Third Person P.O.V.
The Makai estate is older than Soran himself, so if Soran has secrets then so does the estate. The first isn't a secret to everyone. Those such as the king, Lord Movell, and Lady Connte know of its existence; Soran's laboratory where he continues his research into The Unborn. However, there is another, a room that only Soran knows of for he destroyed the blueprints to the estate long ago. None other than him are alive that know of this secret.
In the library there are a great deal of oddities; endless shelving from one side to the next filled with knowledge. A great stone fireplace rests on the farside of the room with plush deep green couches that one can take a long nap in. The right wall is made up mostly of a stained glass window with the Makai house sigil; a burning shield with two crossed swords, reaching from floor to ceiling. A truly beautiful and intricate room that holds a secret to even more knowledge that only Soran has access to.
The stained glass window glistens bright in the sunlight. Soran stands before it, pressing the tip of his finger to the window while tracing the words; the end is always near. The Makai ancestors often quoted such a phrase before battle, reminding themselves that death was always near and not to fear it, or so Soran was told. The builders must have found the quote intriguing seeing as they enforced the window with magic. The sun warms the words until they are a soft white light on the window.
Soran steps aside, watching the light hit the center of the room where a circular mural rests. The room groans softly when the floor sinks, revealing a stone stairwell into the depths. Soran slips below with torch in hand to light his way when the entrance locks behind him.
The torches brighten as soon as Soran steps into the long and wide room beneath the mansion. There's dust in the air, floating through the warm firelight. Similar to his laboratory, this room is also filled with the world's oddities. There are enchanting tables, only of a much deeper and darker magic, resting on the far side of the room, some of stone and some of wood. Books line the shelves, books that are so rare even the royal family do not own them. Some are chained and locked tight, rattling when Soran passes them.
At the center of the room is glyph; a flame resting in the center of a large sphere. Beneath and above that flame are two curved lines that grow past the sphere. To the left and right are triangles with two spheres within them. The moment Soran steps on the glyph, the chipped white paint flashes a brilliant purple. Then the paint returns to what it once was; a clean white that hadn't been eaten away by time.
This is the room the spies are looking for. This is what the royals, and many others, wish to get their hands on. The knowledge Soran has of vilis, of vampires, of cursed books that were outlawed and burned by the Baylor's own ancestors centuries ago; Soran has many of them. Countless forbidden text and knowledge that he's been hiding from all that he could. Once he, too, was interested in it. But times change and he no longer wishes to delve into the consuming void.
Sadly, today will have to be an exception.
Soran lines the circle with candles and glyphs for each one. The entire time he works, he chants a broken language that casts an eerie purple hue to the room. Even the flames lessen until they snuff themselves out. Only the glyph remains, a brilliant violet that pulses as if it has a heartbeat of its own.
When Soran stands at the center, the entire room is consumed with sparks of purple. The candles roar higher with a searing black firelight. Soran's eyes go black, his veins pulse beneath his skin then Soran thinks of a single person and speaks their name, "Karsissia O'Shear."
He vanishes into darkness.
~~~~~~
Soran appears in the same glyph but a vastly different environment.
The Bloody Keep is what Karsissia calls her castle of red stone built into the mountain side. The spires reach high into clouds as black as night. Lightning rains from above, illuminating the red stones as deep and rich as blood. Arched windows and passageways with long, thin, and spiral peeks reach into the sky like claws. It makes the Makai estate look like a mere shack.
Soran stands within a half dome room. The outlook is an entire wall and ceiling made of windows and iron bars. Peering through the windows, one sees the land of Yvlacna, or rather the decaying land of Yvlacna. There is but harsh deep red and brown sand reaching as far as the eye can see. Soran hoped to never return yet he finds himself in the familiar red keep. A red keep with far more knowledge than Soran's own. There are tapestries and mechanical marvels hanging from walls and ceiling. Shelves upon shelves of books and tables upon tables of enchantment with crackling flames in jars and pulsating liquid.
What unsettles Soran most though is not the castle itself, but rather those within.
Two humans, or rather what's left of them, are working mindlessly within the enchanting room. Both have shaved heads, revealing gruesome scars along their scalp. Their eyes are a dull white, mindless, with drool slipping past bruised lips. Both move sluggishly, clean mindlessly, and don't even acknowledge Soran when he passes. He does his best not to acknowledge them either. There's nothing he can do for them anyways.
"Lord Makai," speaks a shivering man, at least he was once a man, beneath navy robes. His skin resembles rusted leather, fingers skeletal but long, black talons hang from their tips. An Unborn with a sly grin behind cracked lips and sharpened teeth that goes by the name of Belrox. "Our Queen has been waiting anxiously for your arrival."
"I'm sure she has."
Belrox snickers. The sound catches in the back of his throat; harsh and rough. He gestures behind him with a bow, "This way, My Lord."
