On the night of the second day, Prospero could hike no further. He had not slept since the day of his father’s murder, and no amount of Vampiric strength could restore the concentration whittled away by fatigue. The same legion responsible for the tragedy in Innsworm would be out in force that night, hot on the heels of their quarry. Prospero could not stop, but his feet refused to carry him another inch.

  If I sleep now, Orlok will catch me, he thought, but I’ll only slow myself down at this rate. Unless… unless there was some way of restoring my energy without laying down for a nap…

  He was a Vampire, and what sounded more logical than a Vampire revitalising himself with blood? If he could locate something small and edible, the theory could be put into practise. But he was no hunter - or, at least, not in his current form.

  [Wolf] Form Activated

  Finesse (+50%) / Beasthood (+15%)

  A second later, Prospero was on all fours. The freezing night struggled to break through his newfound coat of fur, and scents once imperceptible to him became overwhelming in their intensity. The boost to his Beasthood was intoxicating, but he shook the urge off.

  I can smell blood, he thought, something is injured nearby.

  He veered off from the sunken pathway, hopping up a dirt bank into the tangle of roots and nettles. He was not only calmer, but faster than before. His nose tracked down the flecks of blood drying in the grass until the wounded critter, still limping stubbornly through the woods, came into view. It was a rabbit - the survivor of some other beast’s hunt, with only a single ear and eye with which to sense Prospero’s approach.

  Before it could squeal, flail, or tremble, he lunged towards it and snapped the rabbit’s neck between his jaws. A twist brought the critter’s life to an end. A pull yanked its head free with a spray of fresh blood. There was no unpleasant, metallic tang to its blood as Prospero expected. Like the wolf he had devoured on his first night, the taste was complex and exquisite, as if the rabbit had been drained and pumped full of wine.

  [Lowland Rabbit] Defeated

  [Rabbit Proficiency] + 1

  [Rabbit] Form Unlocked! (Aptitude - Perception)

  Slaking his bloodthirst offered more stimulation than any fable or meal. Prospero’s fatigue melted away as the rabbit’s entrails crushed in his maw and great helpings of blood rushed down his throat. It would have been simple for him to consider the tiny beast as nothing more than a convenience, but the fact remained that he had taken a life, however doomed it may have already been.

  Was my father savaged by these desires as well, he wondered, or did he find a way to suppress his vampirism? I’m not too surprised that he was a Vampire, everything considered, but there was nothing in the manor that suggested he fed on blood…

  He returned to the path, but did not retake his human form. As a wolf, he was faster and less burdened by the cold. He would need time after reaching Glassoph to locate the man named Alto. He had never visited a port town before; no matter how many times he begged his father to take him out of the realm as a child. The Incandescence, and the Voidbeasts which travelled it, were known to Prospero only through study and crude illustrations.

  I hope this Alto is as dependable as Albus claimed, he thought, or I’ll be stuck in this realm with no way to escape from Orlok

  Reminded of his pursuer, Prospero wasted no time dashing off.

  In the morning twilight, when great orange cloudblooms obscured the distant stars of the Incandescence, towers of brick rose above the canopy which Prospero had begun to imagine would never end. Humming spheres encaged within bands of spinning metal hovered over their peaks, directing cones of azure light towards rifts howling in the sky.

  Prospero froze on the road when a grand shadow swept across the dirt. He watched the great sunkissed silhouettes bobbing across the airways, rising higher than any beast had the right, defying the heavens themselves on their way towards the Celestial Ocean. Their insectoid legs scurried as if swimming through the air.

  The Voidbeasts took familiar forms - crabs, clams, and shrimps - though they were enormous on a scale that was difficult to appreciate from the ground. Prospero felt all of a sudden the need to rush towards Glassoph and observe one of those great beasts in their pens, or listen to the starfaring tales of the Starseekers in a crowded tavern.

  “Oi! Git!”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  There came a rumbling, then a rattling. He spun and spotted a coach tearing down the crest just behind him, twin steeds whinnying in protest as the driver brought low his whip across their chestnut spines. His warnings were directed towards Prospero. “Get out of the damn way, you mangy mutt!”

  He stepped off the path and felt the ground trembling beneath his paws as the coach bounced past. Whoever was bundled in the back was enjoying a bumpy ride, though they couldn’t be seen through the moth-eaten curtains drawn along the windows.

  Orlok’s followers can’t be too close if a coach was able to make its way here, he thought, but I shouldn’t use that as an excuse to waste time.

  Reluctant to approach while shapeshifted, he returned to his human form once the carriage was out of sight. Keeping to the shadows, he continued on his way towards Glassoph with eyes glued to the skies and their celestial occupants. In the half-hour that passed, he prepared himself for the panic that would follow in the wake of his revelation that a Vampiric legion was marching on the port.

