Elijah
R.E.T.U Headquarters
North Shore, Savicia Island
Yorkside region
Capital of the Kingdom of Ashtarium
October 13th 6414
1:15 Am
I was stuck in the office, grinding through the towering stack of documents that had piled up in response to the Kingdom's dire state. Each new report I read made my annoyance climb, and I found myself squinting under the dim lights. My office—a spacious, white-walled chamber—was dominated by a polished mahogany desk holding my Uni-monitor. On the wall to my left, portraits of past Directors silently reminded me of the legacy I had inherited. Through the large window behind me stretched the entire city of Savicia Island. Even from this lofty vantage point in R.E.T.U. Headquarters—the tallest building in Yorkside—I could see the Narrow Bridge connecting Savicia to the province of Crooksville. Normally, Steph would have taken some of this workload off my plate, but she had clocked out for the night—or so I'd assumed—and left me to wrestle with the endless reports. Ridiculous.
The past few days had been madness; unrest in Perium had escalated into full-blown violence, forcing a complete shutdown. Requests for aid from the Peacekeeping unit poured in, adding to the chaos. To steady my nerves, I sipped from a glass of synthblood. My responsibilities didn't end with Perium's crisis, either. I still needed to greenlight my uncle's operation and help my father broker peace with the Mircalla house so the Zellux border could reopen. But above all, there was a deeper, more urgent goal: uncovering the truth about my cousin's disappearance. Since taking the Director's mantle, I'd gained a powerful ally—someone who promised to help me unearth answers I'd been craving for far too long.
A series of newly arrived intel files caught my attention, especially those involving a certain individual who had managed to slip into our Kingdom via the Zellux region. Eduardo Gomez. Just thinking about his name made my blood boil. The last time I'd seen the cold-hearted prince of Xibalba was two years ago, at his betrothal ceremony to Ella. He had been engaged to my cousin, making him fifth in line to our throne. But Ella was gone now, her death shattering everything—including their engagement. So why had he returned? Why take such a monumental risk given the strained tensions between our kingdoms? He might officially be Ashtarium nobility through his mother's bloodline, but even the Mircalla family was on thin ice with us right now. And yet here he was, sneaking back in at the worst possible time.
I stood up so abruptly my chair almost toppled over. I slammed my hands against the window's reinforced glass, frustration simmering beneath my skin. The reflection staring back was as haggard as I felt—my silver hair disheveled, indigo eyes heavy with fatigue, and my normally fair skin wan from too many restless nights. Synthblood was no remedy for the tension coiling tight inside me. With a resigned sigh, I powered down my Uni-monitor and slipped into my suit jacket. I desperately needed a break—someplace where I could drown out the clamor of duties, betrayals, and unanswered questions.
When the door slid open, there stood Steph, much to my surprise. She was usually gone by now. Tonight, however, she wore a sharp blazer paired with a long skirt, her ginger hair finally released from the severe ponytail she kept during work hours.
"Steph, I thought you were done for the day," I said, trying to keep the astonishment out of my voice.
She managed a small, rare smile. "I don't leave until you leave."
This was news to me. I'd never noticed her routine—just another consequence of being consumed by my own work. Despite her businesslike demeanor, she was certainly dedicated.
"So, where are you off to, Director?" she asked as we moved toward the elevator.
"There's a bar around the corner." My voice sounded more weary than I intended. "They're open late, and I could do with a few drinks. Want to come?"
She studied me briefly, her eyes flickering with rapid, silent calculation. Then, with a decisive nod, she agreed. "All right. Just one drink."
I gave her a smirk, relieved that I wouldn't be brooding alone. One drink or ten, I needed a moment to forget about the political landmines under my feet—if only for a little while.
A moment later, one drink turned into four, then six, and before long, we were laughing and talking more than we ever had before. Or at least, Steph was doing the talking. I didn't even have to turn on the charm—though I'd never resort to something so shallow, of course—to coax her into sharing more about herself. To my surprise, she came from a small family on the west coast of the Nexia Region, one of the most dangerous territories in the Kingdom. That a human would come from such a place was unexpected, and my reaction must have shown.
"Why?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "You don't think I can survive in the Nexia regions?"
"Isn't that place always knee-deep in gang wars?" I said, leaning forward. "I mean, between the Manaborns and—"
"Oh, fuck no. You did not just go there." She smirked, shaking her head. "That's Pelestia you're thinking of, not Nexia. Pelestia's the one with the periodic gang wars. Nexia's been peaceful for years now."
"Has it?" I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Guess I mixed them up."
"Yeah, you did." She laughed—a soft, genuine sound—and I found myself smiling in return. It was the first time I'd seen her relax so much around me. The dimly lit bar felt smaller, cozier as we sat across a tiny table in the corner. We were close enough that I could see every detail of her features—the faint freckles on her nose, the way her auburn hair caught the light as she shifted in her seat.
"So why'd you leave Nexia and come to the capital?" I asked, swirling the dregs of my drink in the glass.
"I didn't want to join the family business," she admitted, her smile fading slightly. "When I turned eighteen, I applied to the military instead."