Soran follows Belrox through the halls of The Bloody Keep. Although it has been centuries and some factors have clearly changed, the overall atmosphere remained the same. The halls are long and narrow with towering ceilings so that every step echoes in the vast darkness. The stone in which it's carved is sturdy and cold, like its master. There are iron bars twisted into stone and resting along stairwells.
What is most unsettling are the trophies Karsissia has kept and mounted throughout the castle. Bones of the dead, of those tortured and murdered within these walls. Sculptures, furniture, even chandeliers with melting candles have been created from clean, white bones to remind all what happens when Karsissia is crossed, or simply bored. Skulls of kings to commoners alike line the halls, though some appear to be fresh, so fresh that the blood is still dripping from their decaying skin.
Belrox leads Soran to the great hall, another long and narrow passage that surpasses any king's throne room. Stone columns hold up the pointed ceiling. Within the columns are skulls resting atop their remains, all placed in a viewable tomb. At the center of the room is a black granite table with three chairs but room for much more. Karsissia and Quelen are there, but not alone. There's a mortal girl on the table, legs and arms snapped like twigs so she can but lay there and wait for the inevitable.
"Soran," calls Karsissia from the head of the table. She stands with a beaming smile, arms outstretched in welcoming. "Thank you, Belrox, for retrieving him."
Belrox bows. He has not entered the great hall, and he won't. Karsissia would never allow him to dine anywhere near them.
"Come, have a seat," says Karissia, with an elegant wave of her clawed hand.
Karsissia has always held an air of elegance even when her torturous nature is seen. Her long red hair rests in curls to her waist while her eyes are far brighter crimson than Quelen or Soran's. Her lips match, a bloody red resting against skin as white as snow. The gown she wears is that of a Queen's, embroidered with ruby gems atop diamonds encircling her waist and neck. The fabric reaches to the floor, leaving a trail behind her. Atop her head is a circlet, silver in nature with a brilliant ruby at the center.
Karsissia has never had an issue flaunting her position either.
Behind the eldest vampire are two more mortals strapped to wooden posts, gagged and bound. When one attempts to scream, Karsissia slaps him so hard that the snapping of his jaw echoes in the hall.
"I apologize for the noise," she says with a heavy sigh, flicking her long red hair over a thin shoulder. "They'll be quiet soon enough. Sit. We've been waiting for you."
"My apologies for keeping you waiting," says Soran when slowly taking a seat across from Quelen.
Unlike Soran, Quelen doesn't come across as the least bit bothered. Not as excited as Karsissia either, rather neutral, as usual. His deep brown skin has been mostly covered in black ink so the red of his eyes stand out even more. His clothes are not as garrish as Karsissia's or expensive as Soran's, but rather normal leather of a traveler. There are belts and daggers and swords, a black cloak with a deep hood and a brown tunic. Both his feet rest in heavy boots atop the table, chair leaning back while he licks remnants of blood from his fingertips.
Quelen greets Soran with a nod. "It's been a while."
Soran returns the gesture. "It sure has, which has me curious as to why we've been summoned."
"Straight to the point, as always," Karissis giggles, tracing her nail along the jawline of the young girl resting before them. She whimpers in terror, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"I think it's best we eat first." Karsissia smiles at Soran. "What do you say? Should we skin her first?"
The girl whimpers out a plea that is ignored.
"If you're going to torture them then I will happily leave until you are finished," says Soran.
Karsissia suddenly slams Soran's face against the table. He grunts in shock, holding his nose that's now dripping blood. Karsissia's expression hasn't changed though when she says, "I decide whether you stay or go, Soran."
"Of course. My apologies."
"That's twice you've apologized and twice you haven't really meant it." Karsissia sighs. "You've always been the disappointment."
Soran snaps his nose back into place. It heals in mere seconds. Quelen watches from across the table, catching Soran's eye for a brief moment then turning away.
"Quelen is the only child that's any fun." Karsissia reaches out to gently caress his cheek. "But seeing as it has been so long since we've all been together, I'll humor you." She slits the girl's throat in one quick motion. There's only a few seconds of struggle before she rests idly on the table, eyes growing duller by the second.
"You take care of the other two then since you insist they not suffer." Karsissia huffs before tearing into the throat of her latest victim.
Soran rather not watch her feed anyways so he follows the orders given. Soon, all three mortals are dead. Their corpses are tossed aside afterwards, their blood staining the table until two of Karsissia's mindless servants stumble into the room to clean up the mess.
♱♱♱
So we know that Soran does have a secret room to all but himself, but we don't know more than that. And you've met the other vampires! What do you think of Karsissia and Quelen based on this brief meeting? Did you expect Soran to be treated this way by them? Why do you think Karsissia sees him as a disappointment? Next chapter will be a continuation of this so you'll see more of them, don't worry ;)
P.S. Check out my story —K if you want a cute read about secretive pen pals :)