Eternal Night Symbiosis

Chapter 5: Undercurrents

The cold metal plate pressed against her forehead, and that fleeting illusion of distant, sunlit warmth vanished in an instant, leaving only a more piercing chill. Vivian clutched the star-shaped pendant around her neck, its rough edges digging into the palm of her hand. “Together forever…” That innocent childhood promise was like a rusty key—far from clearing the fog before her, it only twisted the lock’s mechanism into further chaos. Selena’s capricious cruelty, the butler Norton’s indifference, the maid Lena’s venomous hostility, and this prison where even the air reeked of decay—how could any of this stem from that promise made in the sunlight?

She forced herself away from the window and curled back into the armchair. The fireplace remained cold, and the thin blanket could not dispel the chill seeping into her very bones. She needed to calm down, to think. The safety of the settlement was her only weakness—and the sole reason she willingly wore these invisible shackles. Selena… She mulled over the name—the little girl with the radiant smile in her memories, and the moody vampire lord before her now, like two utterly different souls forcibly stitched into the same body. Was the twisted possessiveness her telepathy had detected the very stitches that held them together?

The days that followed crawled by in a suffocating silence. Every day, Lena delivered that unappetizing “food” on the dot, her eyes never losing an ounce of their contempt and disgust, as if Vivian’s very existence were a desecration of the Blood Clan’s nobility. Vivian learned to remain silent. She learned to seize the deeper malice that flashed across Lena’s mind the instant she set down the tray and turned to leave—“The Elders will soon dispose of this nuisance.” Another fragment, silently piecing together the undercurrents within the vampire clan.

Vivian had tried to leave the room. The heavy oak door was unlocked, but when she pushed it open a c***k, Norton appeared silently from the shadows of the deep corridor, like a stone statue, his vacant gaze fixed on her.

“Miss Vivian,” his voice was flat and unemotional, yet carried an unquestionable refusal, “Your movements are restricted to this area. Please return.”

She retreated back into the room, closed the door, and leaned against the cold panel. Her movements were restricted to this space… the prison of the contract was far more solid than she had imagined. She began to pay attention to the sounds outside the door. The interior of the estate was not entirely silent. Occasionally, she could hear a faint, inhuman screech in the distance—like some kind of beast, yet carrying an indescribable eeriness. More often, however, there were the faint, ghostly footsteps shuffling through the corridors—belonging to the pallid servants of the Bloodline. They seemed to follow some strict schedule, silent and efficient.

It wasn’t until the third day that the stagnant, prison-like existence was shattered by an unusual commotion.

It was a low, persistent hum, as if countless giant insects were flapping their wings in the distance, penetrating the thick stone walls and metal panels to faintly reach the room. Immediately afterward came the dull thud of a heavy object striking the manor’s outer walls—once, then again, in rapid succession, with an unsettling rhythm. The ground seemed to tremble slightly.

Vivian jumped to her feet and rushed to the sealed window, pressing her ear against the cold metal plate in a futile attempt to hear better. The sounds grew clearer—the hum was now intermixed with shrill, inhuman screams, and the thuds were coming from different directions around the estate! Her heart clenched suddenly. An attack? Aliens? Or… an internal upheaval within the Blood Clan?

The commotion lasted about fifteen minutes before gradually subsiding. Dead silence returned, but the air seemed charged with a taut, string-like tension. Vivian paced restlessly until there was a knock at the door. This time it wasn’t Lena, but Norton.

“Miss Vivian,” the butler said, his face as expressionless as ever, “the Lord requests your presence. Please follow me.”

She followed Norton, once again traversing the labyrinthine, gloomy corridors. This time, she keenly sensed something different. Mixed into the musty, sweet-salty scent in the air was a faint yet exceptionally pungent whiff of sulfur. Some of the dull metal decorations on the walls appeared to bear several fresh, deep scratches. Deep within the corridors, several vampire servants were silently scrubbing the floor; the liquid in the silver buckets had taken on an ominous dark red hue.

Norton led her to an obsidian door—far larger than the door to her cell—carved with menacing bat wings and thorn patterns. The muffled sounds of a heated argument drifted faintly from within.

“…This is utterly preposterous! Lord Selena!” A voice—aged yet shrill—pierced through the door, brimming with undisguised fury. “To enter into a symbiotic pact with a lowly human? And bestow upon her the title of ‘bride’? You are defiling the noble bloodline of the Blood Clan!”

“The Council will never condone such blasphemy!” another, even darker voice interjected. “That human is nothing more than a walking blood meal. What right does she have to share the power of the contract with you? Let alone reside in the heart of Mist Manor!”