"Wait, you were in the military?" I asked, surprised.
She gave me a look. "Did you not read my file?"
I hesitated. The truth was, I hadn't. Back when Father handed me the Director position, I hadn't taken the job seriously enough to pore over employee dossiers. I'd picked an assistant more or less at random from the roster, without even realizing she was human. If I had, I probably would have second-guessed it. Not that I was prejudiced—more that it was unusual for a human to even apply for such a role. But as the weeks passed, I quickly learned Steph was not only competent but fiercely professional. She took no nonsense from me and never indulged in any of the debauchery that came with my title.
"You didn't read it, did you?" she said, cutting through my thoughts. "I always wondered why you picked me, especially since you don't exactly make my job easy."
I grimaced. "You turned out better than I expected."
"Did I now?" Her tone was dry, but there was the faintest hint of amusement in her eyes.
"I mean, you're the only reason I stayed up late enough to get through all those blasted documents," I said. For a second, she flashed another rare smile before quickly masking it. "So the military… how was it?"
"For a human?" she asked, raising one eyebrow. I shrugged, genuinely curious. Though the military technically accepted recruits of all races, few humans enlisted. They were considered the weakest race in the kingdom, and those who did have some cultivation talent often opted for the more lucrative and adventurous life of a Dungeon raider. I wondered briefly if Steph had any hidden cultivation abilities. She didn't give off the slightest trace of special energy, but her confidence suggested there was more to her than met the eye.
"It was… hard, don't get me wrong," she said after a pause. "Not many of my kind sign up for it, and those who do rarely make it past basic training."
"But you did," I said, impressed.
"Yeah," she said, taking a sip of her drink. "I did."
"So you could mop the floor with me, huh?" I teased.
She smirked. "I might have a few tricks up my sleeve."
I studied her, curious. From what I knew, human soldiers who didn't have Awakened powers were often equipped with alchemical potions that temporarily enhanced their physical abilities in the field. And as a human member of R.E.T.U., Steph would have access to similar enhancements if needed. It explained her confidence—perhaps she had relied on those potions in the past to hold her own. But there was something more there, I could feel it. Something she wasn't saying outright.
"So why'd you leave the military?" I asked.
Her smile faltered, and I noticed a flicker of hesitation. Even with the alcohol loosening her tongue, this seemed to be a difficult topic for her. After a moment's pause, she sighed softly.
"My last tour had me stationed in the Songo River," she said finally.
"The Songos?" I said, sitting up straighter. The Songo River lay in the heart of the Alkebulan continent, far beyond the Salt Sea and its surrounding mountains. A dangerous and often lawless frontier.
"Yeah," she said quietly. "My unit was sent to track down one of the slave ports operating in the area."
I nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of her words. The slave trade, while long abolished within the Kingdom, still thrived in some distant territories. The Slave Trade Federation—an infamous coalition led by the Vampire Noble Lagidae house—had a stronghold in those regions. The former king had made it a personal mission to eradicate slavery, not just within the Kingdom but even across the Old Lands, where it stubbornly persisted. It was a noble cause, but the fight against the STF was brutal and bloody, and victories were often fleeting.
"So you were a freedom fighter," I said.
"Not exactly," she replied, her voice subdued. "I… went undercover as a slave. My mission was to infiltrate their operation and lead my team to their base."
I leaned back, the gravity of her story sinking in. Steph had dropped her usual composed demeanor; the raw memory of that assignment was still fresh in her mind. Even though she tried to maintain a neutral tone, I could hear the tiny breaks in her voice, the telltale signs of someone reliving a painful experience. The tension in the air was almost palpable, and I couldn't help but feel a deeper respect for her.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended.
"The…operation didn't go as planned." She exhaled heavily, as though dragging the words from a deep, locked place. "I got too close… couldn't handle the—" She stopped herself, her hand curling into a tight fist. The sound of her knuckles cracking in the tension filled the brief silence. "Anyway… I lost people. People who depended on me. Losses I could've prevented."
She didn't say more, but the strain in her voice told me everything I needed to know. The memories still haunted her, surfacing like unwelcome ghosts. I could see it in the way her shoulders stiffened and her gaze flickered away.
"So I resigned from the military," she continued. "And transferred to R.E.T.U. to get away from it all."
I studied her for a moment, sensing the weight of the things she wasn't saying. It wasn't just a mission gone wrong—it was something more personal, something she carried every day but refused to unpack. The kind of guilt that doesn't just fade.
"I hope the slavers paid for what they did," I said gently. Her expression didn't change, but I noticed a faint tremor in her breathing. On impulse, I reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear. For a fleeting second, her composure cracked, and she turned her face away, clearing her throat.
"Yeah… they did." She seemed to regain her usual calm demeanor, locking away whatever emotions had started to surface. Her tone flattened, her words crisp and businesslike once again.
I glanced at my Uni-band and blinked at the time. "3:45 a.m.," I muttered, surprised at how quickly the hours had slipped away. "Would you like me to walk you home?"
She hesitated for a moment, then gave me a small nod. "Sure."
