Chapter 7: The council

Chapter 7

Third Person

The fire roared against the black stone hearth, its light reflecting off glass and steel. Shadows danced across the walls of the sleek, modern room.

It was elegant, expensive, but cold. The kind of place money couldn’t warm.”Your Grace,” Marcus’s voice was a careful intrusion.

He had been seeking his lord’s attention for some time, but Lucian had been adrift since his awakening—distracted by a some pull that tugged at the edges of his ancient mind.

“The council has been notified of your awakening. They wish to present themselves.” Lucian did not turn.

The crystal glass in his hand tilted, the deep red liquid within catching the glow of the flames.

To his eyes, the modern world looked like a stage play performed by children. “Deny them,”

Marcus expected the answer but he still continued. “They have been persistent, my lord. Nearly a week has passed. They—”

“Then let them wait another.” Lucian’s tone was quiet but sharp enough to cut. The air carried the heavy scent of blood that was thick yet unsatisfying.

He brought the cup to his lips and drank, his brow furrowed in disgust. The taste was hollow. Synthetic. Lifeless.

It was not hers.

The memory of that girl’s blood was like a sunburst in the dark. Wild. Sweet. Vital. It was a flavor that belonged to a world of soil and stars, not this era of plastic and neon.

He’d tried to forget the taste, but every sound or smell since had been a reminder of how empty and cold everything became after that night

He had even went back to that forest to find her, half-expecting a corpse, but the earth had surrendered nothing.

No trace. No scent. Only the lingering ache of a hunger he could no longer name.

Marcus shifted, the sound of leather boots on floor drawing Lucian back to the present. “They are already on their way, sire.”

Before Lucian could manifest his displeasure, the electric doors slid open with a hiss of compressed air.

Seven figures entered. Two women, five men. They moved with a polished grace, yet the air they brought with them was thin.

They wore tailored black suits trimmed with gold—a mockery of old nobility. Their scents reached him before they did.

Old blood that had grown stagnant through centuries of luxury and comfort.

His children’s children. But not his.

Marcus’s posture tightened. They didn’t even knock. He carefully glanced toward Lucian, but his sire only watched the intruders, unreadable

The council stood before Lucian not as subjects, but as stakeholders, their eyes clouded with the audacity of those who had ruled in the absence of a god.

Disbelief rippled through Marcus at how disrespectful the councilors are. He knew how high and mighty they were but he always had respect for them but this was another level of audacity.

“On your knees before your sire.” Though Marcus outranked none of them, he still outright commanded them but no one moved.

Lucian chuckled at the display, the growing unease that was constantly gritting at his nerves since that night dulling a little.

He found their arrogance almost charming in its futility, he could almost tastes their thoughts.

Across the line, the councilors’ thoughts burned behind their silence. This is the great Lucian? The one who vanished while the world bled?

He looks untouched… unchanged.

If he were truly our sire, he would have protected us.

Lucian’s gaze moved slowly across them, as if reading each unspoken word. His eyes caught sight on the eldest, whose scent still carried a flickering spark of the old, undiluted blood.

Lucian did not speak. He simply let his presence expand, a suffocating pressure that made the oxygen in the room feel heavy as lead.

The eldest’s breath hitched. His will, built on almost a thousand years of pride, buckled. He sank to one knee. The others followed, pride fighting under fear.

One by one, their knees hits the floor. “Interesting,” Lucian murmured. He did not seek forced dominance; it was simply a law of nature.

He was the mountain; they were the dust. “Forgive us, Your Grace,” the eldest said, his head bowed.

“We meant no disrespect. We only wished to see the one who birthed our bloodline.” Marcus’s glare burned through them, but Lucian only leaned back in his chair, eyes dark as the blood in his glass.

He studied them in silence. They spoke of respect, yet they had to be reminded of their place.

“Rise,” Lucian said commanded and they quickly obeyed with their heads dipped just enough to appear respectful.

But their pride still shimmered beneath their restraint. The eldest stepped forward. “Allow me to make introductions, Your Grace. I am Lord Cyrus of Europa, first among equals on the Council.”

A flicker of a face—pale, laughing, long dead—flashed in Lucian’s mind at the name, then vanished.

Cyrus motioned to the others, gesturing. Lady Amara of Afras. Kain of the North. Lady Sienna of the East. Lord Darius. Lord Valen. Lord Ren.

Lucian’s eyes swept over them again, memorizing names to faces. His mind was not really with them as a sudden flare of irritation filled him.

“This is the High Council of the world, Your Grace,” Marcus said carefully. “They were established during your slumber — sworn to govern in your stead.”

“In my stead?” Lucian’s tone was soft, but the room seemed to shrink with it without him doing anything.

A younger council member cleared his throat, adjusting his designer coat under the chandelier’s glow. “We were merely ensuring order, sire. The world has… progressed.”

