The air outside Sebastian’s residence was heavy and tasted of salt.

  Selene stepped out onto the causeway, the wind immediately whipping at her new uniform.

  "Walk beside me. Not behind," Astraea said. "You are a candidate for Ascension now. Slaves trail behind. Aspirants walk abreast."

  They began the descent.

  To reach the Academy, they had to traverse the Upper Tier, the promenade of the nobility. The architecture here was suffocatingly beautiful. Spires curled like blackened fingers toward the moon, and the stone causeways were wide enough for carriages to pass side by side, lit by the pale, cold green glow of iron braziers.

  Selene slowed her pace, her gaze drifting from the causeway to the sprawling tiers of the castle below. There was nothing growing here. Nothing soft.

  She looked over the railing into the abyss. There was no friendly glow of tavern hearths. Only endless tiers of jagged stone dropping into a void of mist and crashing waves.

  The Grand Athenaeum, the largest structure she had ever known, would be nothing more than a gatehouse here. This did not look like a city built by hands; it looked like a mountain forced into submission.

  For the first time, the reality of how far she was from her world, from home, truly struck her.

  Above them, the sky was alive. Massive shadows blotted out the backdrop of the Emberveil Nebula, circling the highest spires of the citadel like vultures. A low, vibrating thrum rattled Selene’s teeth, the beat of leathery wings spanning the width of galleys. High above, silhouetted against the moon, the dragons of Carmyne patrolled the airspace. Occasionally, a shriek tore through the night, raw and ancient, a sound that belonged to a world before language.

  Selene stopped, looking up involuntarily. The sheer scale of them was paralysing.

  A sharp, gloved hand clamped onto her wrist, jerking her gaze back to the stone path.

  "Do not look at them," Astraea murmured. "Anything that needs wings to feel powerful is already beneath us."

  Selene pulled her arm free, her pulse thumping in her ears. "They are… loose," she whispered.

  “Why chain what is loyal to hunger?” Astraea replied, though her eyes flicked upward for a fraction of a second. Something crossed her face, not fear. Envy. It vanished before it could settle.

  “They are the Kingdom’s defense. Nothing more.”

  As they walked, Selene noticed how the world of the Upper Tier moved around them. The vampires here were beautiful, pale, and terrifyingly still. They strolled in pairs or stood near the railings overlooking the dark ocean, their postures languid and deliberate, as though eternity had taught them there was never a reason to hurry. Conversations drifted in low, musical tones. As Astraea passed, those conversations stopped.

  Heads turned.

  “There she is. The impostor knight,” a woman in emerald silk said, not bothering to lower her voice. “The weakest of them all?”

  "The wingless knight," her companion corrected with a soft sneer, lips curling over pristine teeth. "So fragile she must walk."

  Soft tittering laughter followed them.

  Selene watched Astraea closely. The vampire did not stop, nor did she speak. The muscles in Astraea’s jaw bunched tight, a ripple of tension beneath pale skin.

  The shame radiating from her was palpable.

  As Selene continued to watch her, her thoughts drifted back to the ruined tower camp in the Veilspine Range, firelight flickering against the tower walls as Sebastian spoke.

  The memory returned with unsettling clarity. Astraea had been shaped by her world. Astraea had been tempered in a furnace that burned away anything soft.

  Selene took a breath, letting the salt air fill her lungs.

  We are defined by what we endure.

  The laughter of the nobles faded into the background noise of the wind. She looked at Astraea, a creature defined entirely by how she was treated by others, desperate for the approval of monsters.

  Selene matched Astraea's pace.

  "One more thing," Astraea said, her tone cutting through the silence as she regained her composure. "Do not smile in the Academy."

  Selene frowned. "Why?"

  “I speak literally. You may still possess human traits.” She paused, a smile briefly touching her lips and revealing her fangs. “But you also drank my blood. If you smile, your fangs will expose themselves. Humans do not possess needle teeth.”