  How is everyone going to escape, and where will they go? His heart sank on the approach. No… I’m sure that… if everyone stays inside, then Orlok will not be able to reach them… and once I’m gone, he will have no reason to linger.

  He could leave the realm behind without endangering anyone. It was all that mattered to him - preserving the simple lives of those who didn’t deserve to be roped into his business.

  But where would he go?

  Perhaps I can seek refuge in the Emerald City, he thought, or in the sprawl of Greater Hartlokus, where the old sorcerers dwell…

  The idea of skirting the Incandescence emboldened him with a certain glee. The realms he glimpsed through yellowed pages as a child suddenly didn’t seem so far away. But the first order of business was evading Orlok - he could dream of the world beyond his sleepy bubble when his life wasn’t endangered.

  The forest dissolved and the daylight grew. Logging camps stripped the land bare close to Glassoph, where wagons trailed the old roads on their way to sawmills tucked into the port. It was a shred of industry in Prospero’s backwater realm; a pothole through which the waters of progress leaked. The drumming cries of the Voidbeasts trickled down from the skies.

  Prospero drew his cloak up and felt the daylight singing his flesh. He couldn’t have looked more suspicious, but as with Queensbridge, he was certain that someone in town would recognise his name. No guardsmen attempted to stop him on his way in. There was no need for a wall in Glassoph - much as he would have liked to see one with Orlok on the way. The buzzing of the sawmills and the hubbub of the Voidbeasts kept any troublesome creatures at bay.

  Further in, the mills and workshops ceded to the brilliant chaos of trade. There were no quaint little homes and stately manors in a port town. It was a place constructed between the golden lines of commerce, studded with entrepreneurship and grifting in equal measure, where the local spirit of culture was scrubbed by an intoxicating clash of ideals.

  Prospero could hear insults through one ear and compliments through the other as he wandered the streets, which widened to accommodate the great chittering bodies of Voidbeasts being corralled from their pens to the Gate Magus and vice-versa. He watched a shrimp the size of a house skittering down the cobbled high street, its antennae hovering over the storied rooftops. Every ten steps, he peered through another window pane to spot a new assortment of luxuries; runic artefacts, exotic teas, sets of pristine armour, things he never knew could be bought or sold for reasons spanning a spectrum of difficulty and legality.

  I know why father never brought me here now, he thought, it’s because he wouldn’t have been able to drag me away! There are so many treasures from other realms in this place!

  Prospero’s nose led him to a tavern on the corner of a busy street near the town centre. He slipped past a pair of towering warriors toting swords at their hips on the way in and relaxed the tight grip he had on his cloak.

  I suppose the ‘open’ sign on the door counts as an invitation, he thought. It’s nice to be out of the sun for a moment. It seems to sap my energy even when my skin is protected…

  “Oi! Lad!” he heard a voice call, “Come over here!”

  A heavyset fellow seated at a nearby table beckoned him with one hand. In the other was a mug of frothing ale, the foam of which had already stained the greying beard around his lips. Two others were by him, and when Prospero wandered over, the closest of the two leaned back to pull another stool up to the table. “Forgive me for saying, young man, but you look like shit!” the first continued, “All pale and fevered… when was the last time you ate, boy?”

  Prospero hesitated to tell the truth. “...A few days ago,” he lied.

  “A few-” the man shook his head. “You homeless, boy?”

  “Naw, he’s not homeless, En,” a second fellow, skinny and bald, answered for him. “Look at his clothes. He’s some merchant’s son or another.”

  “If he’s the son of a merchant, then he’s the son of a rat bastard chancer who doesn’t feed their son!” The first thumped his fist against the table. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Prospero. Prospero Baptista,” he answered. “I’m the son of Innsworm’s count.”

  “That’s the tiny little place up those downs in the south, En. Innsworm,” the second man interjected. “He’s a local.”

  The one named En cocked his head. “Well, what’s he doing here, then?”

  “Please, listen to me for a moment!” Prospero placed his hands on the table. “I came here because my home was destroyed by a Vampire!”

  The ruckus around them simmered down. Heads turned at Prospero’s claim, most of them unbelieving but wary. He was the object of every warrior and traveller in the tavern now - his next words would need to be spoken carefully.

  “...Vampire?” En looked towards the frosted windows. “It’s broad daylight outside, boy. A Vampire can’t reach you here. Oi - Gene! Go and grab one of the guards!”

  The third patron nodded, removed himself from the table, and made for the door.

  Well, I made it just fine despite being a Vampire myself, but let’s not mention that unless we have to, Prospero thought. “The Vampire’s name is Orlok. Cyprian Orlok,” he continued. “He killed my father, and now he pursues me across the realm! I came here to find a man named Alto!”

  “Just- just… slow down, boy,” En held up his hand. “You’ll find no enemies here, ‘specially not if you’re telling the truth. You’re as haggard as a widow. Take a few deep breaths.”

  “I’m sorry…” he paused. “It’s been a chaotic few days.”