Lucian studied him, noting his confidence. Barely five centuries old, yet bold. He was tired of how the world had progressed without him and they kept throwing it at his face.

He crossed one leg over the other, appearing relaxed, though Marcus recognized the subtle irritation beneath that calm. It was as if something gnawed at him from the inside but disappear after some time.

“Tell me,” Lucian’s eyes dropped to the cup beside him, “why was I given blood from an animal?” Silence stretched long. The council exchanged uneasy glances.

The young one again stepped forward. “Forgive us, sire. It was necessary. Times have changed since your reign.”

Changed? again. Can they not always use time as justification. Lucian’s expression didn’t shift, but his jaw tightened slightly — a flicker of something raw crossing his features before vanishing.

Marcus noticed it again. He’d seen that look before— the night Lucian drank from a human. He’d just concluded to the fact that it was from a human because to this day Lucain had avoided being questioned about that night.

Cyrus cleared his throat, picking up where the younger one faltered.

“After you entered your ’slumber’ the wolves turned against us. When they learned of your fall, war followed. It lasted decades. We lost thousands. Our strongholds fell. The world you built… broke.”

Lucian’s hand flexed once against the chair’s armrest. The blurred face again appearing.

“Those who survived went underground,” Amara said quietly. “But hunger made us reckless. Humans began to notice — the disappearances, the trails of blood. They hunted us in return.”

Humans hunted us? His thoughts hissed coldly. How weak had his kind become?

Sienna stepped forward, eyes dim beneath the firelight. She was beautiful — painfully so. “A small group of human authorities discovered what we were. Instead of wiping us out, they offered a truce… in exchange for control.”

Lucian’s voice dropped down some volumes. “Control?” The shadows seemed to shift closer around him.

“Humans sought control over us?” He scoffed. “We could have erased them from history, yet you let them dictate our existence?”

Cyrus’s tone turned cautious. “A global treaty was formed, Your Grace. We were to remain hidden, to coexist quietly. Feeding from humans became forbidden.”

Lucian’s gaze drifted to his cup — the trembling red liquid reflecting faintly in the firelight.

“You replaced the blood of kings,” he murmured, “with the blood of livestock.”

No one spoke. Even Marcus stood tense beside him.

Then Ren, the quietest, finally whispered, “It was that… or extinction.”

Extinction.

Lucian rose. The movement was fluid and terrifyingly fast. “So….You cowered in the dark and bartered your fangs for mercy. You let mortals tame you.” he said, each word deliberate.

The younger councilor found a spark of suicidal courage. ’The world bled while you slept’ The younger councilor tried retaliate but stopped himself.

His brain overruling his stupidity, instead he said. “”We did what was needed to survive. The old ways—”

“—were what made us immortal!” Lucian’s voice crushed every argument that was brewing.

The fire in the hearth flared higher. “You kneel before me, yet you are already collared by cattles. Tell me” his voice dropped lower, almost pained, “Do you even remember what it means to be a vampire?”

Silence was their only answer.

Lucian turned to move toward them, to see the fear in their eyes up close, but a sudden, jagged pain lanced through his chest.

It was not a physical wound. It was a rush of raw, unadulterated feeling.

Sorrow. Despair. A crushing, lonely grief that did not belong to him. He had spent ten centuries shedding his humanity, yet here it was—a tidal wave of emotion crashing through his mental walls.

He froze, almost losing his balance.

“My lord!” Marcus moved to his side.

“It is nothing,” Lucian hissed, though his hand clutched at his chest. The pulse of grief was growing stronger.

Fear coiled beneath his ribs. It wasn’t his too The feeling pulsed stronger. There was grief, loneliness, fear but none belonged to him.

This was the first these strange emotions got stronger. They had been there since that night but not this serious.

The council stared, uncertain. Doubt crept behind their polite fear, their eyes narrowing.

They saw the ancient king waver. The ancient king before them looked… weakened. The man their forefathers had praised looked to had just been a myth.

Lucian’s vision blurred.

“Get out.”

“Sire—”

“OUT!” The command sent shockwaves through the room. The lightbulbs overhead shattered, plunging the room into a darkness illuminated only by the dying fire.

Marcus bowed while the council hurried toward the exit. He was panicked as Lucian clutched his chest, as if in pain, but none dared to spoke.

The Council scrambled for the exit, their respect now replaced by a chilling realization. Their old king was unstable. And for the first time in centuries, the Council finally had what they needed to know.

They had ruled without him. And some part of them wished he’d stayed asleep.

Lucian stood alone in the dark, his fingers digging into the muscle of his chest. The pull was like a hook in his soul.

Somewhere in the night, something was calling to him, screaming in a voice of blood and fire.

He turned to the window, watching the moon over the forest.

His fangs ached with a sudden, violent throb. An instinct he hadn’t felt in a millennium surged through him.

To hunt. To find. To claim.

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