The Death of Purebloods

The Farmoon Castle,

Duchy of Valiya,

Assyrian Empire.

Inside a dimly lit room, Stephan Farmoon, the venerable patriarch of the Farmoon clan, stood beside a table, engrossed in deep thought. Across from him, his trusted advisor, Nicholas, exuded an air of respect and wisdom. Together, they surveyed a large map that sprawled before them, adorned with markings representing the recent raids.

“This is the third raid on our caravans this month, my lord,” Nicholas commented, his expression grave. “Not only have they stolen our treasures, but they mercilessly slaughtered all who dared stand in their way. We cannot allow their audacity to go unanswered; they will only grow more daring if we do not act.”

Nicholas was the oldest pureblood vampire under his command. He was not only old but wise as well. His years of experience and his impeccable wisdom had earned him the seat of advisor to the clan head. Stephan valued his opinion above all others.