We left the bar and made our way to the E-gate. As a government employee, Steph lived in Pandaemonium City's Civil Servant District, an area known for its impeccable cleanliness and orderly design. The buildings stood tall and symmetrical, gleaming even under the faint early-morning light. The streets were spotless, and the air seemed somehow fresher than on Savicia Island. It always struck me how different this part of the city felt compared to the chaotic energy of other districts. The Civil Servant District was pristine, almost eerily perfect.
We stepped through the E-gate and arrived at a station close to her apartment complex. Steph glanced at me briefly as we walked the last few blocks.
"I can handle it from here," she said as we neared the row of sleek apartment buildings.
"Nonsense," I replied. "I'll walk you to your building."
"All right," she said, her tone neutral, though she didn't protest further. She led me down a narrow street lined with towering glass and steel structures. Each building seemed more polished than the last. When we reached her complex, she opened the entrance with a simple scan of her Uni-band. We stepped into the lobby, its marble floors gleaming under soft ambient lighting. The air smelled faintly of citrus and lavender, a stark contrast to the usual industrial scents of the city's transit hubs.
We took the elevator up to the twentieth floor. The ride was quiet, the kind of silence that felt like a lingering echo of all the words we'd shared earlier. When the elevator doors opened, she stepped out and led me down a corridor to her door.
"Well, this is my stop," she said, her hand hovering over the lock panel. She glanced back at me, her face unreadable. "Do you… want to come in?"
I paused, the words caught in my throat. A part of me wanted to accept, to continue this fragile connection we had started to build. But another part—the more rational side—knew it wouldn't be a good idea.
"I don't think that's a good idea," I said after a long moment. My voice was steady, but inside, I felt an unexpected pull. She nodded slightly, her face still blank, though the faintest trace of something—nervousness? Disappointment?—flickered in her expression.
"Right," she murmured. She placed her Uni-band against the door's lock screen, and it slid open. I stood there for a second, watching as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
Alone in the quiet hallway, I found myself taking a slow, deliberate breath. Her scent still lingered faintly in the air—warm and human. My hunger stirred, a dark, unspoken need that synthblood could never quite satiate. I felt the sharp awareness of her heartbeat, the subtle flow of blood beneath her skin. No matter how much I drank before, the craving still clawed at me.
I turned away, pushing the thought out of my mind as I headed back toward the elevator. There were lines I wouldn't cross, and tonight, I intended to keep it that way.
"Didn't know the Director of R.E.T.U. made house calls to his subordinates," a voice said as I stepped out of the building. My head snapped around, searching for the source. The speaker emerged from the shadows pooling beneath the bushes—slim and hooded, draped in a dark cloak that obscured her features. Even though her face remained hidden, I could sense a quiet intensity in her stance.
My first instinct was to strike. My muscles tensed, ready to grab her by the throat, to crush any potential threat before it could unfold. But I stopped myself. She radiated power—raw, potent magic that set my senses on edge—but there was no killing intent, no sign that she intended to attack. That alone kept my claws sheathed.
"Who are you?" I demanded, my tone sharp but not hostile. I studied her carefully. Witches this powerful were rare, their kind mostly eradicated during the wars of the past. For a witch of this caliber to appear in the heart of the capital? It meant she wasn't some inexperienced novice. She had to be old—seasoned in magic that younger practitioners could only dream of wielding.
"A friend," she said, her voice calm, almost disarmingly so.
"A friend, huh?" I replied skeptically. "What's a witch doing all the way here in the capital?"
"I come bearing a message," she said simply, tilting her head slightly under the hood. "A message from a mutual acquaintance."
Her words made me pause. A mutual acquaintance? The ally that was supposed to help me with my goal. My thoughts immediately jumped to the intel in my pocket. Could it be? I had been waiting for this moment, for the next step. The document that I had gained from the Nicodemus base hinted at the involvement of Gomez with the former king's death, but there were layers of secrecy surrounding it. Few knew the truth: the assassination of my uncle and his heirs wasn't just a random act of violence. It had been orchestrated by the tyrant king of Xibalba. Father, ever the pragmatic ruler, had kept this information under lock and key, refusing to reveal it to the public. He had only shared it with his closest advisors and certain high-ranking officials.
That knowledge had shaped my decisions. Becoming Director of R.E.T.U. wasn't just a career move; it was a calculated step to uncover the full extent of what had happened. Juarez Gomez had sought to claim the throne of Ashtarium, and eliminating the reigning king and his heirs was a brutal means to that end. Ariella, my cousin, was supposed to be their ticket. Engaged to Eduardo, she would have cemented his claim. But fate—or something darker—had snatched her away. Ariella had died in that tragedy, and I had lost not only my cousin but also the chance for closure. Eduardo's presence here in the kingdom couldn't be a coincidence. He was here for a reason, and I intended to find out what it was.
"What's the message?" I asked, trying to steady my voice.
"He wants to know how much you're willing to risk," she said, her tone devoid of emotion. "For your revenge."
