Leyla

"Blessing of the morning, Mihrisa." A Kischmir curtsied deeply to Leyla, an act of formality she wasn't used to.

"Please, do not curtsy," She begged, "I am but a commoner. Call me Leyla."

"But you are the Dralan's Mihrisa," the Kischmir said, looking respectfully at her. "You serve the greatest purpose any female could wish to serve. You sustain our Dralan."

Leyla hadn't thought of it like that. Yes, it was a true honor to serve his lordship the Dralan, but to be considered as his lifesource... "Even so, I beg you. Call me Leyla."

"Very well... Leyla," the Kischmir curtsied again and made Leyla sigh resignedly. "I am to help you bathe and cater to your hunger. What would thou like for breakfast?"

Instantly, Leyla felt the slight rawness in her throat that indicated she needed to drink soon. The Dralan still hadn't chosen her a feeder and she wouldn't press the subject any further. She had displeased him enough, so she ignored the slight burn. "Anything easy and simple will be fine, truly. I can cook it myself, you don't have to--"

"Please, it is my honor," The Kischmir said. "Anything you'd like, I'll bring to you."

This wasn't going to work out, Leyla thought. If she was going to be her Kischmir or whatnot, she needed to lose some of the formality. "What is your name?"

"Bhria, mistress," She replied, curtsying again.

"Well, Bhria, if we are going to do this, I can't have you speaking to me like that. I used to work these halls as you did, I would prefer it if you would speak to me with the rank that you and I share," Leyla said, placing a hand on the female's shoulder when she lowered her head. "I am a female like you. We are nothing in this world if our solidarity fails. So please, speak to me as you would any female."

Bhria looked up hesitantly, biting her lip. "You are of kind nature. Where do you come from?"

"Eraldrulth," Leyla replied, smiling when the female seemed to ease. "Where do you?"

"Nehlmir."

The females talked for hours while Leyla prepared, going through the necessary ablution thoroughly for the Dralan's liking, before dressing in a red dress Bhria had brought with her upon her arrival. Leyla learned that Bhria's brother was a Lathra, and that was why she had gotten a place in the royal household. Her family had some vague noble blood, but it was too faint to hold any value these days.

"My parents grandparents were nobles of Nehlmir. Our roots have always been in Nehlmir, I think Byhron and I were the first to ever leave," She told while she braided Leyla's hair with care.

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes," Bhria looked down as a shadow slid over her face, "but I am much safer here. The Mihr hunters... they were scavenging the lower cities and... and..."

A chill went through Leyla's body. "Did they get to you?"

She heard the female sniffle and then her eyes glossed up. "Yes. It was awful. I fought, but... oh, I'm sorry."

When she broke down crying, Leyla reached a hand up to hers and squeezed it. "Have courage, sister. You survived your suffering, many do not. Fate might have been cruel to you, but the sweet Blithesome Miss is watching over you in the sky. She protects you now."

Bhria smiled through her sobs and curtsied in a very respectful way. "You are truly a worthy female to serve our Dralan. I am so humbled to serve you, sweet Mihrisa."

Dohmenic

The Dralan picked his useless Lathra up by the collar and tossed him away on the riled soil like the useless waste of space he was. Not even ten minutes in the ring and he fell to his knees in defeat. Pathetic.

The Dralan trained his Lathras with no mercy and they showed him all the same. He knew that his enemies did not do so either, so he demanded no less from his Lathras. If his kingdom was falling apart, he would need strong males to forge it back together. His enemies demanded bloodshed and so did he. Until the battlefield was coated red with the blood of the vampires who had fought against him, against their rightful leader, the Dralan would not be satisfied. His Lathras - his warriors who had vowed their allegiance - knew that, and therefore willingly absorbed every horrendous beating and every crushing defeat until they were no more. Until their sweaty bodies did not feel the pain anymore and until they fought till death or victory. Only then were they worthy of the title he had graciously bestowed upon them.

The Dralan was proud of his males. They were strong and handpicked by himself; only the strongest-blooded males allowed to fight by his side and call themselves a Lathra. They were as relentless as him when he challenged them outside on the muddy training field, took his every challenge with pride and enthusiasm. As the satisfactory sweat of exhaustion dribbled off the Dralan's back, he looked up at the sun that shone brightly today on a cloudless sky.

Ancient scrolls told of a time where vampires could not withstand the cruel rays of the unforgiving sun; A time where vampires were forced to cower in darkness and shadows, in the fear of being burned by the sun's warm gleams.

But generations of adaption had finally accustomed them to the rays of the sun. The prickle of the sun did not effect their skin anymore, rather it empowered them; They had learned to harness the sun's power and use it to their advantage. The sun now boiled their blood and made them stronger, made them able to fight harder and with more ferocity - a quality the Dralan appreciated in any male who could handle being under the sun for hours.

Now, after many hours of moil, the Dralan's celerity was slowing. As he walked back inside his castle, accompanied by his good friend Callath, he felt fatigue and hunger settle inside him.

"How goes the Mihr search?"

"Poorly," Callath replied and handed his Dralan a towel for the dirt and sweat that coated his face. "I have been in every village from Tyhr to Nehlmir, and so far, no luck. Unless his lordship plans on feeding from a pubescent female--"

"No," The Dralan stealthily replied. "The female must be of prime age. I won't drink from a female who has not bled yet, you know that, Callath. My probities will stay the same until the day I pass on to the Blithesome Miss."

Callath nodded his head in respect and kept his eyes on the ground. "Of course, my lord. I will keep searching."

"Do that."

"But in other news," Callath hesitantly continued. "Lord Merram of Amascahr sent a letter this early morning. His female has just given birth to a young."

That was uplifting news. Merram was a trusted ally and a good friend. His blood's continuation was a victory for the kingdom. "The gender?"

"Male, my lord."

Even better. "Extend an invitation to him and his female," The Dralan ordered, wiping the last of the dirt away. "We shall celebrate his son's arrival with a Bhrakla Aurua ceremony. Make the preparations. But leave the list of Sahl Amorsa's to me," He told, now coming to a halt outside of a door.

"As you command, sire," Callath bowed.

The Dralan paused for a second in front of the door. After a thoughtful moment, he glanced over his shoulder at his friend. "And the matter I told you to take care of?" He asked with anger in laced in every fiber of his voice. "Have you taken care of it yet?"

Callath straightened his back and gave his Dralan a somber look. "Lathras were dispatched yesterday morning and should be arriving in Eraldrulth within three days. I am confident they will not disappoint their Dralan."

"Good," The Dralan coldly said, squaring his posture before then twisting the knob of the door of which they were standing in front of. "No one is to disturb me for the next hour. Make sure my Mihrisa stays safe until my return."

Callath bowed his head as the Dralan stepped inside the room and greeted the two females who awaited him. "As you wish, my lord."