Norton pushed open the heavy stone door with a blank expression.

The sight inside the door took Vivian’s breath away. It was a hall even more magnificent—and oppressive—than the chapel. The vaulted ceiling soared high, from which hung massive bone chandeliers burning with* blue flames, casting a flickering, icy light. At the far end of the hall stood a throne built from a pile of black bones, upon which Selena sat. She had changed back into her dark red lord’s gown, her long hair meticulously pinned up to reveal a pale, flawless profile. Her eyelids were slightly lowered, and her fingertips tapped intermittently against the dark red gemstones inlaid into the throne’s armrests. Her posture was languid, yet she exuded an aura of authority so overwhelming that one dared not look upon her directly.

Below the throne stood three vampires clad in ancient black robes. Their faces were gaunt, their eye sockets sunken, their skin clinging to their bones like dried parchment, and they exuded a stench of decay a hundred times more intense than that of Nodton and Lina. The elder at the head—the very one who had just issued that sharp rebuke—clenched a twisted bone staff in his gaunt fingers. Its pommel was set with a murky yellow gemstone, which now trembled slightly with rage. The other two elders—one with a menacing glare, the other expressionless—both fixed the throne with gazes brimming with disapproval and skepticism.

Vivian’s arrival was like a pebble cast into a seemingly calm, deep pool. The gazes of the three elders pierced her simultaneously; the coldness, loathing, and n***d murderous intent in their eyes were a thousand times more terrifying than Bilina’s hostility. Vivian felt as though an invisible venomous snake had coiled around her neck, leaving her almost unable to breathe. She instinctively looked toward Selena.

Selena finally raised her eyes. Her dark red gaze swept over Vivian without a flicker of emotion, as if she were nothing more than an insignificant piece of furniture. Then, her gaze returned to the head elder.

“Elder Arcadia,” Selena’s voice was not loud, yet it clearly cut through the lingering buzz in the hall, carrying an unquestionable chill. “Since when have my decisions required the approval of the Council of Elders?”

Elder Arcadia’s withered face twitched, and the rage in his cloudy yellow eyes flared even brighter. “Selena! Do not forget your station! Mist Manor is one of the Twelve Ancient Castles of the Bloodline; its master must act in accordance with the traditions and honor of the Bloodline! Granting shelter to those human ants was already an exception—and now, to go so far as…”

“Tradition?” Selena interrupted him softly, a faint, icy curve forming at the corner of her mouth. “Elder Arcadia, are you referring to the ‘tradition’ gnawed down to bare bones by the Abominations, or the ‘honor’ tortured to the brink of death by the Curse of the Red Moon?”

She rose slowly, her dark red gown flowing like blood. Step by step, she descended the stairs of the Skeleton Throne, her high heels striking the icy floor with a crisp, lonely echo. An invisible aura of authority spread with her every step, causing the three elders to involuntarily take a half-step back.

“The number of aberrations on the estate’s outskirts is growing.” Selena stopped before Elder Arcadia, her dark red eyes fixed on his cloudy gaze, her voice low and dangerous. “Their claws have just scraped against the outer walls of our proud ‘ancient castle.’ “What is the Council’s opinion on this? Do you intend to use those rotten ‘traditions’ to reform them, or rely on so-called ‘glory’ to withstand their fangs?”

Elder Arcadia’s face turned an ugly shade of purple, the knuckles of his hand gripping his bone staff turning white. The other two elders were equally ashen-faced.

“The aberrations are nothing more than a scabies-like affliction!” Elder Yinzi couldn’t help but speak up, “As long as we eliminate the source of that filthy aura attracting the aberrations…”

“Enough.” Selena’s voice suddenly turned icy, like a polar wind sweeping through the hall. Her gaze swept over the three elders, carrying a condescending indifference. “Vivian Bai is my Contract Bride, the mistress of Mist Manor. Her existence and her status are bestowed by me. Any questioning of this is a questioning of my authority.”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze finally settling on Vivian once more. Her eyes remained icy, yet now held a tone of unquestionable declaration: “As for whether she is qualified… if I say she is, then she is.”

The hall fell into a deathly silence. Only the* blue bone fire flickered silently, casting the distorted shadows of the crowd onto the cold walls. The three elders looked utterly grim. Elder Arcadia’s lips trembled, as if he still wanted to say something, but ultimately, under Selena’s icy stare, it dissolved into a suppressed, cold snort.

“My Lady,” Norton’s flat voice rang out at just the right moment, breaking the stalemate. “The cleanup of the outer perimeter is complete. The corpses of the aberrations require disposal.”

