Page 2 of Tower of Ash and Darkness (Tower of Ash #1)
LAILAH
“ L ailah, hurry!” Sera’s voice rings out, clear and bright, piercing the cool stillness of the concealed staircase in the west wing.
We descend quickly, our satin gowns whispering against the stone walls, their flowing fabrics trailing like shadows.
Slender windows, half-hidden by the ivy creeping along the exterior, let in slivers of moonlight that pool across the worn steps.
The soft glow casts pale reflections on the walls, illuminating dust motes that shimmer like drifting stars.
The air is heavy with anticipation, carrying faint traces of fresh earth and the promise of blooming roses from the gardens below. Sera moves with a graceful urgency, her ivory dress catching the faint light, while my gloved fingers stretch toward her arm.
“Wait for me!” I call out, breathless, laughter spilling over my words as she bursts through the hidden door leading to the garden gate.
Warm summer air envelops us, the heat clinging to my skin as beads of sweat form at my nape. We race across the west wing gardens, guided by the soft glow of lanterns. My legs tangle in the voluminous black skirts swirling around me, and I struggle to match Sera’s swift pace.
Suddenly, Sera halts, her figure standing in stark contrast to the ivy-draped wall.
Without hesitation, she lifts the hem of her gown and slips off her delicate heels, letting them fall with a soft thud onto the grass.
She turns, golden hair spilling over her shoulders, and arches an eyebrow, daring me to follow her lead.
She always did this—found the smallest rebellions and made them feel like freedom. We used to run barefoot through the palace gardens as children, pretending we were wild things, untamed and unbreakable. It made us feel alive, like nothing could touch us.
But we were not children anymore.
The world had changed. We had changed. And yet, in moments like this—when Sera slipped off her shoes and looked at me with that same daring, reckless grin—it felt like we could reach back and steal a piece of that innocence, if only for a breath.
“Fine,” I mutter, stooping to unlace my boots. The satin of my gown pools around me like spilled ink as I fumble with the stubborn knots.
Sera’s laugh is light and melodic as she leans over to steady me.
“You know,” she teases, her voice warm, “heels might’ve been the smarter choice for that dress.”
I smirk, finally kicking off the last boot and freeing my feet. When I rise, Sera’s striking blue eyes are locked on me, lit with quiet amusement. In her hand, she holds something—a dark, intricate mask that glimmers under the moonlight.
“Where did you find this?” I ask, my fingers brushing the cool surface as I take it from her.
The foxlike mask is exquisite—a masterpiece of black beads and delicate feathers, arranged in sharp lines that echo a predator’s poised silhouette.
Its narrow eye slits promise a veiled view of the world, teasing mystery.
I have worn many masks in my life, though none quite like this.
This one is not a burden—it is freedom. Behind it, I am unbound, no longer a princess, no longer a name weighted by consequence.
Here, in the hush of the night, I am unseen, undefined.
The mask allows me to be anyone, or perhaps no one at all.
It grants me the rarest gift—anonymity in a world that demands I be everything but invisible.
To those who meet my gaze, it is an invitation to wonder, to unravel the mystery stitched into the delicate details. A mask is not just a disguise—it is a game, a barrier, a thrill of something unknown.
Sera has already donned her own mask, feline and elegant, with golden detailing that highlights her features.
Even hidden, her beauty remains magnetic, untamed.
A soft laugh escapes me, exhilaration blooming within me.
We move in silence, our steps swallowed by the shadows that cling to the stone walls.
The corridors twist and turn, pressing in like the weight of expectation I am desperate to shed.
Each careful step, each passage we slip through, brings us closer to the threshold between the world we know and the world we crave.
Sera moves beside me, her mask reflecting the faintest glint of torchlight as she tilts her head, listening for the echo of approaching footsteps. We exchange a conspiratorial glance, excitement in our eyes as we peek around the corner, scouting our path to freedom.
The flickering torches from the guard towers cast long, searching beams across the courtyard, sweeping dangerously close, but we move with precision, melting into the darkness before they can catch us. Every pause, every held breath, pushes us forward.
