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Across the Vale, in a secluded corner of the ancient fortress, preparations were underway for an entirely different ceremony.

By Nyrielle’s order, several corridors had been sealed and stood under heavy guard.

Commander Bassinger personally supervised the arrangements of dozens of soldiers with each one swearing on pain of death that nothing would pass their defensive line.

Behind them, heavy oak doors, bound with iron and barred with heavy timbers stood firmly shut against any intruders.

News of what would be happening beyond those sealed doors had been shared with only a select few, and of everyone assembled before the doors, only Commander Bassinger knew the truth.

That knowledge was both an honor and an incredible weight as he considered who should be standing in his place at the head of the guard.

On any other night, Thane would have stood as the final protector before the doors, ensuring nothing could interrupt an event that had taken place less than a dozen times since Nyrielle retook the Vale of Mists.

Now, however, with both Thane and Ignatious attending to Ollie’s vigil of knighthood, it fell to the merely mortal members of Nyrielle’s most trusted soldiers to fill the gap left by the undying knight.

Beyond those strong defenses lay one of the carefully preserved natural treasures of the ancient fortress, a cave cut by a mountain spring high above the fortress itself.

Centuries of erosion had opened a hole in the ceiling of the cave, allowing a steady stream of silvery water to carve its way through solid rock before splashing over a large boulder at the center of a pool nearly twenty paces across.

The water from the pool flowed onward from the pool, eventually reaching the ancient fortress’s vast cisterns, and for centuries, that alone was enough to make the water source an invaluable treasure to every Eldritch Lord of the Vale of Mists.

Two hundred years ago, however, this cave transformed when Orla, the former Baronness Willowcreek, chose to cultivate a garden filled with plants that could thrive in the limited light that poured into the cave through the opening in the ceiling.

Orla had struggled to let go of life, even though she accepted High Lord Torbin’s condition that she and her husband both become his progeny in order to be granted refuge against the Church and their crusade against human lords who advocated for cooperation with the Eldritch instead of conquest. In the days after she became a vampire, the cave at the back of the ancient fortress had become her place of refuge where she tried to fill the shadows and darkness with life that still yearned for just a bit of light.

Not long after her arrival, this cave also witnessed the birth of her daughter, Nyrielle, the first True Vampire born in centuries.

The plants that Nyrielle’s mother cultivated in those days had withered and died long ago, but Nyrielle tended the garden still, taking seeds and cuttings and ensuring the space was filled with echoes of the life of growing things her mother had nurtured in darkness.

Now, however, the space was anything but dark. Dozens of candles burned around the periphery of the cave, filling the space with a warm golden glow as if the setting sun had come to bestow a few minutes of fading, gentle light on the lush vines and gently swaying ferns that filled the cave.

The gentle mist flowing from the waterfall caught just enough of the flickering light to soften it, giving the entire chamber the feeling that events occurring here were seen through a gossamer veil, as if it were a glimpse of a dream and not something happening in the real, waking world.

It hadn’t been like this when Nyrielle brought Thane here. There had been no warmth in Nyrielle’s heart when she forced him to stand at the center of the pool, watching as the frigid waterfall robbed his body of the warmth of life. She’d promised him vengeance and he’d offered himself as her tool.

There had been nothing warm about the start of their relationship and she used this place to strip him of any warmth his body still possessed before she drank every last drop of rich, vigorous blood his body contained, leaving him no warmer than the corpse he resembled before she gave him back the tiniest breath of life.

Neither had there been warmth in this place when she brought Zedya here, nor Sybyll or Wolstan, and there’d been no light here when it was Marcel’s turn.

The candles would only have interfered with his ability to receive the Cloak of Darkness that came with his transformation into something balanced between life and Death.

But now, Nyrielle had changed, and the the person who would die tonight wouldn’t become her progeny, but Zedya’s instead.

Moreover, the bond between Zedya and Lennart wasn’t one forged on the basis of power and vengeance in her endless war against the Lothians and the Church.

This was a bond that was only possible because of the gift that flowed through her bond with Ashlynn, making it something far more rare and beautiful.

For a moment, Nyrielle wished that Ashlynn could be present for this moment.

The birth of a new vampire was something few would ever witness and at some point, it was something that she hoped to share with her lover.

Perhaps one day, she would even extend an offer to take in the Count and Countess Blackwell, giving Ashlynn’s parents a chance to escape from death and find security in the Vale of Mists the way her grandsire Torbin had taken in her own parents.

But for now, such decisions, like Ashlynn herself, were far away. Tonight, Ashlynn would begin the process of bringing Ollie into her coven, while Zedya would welcome the birth of her first progeny.

"Lennart," Nyrielle said, calling out to the loyal captain of her personal guard. Tonight, he had dressed formally, wearing a midnight blue tunic emblazoned with Nyrielle’s personal glyph of a raven’s wing and ax blade directly above his heart.

A midnight blue and silver sash of rank crossed his chest, secured in an intricate knot at his waist, highlighting his broad, powerful chest just as much as the well tailored tunic’s sleeves accentuated his powerful arms before giving way to a spill of pure white lace, concealing his wickedly sharp claws behind delicate softness.

"I know you’ve given your answer to Zedya already, but I’ll hear the words from you myself tonight before I release you from my service," she said, trying to maintain a trace of cold aloofness in this solemn moment, even though her heart was filled with warmth at what was about to happen.

"Once you accept Zedya’s bite," she said formally, "your days in the sun will end forever.

Your life will end and you will be confined to the darkness of night for as long as you can resist the pull of death.

The flesh of unthinking, unfeeling beasts will no longer sustain your life and only the blood of other thinking, feeling people will offer you the sustenance to ward off the endless call of the abyss. "

"I understand, my Lady," Lennart said, turning to look at the sole other occupant of the room.

For tonight’s ceremony, Zedya had dressed herself in black from head to toe, wearing a dress humans might have mistaken for funeral atire if not for the way the dress clung to her body with a corset that emphasized both her slender waist and thrust her humble bust upwarn like an offering of delicate peaches, ripe for the plucking.

Long lace gloves covered her hands, extending all the way up her arms before vanishing beneath the flowing satin of her butterfly sleeves.

"I’ve been uncertain about many things in life, my lady," the bearish soldier continued, peering through the black lace veil that hid Zedya’s face from view, revealing only her faintly glowing amethyst eyes. "But about this, I have no doubts."

"Zedya," Nyrielle said, turning to her progeny and smiling as she lost her ability to hold back the joy she felt at seeing one of the children she’d nurtured for so many decades finding the same sort of happiness she found in Ashlynn’s loving embrace.

"I have faith in you," she said gently. "But if he fails in this, you will lose this man tonight. He is still young and you could enjoy many more years together without taking this step. Are you certain that you wish to take this risk?"

"Nothing is certain in life, Mistress," Zedya said without looking away from Lennart’s soft, kind brown eyes. The scar on his face from his recent battle at the Tangled Tower still pained her and it would serve as an eternal reminder of the wounds he suffered protecting her and Nyrielle over the decades they had known each other. It was also a reminder of just how close to death he had come, and how close she’d been to losing someone who meant more to her than she’d understood until recently.

"Nothing is certain," she repeated. "But I believe that my Lennart is stronger than I was when you brought me here, Mistress.

And if he fails, then at least we have both done everything we can for a chance at lasting happiness together instead of flinching in fear over what we might lose.

So long as he will take the risk, I will give him the chance so that we may be together for as long as we can resist the call of the abyss. "

"Very well," Nyrielle said, smiling at them both. "Then, let us begin..."