Solomon sat in a broken bed-chamber, exhaustion pressing down on him like a lead weight. That had always annoyed Solomon. He was a vampire and not a young one, yet he still had to contend with things like exhaustion and fatigue. He wiped strands of sweaty, black hair from his eyes as he surveyed the wreckage. Perhaps it was petulant to be annoyed at his fatigue. The evening had been rather... strenuous.

The bed-chamber had once been an extravagant thing, a blatant show of wealth and prestige. Now it resembled the aftermath of a war zone. The once fine tapestries had been destroyed, along with the stone walls they had adorned. Solomon could see more of the aftermath of his battle through the new doorway in the wall. He had tried to keep the fight contained, to keep the servants out of it.

His master had shown far less restraint.

Corpses were trapped under some of those broken walls and shattered rooms. Those deaths, and the fact that he was partly responsible for them, weighed on him far more than his exhaustion. Solomon turned his face away from the broken wall. The bright light of a full moon shone down on him from cracks in the ceiling and a much larger hole in the outer wall.

That hole exposed an expanse of lush green forests and craggy cliffs. The serene sight was better than staring at the broken halls around him, but it did little to soothe the grief and anger that boiled in Solomon's heart.

His Master. His once kind and honorable master was dead by his hand. And despite the grief he felt, Solomon knew he should have done it months ago. But he had been too weak, too sentimental to strike when an opportunity had been there. If he'd acted sooner, maybe those rubble-trapped corpses wouldn't be there.

The sound of rushing air filled the doorway. Roland had arrived, right on schedule. Solomon paused to covertly slip a shard of the shattered bed frame into his sleeve before forcing his exhausted body to get up.

Solomon faced the older vampire, his posture straight and expression relaxed. He wouldn't be able to hide his fatigue entirely, not from someone as skilled as Roland. But putting up a strong front was important.

Roland was taller than Solomon, with dark brown hair, shadowed eyes, and a build best described as bearlike. He never had fit the mold of a refined vampire. Solomon knew that the man hated him in part for how well Solomon himself filled that mold.

Right now, his master's oldest friend, his most trusted bodyguard, didn't look like a hardened warrior. He was just a man staring at the corpse of a loved one. Solomon's master hadn't turned to ash upon death. He hadn't been that far gone. Instead, his corpse was staked through the heart, and his head lay a few inches from his neck. His eyes staring up with a sightless gaze. The hatchet Solomon had used sat next to him, its head buried in the stone.

Despite his casual stance, Solomon was ready for Roland to rush him without any fanfare or questions. But, luckily for Solomon, Roland didn't attack. He just stared at the corpse, his body as still as stone.

When Roland finally spoke, his deep voice shook. "He took you in. When you were just a scared wretch. When you would've been burned for a monster. He took you in. He raised you!" Roland's voice rose to a shout, and he spun. His shaking hands balled into fists.

Solomon met the vampire's hateful stare with one made of ice. "Yes. He did," Solomon said, his voice flat and hard. "And I loved him. I loved him like a father. But centuries of betrayal's and suspicion made him just like the scheming factions he always hated. I know you saw what he would have lead us to."

Roland bared his fangs in a snarl. "Lead us to? You think he would've led us to ruination, Solomon!?" Roland spat Solomon's name like a curse. "You arrogant fool. He led this house for over a thousand years! But you think you saw something he didn't?"

The rage and condescension in Roland's tone lit a spark of anger in Solomon's chest. Though it was a spark weighed down by exhaustion and grief. Roland had always hated Solomon, had always been jealous of the attention their master spared him.

"Age lets you see and experience more of the world. But it does not let you see through other's eyes, not truly."

Roland ground his teeth so hard, Solomon could hear them creaking. "Do not use his words now!" Roland's eyes flicked to their master's body, then back to Solomon. When Roland next spoke, his voice held desperation along with the anger.

"Why!?"

As Solomon stared at Roland, the spark of anger was drowned out by his grief. He had never liked Roland, but he had known him his entire life. He had been a constant for Solomon. And by the end of this conversation, one of them was going to die.

Why?

Solomon considered the question before deciding to answer with the truth. Every moment they spent talking was time for Solomon to recover.

And... if Solomon was honest with himself, part of him desperately hoped that the truth would sway Roland. That he would join Solomon, and one of them would not have to die.

"You want to know why?" Solomon asked. "I'll tell you. Master has spent the last century isolating us from the other vampire lords. You know he had become paranoid. You can't deny that, Roland." Roland's anger had cooled slightly, but it hadn't lessened. It still simmered in his eyes like hot coals.

"Yes. He had become paranoid. So what? Not one of the other Lords would have dared to attack us. None of them are strong enough alone, and they do not trust each other enough to ally against us."

Underneath his exhaustion, Solomon felt some of his old frustration rise only to fall just as quickly. He was too tired for things like frustration. He'd had this conversation with his master countless times.

He had never listened.

"It's not just about the other Lords, Roland. It's not just about the ghouls or the Were-kin or the mage clans or the dragons. It's not about any one of the factions. It's about all of them and the humans." "The humans!" Roland cut in. "They may not be the simple cattle some of the other vampires think them to be, but they are not a threat, not to us!" Solomon closed his eyes for a long moment— Roland would not attack before he finished talking— and sighed.