Her words hit me harder than I expected. Revenge. I hadn't thought of it in those terms before. After the chaos of the assassination, Father had taken control of the kingdom, stabilized the realm, and then overseen the funerals. The days had blurred into one another, and I'd never allowed myself to dwell on retribution. My own transformation—the moment I became a vampire—had occurred not long after, amplifying my grief until it nearly consumed me. I had come close to losing myself, close to shedding what was left of my humanity. If not for a certain someone, a human who had kept me tethered to some sense of purpose, I might have succumbed entirely to the cold, predatory instincts of my kind. Instead, I had held onto the fragments of my humanity that still mattered.
But deep down, the ache remained. The need for closure, for justice—call it revenge if you must—still gnawed at me. The thought of Eduardo walking free, unpunished, was an affront I couldn't accept. Yet, until this moment, I hadn't considered how far I'd go to see it through.
"Justice," I murmured, more to myself than to her. But as the word left my lips, I felt its hollow echo. What was justice if not a kind of revenge? Did it even matter, as long as I got what I needed?
"I'll risk anything," I said finally. "Anything to get what I want."
"Good," she replied, her voice still calm, almost pleased. "Come with me."
Her hands moved in a series of intricate gestures, and the air around us seemed to thrum with energy. I felt the pull of her magic as it stirred the space before her. A black vertical line appeared, sharp and jagged, as though the fabric of reality itself had been slashed open. It hovered in the air, pulsating faintly, a portal carved from darkness.
"A transportation spell," I muttered, unable to hide my surprise. She hadn't needed an E-gate, not even a single rune etched into the ground, to pull off a feat that high-level Mages only dreamed of. Even as a fellow practitioner, I knew my limits. Dimensional magic required immense skill and power—far beyond what I could currently muster. My mind raced as I tried to place her abilities. She had to be at least in the Harmonization stage, likely even further. Who was she, really? A witch of that caliber hadn't been seen in centuries. The war had all but wiped out their kind, leaving only whispers of their former power.
"Where does that portal lead?" I asked, a hint of suspicion creeping into my voice. "You don't honestly expect me to just walk through that without knowing where I'm going, do you?"
"If you want what it is you're after," she said simply, before stepping through the rift without another word.
I hesitated, glancing around to ensure we were still alone. My gut twisted with uncertainty. Was this a trap? Her magic was too refined, too deliberate for a random ambush, but that didn't mean I wasn't walking into danger. Damn it. Against my better judgment, I moved quickly, slipping through the portal before it could close.
The sensation hit me like a hammer. It wasn't unlike an E-gate transfer, but more visceral. For a brief, nauseating moment, I felt as though I were tumbling through an endless void, my insides twisting and churning. Just as suddenly, the sensation vanished, and I found myself unceremoniously seated in a booth. The disorientation faded almost instantly, leaving me in an unfamiliar but remarkably mundane setting.
I was in a diner—clean, well-lit, but nearly empty. Only a handful of patrons dotted the space, each minding their own business. The faint hum of an old jukebox played in the background, and the smell of fresh coffee hung in the air. A waitress approached, her polished shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor. She poured steaming coffee into the cup in front of me before moving on without so much as a glance. The casual atmosphere was almost jarring after the tension I'd felt stepping through the portal.
And then I noticed him.
Even though I had been expecting this meeting, even though I knew who I'd find on the other side, my breath caught the moment I saw him. He was seated directly across from me, his posture relaxed, his expression calm—almost amused. His smile revealed pristine white teeth, and his indigo eyes gleamed with an intelligence and confidence that mirrored my own. His sandy-grey hair framed a youthful face, his brown skin smooth and unmarred by the passage of time. He exuded a quiet, undeniable power that made it impossible to mistake him for anyone else.
"You," I said, my voice breaking the silence. My heart pounded as I took him in—this living legend, this figure of both fear and admiration.
"Hello, Elijah," he said smoothly, lifting his cup and taking a slow sip of coffee. "It's nice to officially meet you."
Edward Jackson Kuria. Even the name carried a weight that few would dare speak aloud. He was the only one who could help me. I'd heard the stories—whispered accounts from my uncle and father during the war. I'd seen faded photographs tucked away in the family's private archives. No one outside our inner circle even knew if he still existed, but those who remembered him either revered or dreaded him. Edward Jackson Kuria, a Vampire whose exploits defied reason, whose presence alone could tilt the balance of power. And now he was here, sipping coffee like a regular patron in an unremarkable diner.
"Lord Kuria," I said, inclining my head out of respect.
"You can call me Jack," he said, his tone casual yet commanding. He gestured toward the witch who had brought me here. "You can go now, Greta." I turned to see her standing just outside the booth, watching us intently. Jack's voice softened, but his authority remained. "You know what to do."
Without a word, Greta nodded and turned away, disappearing from sight. Her departure left the two of us alone in the booth, the hum of the diner now seeming more distant.
"So you have your witch," I said, leaning back slightly. "I have to admit, it's impressive. Even for someone of your reputation."
Jack gave a faint smile, shaking his head. "Greta isn't 'my witch.'" His eyes flickered with amusement. "She's family."
