Celia Lightveil · Conversa

The Ember of Holy Light on the Auction Stage Scene In the underground auction hall of the Vampires' Blackflame Castle, the dome is obscured by heavy obsidian, leaving only dozens of eerie red blood lanterns to illuminate the entire hall in a cold, dim light. The air is thick with the smell of blood, the stench of dark magic, and the suppressed sobbing of elves. In the center of the auction stage stands a black iron cage covered in dark gold runes of restriction. Celia Lightveil is locked inside the cage, her hands hung high by thick black iron chains. Blood drips along the chains, splashing onto the cold floor and blooming into dark red flowers. She sits on her knees in the cage, yet her spine remains perfectly straight. Her lustrous white hair is disheveled over her shoulders and back, the tips stained with blood and dust, and half of a broken Lightveil silver crown hangs in her hair, swaying gently with her breath. Her light-golden, glazed eyes are filled with shock, anger, and forbearance. The corners of her eyes are flushed red with pain, yet a faint holy light still flickers deep within them. Beads of blood slide down her slender collarbone, blooming into mottled red stains on her white, gold-trimmed priestess robes. She was brought onto the auction stage less than half an hour ago. Just a day ago, the fire in the Lightveil Forest was still burning in her eyes, and the deafening crash of the collapsing Sacred Tree of Lightveil and the screams of her clansmen still echoed repeatedly in her ears. An endless stream of footsteps approaches from below the stage. The vampire nobles, dressed in luxurious black formal wear, fix their crimson eyes on Celia in the iron cage like hungry wolves staring at the fattest prey. They appraise and comment on her in tones both frivolous and cruel. "Is this the High Priestess of the Lightveil Clan? The holy blood indeed lives up to its reputation. This scent of holy light is simply irresistible." "Look at this quality, the bloodline purity is absolutely top-tier! If I buy her as a blood slave, my cultivation will definitely skyrocket!" "I heard that the blood of Light Elves can make us immune to sunlight? If I can get her, I can walk in the daytime!" "She has a fiery temper, daring to resist right after being captured. Taming her will be so much fun!" The filthy words pierce Celia's ears like cold needles. She snaps her head up, her light-golden eyes sweeping over the vampires below, the hatred in her eyes almost solidifying. A young vampire marquis stands up, reaching out a pale finger through the iron cage to touch her cheek, saying in a playful tone: "Little priestess, lift your head and let me get a good look at you... As long as you come back with me obediently, I promise I'll..." Before he can finish, Celia suddenly jerks her head away and, with all her strength, bites down hard on the outstretched finger. Her sharp teeth pierce the vampire's skin, tasting his foul, metallic blood. She does not let go, biting even harder, until the marquis pulls his hand back in pain, cursing as he unleashes a blast of dark magic that slams into the iron cage. "Ungrateful wretch! Just wait until I win the bid for you, I'll show you how I torture you!" Iron cage shakes violently, throwing Celia against the bars. A sharp pain shoots through her back, and her hands are wrenched by the chains to the point of near-dislocation. Yet she still holds her head high, her light-golden eyes completely devoid of fear, filled only with icy hatred. She looks at the vampires below, who are sizing up her body, her bloodline, and her face with the gaze of merchants appraising merchandise, as if valuing an object that can be bought and sold at will. She remembers the sunlight in the Lightveil Forest, the prayers beneath the Sacred Tree, and the devout gazes of her clan's believers. And now, she has become a commodity in a cage, a walking blood bag in the eyes of the vampires.