The Anomaly: Crownless Heir

Ash and Vows

The forest was no longer quiet.

The path back to the Vampire Kingdom had been a grueling, bloody one. After years of battles across the western and southern districts of the Werewolf Kingdom, the four remaining Valdros princes—Aurelius, Darien, Lucien, and Sevrin—marched through scorched woods and broken terrain, with the skeletal remains of war surrounding them like fallen titans. Their army, once a powerful unit of thousands, had dwindled down to barely eight hundred.

Yet despite the exhaustion etched into their bodies, their eyes burned with resolve.

Aurelius led the column in silence, his blood-stained armor cracked but gleaming with residual power. He hadn’t slept properly in days, but his will was unshakable.

“We’re close,” Aurelius muttered, scanning the horizon through narrowed eyes. “The mountain pass should be just beyond the next ridge.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Lucien replied, his tone light but his expression tight. “How many times have we been ‘close’ now?”

Darien walked beside them, unusually quiet. His sword was strapped to his back, and the furrow in his brow suggested he was thinking—calculating.

“You feel it too?” he asked suddenly.

Aurelius turned to him. “The shift in the air?”

“Yes. Something’s wrong.”

Before Lucien could speak, a thunderous roar cracked across the forest—deep, ancient, and soul-rattling. The trees trembled. The birds fled. Even the wind seemed to vanish.

Sevrin, trailing slightly behind with his hood drawn low, looked up with calm eyes. “Mythic,” he whispered. “It’s one of the Old Ones.”

“A dragon?” Lucien asked.

“Worse,” Sevrin said softly. “Not beast. Not spirit. Something in between.”

From the shadows between the trees, it emerged—a towering horned beast, coated in iridescent black scales and shadowy mist, its eight limbs moving like serpents across the ground. Its eyes glowed silver, and its screeching breath turned the very air into glass.

Without hesitation, Aurelius summoned his blood spear and charged forward. The battle began.

It was not a battle. It was a m******e.

The creature was fast—faster than anything they’d faced before. Its limbs whipped through vampire knights like paper, and its venom burned through their regeneration. Aurelius darted and struck with deadly precision, impaling the beast’s shoulder, but it regenerated instantly. Darien used his agility to distract it, while Lucien created illusions to confuse it momentarily.

Sevrin stood back, whispering to himself, weaving a blood curse that slowly sapped the creature’s senses.

“It’s resisting,” Sevrin warned. “This isn’t a mindless monster—it’s sentient.”

The beast roared and struck Darien across the chest, sending him flying into a tree with a sickening c***k. Aurelius screamed in rage and unleashed a barrage of spear strikes, driving the creature back long enough to let Lucien retrieve Darien.

“We can’t kill it!” Lucien shouted.

“No,” Aurelius snarled, blood dripping from his lips, “but we can survive it.”

Sevrin finally unleashed the completed blood curse. The shadows surrounding the creature began to wail, distorting the air. In its moment of confusion, the princes used everything they had—Darien’s strategy, Lucien’s illusions, Aurelius’s brute force, and Sevrin’s dark alchemy—to force it into a retreat.

It vanished into mist, leaving behind a trail of molten earth and shattered trees.

Hours later, they found a quiet cave on the edge of a cliff and collapsed into it. Wounded, but alive.

The fire crackled. Outside, the storm raged.

Aurelius sat silently near the flames, his hands shaking for the first time in years.

“We shouldn’t be alive,” Darien muttered, staring into the flames.

“Speak for yourself,” Lucien smirked, though his tone lacked humor.

Sevrin, already wrapping his burns with blood-soaked cloth, finally said:

“That creature… wasn’t from this realm. That was summoned. Someone released it.”

A heavy silence fell.

“You think it was a test?” Darien asked.

“Or a message,” Lucien said grimly. “That we’re not the only ones in this war.”

For the first time, Aurelius didn’t speak.

But his eyes, stormy and distant, were already thinking three steps ahead.

At the Seventh Queen’s estate, Kenneth danced effortlessly across the training grounds.

Now nine years old, his twin katanas moved with supernatural grace, slicing through the air with haunting precision. His agility had surpassed that of most generals. His blood attacks, once difficult to control, now pulsed with refined fury.

But there was an edge to him—one only Seraphine could truly see.

She waited at the edge of the courtyard, hands behind her back, watching him with a quiet smile. Her black curls were braided neatly down her back, her violet eyes glowing in the early twilight. Dressed in sleek dark leather, she looked more mature than her eight years.

Kenneth finished his final combo, and with a flourish, sheathed his blades.

"You're watching again," he said with a grin.

"You always notice," she replied.

He approached her, sweat glistening across his brow. He was growing stronger, taller. There was something more serious about him now.

Seraphine bit her lip and finally handed him a scroll wrapped in red ribbon.

"What’s this?" he asked.

"My enlistment," she said quietly.

Kenneth’s smile faded instantly.

"What?"

"I joined the military," she said. "Officially. Today."

His heart dropped. "Why? You’re still a child!"

"We’re not children anymore, Kenneth. I’m almost nine. And my father retires in ten years. Someone from my house must serve."

"That doesn’t have to be you," he snapped. "I don’t want it to be you."

"I know," she said, stepping closer. "But I want to. And more than that… I have to. You fight so hard for this kingdom, for your future… let me do the same."

Kenneth looked away, jaw clenched. "You don’t understand. If anything happens to you—"

She reached up, placing her hand on his cheek.

"You’re the strongest person I know. But you’re not alone. Let me be your sword too."

His hand covered hers, and his voice trembled.

"I care about you more than I know how to say, Seraphine."

"Then don’t say it," she whispered, leaning forward and resting her forehead against his. "Just… promise me you won’t forget me when I’m covered in blood and scars."

"I could never," he whispered.

They stood like that for a long moment, two young souls bound by something deeper than war, deeper than blood. In the chaos of kingdoms and legacies, this—their connection—was the only thing that felt truly theirs.