Streets of Ravetham

The day was cold, the sun casting an indifferent gleam over the world below as Kaelen stood at the steps of Valerian's mansion. The air hummed with the remnants of an extravagant gathering winding down within—Valerian’s court had reveled through the morning, indulging in their usual excesses. Feasts, dark rituals, and all the opulence one could expect from beings as ancient and powerful as the vampires who dwelled here.

But Kaelen’s mind was elsewhere. His thoughts had already moved beyond the wealth and blood that clung to these halls. This was just a momentary pause in his journey—a detour before everything truly changed.

There was no farewell ceremony, no parting words of encouragement. Valerian's circle was not that kind of place. Instead, Kaelen left in silence, slipping away as the others continued their decadent morning. The echo of his black boots against the stone floors was the only sound as he walked through the grand entrance, not sparing a glance back as he crossed into the crisp morning air.

His black Porsche was already waiting for him in the driveway, the sleek form of the car barely visible in the mist that clung to the estate grounds. Sliding into the driver's seat, Kaelen started the engine, its low growl cutting through the stillness. He wasn’t heading straight for his future just yet—there were a few final threads to tie off before his departure.

Ravetham's streets were alive with the pulse of the city as rush hour began to fill the roads. Kaelen’s Porsche wove through the traffic with ease, heading toward the neon-lit streets that surrounded the Black Fang—his club, his sanctuary, and one of the few places where he felt at home.

The neon sign flickered above as he pulled up, the electric hum of the place vibrating through the air. Inside, the bass thumped softly, muted by the walls, though the energy was thriving. This was no ordinary visit, though. Tonight, Kaelen wasn’t here to party, and he wasn’t here to talk business.

Inside, Loren and Seraphis awaited him in the back office, a space that had witnessed countless plans and schemes. Loren’s blue eyes tracked him as he entered, her usual maid uniform sleek as ever, but her posture more relaxed today. Seraphis stood nearby, her pink hair falling casually over one shoulder, her arms crossed.

Kaelen stepped forward, meeting Loren’s gaze. “It’s time,” he said quietly, the weight behind his words not lost on her.

Loren’s jaw tightened, but she nodded. "You’re really doing this, aren’t you?" Her voice carried more understanding than question.

He smiled slightly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I have to."

Seraphis, ever the steady presence, stepped closer, her red eyes unreadable. "We’ll hold it down here," she assured him, placing a hand on his shoulder, her tone firm but calm.

Loren moved to the desk, grabbing a set of keys and some documents. "The Black Fang is in good hands," she said, slipping into her usual businesslike role. "Nero has the label covered. We’ll keep everything running smoothly while you’re gone."

Kaelen nodded, knowing that Loren, along with his allies—Jason, Surge, and the rest—could handle things. The club had become a central part of his life, and though leaving it wasn’t easy, he trusted them to keep it alive.

Loren stepped closer, her expression softening just a touch. “Just... stay alive, okay?”

Kaelen leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her lips, a brief moment of connection before he pulled back. “I will.”

Kaelen’s next stop was the Shadow Sweets Bakery, where Jason and Bolt were finishing up. Jason, always the wildcard with his carefree attitude, greeted him with a grin. "You’re off, huh?" Jason asked, though his tone hinted he already knew the answer.

Kaelen handed him the keys to the shop. "I’m leaving this place in your care."

Jason took the keys with a playful salute. "You got it, bro. Don’t worry, the bakery’s safe with us—and the grow op too."

Kaelen gave a half-smile, watching as Bolt offered a silent nod of understanding. It was enough. With the bakery in Jason's hands, Kaelen knew everything was covered.

Next, he stopped by Lock and Loaded, where Surge was opening up shop for the day. The gun store had become her second home since they opened it together, and she didn’t seem surprised when he walked in.

"You’re heading out," she said simply, eyeing him.

Kaelen tossed her the shop’s keys. "It’s all yours."

Surge caught the keys effortlessly, her expression unreadable. "I’ll keep it running. Just make sure you come back in one piece."

Kaelen gave her a nod, and with that, he was done with the goodbyes. The Black Fang, the bakery, the gunshop—all his ties to Ravetham were now in the hands of those he trusted.

Kaelen’s final destination was the most important. The drive to the airport felt endless, every street and building passing by like a lifetime compressed into mere moments. Aeliseth was waiting for him at a private airstrip.

The air was colder here, a biting wind sweeping across the tarmac as the jet idled nearby. Aeliseth handed him a stack of documents, her gaze unwavering. "These are your enlistment papers. Once you sign, you’ll be entering a new world of warfare. Welcome to the Nightwatchers."

Kaelen signed without hesitation. This was what he’d been preparing for, the culmination of everything. Aeliseth offered a firm nod, her voice steady. "Good luck, soldier."

The jet roared to life, lifting off the runway and soaring into the sky. The lights of Ravetham disappeared beneath him. Kaelen’s thoughts drifted as the flight stretched over twelve long hours, carrying him to a secret military base hidden deep within the mountains.

When he landed, the atmosphere was immediately different—cold, disciplined, ruthless. The base was a fortress, surrounded by towering walls lined with automated defenses, drones patrolling the skies. Soldiers moved with perfect synchronization, a clear sign that this was no ordinary boot camp.

Sergeant Grogar, a kobold drill sergeant, greeted Kaelen with a curt nod. "Welcome to hell, kid."

Kaelen’s squad—the Nightwatchers—were already waiting for him. Each of them was elite, deadly in their own way:

Vanya, the sniper, cold and calculating with silver hair and piercing eyes.
Draven, the tank, a dhampir brimming with vampiric strength.
Lira, the tech specialist, sharp and always tinkering with advanced gadgets.
Kell, the medic, with an aura of calm and healing magic.
Their initiation was strange—Aeliseth ordered each member of the squad to drink a few drops of Kaelen’s blood, sealing their bond as a team. But the moment they drank, something unexpected happened: Kaelen felt a deep, psychic connection to them all, their loyalty to him solidified into something unbreakable.

The next three months were pure hell. Kaelen and his team were pushed to the limits in every way imaginable—buried alive, dropped into the ocean while chained, and forced to defuse live explosives with seconds to spare. But with each trial, their bond grew stronger. Draven’s strength, Vanya’s precision, Lira’s tech genius, Kell’s healing—they became a perfect unit.

By the time his 17th birthday came and went on October 1st, Kaelen had transformed into something else—hardened by the training, but also sharpened by the responsibility of leading his team. The bond he shared with the Nightwatchers grew with each challenge, and as the cold of December set in, they were ready for their first mission: a covert operation in Bond, England, to eliminate a Draconian infiltrator—the Duke of Bond.