging through his body. Strength beyond anything he had known before flooded his muscles. His senses sharpened exponentially, the cathedral suddenly alive with details previously invisible even to his Vampire sight. The world seemed to slow around him as his perceptual processing accelerated dramatically.

  Most significantly, his connection to Eli intensified beyond comprehension—he could feel her presence like a physical touch, sense her emotions as clearly as his own, perceive the energy that bound them across lifetimes.

  Viktor and Lyra watched in awe as the azure light emanating from Tris's eyes cast eerie shadows across the cathedral interior. Even in death, King Drac's expression had transformed to one of peace—perhaps even satisfaction—at witnessing his son's awakening.

  "The true royal bloodline," Viktor whispered reverently. "Not seen in generations. True Lord Styx himself is one of the only other living Vampire to manifest the azure eyes."

  Tris gently laid his father's body on the cathedral floor, then rose to his feet with fluid grace that seemed almost supernatural even by Vampire standards. He moved to Durandal and lifted the ancient sword with perfect confidence, as if the weapon had always been an extension of his being.

  The silver that would have burned any ordinary Vampire—even most of royal blood—caused him no pain. The blade hummed with power, its azure glow intensifying as he gripped it firmly.

  "We need to go," he said, his voice deeper and more resonant than before. "Others will come to investigate."

  Eli approached him cautiously, her blue eyes meeting his newly transformed gaze without fear. "Tris," she said softly, "are you still... you?"

  The question penetrated the haze of power surrounding him. Tris blinked, the brilliant blue light of his eyes dimming slightly as he regained fuller awareness of himself.

  "I'm here," he assured her, reaching for her hand.

  Relief washed over her features as she intertwined her fingers with his. "Okay, good. Then let's honor your father's sacrifice by surviving this night."

  Viktor and Lyra had already moved to secure the cathedral entrances, ensuring no immediate threats approached.

  "The tunnels beneath the city," Tris decided, the tactical part of his mind functioning with new clarity. "We can use them to reach the eastern gate, then the forest beyond."

  As they gathered what supplies they could salvage and prepared to retreat once more into Oakridge's underbelly, Tris paused for a final look at his father's body. The King who had ruled with such rigid adherence to tradition had died breaking the most sacred of Vampire oaths.

  "I'll make it mean something," Tris promised silently. "Your death, Mirabel's, this whole mess. The Anunnaki will regret everything they’ve done and anything they will ever do. I will personally make sure of it, father. I swear it."