Rodo stood steady despite the pain cascading through his frame. Neither the tenebrosity nor the ominous aura seeped in the forbidden spot of feydance disturbed him any more than when he faced the Cambion Warlord. The mangled Werewolf clenched his fists, fangs uncomfortably biting, while another tremour passed his wounded frame. Being torn apart by a single warrior, battered his body, but not his spirit.

In feydance, in the belly of the shallow cave, surrounded by sentinel gargoyles, and every nook and cranny strengthened by sanguine magic, he still was the Alpha of his pack. More than that. The courage of a normal alpha of a pack would fail before the powerful blood weave of sanguine blood lords. To stand there, unfazed and undazed, made Rodo more. Perhaps, not quite a Primal Werewolf Lord, but a Nascent Primal.

"I must see it to the end." Rodo's voice came out raspy and thick as rust. I could have sworn, there was blood mixed in it somewhere, his own blood, from the severe internal wounds, but his instinct as an apex predator would not allow him to show.

"Reconsider, Rodo." The powerful alpha turned, his gaze both baleful and sorrowful, and a brief impression of terror coursed through his veins, only to be replaced with an effortless shrug.

"Commander." His voice boomed through the hollow of the unhallowed cavern, meeting the wide door and then, the harrowing stillness settled again. "True despair is a blessing. Those who are grazed by it and survived, find, deep within themselves, a well of courage."

Rodo turned to face me. He knew what I thought. His yellow wolf eyes glowed with the sincerity behind his words. Even after being in a nearly fatal battle, fighting the unending nightmare called the One-Horned Warlord, knowing that his death was inevitable, he still held his stance, never once giving to despair, never waiting for the recuperation.

While the rest of my top warriors, including Merowyn and Arlene were still under the care of the druids, and Theko with Lyria, only Rodo refused the comfort of a bed. Or perhaps, the beast in him would not lay and accept.

"But why insist on being here?" My words hung in the cold air.

The werewolf sighed, while turning his attention back to the stone door. But a fierce shake of his head, thick mane spilling across his ruptured shoulders betrayed his Stoic demeanour.

"Something about this place..." His lips quirked into a frown, then Rodo spoke in a tone saturated with anxiety. "...the spells placed and all the gargoyles. They are guarding something."

"But why are you here, Rodo?" I insisted, asking the question directly.

"The beast in me, has its own sense," said Rodo dryly. "A hidden sense of perception."

"And that called out to you?"

"No." The cold air crackled with charge before the silence settled again. "Something called me. The seal has weakened."

The Cambion Warlord's words rose from the depth of memories. Delyn! She slew sanguinaris, slaughtered the sanguine Bastion. I found myself nodding, despite my own doubts. Weakened everything! Not just the seal, but created a vacuum in the power structure of the nocturnal children.

Undeterred, Rodo stalked towards the door, slightly ajar now, without the cognate of power feeding its blood magic. At the threshold, he stopped, braced his hands on either side of the door, took a step back and inhaled deeply.

"Come, Commander."

For a fleeting moment, I felt the urge to call out, to stop Rodo from venturing further into an empty space cursed for all that is living, but abandoned the thought. The words of Zaehran still echoed. When Rodo refused the rejuvenating wards of the druids, preferring to his own terms, he prepared his wounded frame for the trek to the unhallowed grounds. The ascetic monk stood in my path, hindering me from dissuading the Alpha.

"Caring and protective might be your intentions, yet it would deny a man the choice to enact his will."

Besides, Adjuration dangled, coiled like a serpent of elemental lightning, from my hips. I am back in form. The fact consolidated my decision further to let Rodo revisit.

Adjuration! The familiar feel of metal, cold and hard, imbibed with the arcane powers to sunder realms, comforted. My Urumi drew me, sang to me, urging an elation beyond animalistic passion, the raw sense of confidence, almost ruthless and reckless, fed my soul. The looming darkness and stygian spells holding the mystery beyond, paled before Adjuration.

"Commander." Rodo's own muscles still quivered with the exertion of walking. Even the words pushed, took the little strength left in the Werewolf Lord. "Come. The beast senses the beckoning. Closer."

In response, even Adjuration twined, demanding the grip of my palms.

"Lead," I answered, placing faith in his beast senses to perceive the unperceivable danger.

We ventured further than when Rodo and Taltil first explored. Even though sealed for a long, the impression lingered, calling Rodo closer. Even the mundane odour of iron radiated sharp and brutal power, seeped with something else. Under the permeating unease, seething emotions surged beneath both our skins. With each step, the weight of the undefined entity communing with Rodo's primal sense, unknown dread grew. But not heavy enough to suppress the alacrity from Adjuration.