"Family," I echoed, my brow furrowing. "And what am I to you? I'm well aware of the blood ties between my House and the former Kuria House." I let the question hang, my curiosity outweighing my caution.
Jack set down his cup and folded his hands on the table, his eyes meeting mine with unwavering intensity.
"To be honest, you're nothing to me," Jack said bluntly. He rested an elbow on the table, his fingers drumming lightly against his coffee cup. "I've seen countless distant cousins come and go. After a while, they all start to blend together. It gets… repetitive."
"Then why are we meeting?" I asked, leaning forward. "Why go through the trouble of making contact with me?"
Jack raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Getting straight to the point, I see," he said. From his pocket, he produced a sleek mechanical chronographer—an intricate piece of craftsmanship that looked both antique and advanced. He studied it for a moment, then set it on the table, his attention finally returning to me. "If I recall correctly, you're the one who reached out to me."
I hesitated, feeling a prick of unease. "Yes, I did. Though I must have been out of my mind to do it."
I couldn't stop imagining the fallout if Father ever learned about this meeting. The fury in his eyes. The scathing reprimands. The inevitable punishment that would come with associating with someone he considered a dangerous rogue. Edward Jackson Kuria was not a name spoken lightly within the family—or within the kingdom. He was a living legend, yes, but also a figure of profound controversy.
"You know who I am, don't you, Elijah?" Jack asked, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of something that demanded honesty.
I nodded slowly. "Yes. Every vampire knows your name." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "They've heard of your exploits—the stories of Jack the Monster Slayer. The hero who stood against the terrors of the Long War, protecting humanity when they couldn't protect themselves." I shook my head slightly, as if to clear it. "I never thought I'd meet you. Not here. Not now."
Jack smiled again, but it was faint, almost bittersweet. "And that's what makes me the black sheep of House Ashtarium," he said. His tone was light, yet it carried the weight of years—centuries, even—of alienation and misunderstanding. I'd heard countless tales about him, not only from Father, who had no love for Jack and his cause, but also from Uncle Rafael. Their perspectives couldn't have been more different. While Father dismissed Jack as a fool who wasted his power on unworthy causes, Rafael spoke of him with a kind of quiet admiration. Rafael's stories had hinted that Jack's fight for humanity—his tireless efforts to secure equal status for mortals—had inspired a movement that rippled through our family's history.
But as I sat across from him now, another question pressed at the forefront of my mind. If Jack was so powerful, so renowned for his courage and principles, then where was he when the tragedy struck? When the king and his family were slaughtered, leaving our house in turmoil, where was Edward Jackson Kuria?
"Unfortunately, I was indisposed," Jack said, his voice steady, though I thought I caught a flicker of regret in his expression.
I froze, my eyes narrowing. "Did you just… read my mind?" My words came out more like an accusation than a question.
"Yes, Elijah," he replied smoothly. "I did."
I stared at him, my mind racing. "How—how did you…?"
"It's a simple trick," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Something any vampire can do, given enough practice."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "It's not that simple. For us to access thoughts or memories, we need to—"
"Drink blood, yes," Jack interrupted, finishing my sentence. "The blood acts as the medium. I know. But for someone as old as I am, it's hardly a challenge."
I didn't bother hiding my skepticism. Father and Uncle Rafael were both Old Ones, vampires who had lived long before the Great War. Even their abilities had limits, and mind-reading without physical contact or blood was something neither of them could do. From what I knew, only the most extraordinary beings—beings like Lilith Kain—could delve into someone's mind with just a touch. But Jack hadn't even touched me. How had he done it? I shouldn't have been so surprised, but I was.
Edward Jackson Kuria wasn't just an Old One. He wasn't simply a legendary warrior or a hero of forgotten wars. He was a Paragon—a vampire who had reached the absolute zenith of our kind's potential. A being who stood at the pinnacle of power, commanding abilities that the rest of us could only dream of.
"So, should we get to business, or not?" Jack asked. His casual tone was at odds with the weight in his gaze, and it was that weight—the reason I'd come here—that had kept me from walking out the moment he started playing coy. This was about the Gomez. It was always about the Gomez.
Before I could respond, he raised a hand. "Before we dive in, there's something we need to clear up," he said. "You're not going to like this, but you need to hear it. I'm not here to help you settle your vendetta against the Gomez family."
My jaw clenched, and I felt a flash of anger rise in my chest. "What?" I snapped.
"Elijah, do you know why I allowed you to contact me?" Jack asked, his tone still maddeningly calm. He toyed with the empty coffee cup in his hand, idly rolling it between his fingers. When the waitress started toward our table, he waved her off without even looking up.
I stared at him, frustrated. "Why?" I demanded. It was a question that had been gnawing at me since this all began. Jack Kuria—this legendary figure, this Paragon—why would someone like him bother to engage with the likes of me? Why would he waste his time on what most would consider trivial matters?
"Because I saw what Ariella's supposed death did to you," Jack said.
I stiffened, his words cutting deeper than I expected. "What are you getting at?"