At last, the towering walls give way to open air, and beyond them, the distant murmur of life calls to us—laughter, music, the promise of possibility.
The bridge stretches ahead—a fragile tether between who I am and who I might become, if only for tonight.
My fingers tighten around the edges of my mask, and with a breathless smile, I fasten it into place, letting its shape mold to me as I step into the night.
Tonight, the festival is ours. My father, the Vampire King, is preoccupied with matters that will hold his attention until dawn. This rare opportunity is a gift, and Sera’s confidence is contagious as she grips my hand and we dart toward the bridge linking the castle to the village .
Bathed in silvery moonlight, the bridge’s ancient stone surface has been worn smooth by centuries of footsteps.
We quicken our pace, our steps blending with the nocturnal hum around us.
Above, the full moon casts a radiant glow, eclipsed only by a comet streaking across the heavens—a celestial event rare even to vampires, but to the humans in the village, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime miracle.
Sera links her arm through mine, grounding me as the cool river breeze tempers the summer’s warmth.
Ahead, the village comes alive—a patchwork of light and sound.
Lanterns sway above cobblestone streets.
Vibrant music fills the air, mingling with the laughter of dancers and the lively hum of taverns.
Eight summers have passed since King Clyde claimed me as his daughter, and I haven’t ventured beyond the castle gates since he brought me here no more than fourteen years of age.
That was the moment my life shifted from harsh survival to privilege, though the scars of my childhood never fully healed.
Before the king rescued me, I lived under the cold, watchful eye of my stepmother. Her disdain was a constant shadow, her words laced with venom that seeped into my bones.
“You’re lucky I saved you,” she’d sneer, her gaze flicking to the gloves that hid my scarred hands. “No one else would have wanted the cursed child of Astral.”
After the fall of the human royal family, everything changed.
What little power the humans clung to was stripped away, their territory absorbed by the vampire courts.
Astral, once a kingdom ruled by a lineage of daylight, now belonged to the night.
Vampires declared dominion not just over the lands, but over history itself, rewriting it in blood.
Castle Astrelis was reduced to ruin, and in its place rose Duskmere Keep—the new seat of cold, merciless power.
The Vampire King had become the sovereign ruler of a realm built atop ash and bone.
He allows the humans to live within the city walls, claiming mercy, though it’s anything but.
Their existence is a performance, a reminder that survival is permitted, not promised.
The city pulses with life—both human and vampire—but the balance is fragile.
Humans serve as workforce, entertainment, and when needed, sustenance.
Feeding rights are regulated under the King’s rule, but enforcement is selective, and kindness is merely another mask he wears.
All vampires fall under his dominion. He wields them as weapons, pawns bent to his will.
In Astral, loyalty isn't earned—it's demanded.
Vampires are born with sharp instincts and sharper loyalties, and Clyde ensures that neither ever stray.
Once, vampiric bloodlines were sacred—descendants of dominant houses who bore the right to procreate.
Vampires could only reproduce with their own kind, and even then, only certain bloodlines carried the power to birth trueborns.
These children, born seemingly human, would awaken into their vampiric nature at a certain age, often marked by a sudden hunger or an unnatural strength.
But no species ever mixed. Vampires, humans, and witches remained separate, divided not just by blood, but by centuries of tension and war.
Vampires were hunted in the early days, feared and reviled, making each pureblood line fiercely protective and insular.
Now, most of those noble lines are gone—extinct or erased—and turning a human has become the only way to expand the ranks.
Clyde, however, forbids it. No one is permitted to turn another. He assures it is to preserve balance, but in truth, it's about control. If no new vampires rise, then all that remains belongs to him.
It is said in the oldest stories, passed down in half-whispers and fading script, that it wasn’t always like this.
Long before the fall, vampires, humans, and witches lived side by side.
Not in peace, but in coexistence. Each species remained separate, bound by blood and tradition, but their worlds touched at the edges.
Witches belonged to covens, their power shared through family circles, while vampires were ruled by ancient bloodlines, and humans by crowns.