Selena withdrew her gaze, as if neither Vivian nor the Council of Elders were worth her attention anymore. “Dispose of them according to standard procedure,” she ordered indifferently, turning to walk back toward the Skeleton Throne.

The three elders exchanged a glance, their eyes brimming with resentment, anger, and a barely perceptible hint of apprehension. In the end, they said nothing more, merely bowing slightly toward Selena’s retreating figure—a gesture that was less a formal salute and more a sign of temporary concession—before silently exiting the hall.

The heavy stone doors closed once more, sealing off the outside world. Only Selena, Vivian, and Norton—standing by like a shadow—remained in the hall.

Vivian stood frozen in place, her hands and feet ice-cold. The scene from moments ago—the elders’ undisguised murderous intent, Selena’s cold and unyielding defense, and that accusation of “bringing in the tainted aura of the Otherkind”—all weighed on her heart like heavy stones. Selena’s protection did not come without a price. She and the humans she represented had long since become the focal point of power struggles within the Blood Clan and the prime target of attacks by the Otherkind.

Selena did not look at her again, merely rubbing her temples wearily and waving her hand. Norton immediately stepped forward, gesturing for Vivian to leave.

Back in that metal-barred cell, Vivian slid down the door and sat on the floor. The Elders’ hostility felt like tangible ice, while the threat of the Hybrids hung over her head like a sharp blade. Selena… she had defended her, declaring her ownership in the coldest possible way. But Vivian could not feel the slightest sense of relief. Selena’s weariness on the throne, the dignity she had forced herself to maintain before the Elders, and those words about the Outcasts and the Curse of the Red Moon… all of it caused the confusion in her heart to grow like wild vines.

Night (according to the estate’s clock) fell once more. The light from the wall lamps seemed dimmer than ever. Vivian could not sleep; everything that had happened during the day churned endlessly in her mind. She curled up in the armchair, her fingers unconsciously stroking the star-shaped pendant around her neck. “Forever together…” The thought no longer brought confusion, but a heavy, blood-tinged sorrow.

Just then, a series of extremely faint footsteps—almost completely absorbed by the carpet—passed through the hallway outside the door. The footsteps were light and swift, carrying a deliberate air of secrecy—nothing like Norton’s stiff, measured stride, nor those of Lena or the other servants.

Vivian’s heart leapt. She held her breath, crept silently to the door, and pressed her ear against the cold panel.

The footsteps did not pause but quickly faded away, heading… seemingly toward the deeper recesses of the estate.

A thought struck her like a bolt of lightning—Selena!

Did she leave her room every night? Norton had said she must not leave, especially at night… could this be what he meant?

Intense curiosity and an indescribable impulse drove her on. Vivian took a deep breath and turned the doorknob gently, slowly. The oak door slid open silently, revealing a narrow c***k.

The dimly lit corridor was deserted, illuminated only by the flickering, sallow glow of the wall sconces. A faint, cloying scent lingered in the air—a mixture of withered roses and rust—Selena’s scent.

Vivian’s heart pounded like a drum. She sidestepped out the door, barefoot, and like a startled cat, slipped silently into the shadows of the corridor. Guided by that faint scent and her instincts, she set off in the direction the footsteps had vanished.

The corridor wound downward; the air grew colder and damp, and the smell of sulfur seemed to grow heavier. She passed through archway after archway, past row upon row of tightly shut doors carved with eerie patterns. The depths of the estate were like the belly of a giant beast, terrifyingly silent.

Finally, at the end of a narrower, seemingly rarely used side corridor, she spotted the figure.

Selena stood with her back to her, in front of an unremarkable small door that appeared to lead to the servants’ quarters. She had shed the lord’s finery and was wearing a black, form-fitting outfit that allowed for easy movement, covered by a dark gray hooded cloak with the brim pulled down low, obscuring most of her face. She seemed to be holding something in her hand, though it was indistinct in the dim light.

She appeared ready to push open the small door.

Vivian hid in the shadows of the corner, clamping her hand tightly over her mouth, afraid to let even a whisper of breath escape. Where was Selena going? In the dead of night, avoiding everyone—perhaps even the eyes and ears of the Council of Elders?

Just as Selena’s hand was about to touch the doorknob, she seemed to sense something and froze abruptly. She turned her head slightly; from the shadows beneath her brim, those dark red eyes—like two cold stars—swept sharply toward the corner where Vivian was hiding!

A cold, almost tangible gaze pierced through the shadows, locking onto her with precision.