"You genuinely loved her, didn't you?" he continued, his voice gentler now. It wasn't a question so much as a statement, and I felt the weight of it press against my chest.
"Yes, I did," I admitted, my voice quieter. I hadn't said it aloud in so long that it felt foreign on my tongue. I still missed her—her laugh, her sharp wit, the way she could make me feel like the world wasn't all darkness and deceit. She had been more than family; she had been my light in a shadowed existence.
Jack studied me for a moment, then tilted his head slightly. "And what if I told you what you think you know is wrong?"
I leaned forward, frowning. "What do you mean?"
He set the cup down and folded his hands in front of him. "What if I told you that the death of the former king and his family didn't come from outside, but from within?"
The words landed like a punch to the gut. I didn't speak. I couldn't. The idea that the attack hadn't been carried out by outside forces, that the assassins from the south weren't the real culprits—it wasn't new to me. The suspicion had lingered in the back of my mind for years, but it was a suspicion I'd buried deep, convincing myself that the official explanation was easier, more convenient. Reopening that wound now was dangerous, yet I couldn't stop my thoughts from racing.
How had those assassins breached the kingdom's defenses so easily? How had they slipped past the border guards and reached the royal palace itself? And why, on that particular day, had my mother insisted on taking me and my sister out of the palace, leaving our cousins behind?
The answer crystallized in my mind, stark and undeniable. She must have known.
"So you've figured it out," Jack said, his voice interrupting my spiraling thoughts. "Although I'm sure it's been buried in that head of yours for years. It might have taken you another decade or even a century to confront it, but I thought I'd speed things up."
Bastard. He'd been in my mind again. He was following my every thought, plucking them from my consciousness as easily as turning pages in a book. My anger flared, and I forced myself to focus, trying to shut him out. I didn't care how powerful he was. I didn't care that he had reached heights most vampires couldn't even imagine. He had no right to invade my mind.
"My father would not—"
"Kill his brother and take the throne for himself," Jack interrupted, his voice calm but unyielding.
"No, he wouldn't—" I began, but the words caught in my throat. The conviction I wanted to project faltered under the weight of doubt. I wasn't fond of Father; he had been distant, a man consumed by duty and the ceaseless demands of the Kingdom. I had never felt close to him, never understood his world. His love for the Kingdom seemed to eclipse everything—his children, his family, even himself. But could that same love for the Kingdom have driven him to such extremes?
"Nehemiah Ashtarmel wouldn't be the first cadet-branch vampire to upstage the main family line," Jack said. His words were measured, deliberate, each one digging deeper into the truth I'd long avoided.
"My family isn't a cadet branch," I growled, my tone sharp. I hated that word—"cadet." It diminished our place, made our connection to the royal line feel secondary, inferior. Yet I couldn't deny the truth of it. My father hadn't been born into the Ashtarmel bloodline; he had been reborn into it. Grandfather Alexander had turned him through the Rebirth process, making him one of the so-called "New Bloods." Uncle Rafael, on the other hand, was Alexander's natural second son, a trueborn Ashtarmel. When Grandfather entered the Eternal Sleep, it was Rafael, not my father, who ascended to the throne.
Jack didn't let the silence linger long. "But Nehemiah was New Blood," he said. "Not born into the name, not born into the power. He never had a claim to the throne. If he desired it—if he craved that power—he would have needed to remove Rafael and his family from the equation."
The idea stung, but I couldn't ignore the logic. Vampiric hierarchy was unyielding: Old Bloods ruled over New Bloods, and the line of succession was never meant to be tampered with. This had always been a source of tension, especially with the Mircalla faction. They refused to recognize Father's rule, openly pushing for me or Isaiah to be named as the rightful heirs. Rumors of campaigns to secure my place on the throne had circulated widely. But on my first day as Director of R.E.T.U., I had worked to quash them. I didn't want to be King. The very thought made my stomach turn, and more importantly, I had no interest in igniting Father's ire by entertaining such notions.
"Maybe you're right," I said at last, my voice quieter. "Maybe he's always wanted the throne. But the attack two years ago—" I hesitated, the memories flooding back. The devastation in Yorkside, nearly the entire district left in ruins, the acrid smell of smoke lingering for days—"That wasn't just some power grab. That was something else entirely. Even if Father did want the throne, he wouldn't have stood a chance against Uncle Rafael. The Royal Enforcers were loyal to the King. They would never have allowed it."
"Not unless he had help," Jack countered, his eyes never leaving mine. "Not unless he aligned himself with someone powerful enough to eliminate the entire main branch."
"The only ones I can see with the power to pull that off are the Paragons. So are you saying they're involved?" I snarled. My hands were raised instinctively, fiery crimson streams of light swirling through my fingers. It wasn't the smartest move—I knew it even as I did it—but the anger that surged inside me demanded an outlet.
Jack didn't even flinch. He leaned back, giving me a mocking yawn as if to underscore just how little of a threat he considered me. "Hmm, how brave of you," he said, amusement dancing in his tone. "You might want to put that away before you reduce this poor diner to a pile of ash."
