Need Power To Survive Nightfall High

Raven left after making me promise to lock the door.

I promised. Then I lay on the infirmary bed staring at the ceiling, watching the death omens pulse in my vision even when I closed my eyes. Sleep was impossible. Every time I started to drift off, I'd see that ghost's hollow eyes. Hear her whisper. He killed me.

Who was "he"? Caspian? Someone else?

And why did it matter to me so much?

By the time morning came—or what passed for morning in this place of eternal twilight—my eyes burned and my head pounded like someone was using my skull as a drum.

Mira appeared at the door with a tray of food and a concerned expression. "Miss Sera, you have Vampire History in thirty minutes. Are you well enough to attend?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really, no." Mira set the tray down and wrung her hands together. "Miss Kaine sent word. She said if you miss another class, there will be... consequences."

Of course there would be. I dragged myself out of bed, my muscles aching from yesterday's beating.

The Vampire History classroom was in one of the older parts of the academy. Stone walls covered in tapestries showing bloody battles and dark ceremonies. Rows of wooden desks faced a massive blackboard. About twenty students were already seated—mostly vampires, with a few humans scattered in the back.

I took a seat in the last row, trying to make myself invisible.

A man swept into the room, and I knew immediately he was different from the other instructors. He wore glasses—actual reading glasses, which seemed odd for a vampire—and his gray hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. He had the look of someone who'd spent centuries reading books by candlelight.

"Good morning, students," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I am Dorian Graves, your instructor for Vampire History and Blood Magic Theory." He turned to write his name on the board, and I noticed his movements were careful, deliberate. Almost human.

"Today we begin with the founding of Crimson Hollow Academy," Dorian continued. He adjusted his glasses and looked out at us. His eyes—a faded blue—swept across the room and paused when they reached me. Something flickered in his expression. Recognition? Concern?

Then it was gone, and he continued. "The academy was established in 1723, during what we call the Great Betrayal. Can anyone tell me what that event entailed?"

A vampire in the front row raised his hand—a boy with pale blonde hair slicked back from his face. "The vampire hunters were massacred. They betrayed us first, trying to start a war, so we eliminated them."

"That's the official version, yes." Dorian's voice was mild, but something about the way he said it made several students shift uncomfortably. "But history is rarely that simple. The truth is messier. More painful. And often, more important."

He moved to stand in front of his desk, leaning against it casually. "The vampire hunters weren't trying to start a war. They were trying to prevent one. There was a faction within the vampire nobility—powerful, ambitious—who wanted to enslave humanity entirely. The hunters discovered this plot."

"That's not in any of our textbooks," a girl with dark red hair said. She sounded defensive.

"No, it wouldn't be." Dorian's smile was sad. "The victors write the history books. And we vampires won that particular battle, so we wrote ourselves as the heroes. But the truth is, we massacred people who were trying to protect both humans and peaceful vampires from tyranny."

The room erupted into murmurs. Some students looked shocked. Others looked angry.

"Professor Graves," the blonde boy said sharply, "are you saying our founders were liars?"

"I'm saying our founders were complicated. Like all people." Dorian pushed his glasses up his nose. "They did terrible things for what they believed were good reasons. And the consequences of those actions still haunt us today."

His eyes found mine again. This time, they stayed there.

"The leader of the vampire hunters at that time was Elara Ashford," Dorian said. My stomach dropped at the sound of my grandmother's name. "She was considered the greatest hunter of her generation. Brilliant. Fearless. And according to our history, she betrayed her own people for wealth and immortality."

"But that's not true, is it?" The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

Every head in the room turned to stare at me.

Dorian's expression didn't change. "And what makes you say that, Miss...?"

"Ashford," I said. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "Seraphina Ashford. Elara was my grandmother. Several times removed, obviously, but still. And I'm betting the official story is missing a lot."

The murmurs got louder. Several students started whispering behind their hands, shooting looks at me.

"Well," Dorian said quietly. "This is certainly interesting." He walked toward my desk, his steps deliberate. "You're correct, Miss Ashford. The official story is incomplete. Your grandmother didn't betray anyone. She created a failsafe."

"A failsafe?" I asked.

"A curse." Dorian's voice dropped lower, and the whole room leaned in to hear. "She worked with a witch to create blood magic that would activate if the vampires ever acted on their worst impulses. A curse that would slowly kill them all unless broken by truth and willing sacrifice."

"That's insane," someone said.

"That's terrorism," another student added.

"That's justice." Dorian's voice was sharp now, cutting through the noise. "She couldn't stop the massacre. She couldn't save her people. But she could ensure that future generations would have to face what was done. She could force accountability."

"By cursing innocent people?" The red-haired girl stood up, furious. "I wasn't alive three hundred years ago. My parents weren't even born yet. Why should we pay for something our ancestors did?"

