Chronicles of a vampire hybrid

THE BLACK ASSASSIN

"Bring the royal physicians immediately!" the king roared, his voice cracking through the silence like thunder. The guards outside the royal chamber snapped to attention and raced off, the sound of their armored boots echoing down the marbled hallways. Inside the massive room lit by golden chandeliers and flaming torches, the king’s eyes remained fixed on the young man standing before him.

Elias, inside the prince’s body, stood in careful posture. His face showed confusion, just enough to match their expectations, but behind his calm expression, his mind was racing.

Within minutes, three elderly men in long blue robes entered the chamber. Each one carried scrolls, leather satchels filled with healing herbs, and strange metallic instruments that clinked softly with every step. The head physician, a man with a snow-white beard and eyes as sharp as eagle talons, stepped forward and bowed deeply.

"Your Majesty," he said with reverence, "we have examined the prince thoroughly."

The king gestured impatiently. "And? What is wrong with him?"

"He suffered trauma, likely from a fall," the physician explained gently. A heavy blow to the head. That would explain his lack of memory."

The queen gasped from her seat beside the king’s throne, covering her mouth as tears welled up. Princess Seraphina, still pale from days of mourning, let out a choked sob. Her delicate hands trembled in her lap.

"Will he recover?" the king asked, his voice low, almost afraid.

The physician hesitated, bowing his head. "There is no guaranteed cure, Your Majesty. Memory is a delicate thing. But with care, patience, and constant reminders of the life he once lived, he may find his way back."

The royal family sat in silence for a moment, their hearts torn between grief and hope. Elias glanced at them all, eyes unreadable. Every word was being stored in his mind, useful knowledge, information he could later exploit.

He wasn’t Alaric.

He wasn’t even royalty.

But he had been given a second chance.

And he wasn’t going to waste it.

Later that evening, under the soft glow of lanterns and the thick presence of unease, the king gave another command.

"Summon the palace priestess," he said to a nearby guard. I want answers. She told us my son was dead. Now he stands before me."

The guard bowed and quickly left.

Meanwhile, Elias was escorted to his chamber. The path there was long and elegant. Ornate stained-glass windows lined the hallway, casting colorful patterns across the polished marble floors. Golden sconces flickered with gentle flames. The air smelled faintly of lavender and old incense.

The door to his room was tall and made of finely carved oak. A soft white silk fabric, embroidered with the royal crest, was fixed in the center. Two guards flanked the entrance, one standing tall on either side, their swords sheathed but eyes alert.

Elias stepped inside and gasped quietly.

The chamber was unlike anything he’d known. A redwood floor shone under layers of polished wax. Thick blue carpets spread beneath his feet, soft and welcoming. A bed larger than any he'd ever seen stood in the center, draped with layers of silk, feathers, and gold-threaded blankets.

To the right, tall curtains hung beside a massive arched window. To the left, an entire wall of bookshelves stacked with leather-bound volumes reached toward the ceiling. A small sitting area with two velvet chairs and a low marble table sat by the fireplace.

He ran a hand across the surface of the bed, marveling at its softness.

He had never even imagined a room like this.

A servant stood silently to the right of the door. A guard remained on the left.

Elias cracked the door open and peered out. "Are you two going to stand there all night?"

"Yes, my prince," the servant said with a respectful bow. "If there is anything you need, please call."

Elias gave a faint, polite smile and closed the door again.

Moments later, he noticed a moving shadow through the silk-covered wood. Another figure was approaching.

A new guard stepped into position.

"I’ll take over," he told the other. The king has ordered escorts for the priestess. She’s arriving soon."

The first guard nodded and walked off.

Elias opened the door a bit. "Why is the priestess coming?"

The new guard bowed. "Your father, His Majesty, wishes to question her. She predicted your death, yet you have returned. He seeks clarity."

"Ah," Elias said softly, closing the door again.

But inside, his chest tightened.

The priestess.

She was said to have visions. To speak with gods. To see through souls.

Would she see through him?

Would she know he was not the real prince?

He sat down, staring at his reflection in the glass of the tall window. The firelight danced across the pane, showing him the face of another man,the face he now wore.

A curse? A blessing?

He rose and walked to the wardrobe. Inside hung rows of robes, formal garments, and cloaks embroidered with golden thread. But what he wanted was something darker.

He pulled out a plain black robe, quickly changed. Then he tore a long strip from the hem and tied it around the lower half of his face.

Opening the wide window silently, he climbed out. The palace rooftops were steep but manageable. He moved swiftly across the tiles, low and hidden beneath the moon’s pale light.

From the top of the west wing, he spotted her.

The priestess.

Dressed in white. Her grey hair braided and falling over one shoulder. Bells jingled softly on her ankles. She was walking toward the main entrance, escorted by four guards.

Elias narrowed his eyes.

"Four guards and an old woman," he muttered. "This won’t take long."

He leapt from the roof and landed silently behind them.

"Who's there?!" one of the guards barked, spinning around.

Elias struck fast. A swift kick knocked one man back. He snatched the fallen guard’s sword and spun.

Two clean slashes.

Two men dead.

The third came at him, yelling. Elias stepped aside, ducked, and sliced across his ribs.

Three down.

Only one remained.

Ken.

The tallest. The strongest. Known as the third-best swordsman in the realm.

Their swords clashed. Sparks flew in the night. Ken’s strikes were fast and deliberate,but Elias was faster. Smarter.

After three powerful strikes, Elias feinted low and cut upward.

Ken stumbled back, clutching his throat as blood poured between his fingers.

Then he collapsed.

The priestess was alone.

Elias turned to her, his blade dripping.

She backed away, her bells jingling with every fearful step.

"Are you trying to incur the wrath of the gods?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Elias chuckled, his eyes cold. "There are no gods."

She raised her arms and chanted.

"I curse you… I curse you! On the next blood moon, you shall die! Your heart will be ripped out of your chest"

He didn’t flinch. "Try again in the afterlife."

He thrust th

e sword through her throat. She gurgled and fell without another word.

Just then...

"Who's there?!" a voice called in the distance.

It was one of the guards patrolling.

Elias ran, and the guard blew a whistle, shouting 

"An assassin! An assassin has entered the palace!"