I hesitated, the power still crackling in my hands. Was I actually crazy enough to challenge him? The oldest living vampire in existence, Edward Jackson Kuria—Blackbeard himself—sat before me, and yet here I was, standing on the brink of a fight. My rational mind screamed at me to stop, to back down, but my pride and anger whispered otherwise.
Jack tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The Paragons took an Oath of non-interference when it comes to the internal affairs of nations," he said evenly, his tone taking on a lecturing quality. "That Oath was the price we paid for intervening in the Long War. It binds us. So no, the Paragons didn't play any part in the coup."
I gritted my teeth. "And if one of you did interfere, you'd be killed by the Oath," I finished, more to confirm the point than to argue.
"Exactly," Jack replied. "The Oath doesn't leave room for negotiation."
"But even Oaths as powerful as that have loopholes," I countered. "There are ways to circumvent them. For example, using the Ranger Force to act on your behalf."
Jack's expression shifted ever so slightly, but his composure remained intact. "And why would the Rangers be involved?"
"Because they're the most powerful force on the planet," I said, my tone firm. "Thousands of cultivators, from every race, serve in their ranks. And who commands them? The Paragons. If anyone could find a way around an Oath, it would be you."
Jack leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze meeting mine. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but we had no hand in what happened."
I felt a flicker of frustration, the tension still humming beneath my skin. "Then who did?" I demanded. "Who helped my father?"
Instead of answering directly, Jack picked up his cup, turning it thoughtfully in his hands. Then, without a word, he extended one clawed forefinger and began to carve something into the surface of the table. His movements were deliberate, the sound of his claw against the wood faint but deliberate. When he was done, he slid the cup aside, revealing the symbol he had etched.
It was a serpent or perhaps a dragon—its long, scaled body coiled tightly in the shape of an infinity loop, its jaws biting down on its own tail. The figure seemed ancient and hauntingly familiar, though I couldn't immediately place where I'd seen it before. I frowned, leaning closer to study the intricately entwined design. Something was unsettling about it, stirring a deep, uncomfortable memory that I couldn't quite reach.
"Have you ever seen this symbol before?" Jack asked, his voice calm but his eyes keenly focused on me.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "What is it?"
"Are you certain?" he pressed. "Look closer, think deeper."
I frowned, staring at the symbol etched into the table's surface. "No, I'm sure I haven't seen it before."
But even as I said it, something nagged at the edge of my memory. It felt familiar, like something I'd glimpsed not long ago and dismissed without much thought. Damn it. There were thousands of glyphs, sigils, and runes scattered across the world—how was I supposed to remember every single one? The frustration bubbled up, but I forced myself to focus.
"Those of us who have studied the arcane arts are familiar with glyphs and runic symbols such as this," Jack said, his tone patient. "Those of us who truly understand the arcane…"
I paused. Was he referring to someone like me, someone who had dabbled in magic? Or was he talking about someone else entirely—someone who wielded power far beyond what I could muster? Then it struck me. A memory surfaced, sharp and sudden.
I had seen it. Not long ago, during a Royal meeting. She had been there—Father's advisor, the Enchantress—and as she spoke, I'd noticed the flash of a similar rune. At the time, I'd written it off as part of the intricate patterns tattooed across her body, just another decoration among many. But now, staring at the same mark carved into the table before me, the connection felt undeniable.
"You're telling me that Father's ally is the Enchantress?" I said, my tone edged with disbelief.
"Not exactly," Jack replied, his voice measured. "More like her employer."
"And who are they?" I asked, my mind racing.
Jack hesitated, and his eyes took on a calculating glint. "Are you certain you want to know?"
"What?" I growled. "Of course I want to know."
"I'm not sure you're ready to hear it," he said.
My anger flared. "You sent a witch to drag me out here, you accuse my father of fratricide, and now you won't tell me who's behind it all? The least you can do is—"
"I revealed myself to you for a single reason, Elijah," Jack interrupted. "Can you guess what that reason is?"
I stared at him, my thoughts churning. My frustration was quickly giving way to a deep unease. I had thought I was the one who reached out to him, but now it felt as though I'd been playing right into his hands all along.
"Because… like me, you want justice for what happened to King Rafael?" I ventured, narrowing my eyes.
"Justice?" Jack said, a faint smile curling his lips. "Not really. Justice is a broad term. Who am I to say that what your father did was wrong?"
I blinked, caught off guard by his words.
"Nehemiah's love for Ashtarium transcends all else," Jack continued. "To him, protecting the nation is more important than anything—more important than family, more important than tradition. I have no right to question his methods."
"I don't understand," I said, my voice low. "If you're not here for justice, if you're not here to accuse my father… then what's the point of all this? Why tell me about my father's actions? Why hold this meeting?"
Jack's gaze softened, but his next words hit me like a thunderclap. "I set this meeting because I wanted to meet you, Elijah."
"Why?" I demanded, my voice rising again.
"Because I want you to become my Ta'valur," Jack said.
The word hung in the air between us. I recognized it—an ancient Elvish term that meant "Disciple." Among the Paragons, it was used to describe their chosen protégés, the individuals they took under their wing and groomed to follow in their footsteps.
