Night - Orlov's Southern Citadel, One Month After the Crimson Games

  Archduke Orlov's carriage arrived at his ancestral citadel with customary ceremony despite the te hour. The journey from the tournament complex had required nearly a month of travel—his absolute refusal to utilize any form of modern transportation meant horse-drawn carriages remained his only option, their medieval pace a point of traditional pride rather than practical limitation.

  As the ornate carriage passed through the massive iron gates of his citadel, Orlov gazed with satisfaction at the flickering torchlight illuminating ancient stone walls. While progressive territories might embrace disguised electrical systems, his domain maintained purely medieval aesthetics—oil mps, torch brackets, and candlelight the only illumination permitted throughout his vast holdings.

  The carriage halted in the central courtyard where Orlov expected the usual reception—dozens of human servants lined in perfect formation, ready to attend his every need with the silent efficiency centuries of discipline had instilled. Instead, the courtyard stood eerily empty, torches burning in their brackets but no attendants visible anywhere.

  "Where are my servants?" he demanded as his carriage door was opened not by a human footman but by Baron Dracul himself—an unprecedented breach of protocol that momentarily stunned Orlov into silence.

  "My Archduke," Dracul began, his aristocratic composure barely concealing obvious distress, "we face... unusual circumstances requiring immediate attention."

  Lord Valisov stepped down from the carriage behind Orlov, as confused as his master by the strange reception. Having accompanied the Archduke to the Crimson Games as part of his entourage, Valisov was witnessing this unprecedented situation for the first time alongside Orlov.

  Orlov stepped from the carriage with growing irritation, noting several other nobles awkwardly positioned around the courtyard in servant-like arrangements. Countess Veronique stood uncomfortably beside the main entrance holding a candebra that would typically be carried by a human attendant, while Baron Markov appeared to be managing the horses—task normally performed by stable hands.

  "Expin," Orlov commanded, centuries of absolute authority evident in the single word.

  "The humans are gone, my Archduke," Dracul stated with blunt directness. "All of them."

  Orlov's expression shifted from irritation to disbelief. "Impossible. My estate houses hundreds of human servants, all properly controlled."

  "They vanished while we slept," Countess Veronique added, her aristocratic dignity somewhat undermined by the candebra she still held awkwardly. "The evening after your departure for the Crimson Games, we awoke at dusk to find none reporting for duties. Searches revealed all quarters empty."

  "We had retired at dawn with everything normal," Baron Markov crified, his voice tightening. "When we awoke at dusk, not a single human remained. They must have fled during daylight hours while we were in our rest period - we had no opportunity to witness their departure."

  This detail heightened the mystery considerably. Vampires' inability to function during daylight hours had created the one period when human movements couldn't be directly observed - a vulnerability exploited with devastating effectiveness.

  "What of the blood farms?" Orlov demanded as he moved toward his private chambers, the question reflecting his immediate practical concern. Noble vampires required regur feeding, and his territory's harsh extraction methods necessitated constant human repcement.

  "The initial report arrived yesterday," Baron Markov stated, following closely behind. "Nearest farm reports complete absence—all human resources vanished overnight without trace."

  Valisov, still processing this shocking information, gnced between his Archduke and the other nobles. Having been part of Orlov's entourage at the Crimson Games, he had been spared witnessing the initial chaos but now faced the same grim reality as his master.

  This information proved most disturbing of all. While servant disappearance created inconvenience, blood farm depletion threatened fundamental vampire subsistence. His territory maintained dozens of massive farms housing thousands of human resources—their simultaneous disappearance represented catastrophic resource loss with immediate survival implications.

  Orlov reached his private chambers to find them cold and unlit—no fires prepared, no blood goblets presented, none of the customary preparations his return would normally trigger. Lady Bathory hurried past him to awkwardly light candles while Baron Dracul attempted to start a fire in the massive stone hearth—tasks neither had performed in centuries of aristocratic existence.

  "When did you receive first notification?" Orlov questioned, his voice dangerously quiet as he surveyed this unprecedented disruption to proper order.

  "Three days after your departure," Baron Markov answered, maintaining formal reporting posture despite the unusual circumstances. "We initially believed it isoted incident—perhaps limited rebellion requiring traditional suppression. Subsequent reports revealed pattern extending beyond immediate estate."

  "Has any human been located? Any common vampire recovered?"

