The Protectors: Rising from Ashes [Progression Fantasy | Action-Packed | Epic Battles]

The corridor widened as they reached the end, and with a gentle push from Maris, the grand double doors eased open without a sound.

Maris entered first, calm and composed, her braid swaying behind her like a ribbon caught in still water. Sentinel followed in silence, every step deliberate. Cassandra came next, her sharp gaze already scanning the room as if memorizing every glowing detail. Behind them, the rest of the group—Aiden, Lyric, Elias, Alice, Thorne—drifted in loosely around Eddy like a protective constellation.

And then Eddy stepped inside.

He stopped short.

The dining hall opened before him like a scene plucked from an ancient fairytale. A long, gleaming table stretched through the chamber, its dark wood polished to a mirrored sheen. Floating above it, orbs of golden light hovered gently, casting soft glows that shifted like fireflies suspended in amber. High above, the ceiling soared into enchanted glass, revealing the night sky beyond. Constellations shimmered, rearranging slowly across the velvet black as though alive and whispering secrets.

Eddy stared straight up, eyes wide, breath caught in his chest.

"…This is unreal," he whispered. "It's like I stepped into a dream."

The others filtered past him, peeling off toward their seats. But not without watching him first.

Lyric smiled faintly, settling into her place with quiet grace. Aiden leaned on the back of his chair, clearly enjoying the look on Eddy's face.

Thorne didn't sit. He crossed his arms, grinning. "Haven't got anything like this in your human world?"

Eddy didn't look away from the ceiling. "No. We don't have magic. We build things with steel and wires and hope the roof doesn't leak when it rains."

That got a laugh from Alice as she slipped into her seat. "So definitely no glowing sky or floating lights, then."

Eddy looked down at her, then back to the ceiling. "Our ceilings don't move. Or shine. Or… stare into your soul."

Aiden snorted from his seat. "Give it a few days. You'll stop checking if it's real every ten seconds."

Eddy blinked at him. "Why? Does it eventually stop being cool?"

"No," Aiden said with a grin, "but your neck gets tired."

Cassandra, seated beside Sentinel now, tilted her head slightly. "He's taking it better than most do their first time."

Sentinel didn't speak, but his gaze remained on Eddy, watching with an unreadable expression.

Then Maris raised her hand.

With a graceful motion through the air, the table responded like a loyal servant. Napkins unfolded themselves with crisp precision, goblets lifted as if held by invisible hands, and soft ambient lights blinked on overhead in a slow, golden ripple. A wave of warm scents—herbs, roasted vegetables, fresh bread—rolled across the hall like a spell meant to soothe.

Eddy took a step back, blinking rapidly.

"Okay… nope. That napkin just saluted me. What the hell."

Thorne burst out laughing and collapsed into his chair. "Oh, I am going to enjoy every second of this."

Eddy pointed at the goblets. "You're telling me this is normal? That doesn't freak anyone out?"

Lyric leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "You're in a castle run by ancient magic and dragon-bound wards. And it's the napkin that finally breaks you?"

Eddy gave her a flat look. "The bread is steaming. Without being touched. I'm sorry if that's not normal where I come from."

Alice chuckled as she poured herself a drink. "It's fascinating, honestly. I forgot how weird all this must look from the outside."

Aiden leaned toward Thorne, stage-whispering, "Think he'll scream if the food talks back?"

"I will scream," Eddy said, raising a hand. "I'm not above that. I want to set expectations early."

Maris arched a brow, placing a floating platter down with a flourish. "I like him," she said, sitting with clear satisfaction. "Very expressive."

"Very dramatic," Thorne added with a smirk. "You might fit in better than you think."

Eddy's hands gripped the table edge as if it might suddenly levitate. His eyes darted around, watching a ladle serve itself.

"If a chair starts singing, I'm jumping out the window."

Aiden grinned. "Just make sure it's not enchanted. You don't want to insult the furniture."

Cassandra leaned toward Eddy, resting her chin in her palm. "Welcome to our world. The strange part? You haven't even seen the weirdest thing yet."

Eddy swallowed. "Should I be concerned about dessert?"

A soft ripple of laughter moved around the table.

Eddy finally slid into the chair between Lyric and Elias, still half-stunned. His gaze roamed across the table again.

The spread looked like something out of a storybook. Some dishes were recognizable—roasted vegetables, warm loaves, golden broth—but others were not. One platter shimmered like starlight caught in sugar, another held meat so vividly red it almost glowed. Some fruits blinked faintly when touched, and a platter of glistening petals released sweet steam as they settled into place.