  Selene ran her tongue over her teeth. The points were there, subtle but unmistakable. “I see your point.”

  “Not that I expect it to be a challenge,” Astraea said, her smirk returning. “You always wear that look of misery regardless. It suits you well.”

  They descended a spiralling stairwell carved into the cliff face, leaving the open promenade for the shadowed, narrower causeways that led to the Academy sectors.

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  Here, the population mixed. There were fewer nobles, and for the first time, Selene saw humans.

  They were not like the people she knew on the Northern Bank of Veilmouth, nor the broken labourers of Lowtown. These humans wore clean, grey tunics. They moved with their heads down, their gazes fixed on the stone beneath their feet, as though looking up was a privilege they had long since forfeited.

  A young human girl, perhaps twelve, hurried past them, carrying a wooden box filled with glass bottles of red liquid. As she passed Astraea, she stumbled.

  One of the bottles shifted loose, the glass clinking sharply as it struck Astraea's pristine black coat.

  The girl gasped, freezing in terror. She scrambled back, clutching the wooden box to her chest, her heartbeat distinct and frantic in the quiet air.

  Astraea stopped.

  She looked down at the girl, her expression unreadable, crimson eyes lingering on the spot where the bottle had touched her coat. Slowly, deliberately, she leaned closer.

  "Careless blood," Astraea said softly. "I have killed your kind for less."

  The girl trembled, unable to speak.

  "Watch where you walk," Astraea continued, her voice still calm. "It would be a shame for this to be the last thing you ever carried."

  "Astraea."

  The vampire straightened and turned slowly. "What, my Queen? I am merely reminding this insignificant human of her place," she said coolly.

  “Does it ever stop?” Selene asked, her voice quiet but sharp. “The cruelty. Do you really have to enjoy it?”

  She glanced toward the girl retreating down the corridor, her eyes still fixed on the floor. “You threatened her for stumbling. She walks like that because she’s afraid. I can tell just by looking at her. Anyone could hurt her like that. She was already scared before you said a word.”

  Astraea blinked, genuinely confused. “cruelty?” she repeated flatly. “This is just how things work. You eat, or you get eaten.”

  Memories stirred in Selene’s mind. The Nightflare child staring at violet fire with wonder instead of fear. Mauldric Ardent shaking in the dark, trying to earn a father’s approval.

  They hadn’t started as weapons. Someone had made them that way.

  “You’re choosing to be like that,” Selene said quietly. She met Astraea’s gaze, steady and unflinching. “I see it. You let others define you.”

  She looked past her, toward the dark line where ocean and sky bled together.

  Then she looked back at her. “Nobody’s born a monster.”

  Astraea stared at her.

  For a heartbeat, something flashed behind her crimson eyes, raw and unguarded. Her lashes fluttered, and the mask snapped back into place.

  She tipped her head back and laughed softly, breathy and hollow. There was no joy in it.

  “Born a monster?” Astraea mocked, stepping closer and leaning in until her cold breath brushed Selene’s ear. “You’re na?ve. In Carmyne, those who refuse to become monsters are eaten by dragons.”

  She turned away, but her gaze snagged on the retreating back of the human girl clutching the wooden box.

  Astraea's smile vanished.

  “Let’s keep moving,” she snapped, her voice tight. She did not look at Selene. She walked faster, her boots clicking sharply against the stone. “We are already late.”

  The Royal Sanguine Academy loomed ahead, a fortress within a fortress, carved directly into the lower rock where salt spray constantly licked the stone. At high tide, the waves would lash its foundations. Now, the ocean churned black and restless below.

  The entrance was a massive archway of ironwood and blackstone. A figure stood at the centre of the path.

  He wore a tailored burgundy velvet suit embroidered with intricate gold filigree, paired with a long ceremonial crimson cape lined in pale silk.

