The crypt falls silent save for the distant drip of water against stone. You remain kneeling, your fingers still pressed to the altar. 'Tell me,' you murmur, the words barely more than a breath. 'Which among the council seeks to undermine me?'

The shadows swirl again, coalescing into a figure taller than the rest—a specter with a crown of thorns and a mouth sewn shut with silver thread. The voice hisses through the crypt, dripping with disdain. 'The Viper. The one who smiles with fangs bared.' The specter dissolves, reforming into the likeness of a vampire with sharp, aristocratic features and eyes like polished onyx. 'Lord Dain. He whispers in the ears of the others, turning their hearts against you. He covets the throne, though he lacks the strength to take it openly.'

A low growl builds in your throat. Dain. Of course. The elder vampire had always been too clever by half, his compliments laced with poison. The shadows writhe, showing you flashes—Dain meeting with the Blood Court’s emissary under moonlit arches, Dain’s fingers curling around the hilt of a dagger as he watched you from the high table. 'He plays the loyal servant,' the voice warns, 'but his ambitions are written in blood.'

The vision fades, leaving you alone with the weight of the revelation. The torches gutter, plunging the crypt into near darkness. The voice speaks one final time, softer now, almost mournful. 'Choose your next move carefully, prince of shadows. The viper strikes when you least expect it.'