  "None, my Archduke," Baron Markov confirmed grimly. "Search parties dispatched throughout nearby territories found no trace. The humans didn't merely escape—they vanished completely."

  The impossibility of this situation grew with each revetion. Orlov's territory spanned thousands of square miles, with medieval transportation and communication meaning information traveled slowly. If nearby farms reported complete emptiness, distant regions might face simir circumstances without ability to communicate their situation.

  "Organize territorial inventory," Orlov commanded, centuries of authority providing framework despite unprecedented crisis. "Dispatch noble representatives to all blood farms and major holdings. I require complete assessment of remaining resources."

  The nobles exchanged uncomfortable gnces at this directive, their hesitation revealing additional complications.

  "We have already attempted such assessment," Countess Veronique admitted reluctantly. "Noble messengers dispatched to major holdings report simir conditions throughout accessible territories. No human resources remain in any previously documented location. No common vampires avaible for basic functions."

  The scope of this disaster exceeded anything in Orlov's centuries of governance. His territory operated on rigid hierarchical structure—nobles commanding common vampires who managed human resources. With two lower tiers completely absent, the entire system faced imminent colpse.

  "When did you st feed?" he demanded, the question's practical urgency overriding all other concerns.

  Again, uncomfortable silence spread through assembled nobility before Countess Veronique answered. "Most nobles present consumed final blood reserves approximately two weeks ago. Without farm access or human resources, no additional supply has been secured."

  This revetion elevated crisis from administrative disruption to existential threat. Vampires required regur blood consumption—nobles particurly dependent on high-quality sources from brutal blood farms. Without access to human blood, starvation would eventually weaken even the strongest vampire, eventually producing feral desperation that threatened societal structure itself.

  "What of adjacent territories?" Orlov inquired, strategic assessment already focusing on potential solutions. "Have messengers been dispatched to Seraphina's western encves? And to Lucius's territory through the mountain passage?"

  "Messengers were sent immediately after the discovery," Baron Dracul confirmed while still struggling with firepce tools unfamiliar to aristocratic hands. "Those sent to Seraphina's nearest outposts returned just days ago. Her representatives expressed knowledge of our situation but offered no substantive assistance."

  "The messengers to Lucius's domain have not yet returned," Countess Veronique added. "The journey through the narrow passage between Valerian's borders is treacherous and will require at least another month for a round trip, even with fresh horses at each outpost."

  "Their response?"

  "Seraphina's representatives declined providing human resources but offered blood supplies at... significant cost," Baron Dracul expined reluctantly. "Their messengers indicated prepared reserves avaible for purchase, though prices exceed traditional evaluation by substantial margin."

  This response represented additional outrage. Progressive territories had long maintained reformed blood practices—sustainable collection rather than Orlov's traditional extraction methods. Their refusal to provide actual humans while offering processed blood at infted prices could only be interpreted as deliberate exploitation of crisis.

  "Valerian's territory?" Orlov asked, though expecting little assistance from that quarter.

  "No messengers have ever returned from northern border approaches," Baron Markov stated ftly. "Consistent with previous attempts at diplomatic contact."

  This came as no surprise. Valerian's mysterious domain had remained effectively sealed for centuries, its unique vampires feeding exclusively on vampire blood from criminal sources. No rational noble would seek resources from territory where vampires themselves became prey.

  As nobles continued awkwardly attending duties normally performed by servants, Orlov retreated into calcuted assessment. The crisis parameters expanded beyond immediate inconvenience to fundamental threat—without human resources, his territory faced not merely administrative colpse but existential danger.

  His rage grew with each passing moment, not just at the immediate crisis but at the deeper humiliation it represented. He loathed humans with centuries of cultivated disdain—filthy, weak creatures fit only for extraction and disposal—yet now found himself desperately needing these lesser beings. This dependency was perhaps the most galling aspect of all.

  Like almost all vampires, Orlov had once been human himself, a fact he worked tirelessly to forget through increasingly eborate aristocratic rituals and brutal subjugation of human resources. This origin as a transformed human rather than natural-born vampire was the secret source of his particur hatred toward natural-born vampire nobles. He envied them their pure vampire lineage, their freedom from the taint of human origins, their aristocratic bloodlines unmarred by transformation. His hatred of humans was inextricably tied to his hatred of his own former humanity—each act of domination a rejection of his origins, each drop extracted a reinforcement of his supposed superiority. Now, with humans gone, that carefully constructed self-deception threatened to colpse along with his territory.