Rodo finally stopped, steps arrested before a wide cut in the rock, almost as wide as a Lord's chamber. Several stalactites sprouted from the top of the roof, racing towards the bottom. Their ruddy red glow blazed against the dim walls, framed by the silhouette of the singular object anchored in the centre.

The Nascent Primal knelt down, his gaze fixed upon the rectangular object, raised above the ground, as if pulled up by some invisible force. They spoke of hidden depths, the lurking dark. Carved by no mortal hands or instruments, but sanguine magic shaping the form, the coffin; the prison deterred Rodo the least.

I leaned beside Rodo, examining the markings etched on the surface, even from afar, I could feel the dread emanating from them, filled with hatred, and domination.

"Caution, Rodo," I warned. A small part of me begged to walk away, but I could not turn my back as a small measure of compassion, like one would feel for a broken child trapped beneath a gnarled trunk, rolled off from Rodo. "You sense something more?"

For several moments, he stood motionless, only his fingers extended, reaching out to meet imaginary crackles in the air. Rodo did not turn, not even a flinch, his attention unwavering.

"Cendrien is there." Rodo pointed at the thin air, at almost invisible strings, and with a stone-ravaging roar shattered the sanguine wards of seclusion around.

The coffin stood, suspended between spaces, held and pierced from sixteen directions by dark lances composed of circulating living blood. An orb of crystalline prison, blood mist twirling inside, levitated above the coffin. Rodo cocked his ears back. I froze, too, straining my ears for the barest audible sound.

No chanting, no singsong lullaby of the blood drinkers, no trace of subtle whisper in the air, just a vague humming, spreading unease like an executioner's axes ready to fall, thrummed from the orb. The coffin seemed impervious to it. Just its surface reflecting the unsettling throbbing vibrations, unperturbed by the influence of the orb, silently holding the miasma bubbling from penetrating the surface.

With unshakable resolve, Rodo stepped forward and reached out to the surface. In a single instance, darkness enveloped us.

Adjuration rang in the silent hush, casting every bit of the evil around us in the form of immortal horror.

Yet, Rodo remained undaunted.

"Commander, will you hold for a while?" asked the alpha without looking at me.

Shadows, living shadows, converged and fell back to the ruthlessness of Adjuration and the orb still thrummed, more violently than before. Charges crackling the air and the blood lances glowed with hunger, a raging torrent of frenzy, and they plunged slowly deeper.

Reality, like a thin veil, frayed at its edges, shifting shapes and colours, mocking our perception. Layers separated and then vanished, fragmented into separate pieces. Distorted spaces clamoured over each other, their varied overlaps twisted into maddening discordance. Every shadow and form rose, lurking with malicious intent, and the madness brought them together, bound by adhesives so lethal they spread, snaking, slithering, creeping towards the centre.

"Blood magic," Rodo spat, "of the highest order. But not meant to keep us out. Rather, to keep the one inside."

Adjuration spun mercilessly around me, shredding the tapestry of horrors. As I fought the pulsing veil of agony, cracks tore open around, letting crimson mist flow in, curling around, threatening to tear us. Every step challenged both our resilience. But Adjuration burned, shattering the darkness and dispersing the mist. It burned everything, mist, darkness and the veil of pulsing reality, replacing the one it tore with a fresh new one.

A portal and beyond, in the shimmering mist, clearly and visible as the bright daylight, opened the Realm of Undying Forge.

The orb thrummed more violently than before as Rodo neared further.

"I got this," said Rodo, stern determination supporting his claim. "Vampire magic or not, I am the inheritor of the blessing of the forest spirit, and more."

The alpha werewolf lord took a deep breath and stepped closer, and all pretence ended, cracks in the veils multiplied, leaching into each other. The force slammed, threatening to shred us.

And Rodo began to howl, his pack leader vocals producing a challenging cacophony of gale. The crackle of lightning seemed tenfold, and the strand erupted into a surging wave.

Vibrations from the thrum of the orb met the counter wave of the Nascent Primal's howling.

Sanguine Magic, precise, subtle and elegant, met the raw and savage fury of the Primal Lycan's will.

Rodo's howling grew in intensity, amplifying with each moment. Ominous beats swept across, matching the equally ferocious surge of Adjuration. Rodo unleashed the fury, backed by the depth of power from his primal self. In response, the surge expanded and formed a circle, cutting the contours of the veil collapsing, until his oppressive vibrations reached the orb.

The orb thrashed in place, oscillating wildly in midair, seeking escape from the combined unison of our onslaught. Lightning flashed, quivered, and deflected. Rodo's howl pierced through and smashed the orb, generating another colossal wave, and then the stillness followed.

In the silence of respite, the lid fell, revealing the one captive inside.

