20 Accipiter
It is the dead of night, the silver gleam of a crescent moon casts shadows on the trees.
A thin tendril of smoke snaked its way into the inky sky from a small clearing in the heart of the dense forest.
The night air carried the faint scent of boiling game and vegetables. A meat from an unlucky bird. It should've flew faster.
Two figures sat near a campfire, their bodies clad in supple leather and loose-fitting garments, a seamless mix of attire designed for both agility and defense.
Upon their tunics, the unmistakable insignia of nobility rested proudly, a crest that bore the mark of House Constantine.
Any commoner in the vicinity would recognize it, for House Constantine was no ordinary noble family.
They were renowned hunters of supernatural monsters, a lineage that stretched back all the way to the grandeur of the Roman Empire, in an era long before the Kingdom of England had taken root.
Yet, the Constantines had not always been lords and ladies.
Merely two centuries ago, they had been but humble souls, their fortunes transformed when an ancestor distinguished himself as the Marshall of the Petty King of Wessex.
In gratitude of his great service, the king had granted their ancestor a vast tract of land, thus elevating them to the nobility.
Now, in the heart of the wilderness, the siblings formed a circle around a crackling campfire, the flames flickering in their eyes.
One of them, Julian, a broad-shouldered man with a weathered face, expertly brewed a hearty stew over the open flames, his hands deftly handling the bubbling cauldron.
Cecily, his younger sister, noticeable with her two long blonde ponytails, clumsily peeled a turnip with a sharp blade.
Julian, at the age of thirty-one, stood as the House Head of the family. Cecily, his half-sister, had entered his life shortly after his father's remarriage.
While others family members might have viewed her arrival with uncertainty, Julian had embraced her unconditionally from the very start. To him, there was no distinction between half or full-blood. Cecily was simply his sister.
As Cecily diligently peeled, her lips parted, and a sweet, haunting melody escaped a tune born of her own whimsy.
"Cecily," Julian's voice rumbled like distant thunder, breaking the nocturnal silence.
He gestured toward the turnip she was peeling, his brow furrowed in mild disapproval. "You need to do it better, with more care."
Cecily's eyes, the color of stormy seas, flashed with a flicker of irritation.
"I've never peeled a turnip before," she retorted, "That was always the servants' task."
Her brother, Julian, shook his head, "We're not in the confines of our estate anymore," he chided gently.
"This is the wilderness. If you're to become a hunter like me, you must learn to fend for yourself. It's a part of the training, a lesson in discipline."
Cecily's pert lips curved into a petulant pout, her ears tinged with a faint shade of crimson as she emitted a frustrated huff.
She decided to change the subject.
"Julian," she inquired, her voice softening as she looked up from her imperfectly peeled turnip, "Where's Matthew? He should be learning with me too."
Though she was three years older than her nephew, Cecily had always been a beacon of warmth and light in Matthew's world, even when he preferred the solitude of his own thoughts.
Even in the face of Matthew's occasional bouts of anti-social behavior, Cecily never wavered. She would find inventive ways to engage him. Cecily had nurtured an unbreakable bond with her nephew.
Julian's eyes softened with paternal concern. "Matthew is back at the estate," he replied.
"He's just fourteen. He's still a child. There's a balance to be struck between the responsibilities of our duty and his childhood."
Cecily sighed, her gaze momentarily drifting into the depths of the forest as if seeking answers among the whispering leaves.
Nevertheless, she mustered a small smile and placed her poorly peeled turnip on a worn tray, presenting it with undue pride.
"Done," she declared, her voice carrying a note of triumph despite the obvious imperfection.
Her brother, Julian, sighed in quiet defeat.
"How about you try stirring the pot?" he said, his voice carrying the weight of years of responsibility and a deep affection for his headstrong sister.
Cecily's eyes lit up with joy, and she nodded eagerly, her enthusiasm undiminished by her previous frustration.
With a newfound sense of purpose, she relinquished her place beside the pot and took up her brother's former task, stirring the simmering the soup within with a wooden spoon.
