Morning came and slowly dissolved into the afternoon.

  The revelry, the rivalry, the revelations—all of it felt like a lifetime ago, though only mere hours had passed. The night’s torrential downpour was already wiped dry by the morning’s cloudy sky.

  Sunrise had come as the Moon Ring loomed overhead between the dappled cloud cover. The ring’s scattered debris was the glittering remnants of Earth's near-demise.

  The shutters of the inner sanctum were sealed tight so not a speck of light could peek through. It took a while to get them installed for every room, but Sullivan made it happen. Until they were installed, those within the sanctum would board up their windows or nail as many curtains to the walls as they could.

  Only the purest amongst the vampiric race could withstand the sun, but its touch was always unwelcome and itchy. Some of the Lords claimed they could feel it even through stone—like an old, resentful ghost pressing its fingers to their skin.

  Regardless, the old bat had other priorities. As much as Sullivan wanted to sleep—his millennia-old bones creaking with exhaustion—he couldn’t. Not yet. He still had much to do and sleep wasn’t going to build the dam for him.

  Sullivan sat in his usual chair, his stacks of papers neatly filed on his desk.

  He traced a gloved fingertip along the hydroelectric dam schematic in blue ink—the same contour he’d drawn months ago, still searching for flaws that weren’t there. An ambitious project that would revolutionize power in this hellscape he called home. Coal, magic crystals, mana reservoirs, and the meager scraps of solar power they had gathered could only get them so far within their tiny oasis.

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  What Sullivan could celebrate was the mostly steady hum of levin currents flowing through insulated wires throughout the city. Now, buildings gleamed with a dim but steady glow—no more flickering torchlight, no more scrounging for oil for their lamps.

  A marvel of magic and technology seamlessly blended.

  The soft whir of the lamps was a luxury hard-won, and still rare enough that he caught himself listening for failure. But light alone didn’t build stability. The streets still glimmered like open veins, bleeding energy faster than he could contain it.

  He needed more. More energy. More power. More resources. More workers. More allies within the Grand Assembly.

  Which meant finishing the dam.

  Sullivan rolled his head until the joints popped, a small protest from bones older than most nations. Just as he reached to put the paper down on his desk, the mana burn flared.

  He flinched before dropping the paper. With a soft fwip through the air, it landed on his foot.

  The Vampire Lord cursed himself for dropping it. The page was oversized, bleached for clarity, and costly enough to be considered a luxury item. Ruining it felt like crumpling a solid gold bel in his hand. And now he’d creased it.

  Brilliant.

  He needed rest.

  He needed blood.

  He wasn’t sure just how much longer he could hold out on either. His fingers trembled again—the familiar quiver of starvation disguised as patience. He was already being consumed by gentle wisps of rain-soaked lilies. And with them, the ambient mana that radiated from her skin like heat.

  No matter how many times he swallowed, he couldn’t get rid of the spit in his mouth or the dryness in his throat. And sadly he was currently… immobile. Only one hand was available to him, and he wasn’t about to risk moving from his spot.

  The knock came soft but sharp enough to slice through his thoughts, pulling him back from the brink.