Daedric Solaryn's expression darkened as he sat in his grand office, the weight of his thoughts pressing down like an iron mantle. His mind kept circling back to the so-called investigators now housed within the palace walls.
'I can't push them away,' he thought grimly. He knew that much. The Red Sun, with its limited powers he could access, had already shown him enough. Their strength wasn't just notable—it was alarming.
Li Zenith and Nero Astrellan were both Immortal-rankers. That alone would have been enough to command respect, but they weren't the problem. No, the issue was him.
Magnus Draykar.
Even with the Red Sun amplifying his senses, Daedric couldn't gauge the man's full power. That alone spoke volumes. It was a void, vast and unmeasurable, a presence so far beyond his understanding it felt like staring into an abyss.
And then there was the boy.
Daedric's brows furrowed as his thoughts turned to that "monstrous brat." Despite his irritation, he couldn't ignore what the Red Sun had revealed. The boy was barely at the cusp of high Integration-rank, yet his true strength was something else entirely—Ascendant-rank.
It defied all reason.
The Wall was supposed to be absolute. The unyielding barrier separating those who were before from those who were beyond. Nobody should be able to wield power like that before reaching the Wall, let alone surpass it.
But this boy could.
The very thought made Daedric's hands clench in fury. Geniuses were the worst sort of creatures—upsetting the natural order, breaking rules that had held firm for centuries. They were a threat not just to the established power, but to the dignity of those who had clawed their way to the top the hard way.
A sharp knock on the door jarred him from his thoughts. He straightened, his expression cooling into one of distant authority.
"Enter," he said, his voice clipped.
The door creaked open, and his daughter stepped in.
"What are you doing here, Deia?" Daedric asked, his crimson eyes narrowing as they settled on her. She resembled him, her crimson hair and red eyes a mirror of his own. But where his gaze burned with unyielding ferocity, hers held only a soft, muted glow.
"I heard we have guests," Deia said carefully, her voice quiet but steady.
"We do," Daedric replied curtly, waving a dismissive hand. "But don't waste your breath on them. They are nothing to concern yourself with."
Deia hesitated, her expression conflicted. She seemed poised to say something more, but thought better of it and lowered her gaze.
Daedric's mood soured further as he studied her. His sharp eyes took note of something that only added fuel to his anger.
"You've been training more," he stated coldly.
"Yes, Father," Deia admitted softly, though her posture stiffened in preparation for what was to come.
A surge of mana erupted from Daedric like a tidal wave, forcing her to her knees.
"How dare you?" he snarled, his voice like thunder cracking through the air. "Did I not make myself clear? A woman trains no more than four hours a day, twenty hours a week at most! You are destined to bear my heir, not waste your time playing at warriors!"
Deia's lips tightened, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor as her fists clenched at her sides. She didn't argue. She never argued. That was not her place—not in his eyes.
Her silence only served to deepen Daedric's scowl, though he said no more. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the window, his thoughts returning to the investigators and the boy who had no right to exist with such strength.
His foul mood, already a storm, grew darker still.
The door opened again, and two figures stepped inside. Daedric's eyes flicked toward them before returning to his desk, his expression unreadable as Alyssara Velcroix and Cassius von Noctis entered the room.
"Go, Deia," he said curtly, dismissing his daughter without so much as a second glance. She bowed silently, her face carefully neutral, and slipped out of the room.
Alyssara didn't spare Deia a single look, her attention fixed solely on Daedric, her lips curved in a faint, amused smile. At first, Daedric had worried she might object to his restrictions on Deia's training. Women of her power often despised such measures, and he could ill afford to lose her support.
But those concerns had been needless. Alyssara didn't care.
It was then Daedric fully grasped the depth of her selfishness. Alyssara's world revolved around a single axis—herself. Everything else was merely set dressing, useful only so long as it served her whims.
That was the Crimson Dancer, Cult Leader of the Red Chalice.
Cassius von Noctis stepped in behind her, his movements fluid and predatory, like a great cat strolling through its domain. The prince of vampires carried an air of unshakable confidence, and rightly so. Even here, in Daedric's domain, it was clear that Cassius's power outstripped his own.
"Looks like things are getting interesting," Cassius remarked, sliding into one of the chairs with an ease that bordered on insolence. Alyssara followed suit, perching gracefully as though the grand office were her personal parlor.
"I wouldn't call it interesting," Daedric replied with a weary sigh, his gaze flicking between the two of them.
Even now, he could feel it—the old, festering resentment passed down through his bloodline. His ancestors' hatred for the vampires burned in his veins, a flame he could never quite extinguish.
'Oh, how I'd like to kill them both,' he thought, the weight of the sentiment pressing heavily in his chest. But that was a dream best left unspoken. He couldn't afford such indulgences—not yet. Not until he had squeezed every last ounce of value from their arrangement.
For now, the monster and the dancer would live. But the day might come when the debt was paid, and the old flames could finally roar to life.
"Alyssara will be dancing at the dinner, right?" Cassius asked, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly, their hue as dark and rich as freshly spilled blood.
Daedric nodded, his fiery red gaze meeting Cassius's briefly before flicking toward Alyssara. Despite sharing the same base color, their eyes could not have been more different—Daedric's glowed with an almost regal intensity, while Cassius's burned with a sinister undertone, as if soaked in malice.
"Yes," Daedric confirmed. His gaze lingered on Alyssara for a moment longer than he intended. Even seated casually, her presence seemed to draw the air from the room. Her beauty was effortless, almost predatory in the way it captivated without asking.
Daedric could see why Cassius was so fixated on her, his desire so blatant that it required no more than a handful of interactions to uncover. It was an obsession written across every glance, every carefully chosen word.
"Remember," Cassius said, his tone calm but carrying the weight of a threat as his fingers tapped rhythmically against the polished surface of the desk, "there can't be any complications."
"There won't be," Daedric replied evenly, though his words carried an edge of warning. "Not as long as all the vampires are gone."
"We're the only two in the palace now," Alyssara said with a faint smile, leaning back in her chair as if the entire conversation amused her. Her cyan-green eyes sparkled with a playful light, though the sharpness beneath it was impossible to miss. "I'm looking forward to the performance tonight."
The words, like everything she said, were perfectly poised. A simple statement, yet layered with subtlety and unspoken implications. Daedric didn't trust her, couldn't trust her, but for now, her words would have to do.
The dance, it seemed, would begin long before she ever stepped onto the stage.