Meanwhile, Julian settled into the spot Cecily had vacated, his fingers adeptly wielding the knife.
He worked in silence for a moment, the scrape of the blade against the turnip's skin. The scent of the stew grew richer, promising warmth and sustenance in the midst of the night.
In the flickering light of the campfire, a sudden and ominous interruption shattered the tranquility of the night.
A massive, shadow loomed over the boiling pot, casting a shadow upon the clearing.
Before the siblings could fully comprehend the situation, an immense, burly figure descended with startling swiftness, crashing down upon the pot Cecily had been tending to.
The intruder was a vampire, standing a staggering seven feet tall, its skin a sickly shade of gray.
The impact sent a shower of sparks and embers into the air, and the pot, now overturned, spilled its contents in a hissing and sizzling protest.
In the blink of an eye, the Constantines sprang into action, their bodies moving with the practiced precision of seasoned hunters.
With lightning reflexes, they distanced themselves from the intruder, narrowly avoiding the fate of being crushed beneath the vampire's weight.
In their hands, weapons glinted menacingly in the firelight.
Cecily drew her bow, her fingers deftly notching an arrow, while Julian unsheathed a shortsword, its blade catching the dim glow of the moon.
But the intrusion was far from over.
From the shadows, two more vampires slithered into view, their forms smaller in comparison to the hulking giant but no less menacing.
Their eyes glowed with a predatory hunger, and their fangs and claws were unsheathed, glinting ominously in the darkness.
The giant vampire, their leader among the undead trio, sneered with sadistic delight, his voice reverberating with a guttural resonance that seemed to echo through the very bones of the forest.
"Today," he declared with a sinister grin, his eyes fixed on the Constantines, "is a feast, I crave the taste of Constantine blood"
The forest, once so serene, was now a battleground.
Cecily retorted, "Our blood doesn't taste good, I assure you."
She couldn't suppress a nervous chuckle, attempting to mask her fear with a touch of humor.
The enormous vampire, its grin widening in response to Cecily's jest, sneered, "I'll be the judge of that, little girl."
No more jokes. With lightning speed, Cecily's fingers danced over the intricately carved runes on her bow.
"Ecreip," she chanted.
The arrow she nocked glowed with an ethereal light as she released it, the projectile slicing through the air like a comet and finding its mark in the vampire's throat.
A guttural, unearthly howl pierced the night as the vampire clutched its neck, black blood oozing between its fingers.
Meanwhile, Julian, his eyes ablaze with courage, touched the ancient runes etched onto the silver blade of his shortsword.
"Etavitca," he murmured, and suddenly, the blade burst into a radiant golden flame, casting a warm glow upon his face.
With unwavering courage, Julian sprinted towards the two other vampires, his movements a blur of steel and determination.
His shortsword cleaved through the air, its golden flame leaving a trail of fire.
The large vampire, seething with fury and pain, launched itself at Cecily.
With grace, Cecily leaped aside, narrowly evading the onslaught.
In mid-air, she unleashed a volley of arrows that found their mark in the vampire's exposed back, each shaft sinking into undead flesh with a sickening thud.
A roar of agony echoed through the forest as the large vampire convulsed, its body wracked with a burning sensation that seemed to consume it from within.
Collapsing to its knees, it groaned in unbearable pain, its once formidable strength now reduced.
Meanwhile, Julian executed a daring maneuver, leaping onto the back of one of the smaller vampires.
In one swift motion, he raised his shortsword high and brought it down with force, severing the creature's head from its body.
A spray of black blood painted the forest floor as the vampire's lifeless form crumpled to the ground.
The remaining vampire, undeterred by its companion's demise, charged at Julian with a ferocious snarl.
Julian, agile as a panther, twirled to the side, narrowly avoiding the creature's slashing claws. Their clash became a whirlwind of steel and claw.
Cecily's hand found the cold touch of a silver cross necklace nestled within her pocket, its hums with holy energy.
"This is for my soup!" She lunged forward, wrapping the chain around the vampire's neck like a vise.
