A red flash, and Ayra's magic teleports us to the heart of Noxscura. I had imagined it as a gothic or fantasy city, with an architectural style reminiscent of the Middle Ages. After all, that's the aesthetic of the few places I've seen so far: Ayra's room, the Lunae Novae dormitory, and the arena for familiars' battles, all distinctly old-fashioned. Yet, the center of Noxscura is the exact opposite. If not for the massive Maius Moon glowing red in the black sky, it could be mistaken for a district of Manhattan. Towering skyscrapers with expansive glass facades line sprawling boulevards, shaded by violet-leaved trees like those near the lake. This striking purple hue must be a signature of Mildelar's flora. The key difference is the quiet; where New York teems with life and noise, Noxscura's streets are eerily calm. There are no vehicles—only cobblestone streets—and while so vampires wander about, their numbers are modest, adding to the stillness.
Ayra and I walk to the center of a vast square, stopping near a towering monunt of dark stone: an ancient knight in armor, water cascading from his sword—a fountain, essentially. I can't help but marvel, my eyes wide with awe. I doubt any square in the human world could rival this one, where the ancient elegance of the fountain and surrounding buildings blends seamlessly with Noxscura's modern grandeur. It exudes a charm perhaps comparable only to magnificent Ro. Four bodyguards accompany us, clad in dark gray tunics embroidered with a complex red symbol—too intricate to put into words, a fusion of geotric shapes and magical runes. According to Ayra, it's the emblem of the Scarlet Army.
As we walk, all eyes turn to us. Every vampire, noble or not, pauses to stare, whispering admiring comnts—so about Ayra, the princess of the realm (who must rarely be seen strolling the streets), but mostly about . The legend of the predestined familiar must have spread across the kingdom at record speed. I won't lie—being recognized like this is exhilarating. So this is what fa feels like.
Ayra's lively voice snaps out of my silent admiration of the city. Today, she's wearing a long white fur coat and matching heels. I have to admit—white doesn't really suit her, though that might just be because I'm used to seeing her in all black. «Big sister, we're here!» she calls out, waving energetically to—presumably—Daphne.
At Ayra's gesture, a small group approaches. There are six in total: four bodyguards, dressed just like ours, forming a square around the other two. At the center stands a young man, around twenty-five, tall and lean with a toned build, platinum hair, and piercing blue eyes. He's so absurdly handso that, for a mont, I question my heterosexuality—he's definitely human. Beside him is Daphne. Even by vampire standards, she is breathtaking, with long blonde curls and an aura of refinent and grace that commands attention. She wears the sa white fur coat and heels as Ayra, but—unlike my mistress—it suits her flawlessly. I doubt their matching outfits are a coincidence.
As our groups et, the usual introductions take place. Daphne Valakys, thirty-three, eldest daughter of Drakhul, and her familiar, Kajetan Valakys. Daphne appears genuinely pleased to et , though her excitent remains composed, in line with her refined deanor. Kajetan, on the other hand, is entirely indifferent. He limits himself to a cold and detached «Pleasure to et you,» spoken with a pronounced German accent.
Kajetan isn't wearing the usual blue tunic typical of familiars. Instead, he sports tight jeans and a sleeveless brown leather jacket—without anything underneath. His outfit stands out starkly against the setting, clearly borrowed from the human world. Strange, especially considering how often Ayra has told that vampires—including herself—are strict about dress codes. So why does Kajetan get a pass?
«Big sister, where do we start?» Ayra asks, practically vibrating with impatience to explore the countless boutiques along the main street. Honestly, I have the feeling her excitent has less to do with shopping and more with Daphne's presence. She clings to her every word with near-reverence, as if gazing at a goddess or a legendary hero.
«How about we check out that new hat store? Everyone's talking about it» Daphne suggests with a gentle smile. Her voice is so soft and lodic it sends shivers down my spine—I never imagined a vampire could sound so angelic. Dressed entirely in white, with cascading blonde curls and subtly flushed cheeks that contrast beautifully with her pale skin... if not for her blood-red eyes, she could pass for an angel descended from the heavens. No wonder Ayra worships her, mimicking even her clothing and posture.
The two sisters walk arm in arm, while Kajetan and I follow closely, each beside our respective mistress. From this angle, I can clearly see Daphne's composed and graceful stride—the first of Drakhul's daughters I've t who truly carries herself like a princess. Then there's Ayra, desperately trying to mimic her elegance... with questionable results.
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