The tension in the room was palpable as Lucian's words hung in the air. Every leader present knew that allying with him meant war—war against a tyrant who had ruled unchallenged for decades. Yet something about Lucian's presence stirred a sense of hope, or perhaps fear, that they hadn't felt in years.
The silver-haired man leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving Lucian. "If we're going to discuss rebellion, we need more than bravado. Ronan's forces are vast. His spies are everywhere. One wrong move, and we'll all be dead before we strike."
Lucian's eyes gleamed with cold amusement. "You speak as if survival is guaranteed by inaction. Tell me, how long have you hidden in these mountains, waiting for an opportunity that never comes?"
The man bristled, but before he could respond, another voice cut in—a woman with dark skin and piercing amber eyes. She carried herself with the grace of a warrior, and her presence commanded respect. "Enough, Darien. He has a point. We've been stagnant for too long. Maybe it's time we stop waiting and start acting."
Darien glared at her but said nothing, clearly unwilling to challenge her openly. Selene took the opportunity to step in. "Lucian isn't just offering a chance at survival—he's offering victory. He was betrayed once, yes, but before that, he united the clans. He ruled with strength and cunning. If anyone can lead us against Ronan, it's him."
Murmurs spread through the room again, this time more thoughtful than skeptical.
"Fine," Darien said at last, his tone grudging. "We'll hear him out. But if we're going to follow you, Lucian, we'll need more than promises. We'll need proof that you're as powerful as the legends claim."
Lucian's smirk widened, and the shadows around him seemed to deepen. "Very well. If it's power you want, I will show you." He turned to Selene. "Summon them all. Let them witness the strength of their future king."
Selene hesitated only briefly before nodding. She stepped outside the tent, her voice ringing out with authority as she called for the rest of the camp to gather. Within minutes, dozens of vampires filled the clearing, their eyes filled with curiosity and apprehension.
Lucian stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd. "You call yourselves rogues, exiles, survivors. You hide in shadows, hoping the storm will pass. But storms do not pass—they destroy all in their path." He raised his hand, and the air around him crackled with energy. "I am Lucian Draven, and I do not hide. I am the storm."
With a sudden motion, he unleashed a wave of dark energy that rippled outward, bending the very air around him. The ground trembled, and a chilling wind swept through the valley. Those nearest to him staggered back, their instincts screaming at them to flee from the overwhelming presence of raw power.
When the display ended, silence reigned. No one dared speak, their eyes wide with awe and fear. Even Darien seemed shaken, though he quickly masked it with a scowl.
The woman with amber eyes stepped forward, a small smile playing on her lips. "You certainly know how to make an impression." She turned to the rest of the crowd. "What say you all? Will we follow the one who offers us victory, or will we cower in these mountains until Ronan finds us?"
One by one, the vampires began to nod, murmurs of agreement growing louder. Darien clenched his jaw but finally relented. "Fine. We'll follow you, Lucian. But mark my words—if you lead us to ruin, I'll be the first to end you."
Lucian's smirk returned, colder than ever. "Noted. Now, prepare your forces. Ronan will soon learn that shadows are not his to command.