The inner chamber of Valecar's castle glowed with an unsettling warmth. The grand chandelier overhead spilled golden light across a polished obsidian floor, dazzling like a captured piece of the sun itself. Velvet drapes in deep crimson and midnight black lined the towering walls, and twin fireplaces crackled at either end of the hall. Despite its beauty, the room reeked of power and silence—only the elite could breathe freely here.
At the far end of the hall, six high-backed thrones rested on a raised platform, reserved solely for the High Court. Below them, eleven gilded seats formed a crescent—each occupied by a Vampire Lord or Lady, save one. Malek's seat remained untouched, covered in a black silk cloth. No one dared sit in it.
Valecar, draped in elegant black robes trimmed with pale silver thread, rose slowly from his throne, lifting a glass of dark red liquid.
"Welcome, my lords and ladies," he said, voice smooth as velvet. "To the Summit. Let the gathering begin."
Chatter buzzed in pockets across the chamber. Several Lords raised their glasses. Others leaned in to whisper quietly, their eyes like daggers.
Then a voice pierced through the murmurs.
"I demand to bring forth a grievance," spoke Lady Kireva of the Western Domain, standing tall in her silver-threaded dress. Her eyes burned. "The revolution gnaws at my borders. My men are bleeding. And Lord Faenrik—" she gestured across the room, "—has yet to fulfill the alliance he promised."
Lord Faenrik, lounging with one leg over his throne arm, chuckled coldly. His black eyes shimmered.
"Maybe if you weren't being trampled by peasants with torches, you wouldn't need my troops."
Kireva's hand trembled as she slammed her goblet down, blood sloshing onto the floor.
"At least I have lands worth bleeding for. Your isles are a rotting marsh. Even your own ghouls abandon you!"
Faenrik stood up so fast his chair scraped the marble.
"You want to go, huh? Right here?"
Before it could escalate, Lord Nestan, a smaller figure in a red cloak, chuckled into his cup.
"This summit is as lively as ever."
But the laughter stopped when Lynix raised a hand.
The High Court member, dressed in gray lined with royal blue, slowly sipped from a crystal glass filled with chilled blood. He didn't speak until silence fell.
"You're children bickering over crumbs," he said coldly. "We're here for bigger matters."
He stood, turned, and addressed the room with calm certainty.
"Malek is dead."
A sharp breath escaped from someone. Others merely bowed their heads.
"It seems," Lynix continued, "the blue flame has returned. Richard Feller is alive."
He turned his head, his eyes settling on the dark-haired woman seated a few thrones away.
"Yuri. You had contact with him once, did you not? Why is he still breathing?"
Yuri, the only one smiling, slowly crossed her legs, her dark eyes gleaming.
"Is it such a crime to want something for myself?" she said, almost purring. "I want him. All to myself."
"Besides," she added, tilting her head, "Malek was always a storm waiting to drown himself. He was bound to die. Richard just did the world a favor."
Lynix narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
Yuri's smile faded slightly.
"Now about the relic—wasn't the archbishop supposed to have the fourth piece? And now he's dead. Seems this alliance with the church is… inefficient."
Valecar opened his mouth, but before he could reply, another voice spoke from the High Court row.
Reyna, with flowing white hair and a holy sigil etched into the gold of her dress, sipped calmly.
"You question the church's purpose, Yuri," she said, voice even. "But all of this—every effort—was built for the Day of the Black Sun. Your irritation changes nothing."
Yuri sneered.
"Don't act righteous with me, former Pope. You wore the crown of sanctity, and now you drink blood like the rest of us."
Reyna's smile didn't falter.
"I begged God to save me. He didn't listen. Valecar did. Now I owe my eternity to someone who actually answers prayers."
Yuri clicked her tongue and turned away.
Then, at last, Valecar stood again. The weight of command returned to his voice.
"The archbishop was a disposable piece. The fourth fragment is already in our hands."
That sent murmurs through the chamber.
He continued, calm and deliberate.
"As for the final fragment… I have a plan to retrieve it. It lies in the heart of the revolutionary capital. That will be handled soon."
He raised his glass.
"To the Day of the Black Sun. To the return of the Progenitor. To a world remade."
The vampire nobility lifted their goblets—blood, thick and warm, sloshing in crystal.
Valecar smiled.
"Enjoy the next two nights of the banquet. Drink well. Feed wisely. And remember—when the sun dies… we rise."
End of Chapter 18.