Dark black hair, like a starless night, spilled over her pallid skin. Eyes, deep sunken in their socket, and closed with withered eyelids, and a face gaunt enough to make a Tomb Lord's face look vibrant, and shrunk, barely leathery skin on bones, laid Cendrien, the powerful Sanguine Lady of High-Crag Pass, unmoving. Barely, larger than a small child, it was inconceivable to believe that a dread Sanguine Lord reduced to such a pittance.

"Now what?" I asked.

Rodo bent down next to the Sanguine Lady and stroked her head, letting his wolf scent waft around the ancient Vampire's frail body. His smile revealed his sharp canines, tugged deep inside. Not much else came out. Hooking his hands, with the utmost gentleness unknown to his nature, he lifted Cendrien, weighing less to nothing in his muscle defined form.

The Alpha Lord, carried the ancient maiden easily, her small frame fragile and Rodo's gentle hands holding her like cradles. After taking a few steps, Rodo settled his sinewy frame down, Cendrien still wrapped in his careful hold.

A sharp and precise cut from his razor sharp claws severed Rodo's own wrist, as he tenderly brought his bleeding hands to her lips.

Blood, hot boiling werewolf blood, the blood of a pack leader, streamed down her dry lips, pooling in her mouth, and even with all the effort, she struggled to swallow. With every pitiful effort, only trickles of the warm liquid reacher her. Sensing her frame still motionless, Rodo tilted her head slightly towards him. More droplets slid down, though many more flowed along her chin, forming an ugly river of blood along her neck.

Rodo cupped her chin, bringing her lips close to his blood-soaked palm, but did not press them together. He continued to coax, with tiny nudges, until he saw her attempt to lick at the blood. Pale, almost ashed grey tongue struggling and darted to taste the elixir. Then, Cendrien slowly stirred.

She licked, ravenously, the sweet and thick mix seeping down her parched throat, as he placed his other hand on her chest. Her chest, finally, rose and fell, proving she lived, or rather, what could be termed as living for a vampire. Her flesh soon swelled, replacing the shrivelled surface with pale and supple skin. Her form filled, growing before my very eyes, abrasion disappearing as the famed regeneration of Sanguine Lords began.

Eyelids flicked open to reveal brilliant crimson eyes, like twin rubies in the night casting off the darkness, languidly possessing their hypnotic charm as they focussed on the one who cradled her in his lap. Her long tresses, smooth as silk yet strangely tough, yet fragile, danced around Rodo's hips. Cendrien curled her long fingers, with impossibly long and elegant fingernails, around his sinewy arms, a feeble attempt to hold on to him.

Rodo smiled warmly at her weak attempts to cling to him.

"I really do hope you know what you are doing." I finally broke the unwanted tension in the air. "She is not a pitiful creature of the night, prowling alleyways and cemeteries for blood. She is a Sanguine Lady, a Vampire Lord."

The Alpha raised his head, too slowly, as if not to disturb her feeding.

"And you, Rodo, are a powerful werewolf pack leader and most likely a Nascent Primal." I let a bit of power, and caution, pull my intonations. "Who knows what kind of pull she can exert on someone like you, now that she has tasted your blood? I fear to think the damage a Sanguine Lord with a Primal werewolf as a Thrall can cause."

"Well, Commander. It is good that you have your weapon back." The playful smirk returned to Rodo's countenance. "Should she enslave me, you can shred me from limb to limb, here and now."

"That won't be necessary." Cendrien spoke at last, her voice shaking and soft, but firm. The unnatural light shone behind Cendrien's eyes, as she brought her clawed hand to touch Rodo's cheek.

Rodo tilted his head away slightly.

"For you are strong," she whispered, softly and almost seeking something in Rodo's face. A recognition perhaps? An understanding? Her smile widened, but fangs remained withdrawn. "You need not be afraid. I do not intend to either."

Cendrien shifted in Rodo's embrace. No longer a withered husk, but a healthy girl, with all the curves in the right place and the allure of her Vampire nature to support her appeal, she heaved slightly. The motion only served to accentuate the grace and poise of her curvaceous figure.

Rodo withdrew his hand immediately, as if struck by lightning at the contact, feeling self conscious. Which, it may as well have been, for Cendrien was clad in none. The slow realisation sunk to Rodo on where he placed his hands to feel her pulse. For once, it was not the Sanguine Lady's appearance that left him without words.

With his eyes, held fixed to the ground, Rodo removed his vest and shirt, and drooped it over the nimble and naked form of Cendrien, protecting her modesty.

The Sanguine Lady pushed herself up from Rodo's lap and gracefully accepted his gift, though not before, for the briefest of instance, I thought I caught the faintest of blush colour her cheeks.