  "Disgusting dependency," he muttered to himself, fingers tightening until his knuckles whitened. "To require such lesser creatures for our existence." The irony that his very rage made him thirst for blood—the substance he could only obtain from the beings he despised—was not lost on him, further fueling his fury.

  Over subsequent days, reports arrived with increasing frequency as noble messengers returned from distant regions. Each confirmed identical pattern—total absence of humans and common vampires throughout Orlov's vast territory, without expnation or witnessed departure. What had initially seemed isoted to the central citadel revealed itself as comprehensive system failure extending across an area the size of a continent.

  Most disturbing were reports from the thousands of blood farms scattered across Orlov's immense domain—massive medieval facilities housing millions of human resources collectively, each identified by number rather than name, treated as interchangeable assets rather than individuals. These facilities had operated with brutal efficiency for centuries, their harsh extraction methods providing necessary resources for vampire subsistence. Now they stood completely empty—extraction equipment unused, restraint systems vacant, accounting ledgers showing only the number designations of resources no longer present, with no indication of how millions of brutally oppressed humans had simultaneously disappeared.

  Two weeks after Orlov's return, the territorial assessment completed with grim confirmation: not a single human resource remained within his domain. No common vampire could be located despite extensive searches. Most disturbing was the universal pattern of disappearance - every single group had vanished during daylight hours, when vampires were forced into their rest. The nobles had gone to sleep at dawn with domains fully poputed, only to awaken at dusk to find them completely empty. This consistent pattern across thousands of square miles suggested coordination of unprecedented scale, yet left no opportunity for direct vampire observation of the actual departures.

  The nobles gathered in Orlov's great hall—a massive chamber normally illuminated by hundreds of torches maintained by human servants, now dimly lit by the few candles aristocratic hands could manage. Their elegant formal attire had given way to increasingly disheveled appearance as basic maintenance functions like clothing preparation proved beyond aristocratic capability.

  "This represents deliberate attack," Orlov decred, his centuries of rigid authority providing framework for interpretation. "Coordinated extraction of essential resources constitutes decration of hostility against our territory and traditions."

  Some of the assembled nobles nodded agreement, their hunger-weakened state making them increasingly receptive to expnation that positioned them as victims rather than failed administrators. Others exchanged skeptical gnces, though none dared voice open doubt.

  Valisov, having just returned with Orlov and still trying to comprehend the scale of the disaster, remained silent, his expression carefully neutral as he observed both his master's reaction and the other nobles' responses.

  "The timing confirms responsibility," Orlov continued with absolute conviction. "Occurring precisely during Crimson Games when our attention focused elsewhere, and during daylight hours when we could not intervene. Only one authority possesses capability for such comprehensive operation."

  "Archduke Lucius," several older nobles murmured in agreement, the name carrying centuries of factional antagonism.

  "Precisely," Orlov confirmed, his certainty requiring no evidence beyond coincidental timing. "His progressive faction has long opposed our traditional methods. This represents culmination of centuries-long strategy to undermine our governance approach."

  Several younger nobles exchanged openly dubious gnces at this assertion. Baron Markov, who had spent decades overseeing border territories, finally voiced what many were thinking.

  "With respect, my Archduke," he began cautiously, "I find myself... struggling with the practical aspects of this theory. The disappearances occurred during daylight when all vampires were in their rest period - they could not have orchestrated this while sleeping. And most significantly, Archduke Lucius was presiding over the Crimson Games at the same time as you were in attendance. You yourself saw him there daily, along with his key lieutenants. They were thousands of miles away from our territory."

  "Moreover," he continued, gaining courage from the silent nods of his peers, "we're speaking of a territory the size of a continent. Millions of humans across thousands of square miles, all vanishing during the same daylight period. Transportation on such scale would require an armada of vehicles or an army of operatives, which would leave tire tracks, evidence of passage. Our border guards reported no unusual movements before they retired at dawn or after they woke at dusk. No massive caravans. No tracks in the forests or fields."

  Lady Renia, one of the youngest nobles present, added hesitantly, "The logistics seem impossible, my Archduke. The disappearances happening simultaneously across such vast distances... How could they be moved without a single witness? Without any traces? Without broken branches in forests or disturbed earth on roads?"