The moment the silver touched the creature's skin, it sizzled and smoked, the vampire howling in agony as its flesh burned beneath the purifying touch of the sacred metal.
With determination, Cecily chanted, "Hsa emoceb!" her voice ringing with an echo, then a golden magical circle appeared below them.
The chain glowed with a brilliant golden light, its radiance consuming the vampire in an divine fire.
In an instant, the monstrous creature was reduced to a pile of ash.
Cecily exhaled, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her hands still trembling from the adrenaline-fueled battle.
Meanwhile, Julian, with a swift and calculated strike, severed the remaining vampire's arm before plunging his sword deep into its heart.
The vampire convulsed one final time, its snarls of hatred silenced forever as it crumbled into nothingness, leaving behind nothing but a fading echo of its once fearsome presence.
With the immediate threat vanquished, Cecily sank to the forest floor, her chest heaving as she collected her breath.
The clearing, once filled with the tension of battle, was now calm, save for the dying embers of the extinguished fire.
Cecily, still flushed with adrenaline from the battle, let out an exasperated shout, her temper flaring like a sudden storm.
"They ruined my dinner!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying large frustration.
Her eyes, normally vibrant and lively, blazed with fiery ire as she gestured towards the ashes that had once been their stew.
Julian, his patience seemingly endless, breathed a sigh of confusion at his sister's sudden outburst.
He suggested calmly, "We could eat jerky for tonight, Cecily. It's sustenance, at least."
But Cecily wrinkled her nose in distaste, her lips forming a defiant line.
"I don't want jerky," she retorted, her tone resolute. "It tastes awful and has no seasoning besides salt."
Another sigh escaped Julian's lips, the sound carrying a mix of resignation and understanding.
"We don't have much choice now," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "Let's move. We'll find another camping spot and hunt fresh game tomorrow."
Cecily nodded, her annoyance subsiding, replaced by a determined glint in her eyes.
"Fine," she said, though not without a touch of lingering frustration.
"But this time, I'm choosing the spot. And it's your fault the soup got destroyed."
Julian merely smiled at his sister's accusation, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
"Fine by me" he said, his tone placating.
The siblings gathered their belongings, the leaves rustled as they ventured deeper into the depths of forest.
True to his word, Julian had hunted fresh game for their breakfast, and Cecily skillfully cooked the meat over an open flame, the savory aroma wafting through the quiet woods as they partook in their meal.
Their mission, fueled by Cecily's extraordinary magical abilities.
They were in pursuit of an immense source of magical energy she had sensed, an energy so potent it left a tingling sensation in her fingertips whenever she concentrated on it.
Magic had always come naturally to Cecily.
A magic prodigy from a young age, she had astonished Merlin by casting spells without the need for incantations. She is also hyper-sensitive to magic.
The only reason she chanted now was that she found it cool.
As they ventured deeper into the forest, their path led them to a village, its buildings charred and blackened by the cruel hands of fire.
A haunting silence hung in the air, broken only by the mournful creaking of abandoned structures.
Cecily's eyes narrowed in solemn recognition. "This is the place," she said, her voice serious.
She could feel it in her bones. This magic was not of human origin.
The sheer potency of the spells cast here surpassed even the abilities of her revered mentor, Merlin.
It was a force beyond mortal comprehension.
"I can sense two spells," she explained, her voice low.
"A summoning and a conjuring spell. This isn't just any sorcerer, Julian. This is someone immensely powerful. The schools of magic involved, especially when combined like this, are formidable. Even for me, mastering such spells would take years."
Julian's brows furrowed in deep contemplation.
"So we're dealing with a true master of the arcane," he murmured, his voice laden with trepidation.
Julian's concern deepened, his eyes reflecting the worry etched into his soul.
"Cecily," he said, his voice laced with caution and affection, "I brought you along because I trust your abilities. But if this magic is affecting you..."
Cecily cut him off with a reassuring smile, her confidence undeterred despite the faint signs of strain showing on her face.
