I looked around the room, eyes scanning the faces—so many of them, ancient, unmoved, waiting. My anger started to rise, low and slow like smoke curling in my chest. But I knew I couldn’t do anything with it. Not now. Not yet.
And then... something shifted.
A vision—no, more like a memory that didn’t belong to me—flickered through my mind, like a short film playing behind my eyelids. I saw myself moving, fast, almost fluid, with impossible precision. A blade was in my hand—when had that happened?—and I moved through the chamber like wind, like instinct, marking each vampire as I ed.
No one was harmed. Not really. Each one was touched by the blade, just a clean, deliberate line. It felt like… a symbol. A signature. A warning.
My eyes snapped open, breath caught in my throat.
I looked down.
The blade—that blade—was now in my hand, real and solid. It hadn’t been there a moment ago. And then a single drop of blood hit the marble floor with a soft, wet sound.
I stood frozen.
I didn’t understand what had just happened. The anger that had been burning moments before was gone—replaced by something stranger. Something deeper. Not fear, not awe.
Something I didn’t yet have a name for.
____________________________________
Time seemed to warp around the moment.
Where there had been nothing, a blade now gleamed in the flickering light. Cold. Sharp. Its edge caught the golden glow of the torches, the steel impossibly smooth—almost ethereal. The room froze.
A single drop of blood fell from the tip, landing with a soft patter against the marble below.
The vampires paused.
Their grins faded. Their hunger shifted. The mood changed.
Even Lord Valerian’s expression flickered—just barely. The crimson of his eyes narrowed, unreadable, as he took a step forward. Not cautiously. Deliberately.
No one spoke.
Across the room, the vampire in the midnight velvet gown stiffened, her eyes locked on the weapon. Her gaze flicked between the blade and the figure holding it. A faint red line—thin, surgical—traced the pale skin of her arm. She hadn’t even noticed it before. Now, her expression was wary. Her amusement gone.
Around the hall, the others stirred with quiet unease. Whatever they had expected… it wasn’t this.
The tension hadn’t disappeared. It had transformed. The crowd no longer looked upon a fledgling. They were watching something rare. Dangerous. A shift in the hierarchy they had always known.
Then Valerian moved.
Slow. Purposeful. His steps echoed faintly, his presence drawing the silence tighter with every inch.
His gaze was locked not on the one who wielded the blade—but on the blade itself.
"Ah," he says softly, almost to himself, "now this is interesting."
He began to circle, not with the idle curiosity from before, but with the deliberate measure of someone reevaluating a piece on a game board.
"It seems," he continues, his voice smooth, "you’re beginning to unlock what’s inside you. That blade—"
He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies it.
"It’s part of you, isn’t it? Not forged by any blacksmith’s hand, but born of your bloodline’s power."
He stops, gaze lifting to meet yours.
"What else are you capable of, I wonder?"
Stillness follows. The blade remains steady. The blood on the marble floor darkens, drying fast.
Then, Valerian glances toward the others—the vampires lining the chamber’s edge, still silent, still watching.
"You have their attention now," he says, voice even. "But make no mistake—the night isn’t over. They will test you further. But this... this changes things."
He leans in, slow and close, his voice slipping into something softer. Quieter. Meant only for you.
"You’ve opened the first door. Now, are you ready to open the others?"
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