District Orders
1251 Words
The carriage slowed to a stop just outside the gates of the Central District Enforcement Center — a massive obsidian and iron-laced fortress nestled in the heart of the city. Unlike the polished marble and crystalline grace of the royal castle, the District Center felt cold. Brutal. Functional.
Kenneth stepped out, straightening the black-and-crimson coat slung over his training gear. He hadn’t changed. He didn’t see the need to. His hair was still slightly damp with sweat from morning sparring, tied back low, the way Seraphine liked it. The moment he hit the ground, a pair of guards stationed at the gates stiffened and bowed quickly.
“Prince Kenneth,” one of them muttered, clearly unsure if he was meant to salute or kneel. He did both halfway and then backed away awkwardly.
Kenneth gave a small nod. “Where’s the Commanding Officer?”
The second guard gestured to the tall archway ahead. “Third floor. Commander Thorne Velcrest is expecting you.”
“Thanks,” Kenneth said, then strode forward without waiting.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sweat, old blood, steel, and ink. Notebooks flapped magically through the air between desks. Vampire enforcers in layered armor argued over patrol routes and territory disputes. A few paused as Kenneth passed, their whispers low but sharp.
“Is that the Queen’s boy?”
“He’s just a kid.”
“I heard he beat down Lord Halrix’s guard. Alone.”
“No way.”
Kenneth ignored them.
Third floor. Narrow hallways. High ceilings. No windows. The entire place was designed like a military maze—just enough to confuse intruders, but not enough to trip trained bloodguards.
He reached the heavy double doors of the command chamber and knocked once.
“Enter,” came the reply. Gruff. Crisp.
He stepped in.
The room was cold. Not literally — but in aura. Maps and parchments lined the wall, detailing the entire city district in layers of magical ink. Standing at the head of the central table was Commander Thorne Velcrest.
He was tall, gaunt, and sharp-featured, with grey-streaked hair pulled into a strict ponytail and eyes like flint. His armor bore the insignia of two red swords crossing through a fang — the Velcrest family crest.
Thorne barely looked up.
“Ah. The prince,” he said. “I suppose I should bow.”
Kenneth didn’t flinch. “That’s not necessary.”
“Good,” Thorne said flatly. “Because I wasn’t planning to.”
Their eyes met. Cold. Calculating.
Thorne studied him. “You look younger in person. Smaller.”
“And you’re taller than I thought,” Kenneth replied calmly. “We done measuring?”
A flicker of a smirk tugged at Thorne’s lip, but it died quickly.
“You’re not here to smile and shake hands, boy. You’ve been assigned to support operations. That means you follow orders. You don’t lead. You observe. You do as told. Understood?”
Kenneth raised a brow. “If I’m to observe, maybe I’ll start by watching how efficiently this district is collapsing under your leadership.”
The silence that followed was thick.
Then Thorne gave a dry laugh. “You’ve got teeth. We’ll see if you’ve got the bite to match.”
He waved his hand toward a stack of scrolls and reports. “There was an incident in the eastern merchant quarter this morning. An illegal blood ring operating under a butcher’s stall. The guards sent were... less than effective.”
“How many men do you need?” Kenneth asked, already moving toward the scroll.
Thorne looked amused. “You volunteering?”
“I wasn’t sent here to warm a chair,” Kenneth said. “Give me the location and two guards.”
Thorne tilted his head. “Only two?”
“That’s all I’ll need.”
A pause. Then Thorne tossed him the scroll.
“Don’t die, Your Highness.”
Kenneth caught it and turned on his heel.
---
The ride to the merchant quarter wasn’t long. He took a simple blood-carriage drawn by darkmares, accompanied by two district guards: one a stern-eyed vampire named Velin, the other a younger recruit named Rusk who looked like he hadn’t stopped sweating since the assignment began.
They arrived just after noon, the streets already busy with food stalls, fabric merchants, and potion hawkers shouting over one another.
Kenneth stepped out.
He looked around. The scroll said the butcher’s stall on Ironfang Lane had been disguising its blood ring behind enchanted walls. Simple enough.
Velin approached, bowing slightly. “With respect, Your Highness, this could get messy. These rings don’t go down quietly.”
Kenneth nodded. “Good. I’m in the mood for a mess.”
They moved quickly. Within minutes, they’d reached the alley near the marked stall.
The butcher was nowhere in sight.
“Wards here,” Kenneth muttered, placing a hand near the wall. “Someone tried to mask the scent trail, but it’s sloppy.”
Rusk blinked. “You can... smell through wards?”
Kenneth didn’t reply.
He stepped back.
Then slammed his fist into the enchanted wall.
A ripple of red light burst outward, shattering the illusion. The wall faded—and revealed a staircase leading down into a bloody stone corridor.
Velin drew his blade. “Orders, Your Highness?”
“Follow me,” Kenneth said, already walking in.
---
What they found was more than a blood ring.
It was a small fortress, hidden beneath the quarter, with cages, arcane brands etched into the floor, and dozens of empty blood bags scattered across stone counters. It reeked of fear and rot. Black market blood-trading. Illegal experiments.
Kenneth moved with ghost-like speed, neutralizing two lookouts before they even raised an alarm. The guards followed, stunned at the precision.
Finally, in the lower chamber, they found the ringleader—a tall vampire with ceremonial scars across his chest and crimson robes, chanting a ritual over a terrified bloodling child.
Kenneth didn’t hesitate.
One step. Then another.
Then he vanished.
In the blink of an eye, he was behind the man. His hand gripped the back of the robed figure’s neck and slammed his face into the stone altar.
Blood splattered.
The child screamed and fled toward the guards.
Kenneth stood tall.
The robed man groaned beneath him.
“Who’s funding you?” Kenneth asked.
The man spat blood. “You don’t know what you're touching, boy. This city’s veins run deeper than your family’s throne—”
Kenneth’s boot came down hard.
Silence.
“I’m reporting this to Commander Thorne,” Kenneth said calmly. “Velin. Take the rest. Seal the tunnels.”
---
Back at the District Center, Thorne listened to the full report, his hands steepled.
He nodded once.
“You’re efficient.”
Kenneth didn’t respond.
Thorne stood. Walked toward the window. Then spoke, quieter this time.
“You’re not like your brothers.”
“I’ve been told.”
“You don’t need to prove yourself to me,” Thorne said. “But the next time you take only two men into a possible blood magic cell, try not to make me sign your death certificate.”
“I didn’t plan on dying,” Kenneth replied. “I have too much to do.”
Thorne turned and looked at him fully this time. Not as a boy. But as a weapon.
After a pause, he said, “Welcome to the District, Prince Kenneth. Let’s see how long you survive it.”
---
- Writer