"Because you benefit from it." I stood too, my hands pressed flat against the desk to keep them from shaking. "Every vampire in this academy benefits from what happened during the Great Betrayal. The power structure. The blood servant system. All of it was built on that massacre."

"And you want us to what? Apologize? Die for something we didn't do?" The girl's fangs were visible now.

"I want you to acknowledge it happened." My voice was getting louder. "I want you to stop pretending you're the heroes of this story when you're not."

"That's enough." Dorian's voice cracked like a whip. "Both of you, sit down."

We sat. The tension in the room was suffocating.

Dorian walked back to his desk and pulled out a large, leather-bound book. "What Miss Ashford is describing is the curse we now call the Founder's Curse. It's been killing vampires slowly for three centuries. And it's accelerating."

"Can it be broken?" someone asked. The question sounded desperate.

"Yes." Dorian opened the book, flipping through yellowed pages covered in cramped handwriting. "According to the prophecy Elara left behind, the curse can be broken one of two ways. First, through willing sacrifice—a Truthsight-bearing descendant of Elara must give their life during the Blood Moon, and the curse ends."

Every eye in the room turned to me. I felt the weight of their stares like physical pressure.

"What's the second way?" I asked. My mouth had gone dry.

"Revolutionary truth." Dorian looked up from the book, his faded blue eyes meeting mine. "The full truth of the founding betrayal must be revealed to all vampires and humans. Every detail. Every crime. It would destroy the power structure built on lies, but it would save lives without requiring sacrifice."

"Why hasn't anyone done that?" a student asked.

"Because the people in power don't want the truth revealed." Dorian closed the book carefully. "Because revolution is messy and unpredictable. Because sacrifice is cleaner. One death versus potential civil war."

"So they'll kill her," the red-haired girl said. She wasn't asking.

"They'll try." Dorian's voice was soft but certain. "Unless she finds another way. Or unless someone helps her."

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. Students filed out, most of them casting looks at me—some curious, some hostile, some pitying.

I stayed in my seat, my legs too weak to stand yet.

Dorian approached my desk once the room was empty. "You're in danger, Miss Ashford. More than you realize."

"I kind of figured that out already." I looked up at him. "You knew my grandmother, didn't you? The way you talk about her... it's not from books."

A smile ghosted across his face. "Yes. I knew Elara. I helped her create the curse, actually. That's why I'm still here after three hundred years—the curse sustains me, keeps me alive to witness what comes next."

My breath caught. "You're the witch. The one who helped her."

"I prefer the term 'magical historian,' but yes." Dorian pulled out a small leather journal from his jacket and set it on my desk. "This belonged to your grandmother. Her personal notes about the curse, the prophecy, everything. I've kept it safe, waiting for someone who could use it."

I stared at the journal like it might bite me. "Why give it to me now?"

"Because the Blood Moon rises in eighty-seven days," Dorian said quietly. "And because you're going to need every advantage you can get. The council is divided on what to do with you. Some want you dead immediately. Others want to wait and see if you'll cooperate with the sacrifice. And a few..." He paused. "A few are actively trying to ensure you don't survive long enough to make any choice at all."

"Who?" My hands curled into fists. "Who wants me dead?"

"That's what you need to figure out." Dorian straightened, adjusting his glasses. "Read the journal. Your grandmother left clues about the curse's weakness. About how it might be broken without death. But you'll need to move carefully. Trust very few people."

"Can I trust you?"

He smiled sadly. "I'm three hundred years old, Miss Ashford. I've seen countless people die because of this curse. I'm tired. So yes, you can trust me—because I'm hoping you'll end this, one way or another, so I can finally rest."

He left before I could respond.

I sat there alone, staring at my grandmother's journal. My hands shook as I reached for it.

The moment my fingers touched the leather cover, the Truthsight flared. The classroom disappeared, replaced by a vision—

My grandmother standing in this exact room three hundred years ago, blood on her hands, speaking to someone I couldn't see: "Make sure she knows. Make sure my descendant understands—the curse has a loophole. It's hidden in the bond. The blood bond. If she can figure out how to use it, she won't have to die. But she needs to see the truth first. All of it."

The vision ended. I gasped, back in the present.

The blood bond. Caspian's blood bond with me.

That was the answer. The loophole my grandmother had hidden.

But before I could process what that meant, I heard footsteps in the hallway. Multiple sets. Moving fast.

The door burst open. Three vampires I didn't recognize stormed in, their eyes glowing red with bloodlust.

"There she is," one of them snarled. "The Ashford bitch. Grab her."

I scrambled backward, but there was nowhere to go.

They advanced, and I saw it clearly with my Truthsight—they didn't have death omens above their heads.

They weren't here to scare me.

They were here to kill me.