Southern Sea Sun Palace

I knew exactly what that red sun symbol represented. 

The Southern Sea Sun Palace—a relic of a bygone age, clinging to the edges of relevance on its secluded island between the Eastern and Southern continents. Once a bastion of pride and power, it now stood as a fading memory, its glory dimmed like embers that refused to reignite. 

This palace wasn't just another forgotten remnant of history. It belonged to a faction that had deliberately severed itself from the world. Even in our hyperconnected age, the Southern Sea Sun Palace remained an enigma—an isolated stronghold, rejecting any ties to the global web of nations, economies, and alliances. Their self-imposed exile spoke volumes, not of strength, but of wounds too deep to bear in the open. 

The reason for their retreat was no great mystery. Their pride—once a roaring blaze—had been utterly trampled, leaving only the ashes of humiliation. 

The Southern Sea Sun Palace had aspired to become the pinnacle of fire arts, the undisputed masters of flame. But when they ventured South, seeking recognition and dominance, they encountered the true overlords of fire: the Viserions. 

Blessed by the dragons themselves, the Viserions embodied flames that were more than heat and destruction; they were a primal force, an elemental might that could not be contested. Against such overwhelming power, the Southern Sea Sun Palace's own fire arts seemed feeble, mere sparks in a dragon's storm. The Viserions didn't merely defeat them—they annihilated their ambitions, driving them from the Southern continent altogether. Forced to retreat, the once-proud palace was pushed to a lonely island far from the lands they had sought to conquer. 

But the humiliation didn't end there. The Gu clan of the East, another great house of fire, rose to prominence. While the Southern Sea Sun Palace licked its wounds, the Gu clan surpassed them, solidifying their place as the Eastern masters of flame. For the Southern Sea Sun Palace, it was a final blow—a reminder that even as they retreated into obscurity, the world moved on, and others took the mantle of greatness they had once coveted. 

Adding to their woes was the collapse of the other four Palaces, once part of a grand alliance that spanned the seas. The Northern Sea Ice Palace, for instance, had been destroyed by cults whose motives were as chilling as their methods, leaving the Southern Sea Sun Palace as the last remnant of a bygone era. 

And so, burdened by their failures and eclipsed by stronger, more enduring forces, the Southern Sea Sun Palace turned inward. Their once-bold flames now burned behind high walls and closed doors, hidden from the world that had bested them. What was left of their pride was locked away on their island, where they could pretend the world beyond their shores didn't exist—a quiet denial of the fires that had consumed their legacy. 

It was no wonder so little was known about them now. History had long since moved on, and the Southern Sea Sun Palace had chosen to watch it pass, embers smoldering in silence. 

Nobody truly knew the power of the Southern Sea Sun Palace. Their isolation was absolute, their secrets guarded as fiercely as a dragon guards its hoard. For all the world knew, they could have a Radiant-ranker as their Lord, cloaked in the obscurity of their self-imposed exile.

Such was the nature of the Palace's detachment from the world. They maintained a complete firewall—not just metaphorical, but literal—ensuring no citizen could leak even the smallest detail to the outside world. The Internet, the great equalizer of the modern age, was a tool they had rejected entirely, severing any possibility of communication beyond their shores.

Of course, I knew about the Southern Sea Sun Palace—not through any recent rumors or intelligence, but because I had read about them in the novel.

In their prime, they were formidable. The Lord of the Palace was an Immortal-ranker, albeit only at the lowest levels of that rank. Their strength was respectable but fell short of the five great families and the three dominant sects of the East. Yet within their tightly held territory—a sizeable and self-sustaining island—they ruled unchallenged. Their grip was ironclad, their influence absolute, and their flames burned brighter than most.

But in the novel, they were the first to fall to the vampires.

It hadn't been a war, not in the conventional sense. The vampires, ever patient and insidious, didn't attack with armies or open threats. They corrupted the Palace from within, preying on their desires and ambitions. Slowly, methodically, the Southern Sea Sun Palace's defenses were compromised, and its people turned. By the time the world realized the vampires had returned, it was too late—the Palace was gone, its once-proud flames extinguished.

Their fall marked the first triumph of the Vampire Monarch's return, though no one knew it at the time. When emissaries from the Kagu family ventured to the Palace to seek aid against the rising tide of vampires, they found only ruin. The Southern Sea Sun Palace had been consumed, its people overtaken, long before anyone in the world realized the vampires were still alive—let alone organizing.

The problem was that I didn't know when this had happened.

The timeline in the novel was vague, frustratingly so. The Palace's fall was mentioned almost in passing, a historical note in a larger narrative. What little detail was given indicated that their destruction had occurred long before the Vampire Monarch rose to power. By the time the Kagu emissaries reached the island, there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what had once been.

If the Southern Sea Sun Palace, with all its power and its Immortal-rank Lord, had fallen so completely, it meant one thing: a Vampire Ancestor of mid Immortal-rank had been at work. In the world of vampires, Ancestors were beings of terrifying strength and cunning, and a mid Immortal-ranker would be a match even for the strongest of humanity's protectors.

For me, the message was clear: this was not a fight I could join.

A mid Immortal-rank Vampire Ancestor could obliterate me with the flick of a finger. Even Professor Nero, formidable as he was, would struggle to hold his own against such a creature. As much as I wanted to interfere, to change the course of events I knew were coming, I wasn't nearly strong enough.

Worse still, the timeline was an unknown variable. Was the corruption already underway? Were the flames of the Southern Sea Sun Palace already burning low, dimmed by the creeping shadow of vampiric influence? Or did I still have time, however little, to warn them—or prepare for what was to come?

The questions turned in my mind, but the answer was always the same. Right now, I could do nothing but stay away. As much as it stung my pride, I had to bide my time. The Southern Sea Sun Palace's fall was a tragedy, but charging headfirst into the jaws of an Ancestor was nothing short of suicide.

But at the same time, I realized I could set things in motion. 

We had Magnus Draykar, after all. The thought of him alone was enough to inspire a flicker of hope. Magnus wasn't just a force to be reckoned with—he was a calamity in motion, capable of taking down the majority of the Red Chalice cult and their vampire allies almost singlehandedly. If anyone could shift the tide against this shadow, it was him. 

I glanced down at the mayor, still slumped and defeated, his arrogance crushed but his secrets not yet fully exposed. He wasn't just a cog in the machine; he was evidence—a living, breathing piece of the puzzle that could force people to pay attention. The red sun symbol on his wrist confirmed the connection to something far larger than this town, something that demanded action. 

"This will do," I muttered to myself, gripping the mayor by his collar and hauling him upright. His protests were weak, little more than mumbled indignation, and I silenced them with a glare. He wasn't in any position to negotiate anymore. 

It was time to have a serious discussion—and where better than Starcrest Academy? With Magnus Draykar on our side, and the resources of the Academy behind us, we could make the kind of ripples that even the Red Chalice cult would feel. 

I turned to Cecilia and Ava, who had been watching in tense silence. "We're taking him back with us," I said, my voice firm. "This isn't just about Windmere anymore. It's bigger than this town, bigger than any of us. We need to make people understand what's coming." 

Cecilia nodded, her expression resolute. Ava glanced at the mayor, her gaze sharp and unforgiving, but she said nothing. 

As we stepped out into the cold night, the weight of what we'd uncovered settled over me. The road ahead was going to be long, and the enemies we faced were more powerful than I could have imagined. But for the first time, I felt a spark of resolve. 

We weren't just fighting for Windmere anymore. We were fighting for everyone. And now, it was time to make the world listen.