  The figure waited, motionless, until they approached. His face was sharp and pale, utterly devoid of emotion, his eyes red pits that seemed to judge the blood in a person’s veins before ever looking at their face.

  “Astraea of the Percival noble bloodline,” the man said. His voice was not loud, yet it cut through the sound of the crashing waves with terrifying clarity, calm and declarative, edged with quiet menace. “So this is the fresh blood that will be spilled in the coliseum, the one everyone in the clergy has been discussing.”

  “High Sanguinar Klaus,” Astraea said. “You would be surprised what she is capable of. Sebastian is her sponsor.”

  Klaus did not look at Astraea. His gaze fixed on Selene.

  He stepped forward and circled her slowly, his cape dragging across the wet stone behind him.

  "Sebastian extends his reach," Klaus stated, his tone flat. "He seeks to place fresh blood in the final days of the Ascension Cycle." He completed his circle and stopped before her. "It is… unfathomable that this was permitted."

  Selene held her breath. She kept her lips pressed tight, concealing the fangs.

  "Look at me," Klaus commanded softly.

  Selene raised her eyes.

  He studied her face with the dispassionate interest of a butcher inspecting a cut of meat. He reached out with a gloved hand and took a lock of her hair between his fingers, rubbing the strands slowly.

  Selene’s pulse thudded in her ears. Her gaze dropped to his glove, watching and praying the black paste wouldn’t streak across the pale fabric. The dye held. No stain. But the texture was wrong.

  Klaus's brow creased, barely perceptible. He brought his gloved fingers together, rubbing the residue between thumb and forefinger. A faint, dark smudge marked the silk.

  “Disgusting,” Klaus murmured. He pulled out a linen cloth and wiped his fingers clean. “Why should I consent to blood of such low quality? This cycle, we already have an exceptional candidate.”

  He released her hair and clasped his hands behind his back.

  “The High Matriarch was clear. The petition must be honored regardless.” His red eyes narrowed. “Selene must be permitted into the Ascension, even under such… peculiar circumstances.”

  He glanced at Astraea, dismissing her with a subtle tilt of his chin. "Your duty is discharged. I will escort the candidate to the hall."

  Astraea glanced at Selene. “I will be waiting here when you are finished.”

  She turned and vanished back into the shadows of the causeway, as if eager to escape the High Sanguinar’s presence.

  “Follow me,” Klaus said. He turned and walked deeper into the Academy.

  Selene exhaled. She followed him.

  The corridors were vast, built of black stone polished to a dull sheen that reflected their passing like dark water. Their footsteps echoed in patterns, his measured and unhurried, hers carefully matching the rhythm.

  They reached a set of towering double doors. Klaus pushed them open with a single gloved hand.

  The lecture hall was cavernous and oppressive, its tiered seating and lowered floor arranged like a place meant for judgement rather than learning.

  Steep, concentric rows of dark, curved desks rose sharply toward the ceiling. To either side, towering walls of slate boxed in the students, leaving no place to look but forward and down.

  At the front of the room, behind the recessed podium, the stone wall had been entirely replaced by colossal panes of iron-framed glass. Beyond them, the vast, dark ocean churned endlessly, moonlight casting long, cold beams across the lecture floor. Occasionally, a wave struck the glass with enough force to send a deep, resonant boom through the chamber, a reminder that the sea was always listening.

  Swallowed by the scale of the room sat twelve human candidates.

  They were scattered across the tiered hall. Six sat isolated, spaced apart in deliberate solitude. The other six were grouped loosely together, all dressed in the deep crimson of the Sanguine Academy.

  At the podium, framed by crashing waves and pale moonlight, stood a professor.

  Klaus stopped at the threshold. “A late candidate,” he announced, his calm voice filling the cavernous space without effort.

  Conversation died. Twelve pairs of eyes turned toward her. Some narrowed in calculation. Others widened with suspicion. A few faces remained carefully blank. The silence in the chamber was sudden and absolute.

  Selene stepped forward.