  "Absence of evidence merely confirms sophisticated operation," Orlov dismissed immediately, his tone growing dangerous. "Lucius has cultivated centuries of patience. This attack was meticulously pnned to leave no direct connection."

  The skeptical nobles fell silent, recognizing the futility of logical argument against Orlov's absolute conviction. Several exchanged meaningful gnces, communicating wordlessly that perhaps their Archduke's hunger had affected his reasoning. In private corners away from Orlov's hearing, whispers circuted about more pusible expnations - perhaps the humans had simply fled, perhaps some internal rebellion had occurred, perhaps their methods had finally driven both humans and common vampires to desperate escape.

  These pronouncements carried hollow significance given their practical situation. Without human resources or common vampires, their territory faced imminent colpse regardless of diplomatic positioning. Several nobles had already attempted hunting expeditions into wilderness regions, seeking humans who might have escaped to forests or mountains. None had returned with resources, finding no trace of human presence throughout areas they once regurly raided to replenish their blood farms. Lands that had reliably yielded captured humans for centuries now appeared completely abandoned.

  As hunger weakened even the strongest nobles, Orlov finally authorized limited purchase of blood supplies from Seraphina's territory—exorbitantly priced reserves that arrived under heavy security with strict consumption protocols. This humiliating dependency on progressive faction resources represented unprecedented concession for traditional territory that had maintained complete self-sufficiency for centuries.

  The blood arrived in modern sealed containers that themselves represented offense to traditional sensibilities—precisely measured volumes with scientific beling rather than traditional goblets and decanters. Progressive faction representatives delivered these supplies with professional detachment, neither acknowledging crisis nor offering assistance beyond commercial transaction.

  The first taste of this blood, however, created an unexpected sensation among the nobles. Having subsisted for centuries on the thin, fear-tainted blood extracted through brutal methods, they were completely unprepared for the rich, vibrant quality of sustainably harvested blood. Several of the younger nobles could not suppress gasps of pleasure at their first sip. The blood was impossibly sweet, complex, and potent—revealing a quality they had never experienced through their harsh extraction methods.

  "This... this is extraordinary," whispered Lady Renia, unable to maintain aristocratic reserve. "How can their methods produce such superior quality?"

  Baron Markov, with centuries more experience, understood immediately. "Their donors give willingly," he murmured. "No fear tainting the blood, no stress hormones, proper nutrition and care... They've always cimed sustainable methods produced superior results."

  Orlov, overhearing this exchange, crushed his crystal goblet in fury. The implication that progressive methods might be superior in any way was intolerable—yet the evidence was impossible to ignore with every sip. This humiliation was perhaps even greater than the dependency itself: the possibility that his ideological enemies had been right all along.

  When noble representatives demanded information regarding human disappearance, progressive faction couriers maintained perfect ignorance. "We have no knowledge of your internal resource management," they stated with practiced neutrality. "Our territories maintain sustainable collection rather than traditional extraction. Perhaps this sustainability difference proves relevant to your current circumstances."

  This response, carefully constructed to avoid direct accusation while implying superior methods, only strengthened Orlov's conviction regarding Lucius's responsibility. Yet even with absolute certainty, he could identify no effective response beyond diplomatic protest—their medieval systems fundamentally incapable of addressing crisis of this magnitude.

  Three months after Orlov's return from Crimson Games, their situation had evolved from immediate crisis to sustained emergency. Purchased blood supplies provided bare subsistence for noble popution, though quantities remained insufficient for comfortable existence. Outlying regions continued reporting identical conditions—complete absence of humans and common vampires without expnation or witnessed departure.

  Most disturbing development came after months of desperate searching across every corner of Orlov's vast domain. Despite sending nobles to the most remote, previously unexplored regions - dense forests, mountain valleys, swampnds - not a single human was found anywhere. The disappearance was absolute and complete. Every search party returned empty-handed, confirming the impossible truth: in a territory the size of a continent, not one human remained.

  This total absence defied all logical expnation. Even if many had fled or died, some isoted individuals should have remained - hidden fugitives, overlooked servants, forgotten prisoners in remote dungeons. Yet none were found. The nobles had combed wilderness areas never before explored by vampire kind, expecting to find at least some hidden pockets of humanity, only to discover absolute emptiness.

