“It is not but a drop in the eternal bucket of time, but a year has gone and passed, milord,” Zhaneen said, bowing to the throne of her master, Carnstein. His eyes had that far away look to them, and his chin rested on his left fist as he slumped comfortably on his throne. Across from him lay open the latest bit of treasure Zhaneen looted from Wachten, the largest village of the campaign.

“Faithfully have you served me, my dear,” he finally said, “and I sense you seek your final reward?”

“Yes, my love. I seek to join with you in the march of time itself as an immortal.”

“The blood cup, that which many seek, but most deny at the last minute, is yours for the asking, lover.”

“I hereby accept the offer, and I will not fail you as others have.”

“No,” he said, “I sense you…