There it was, the wall he had never been able to break through. The two things that had killed more of his kind than anything else.

Pride and failure to adapt.

They didn't see what was happening: they were too mired in how it had been, too comfortable in the old ways. Solomon tried to break through the wall anyway.

"Humans, not just mages, but vanilla, ordinary humans have advanced enough to offer mutually assured destruction to almost any of us. It is only a matter of time before we are outed to the world. Before some government decides to blackmail a pack of werewolves into committing an atrocity in a town or small city. Or the same situation happening to another faction. Then that country would be out for the blood of all spooks. And that's only one possible way our outing could go wrong. One out of hundreds!"

Roland said nothing, but he had yet to attack. Solomon continued.

"It will only take one event, one fight between the factions to spill over and destroy a major human city. Then we will not just have one country howling for our heads, but all of humanity. But we are too busy backstabbing each other and jockeying for territory to see the danger. We need to come out to humans on our terms, with a united front. Before some group forces us into the light."

Roland said nothing. Instead, he continued to stare, and his hands continued to shake. "You present your case well. But you always had a way with words." Roland's voice was harsh and bitter. "You always manage to sway people to your side, Solomon. But your words are just a pretty dressing over what you've done. You cite his paranoia and his suspicion as the reasons you killed him!? It would seem his paranoia was warranted if aimed incorrectly."

Solomon shook his head. "No, Roland. If those were the only problems, I would never have killed him. I simply would've left and tried to create unity without him." Solomon's tone was ice as he continued. "I didn't kill him because of what he'd become. I killed him because of what he was becoming."

"You would throw that accusation at him? Killing him was not enough; now you want to say he was falling? The man you claimed to have loved like a father?"

Solomon nodded. "I did love him. But unlike you, I didn't let that love blind me to what was happening." Roland's face was already ghostly pale as a vampire, but Solomon's words caused him to grow paler still. The shaking in his fists grew worse, and Solomon knew the ancient vampire was moments away from striking.

Solomon needed to make sure he controlled when Roland snapped. That was the only way he was getting out of this alive. He was far from weak, but after fighting his master, every breath felt like a great effort, and his magic was little more than a trickle through his veins. A new power pulsed around his heart, its rhythm deep and cold. But it wouldn't do him any good. He didn't even have the strength to use it right now.

As if he could read Solomon's thoughts— which was an ability some vampires possessed— Roland's eyes widened. "You pilfered the inheritance from his body? You speak of what he was becoming, but that's just slander– an excuse to hide your greed! You just wanted the Burrow King's mantle!"

There was some truth to Roland's words. Solomon knew himself well enough to admit that. He had wanted his master's inheritance, the magic unique to his bloodline. But by that same token, he also knew he would have never killed his master solely to obtain it.

His grip was tight on his improvised stake, the shard of wood heavy in his hand. He was so, so tired. He needed to end this. He needed Roland to be reckless, so filled with hate and fury that he couldn't think straight.

"You accuse me of greed because it's easier than admitting the truth." Roland stiffened, his hands stopped shaking, and he looked for all the world like a statue carved of granite. "You claimed to have loved him, but you didn't step up. You didn't stop what was happening. I know you saw it; you knew he was falling to his thirst. But like me, you hesitated. Because you didn't want to accept it."

Solomon turned his body slightly, the mask of his casual stance cracking as he tensed. "But unlike you, Roland. I loved him enough to stop him. You would've let him become the monster he always claimed we didn't have to be!"

The statue exploded. Roland rushed forward, the air cracking as he moved. Solomon was ready. He twisted, swinging his arm wide, the stake pointing towards Roland's chest. Roland was fresh, he would have drunk recently, and he hadn't just been in a long battle to the death. And even if Solomon had been well-rested and at full strength, he still wouldn't be evenly matched against Roland. The other vampire was older and had more raw power.

But Solomon did have one crucial advantage. He was using his head, and Roland wasn't.

The older vampire saw the strike coming and raised his arm to deflect. If he had been calm and collected, he would've tried to dodge or smack the stake from Solomon's hand. But Roland was neither calm nor collected, and his instincts, forged from centuries of combat against other vampires and countless other spooks, failed him.

With a surge of his remaining magic, Solomon turned his wrist, and only his wrist, into mist. His hand sailed past Roland's arm, the mist parting around the limb only to snap back into flesh on the other side. Just in time to drive the stake through Roland's heart.

They stood there, both of them frozen in place for one perfect instant. "I'm sorry, Roland. This was never the way I wanted this to go. But I waited too long already. So we're left to pick from the bad options."

Solomon broke the standstill to catch Roland as he started to collapse.

He carefully laid him down, then closed his staring eyes. He didn't need to see it coming. That was one mercy Solomon could grant him.

He grabbed the hatchet, still wet with his master's blood, and raised it.

Solomon walked away from the broken room. Pain, one far worse than anything physical, gripped him. He dealt with it the same way he always had. He focused on the end goal.

First, he needed to search the rubble to see if any of the servants had survived.

Then. Solomon felt the cold power that sat in his chest. It thrummed, waiting to be used. Then, he had an army to build and a world to unite.