Xavier lay unmoving in the center of the isolation chamber, the bed buried under layers of runes, seals, and old symbols carved into the floor. The chamber wasn't built for comfort—just control. The walls hummed faintly with restrained power, and the air itself felt heavy, like the room was trying to keep whatever was inside from stepping out.

It had been a few days, but he was still in that strange half-slumber, the kind where his chest rose and fell but nothing behind his eyelids moved. The healers circled him, whispering their chants and forcing down elixirs one after another. It looked like they were treating a corpse that refused to stay dead.

Luther stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight, watching the scene. Elders gathered behind him, all curious but keeping distance. They looked at Xavier like he was something that shouldn't exist.

One of the elder healers finally stepped forward.

"Lord Luther," the healer said, wiping sweat from his brow. "His wounds are nearly gone… muscle fibers, bones, nerves… all restored. But he isn't responding to elixirs or blood infusions or any of our arts. His body rejects magic without harming itself. It's like he doesn't need anything we're giving him."

Another healer added, "We should call Arch-Healer Varnox. He may know what's happening. This isn't normal even by vampire awakening standards."

Murmurs spread among the elders. Even Luther's expression twisted with annoyance.

"Varnox?" Luther scoffed. "That old bastard hasn't left his temple in a century. It'll take days to locate him, and weeks to convince him. And all for what? A human-turned-something who might not even wake up?"

"But if we don't call him," the healer insisted, "we risk losing control of whatever this is."

Luther didn't answer. His eyes locked on Xavier's still form and held there for a while, unreadable.

Above—far above them in her locked chamber—Reva watched everything through a magical screen. Her hands trembled, her breath unsteady as she stared at Xavier's sleeping face. She wanted to reach through the screen and shake him awake. Every second he didn't move was killing her.

Then Luther turned and left the chamber without another word.

The elders followed him out.

Minutes later, in the throne room, the council gathered—long tables, elders lining up on either side, all glaring and gossiping like vultures.

The moment Luther sat, they erupted.

"This boy shouldn't be here!"

"He is a risk to our bloodline—"

"The Orb of Eternity wasted—WASTED on him—"

"Eleanor disgraced the family by lying with a human—"

"Her behavior must be investigated—"

"He should have been executed not treated like a royalty—"

"His connection to our lady will bring shame—"

"This is unacceptable—"

Voices overlapped, fueled by anger, fear, ego, and centuries of rotten pride. Some slammed fists on the table. Some demanded punishment. Some demanded explanations. Some wanted Reva confined. Some wanted Xavier gone. Others wanted him dead.

It was chaos.

Luther said nothing. He just sat there with that same cold stare, listening to the storm break loose around him.

Because he knew—

as much as they shouted,

as much as they complained,

as much as they panicked…

None of them had any idea what Xavier really was.

What he would become.

And none of them had any say in what was coming next.

Suddenly, a senior guard—one of the elites who handled only the highest-level matters—stepped inside the throne room, bowed, and approached Luther with clear reluctance.

"Lord Luther," he said quietly, "there is… someone at the gates requesting entry."

Luther didn't bother looking up. "Who?"

"A human," the guard replied. "He says he's here for Xavier."

The room fell silent.

The elders stiffened. Some exchanged looks of disgust. Others looked nervous, as if the word "human" itself was poison dripping through the air.

Luther finally raised his eyes, irritation flickering across his face.

"A human," he repeated. "At our gates."

"Yes, my lord."

Luther frowned.

The castle wasn't just hidden.

It was erased.

Layers of old magic. Seals placed by ancient bloodlines. An entire mountain folded behind illusions.

And on top of that—after the red moon tragedy—the vampires demanded from the Galactic Court a non-infringement decree: no drones, no satellites, no maps, no digital traces. Even their coordinates were classified under the highest security.

No one stumbled onto this place.

You couldn't find the castle unless the vampires wanted you to.

So how did a human…

show up at the front gates like he was visiting a resort?

"Tell him to leave," Luther said. "Xavier is in no state to meet anyone. Even if I allowed the visitor in, nothing would change."

The guard bowed. "Yes, my lord."

Luther leaned back on his throne, rubbing his temples. 'Last thing I need is another human wandering inside these halls. The council is already screeching like headless chickens. If they see another one of them, they'll riot.'

He let out a tired breath.

'I am so fed up with everything. Why do I have to do everything? I didn't ask to be their Lord. As humans like to say it— It's such a pain in the ass.'

But before the room could settle—

BANG—BANG—BANG—BANG.

Shouting erupted outside the hall.

The alarms exploded through the entire castle.

The elders shot up from their seats.

The guard at Luther's side pressed a hand to his comm. "My lord—someone broke past the first gate! He is—he is forcing his way in!"

Luther's face darkened.

"Of course he is," he muttered. "Humans. Truly the race that proves stupidity has no bottom. They walk into death with pride and call it bravery."

He stood up, disgust written all over his expression.

Then he added something under his breath—cold enough to chill the hall:

"Give them land, they take the empire. Give them peace, they demand blood. No creature in the universe destroys with confidence the way humans do."

The council members hurried toward the exit, panic and fear rising as the alarm lights pulsed.

Luther followed them out, already preparing himself for the irritation, the violence, and the disappointment he knew was waiting at his front gate.

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