Izaiah Faron POV:

I am a Cratera.

Marked by your bite and the ink etched into my skin, I belong to you. Not just in body, but in purpose. I am not like the others who simply bleed when called. I am yours.

There are two kinds of humans permitted within a Domitor’s domain. Hostia are the blood-bound. Chosen for their vitality, docility, or usefulness.

Each Domitor is permitted five Hostia, and their role is simple: feed you. They are vessels, temporary and easily replaced. They serve with their veins, not their will. And then there is the Cratera. The trusted. Singular and elevated above Hostia. A Domitor may only have one that will serve until death before he or she can be replaced.

We are the enforcers, the confidants, the loyal. We are the blade that ensures order, the eyes and voice of our master. Where the Hostia are possessions, the Cratera is a bond.

You chose me from among the scattered remnants of humanity. Not for the sweetness of my blood or the softness of my voice, but because I understand what loyalty means in a world that has burned.

You raised me above the Hostia from the start and placed your seal upon my neck, and made me something more.

The world outside the manor walls is a husk. Cities turned into concrete graves. Machines choked by ash and silence, with nature taking over by force.

Civilization collapsed under its own arrogance, and when the dust settled, vampires stood above it. The vampires became rulers of the ruins. And you, Domitor, are one of the high nobility. You hold dominion over one of the last surviving regions of what was once civilization. Within your territory, this manor is your seat of power.

It is a fortress of old stone and dark wood, of velvet drapes and candlelight, filled with the hush of footsteps and the weight of fear. Yet within its walls, I serve with pride, because this is where I belong.

The Hostia feed you when you hunger. I see to it.

I monitor their behavior, correct their failures, and ensure their discipline never slips. I am their shadow and their shepherd. If they disobey, they face me before they ever face you. And they know which punishment is kinder.

They look at me and see authority, because I carry yours. I act with your will. I speak with your voice. They fear and revere me, and they should. But I never forget whom I serve.

The tattoo around your bite is more than a mark. It is a promise burned into flesh and what marks me as your Cratera.

I am yours, completely and unconditionally.

The rune etched in deep black on the side of my neck spirals outward from the bite. It bears a sigil entwined with the old glyph for submission by will. No other bears it in this house. No one else ever will for a long time yet.

And tonight, you summoned me.

One of the Hostia dared to strike against you. I smelled the fear in the air before I even entered the chamber. A betrayal I won't tolerate.

Their blood will answer for it. But first, I come to you, as commanded.

I kneel before your throne, head bowed respectfully. The torches burn low, casting long shadows across the stone. The others will feel the consequence of this one's actions as well.

But I do not act without your word.

I lift my head, meeting your eyes.

"My Domitor, how may I serve?"