His brows lifted slowly, mouth parted.

"You… made all of this?" he asked, turning toward Maris at the far end. "This much, in like, thirty minutes?"

There was real awe in his voice. His expression said it all, this wasn't a kitchen, it was sorcery.

Maris smiled with the ease of someone who'd heard that tone before. "I've had a little practice. I'm Fae, remember? Been alive for more than a thousand years. Cooking's just one of the many things I perfected by century four."

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Eddy froze. His hand holding the goblet faltered.

His head whipped back toward her. "Wait. You're a thousand?"

The air shifted.

Everyone paused.

He stared at her like she'd just rewritten reality in front of him.

"You're… older than some entire kingdoms," he said, voice trailing, still stunned. "Older than most human wars."

Maris tilted her head, looking mildly offended. "I'm not old. Just well-preserved. Fae age slowly. Gracefully."

"I didn't mean—"

"Our years pass differently," she said matter-of-factly. "Time walks lighter around us than it does around humans."

Eddy nodded slowly, but his eyes began drifting around the table.

Lyric noticed first and spoke with a faint grin. "We're all still in our youth by our standards… but even so, most of us are around two or three centuries old."

"And Maris is the oldest among us," Elias added. "Along with Sentinel. Both of them have crossed a thousand."

Eddy blinked, his gaze bouncing from face to face again, mouth opening slightly in stunned realization.

Lyric met his gaze with a knowing smirk and said nothing.

Elias just offered a tiny smile and took another sip of soup.

Aiden lifted his goblet. "Don't ask. It'll mess with your head."

Alice added with quiet amusement, "You're not going to be able to guess any of our ages. Best not to try."

Cassandra leaned slightly forward, propping her elbow on the table and swirling her cup lazily. "Let's just say… I've lived long enough to watch human empires rise and fall. More than once. And I still feel young."

That's when Eddy looked truly alarmed.

"How old are you all?"

Thorne grinned wide and leaned in.

"When you said you're nineteen?" His voice was full of faux seriousness. "In our perspective, you're still in diapers."

Eddy groaned instantly. "Oh stars, I walked into that."

Thorne only leaned further, hand cupping his chin thoughtfully. "No, really. If you were in our nursery halls, you'd need two babysitters and a protective charm against table corners."

Aiden barked a laugh. "Protective charm. Dead."

Lyric shook her head. "You're not that small. Just… soft."

"I'm not soft," Eddy muttered, slouching.

"Then don't pout like one," Alice teased gently.

Eddy dragged his hands down his face. "I hate this place."

Sentinel, sitting further down the table, didn't look up from his plate, but his voice came calm, unbothered.
"You'll adjust, eventually. Just keep surviving. That's how the rest of us made it."

Maris raised her goblet again, clearly enjoying the chaos. "To our resident infant."

"To the infant," Thorne echoed, cheerfully lifting his drink.

Everyone joined in with quiet laughter and raised glasses, except Eddy, who just shook his head in defeat.

"I need better friends."

"You've got us instead," Elias said, not unkindly.

Thorne clapped him on the back. "No refunds."

As the laughter faded into warm conversation, the clinking of cutlery filled the hall. They'd finally started eating.

Plates were passed, hands moved with practiced ease. Some dishes were sampled with curiosity, others devoured like old favorites. Thorne had claimed a bowl of caramel-glazed roots and looked personally offended when anyone reached for it. Aiden was already stacking three types of bread on his plate like he was building a fortress.

Eddy, caught between Lyric and Elias, hesitated before taking a slice of something that looked like roasted citrus-glazed meat. He poked it with his fork.

"It's not going to bite back," Lyric teased, nudging him lightly.

"I'm just making sure it doesn't wiggle or something," Eddy muttered.

Alice chuckled from across the table. "It's food, not a spell."

Cassandra, sipping her drink calmly, added with a smirk, "Although some of Maris's dishes have put up a fight before."

"Just once," Maris called out sweetly from the far end.

"Once is enough," Thorne said with a mouthful.

Then, as the group continued, Maris walked off to the side chamber connected to the kitchen, and returned with a silver carafe. With no announcement, she stepped toward Elias and gently set a dark crystal goblet in front of him.

A rich crimson liquid sloshed inside, thick and unmistakably familiar in hue.

Eddy's gaze dropped to it immediately.

He froze.

His spine straightened. His shoulders tensed. Then he subtly shifted in his chair, angling ever so slightly away from the goblet. His fingers twitched on his fork.

