The sky above the dreamland unfolded like a living tapestry, stitched together from gold and blue smoke, its colors breathing in slow, rhythmic pulses. This was not a place born of soil or stone but of will and memory — a fragile paradise shaped entirely from Nia's subconscious and sustained by the hidden might of the Golden Jewel. The air shimmered constantly, like dew suspended between sleep and awakening, refusing to decide whether it belonged to night or dawn. Floating islands drifted lazily over vast mirrored lakes that reflected not faces, but emotions — fear, regret, hope — each ripple whispering the name of the one who had dreamed them into being. Here, time did not move forward; it merely trembled, uncertain, afraid to intrude.
Nia stood atop a crystalline hill that refracted her silhouette into a dozen fractured reflections. Her posture was steady, her eyes distant yet anchored by resolve. Around her gathered those who had escaped Nyx's wrath — Carl, Raym, Morvain, Rieta, Zeiss, Saya, and Joey — their faces still drained of color, their bodies carrying the phantom weight of the Lampire Lord's godlike rage. The memory of the plaza lingered in their breaths, sharp and metallic.
"We are safe here," Nia said calmly, her voice flowing through the mist like a soft command rather than reassurance. "The Golden Jewel shields this realm. Nyx cannot see us. His shadow-shifters cannot enter. This world exists only within my mind."
She paused, letting the truth settle.
"Here," she added quietly, "he is blind."
For a fleeting moment, something fragile returned — not peace, but the echo of it. Hope flickered in tired eyes like a candle sheltered by cupped hands.
That illusion shattered when Rieta spoke.
"For how long, Nia?" Rieta asked, her voice trembling, sharp with fear barely restrained. "How long can we hide inside a dream?"
The sky dimmed almost imperceptibly, as if the dream itself recoiled at the question. A chill crept through the air. Zeiss stepped closer to Rieta and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"Calm yourself," Zeiss said quietly. "Evil never truly wins. It devours itself long before it burns the world."
Morvain Mare nodded, his expression carved from grim understanding.
"Nyx may rule the surface," Morvain said, "but curses never serve kings. His blood will haunt him. Power taken through pain always circles back to pain."
Silence followed — not empty, but heavy with thought. Then came the sound of weeping.
Raym had fallen to his knees.
His shoulders shook as if the weight of generations pressed directly upon his spine. When he spoke, his words came fractured, strangled by guilt.
"I am sorry," Raym said. "All of this… my son's curse, the ruin of both worlds… it began with me."
Carl moved without hesitation, gripping Raym's hand firmly, grounding him.
"This is not your fault," Carl said, his voice steady, unyielding. "None of this is. Your family did not choose this destiny. It was carved into you long before you could resist it."
The words did not erase the pain, but they softened its edge.
Saya Mare broke the hush next, her eyes dark with thought.
"There is something I don't understand," she said slowly. "Ryko Boyle. What became of him after York's fall?"
The dreamland stilled.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
"Maybe Nyx knows," Carl murmured, staring toward the shifting horizon where light bent unnaturally.
"If he knew," Joey said grimly, "Ryko would already be dead. Nyx doesn't leave ghosts behind."
Zeiss frowned.
"Or perhaps Ryko is already dead."
Morvain shook his head once.
"No," he said. "Ryko Boyle was too powerful to vanish without record. The Vampire Registry remembers all deaths — and yet his name appears nowhere. He was never declared fallen."
The implication tightened around them like a noose.
"Then our answers lie elsewhere," Carl said finally, resolve hardening in his eyes. "Jamie's house. If the Book of Past was hidden there once, something else may still be buried beneath the dust."
Before anyone could reply, Nia's expression sharpened.
"Everyone," she whispered urgently, "down."
They obeyed instantly, crouching behind jagged crystal ridges as the air began to vibrate — not with dream-energy, but intrusion. Fog thickened, then parted, and three figures emerged from within it. Tall. Sinewy. Their bodies shimmered like liquid metal, flickering between wolf, bird, and man.
The Huns.
Carl's hand moved instinctively toward his weapon, but the lead Hun raised both hands calmly.
"Wait," the Hun said. "We did not come to fight."
Zeiss hissed under his breath.
"You expect us to believe that?"
"We came to join you," the Hun continued.
The words hung, fragile and unbelieved.
"Join us?" Zeiss said sharply. "Why should we trust you?"
The Hun's eyes shifted like mercury, ancient and unreadable.
"Because Nyx has enslaved our kind," he said. "He has turned us into hunters of our own blood. We would rather die standing with you than live kneeling beneath his crown."
Nia rose slowly.
"How did you find us?" she asked.
The Hun smiled faintly.
"We follow the scent of fear," he said. "And hope. You left both behind."
Joey's gaze hardened.
"You could be spies."
"You will have to trust us," the Hun replied simply. "Or you will never wake from this dream."
Something in those words struck deep. Nia looked at each face around her — the ones who still believed, still followed — and then nodded once.
"Then we trust you," Nia said. "But remember this: betrayal does not end in mercy. Even dreams can bleed."
The Huns bowed.
"We have seen enough blood," they said together, "to desire peace."
The unity that formed was fragile, trembling — but real.
Nia turned toward the horizon, where the golden sky had begun to crack faintly, like a mirror under strain.
"We don't have much time," she said softly. "I have a plan."
She inhaled.
"And it begins where all stories begin — with truth."
Far beyond the veil of dreamland, the world Nyx had claimed throbbed with rebirth and obedience. The York Kingdom echoed with bells forged of crystal and bone as Nyx sat upon his throne of molten gold and crimson silk, his presence commanding silence from every gathered soul.
"This world," Nyx declared, his voice absolute, "shall be called the York Kingdom — in honor of my ancestor, the first to dream beyond blood."
New laws followed, reshaping nature itself. Vampires were no longer bound by sterility. They could now reproduce — birth a new race capable of shifting between bat and human at will.
"They shall be called Lampires," Nyx proclaimed.
Cheers rose — and beneath them, fear curled quietly.
"If you doubt me," Nyx said calmly, "then let your king lead by example."
His final decree fell like prophecy.
"In three days, I will marry Lady Stacy," Nyx announced. "She shall become queen. The first Lampire. Through us, new life will begin."
The red moon pulsed brighter overhead, staining rivers crimson.
As the court dispersed, Domino knelt.
"Your reign has begun, my lord," he whispered.
Nyx closed his eyes — and saw only Nia.
Somewhere beyond his reach, the woman he loved dreamed of his downfall.
And for the first time since his coronation, the Lampire Lord felt something colder than power.
Fear.