  "It's as though they never existed," muttered Baron Dracul after his third failed expedition. "Every trace gone, every scent vanished, every trail cold. It's not natural."

  The complete absence of humans across such vast territory suggested something beyond mere escape or rebellion - a coordinated disappearance so thorough that it bordered on the supernatural. For territory that had housed millions of humans just months before to now contain absolutely none was beyond comprehension.

  As their sixth month without internal resources approached, Orlov maintained absolute conviction regarding external responsibility despite mounting evidence suggesting internal system failure. "Lucius engineered this catastrophe," he decred repeatedly to increasingly skeptical noble council. "His progressive methods represent existential threat to traditional governance. This attack merely confirms his centuries-long opposition to proper vampire hierarchy."

  Many nobles had begun openly questioning this interpretation when away from Orlov's presence. In private chambers, they discussed the practical impossibilities: "How could Lucius possibly transport thousands of humans without a single trace?" questioned Lady Bathory. "No footprints, no wagon tracks, no broken branches in forests. It's as though they vanished into thin air."

  "And if progressive territories had somehow acquired our humans, wouldn't we see evidence in their blood farms?" added Baron Dracul. "Their territories aren't infinite – housing thousands of additional humans would be impossible to conceal."

  Count Vercelli, who had spent centuries managing border territories, spoke what many now believed: "The simpler expnation is that they fled on their own. Perhaps organized by common vampires who abandoned us for the same reasons. Our methods have grown increasingly harsh over centuries – perhaps eventually they simply... had enough."

  These discussions always ended when Orlov approached, the nobles immediately falling silent or pivoting to supportive agreement with his accusations against Lucius. The Archduke's rage had grown increasingly unpredictable as hunger and frustration mounted, making open disagreement potentially dangerous.

  Messengers to Lucius's territory finally returned after months of arduous travel, bringing formal diplomatic response that managed perfect bance between political necessity and subtle rebuke: "The Central Archduchy regrets neighboring territory's resource management challenges. Our sustainable collection methods remain avaible as consulting service should traditional approaches require reconsideration. Human resources represent renewable asset when properly maintained rather than exploited."

  This carefully worded response—acknowledging circumstance without accepting responsibility while offering assistance framed as systemic correction—perfectly embodied progressive faction's centuries-long approach. Rather than direct confrontation, Lucius had always employed gradual influence through demonstrated superiority, allowing traditional practices to reveal their own limitations without external pressure.

  Whether Lucius had actually engineered their current crisis or merely benefited from internal system colpse remained unknowable—the evidence insufficient for objective determination while Orlov's absolute conviction prevented genuine investigation. The traditional faction's medieval information systems proved fundamentally incapable of comprehensive assessment, their centuries of technological regression leaving them without tools to understand their own territory's dynamics.

  As Orlov dictated another strongly-worded diplomatic protest by candlelight—no human scribes remaining to properly document his decrations—the fundamental question remained unanswered: had their humans and common vampires been taken, or had they simply left? Without modern surveilnce or comprehensive monitoring, the traditional faction's certainty regarding external attack remained based entirely on assumption rather than evidence, their medieval regression having eliminated capability for accurate self-assessment.

  The empty domain continued operating at minimal capacity, noble vampires performing unfamiliar tasks with increasing resentment while continuing to bme external forces for internal colpse. Orlov's absolute conviction regarding Lucius's responsibility provided comfortable narrative without requiring systemic evaluation or methodology questioning. Without humans or common vampires to maintain basic functions, the traditional faction faced not merely resource scarcity but fundamental identity crisis—their rigid hierarchy suddenly irrelevant when only nobles remained to perform all necessary tasks.

  Whether orchestrated attack or systemic colpse, the outcome represented profound shift in vampire society's factional bance—progressive territories demonstrating sustainable practices while traditional domain faced existential threat from resource absence. Orlov's medieval governance now confronted modern reality: sustainable systems ultimately proving more effective than extractive methods regardless of ideological preference.

  The empty domain stood as stark embodiment of this fundamental truth—ornate medieval structures without functional purpose, eborate hierarchical systems without subordinate tiers, aristocratic nobility performing servant duties with increasing desperation. Whether humans and common vampires had been taken or simply left, their absence revealed fundamental vulnerability within traditional governance approach that no amount of diplomatic protest could effectively address.