Elias caught the movement.

He turned his head, tone calm and patient. "Before you assume anything," he said quietly, "I want you to know, this doesn't come from killing anyone."

Eddy blinked, unsure. His gaze flicked from Elias to the glass, then back. "What… do you mean?"

Elias's fingers rested lightly against the base of the goblet. "I told you before, we don't hunt humans like your movies think we do. No ambushes in alleys. No neck-breaking theatrics."

Eddy stared harder, voice low. "Then where do you get it?"

Before Elias could reply, Sentinel's voice came from the head of the table, measured and even.

"From agreement," he said. "We have systems in place. Structures designed for both humans and our kinds."

Eddy turned toward him slowly, his interest now outweighing his discomfort.

Sentinel's gaze remained steady. "Humans who need money… or aid… sometimes volunteer," he continued. "They go to designated blood banks, centers monitored by both the Human Council and the Vampire High Council. One of the largest is called Crimson Accord. Everything is handled with records, contracts, and supervision."

Cassandra added, "The exchange helps both sides. They're paid, helped, or supported in ways they need, and we receive sustenance without harm."

She gestured gently with her cup, her fingers trailing along the rim. "These banks are not just donation centers. They're community-supported facilities. Some are even operated near major universities and hospitals to make the process more accessible."

Lyric leaned forward. "It's not shady. They know what they're doing. No one's tricked."

Eddy looked like his brain was sprinting to catch up. "So… those blood banks in our world, the ones that say they're for emergencies or hospitals, all of them are actually working for you?"

Elias shook his head. "Not all. Some are still just human operations. But the ones that are partnered with us, those are much bigger, far more regulated."

Maris chimed in with a grin, "They even have nicer chairs. I visited one once. Spa music. Free cookies."

Eddy stared blankly at her. "You went to a blood bank for the cookies?"

Thorne grinned. "Priorities."

Still trying to process, Eddy rubbed a hand over his jaw. "So… how do they get blood from someone? I mean, what's the process?"

Sentinel answered calmly. "Applicants go through a screening. If they qualify, they sign a magical consent agreement, written in both tongues. Their blood is drawn using enchanted vials that prevent pain and regenerate quickly. The donations go to centers like Crimson Accord, Vyreline Chambers, and Sanguis Pactum. These banks are assigned based on region."

Alice added from her place, "And the Human Council ensures it remains fair. There's no coercion, no manipulation. It's all by choice."

Eddy looked overwhelmed again. "So… those blood banks that I thought were just emergency stores… could be distributing blood to your kind too?"

Elias nodded. "Some, yes. But others still serve hospitals and emergencies. Ours are discreet. Hidden in plain sight, but never illegal."

Eddy's brows drew together. "Wait—what about that one near Westmere University? I think it's called Veinrise Center. Is that one of yours too?"

Sentinel didn't pause. "Yes. Veinrise has been part of the Crimson Accord network for almost a decade now."

Eddy stared at him, blinking slowly. The color drained a little from his face, and he leaned back in his chair as if trying to physically process the weight of it.

Cassandra glanced at him. "The donors never know where it's going. Just that they get what they need—money, medicine, housing. The rest stays out of sight."

Eddy's brows drew low again, clearly cycling through old memories, names, places, signs he might've missed.

Sentinel's voice pulled him back. Calm, even. "You don't need to worry. You don't need to dig through your memory. These banks don't take from unwilling people. Every drop comes with consent."

There was a stillness after that. Short, but deep.

Eddy's eyes dropped again to the goblet, and for the first time, he didn't flinch.

"…That's… actually kind of… comforting," he said at last.

Elias smiled faintly, then finally lifted the glass. "Told you. No monsters here."

Aiden raised a brow. "Well. Except Thorne."

"Rude," Thorne said through a mouthful of food. "I'm majestic."

Cassandra smirked. "Majestic mess, maybe."

Maris laughed softly. "Welcome to dinner, Eddy."

Eddy looked around at the table, at the centuries-old beings laughing over soup, teasing each other like old friends. For the first time since arriving, a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips.

"Yeah," he murmured, "weirdest dinner of my life."

Thorne raised his fork like a toast. "You'll get used to it, muffin."

Sentinel finally shifted, folding his hands in front of him at the head of the table.

"Now," he said, voice low and firm, "let's continue. From the beginning."

All eyes turned again, back to Eddy.

The golden orbs floated quietly overhead.

The enchanted sky continued its silent dance.

And beneath it, the real story was only just beginning.