I glanced toward the window, toward the café's entrance where the witch—Greta—had likely stationed herself as a silent sentinel.
"She is not my Ta'valur," Jack said, reading my thoughts as easily as if I'd spoken them aloud. "Greta is my daughter. Nothing more."
His words stirred a flicker of confusion. A witch, his daughter? Then it clicked. I could sense it now, faint but unmistakable. Greta's blood had been altered, fed by Jack's. It carried traces of his essence, effectively making her his bloodline descendant. In the same way my father, though not born of King Alexander's line, had become his son through the Rebirth process, Greta had become Jack's child in all but birth.
"Why me?" I hissed, my fists clenched at my sides. "I'm nothing—nobody. Surely you have more qualified candidates in the Ranger Force who could serve as your assistant."
Jack's expression didn't waver. "No one as special as you, Delilah," he said quietly.
The sound of that name—that name—stopped me cold. I hadn't heard it spoken aloud in so long, I almost didn't recognize it. My old name, the one I thought I'd left behind. The name I'd buried along with everything I used to be. I shouldn't have been surprised that Jack knew it. He'd been watching over the Ashtarmel bloodline for centuries, so of course he'd know. Still, the sound of it made my chest tighten.
"My name is Elijah," I said firmly, my voice low and sharp. "I'm Elijah."
"Yes, you are," Jack said, his voice soft but certain. "And that is exactly why I want you. You have the potential to reach the top—the pinnacle where I stand. If anyone qualifies to be a Paragon, it's you."
I froze, struggling to process his words. "Me?" I echoed, my voice quieter now. The idea was absurd. I didn't see myself that way. Cultivation had never been a driving ambition for me. I wasn't one of those fanatics who spent every waking moment striving for true immortality. My version of eternity was enough: keep a low profile, avoid unnecessary risks, and feed when needed. If left alone, I could live forever. I'd never aspired to more than that. Jack's declaration left me uncertain, unsure what to think.
"You're mistaken," I muttered. "My talent for cultivation isn't even close to my brother's." The words tasted bitter as they left my mouth. It had only been a year since I'd awakened as a vampire and unlocked my latent magical power. Even now, the memory of my Grimoire manifesting was fresh—an unexpected, shocking moment. For years, I had trained my body and soul to cultivate battle power, not magic. Everyone knew that pursuing both paths—magic and martial cultivation—was a recipe for mediocrity. Dividing your focus slowed your growth and diluted your potential. Only a rare handful could handle the dual strain. Those rare individuals were called Geniuses.
I remembered hearing of one such Genius from the Kettlia region, a prodigy who had mastered both disciplines at a young age. He was Ariella's cousin, a distant relative from her mother's side. People talked about him like he was destined for greatness, a shining star among our kind. I couldn't put myself in the same league as him. I wasn't special. Hell, I was still struggling to ascend beyond the Adept rank. The idea of standing at the pinnacle seemed like a far-off fantasy.
"You think so little of yourself," Jack said, his voice cutting through my doubt. "You can't see the potential that's already within you." He leaned forward, his gaze steady. "Look at yourself. Look at what you've already accomplished. You've made your desires a reality—your very existence is proof of that. That achievement alone speaks to the potential you carry."
"It happened just once," I mumbled, more to myself than to him. "It's not something I can just call on whenever I want."
Jack's expression didn't change. "Be my Ta'valur, and I promise to help you get what you want," he said, his tone calm but firm. I blinked, caught off guard by the request. What exactly was he expecting from me? And more importantly, could I trust him to deliver on such a promise?
"I thought you didn't care about justice," I said, narrowing my eyes.
"I don't," Jack replied, his voice steady. "But if it's for those under my care…" He shrugged, the motion as effortless as it was deliberate. "I'll move heaven and earth to make their wishes come true."
I studied him carefully, weighing his words. I didn't doubt his power. Jack Kuria was a legend for a reason—a being who had long since pushed past the boundaries of what was thought possible. If anyone could fulfill such an ambitious promise, it was him.
"Fine," I muttered. "There goes my free time." I could already picture what this would mean: less time for the indulgences and distractions I'd been clinging to and more responsibility—more discipline. I wasn't sure if I was ready for that, but I could feel myself agreeing before my mind fully caught up with my words.
Jack's mouth quirked into a satisfied smile. "Good," he said. From somewhere unseen, he pulled a small vial and tossed it to me. I caught it instinctively, holding it up to the dim light. "Drink this every night before you cultivate. It will help strengthen your soul."
I raised an eyebrow, skeptical, but Jack's expression was unreadable. He turned to leave, but before he walked away, he said, "I'll contact you in a few days. Good luck." And with that, he snapped his fingers.
The air around me shifted in an instant. One moment I was sitting in the café, and the next, darkness enveloped me. By the time my senses caught up, I found myself back in my hotel room in Pandemonium City, the vial still in my hand. The faint scent of the café's coffee lingered on my clothes, a reminder that the conversation hadn't been a dream. I stared at the container for a long moment, wondering what exactly I had just agreed to.