"I'll manage, I promise. Besides, I'm the strongest" she declared, her voice resolute, her eyes aflame with determination.
Cecily had faced challenges before. This time, she vowed, would be no different.
She proposed, "Let's explore further. I need to understand the source of this magic and what we're up against."
Julian nodded, his trust in his sister unshaken despite his worry.
"Agreed," he said, his voice firm. "But stick close to me. We face this danger together."
Cecily grinned, her spirits lifting in the face of her brother's unwavering support.
"Of course," she replied, her tone teasing.
"I won't go anywhere without my trusty big brother by my side. After all, you make an excellent shield," she added, attempting to lighten the mood with a playful jab.
Julian chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
"Just make sure you don't have to use me as one," he replied, his smile belying the seriousness of their situation.
They then ventured deeper into the heart of the village.
Meanwhile on a different place during night. The city sprawled beneath the tapestry of a moonlit sky, aglow with an unusual fervor.
Laughter and revelry echoed through the cobblestone streets, rising like a melody, and the night hung heavy with the heady perfume of merrymakers.
Amidst the lively crowd, a figure stumbled out from the a bustling pub, his gait unsteady.
A bricklayer by trade, he wore a crooked grin on his face, his cheeks flushed crimson from the wine he had indulged in.
Desiring a moment of privacy, he veered sharply off the main street, his boots scuffing the cobbled stones as he sought refuge in the shadows.
Urgency gripped him as he unbuttoned his trousers, answering nature's call right there on the sidewalk, heedless of the world around him.
The man let out a satisfied sigh.
He continued on his way, swaying and hiccuping with each unsteady step, until something caught his bleary gaze.
Through the alcohol-induced fog that clouded his senses, he discerned a figure emerging from the darkness.
Clad in sumptuous silk garments, the stranger exuded an air of grace, an aura that marked him unmistakably as a person of noble birth.
"A highborn?" the drunk man slurred, squinting in a futile attempt to get a clearer look at the stranger.
The silk-clad man approached, his movements sinuous and deliberate. Without a word, he seized the drunkard by the shoulders, his fingers digging into flesh, sharp nails biting like the fangs of a serpent.
A low, guttural growl emanated from the depths of the stranger's throat as he pressed his bared teeth against the exposed neck of the drunkard bricklayer.
In that moment, the night fell silent, as if the very world was holding its breath.
The drunk man's eyes widened terror before succumbing to unconsciousness, collapsing into the cobblestone floor of the city.
When consciousness clawed its way back into his senses, the drunkard found himself in a nightmarish tableau.
Strapped tightly to a sturdy table naked, he was surrounded by a sea of faces, each one resembling the silk-clad highborn man he had encountered earlier, all draped in opulent garments that spoke of wealth and power.
The air was thick with the scent of iron and the echo of camaraderie.
He was far from alone.
Numerous others shared his fate, naked, bound, and immobilized like sacrificial lambs awaiting the slaughter.
Before them stretched a grand dining hall, resplendent with ornate chandeliers and exquisite tapestries, a scene fit for royalty.
Amidst the grandeur, a figure emerged at the hall's center
A woman of striking beauty, her skin grey pale, her blonde hair cascading like strands of spun gold. Her eyes, like twin pools of sapphire.
"Today," she announced, "we celebrate the 90th anniversary of our coven."
A collective murmur of approval rippled through the captive audience, and crystal-clear wine glasses chimed in harmonious response.
The room trembled with anticipation as the attendees raised their goblets high.
"To Coven Eaclair!" they exclaimed in unison, their voices ringing with fervor, "and to Lady Elisabeth! Long may she reign!"
Lady Elisabeth, the ruler of this assembly, acknowledged the tribute with a regal nod.
"Now feast" with a graceful gesture, she invited her guests to partake in the feast that awaited them.
As the man who had been tied down watched, a mixture of fear and realization flickered in his eyes.
What he had perceived as a celebration was, in fact, a feast that would not satiate hunger but quench a thirst.
Fear, was all he felt, he is the main course, his role in this affair was now an inescapable fate.
