The blood-red dot in his consciousness pulsed, and fragments of memory surged forward with painful clarity. This foyer, running down those stairs as a child. That painting was of his grandfather, who'd founded the Moorne family's criminal empire. The slight crack in the marble by the door, where he'd dropped a vase during an argument with—

He pushed the memories back, forcing them into compartments where they couldn't overwhelm him.

He was Jorghan now.

His past self was dead, murdered by people he'd trusted. What stood here now was something else, something forged from two lives and tempered by survival.

Guards appeared from side corridors, and more security personnel responded to the commotion in the entrance. Alarms blared around the house.

"Intruders alert!"

They moved with expert agility, weapons drawn but not yet aimed, assessing the threat.

"Hey, who are you?" one of them said, his voice carrying the firm authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed.

"This is private property."

Jorghan looked at him, really looked, and felt something cold settle in his chest.

He knew this man. Greg Torrance, head of security, has been loyal to the family for twenty years. Greg had taught him how to shoot when he was twelve. Had stood guard outside his room at night when threats were high. Had been one of the few people in this world of violence and betrayal who'd seemed genuinely decent.

And Greg had done nothing when the old Jorghan was murdered.

Had stood by while Grace and his uncle conspired, while poison was administered, while a young man's life was stolen for greed and revenge.

"Call the family," Jorghan said, his voice carrying across the foyer with unnatural clarity.

"Tell them they have a visitor."

One of the guards fired at him, and Jorghan raised his hand; a barrier stopped the bullet.

It all happened within a fraction of a second.

And they were all stunned.

"He's an awakened individual! Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

Greg's expression flickered with uncertainty.

"Sir, I don't know where you think you are, but—"

"I know exactly where I am," Jorghan interrupted.

"Make the call, mister. Or I start making my way through this house, and we both know how that ends."

Something in his tone, in the absolute certainty with which he spoke, made Greg hesitate. His hand moved to the radio at his belt.

"Control, we have an intruder in the main foyer. An unknown male, approximately six feet, claims he needs to speak with the family. He's... I don't know how to describe this. He feels dangerous. Request immediate family notification and additional security."

"And he's an awakened one."

Static crackled, then a voice responded: "Roger that. Family is being notified. ETA two minutes. Additional security en route."

They waited in tense silence, Jorghan standing perfectly still in the centre of the foyer while armed guards took up positions around him. He could feel their nervousness and could sense through his [Sanguine Will] the elevated heart rates and the adrenaline flooding their systems. They knew something was wrong, even if they couldn't articulate what.

[Bloodborne Rage: 18% activation threshold]

[Warning: Emotional volatility detected]

He breathed slowly, centring himself.

This was necessary.

But it couldn't become a massacre driven by rage and pain. He needed control, needed precision, needed to face these people as himself rather than as the monster his bloodline could make him.

Footsteps on the stairs drew his attention.

Multiple people are descending, their movements ranging from hurried to cautious. And then they came into view.

Grace Moorne appeared first. In her mid-forties now, elegant in a way that money and cosmetic procedures maintained, her blonde hair perfectly styled, and her designer clothes impeccable. She'd been beautiful once—still was, in the artificial way of those who fought ageing with every available weapon.

But there was something hard in her eyes, something cold that he'd never noticed when he was her son, when he'd loved her with the uncomplicated devotion of a son.

Behind her came Jamie—his uncle, though the name caused cognitive dissonance now—older than Grace by five years, greying at the temples but still powerfully built.

He'd always been the cunning man of the family.

Now he wore that businessman's mantle, along with his brother's wife and his nephew's life.

A young man descended behind them, with Jamie's build and Grace's features.

Lukas—the son born from betrayal and murder, the half-brother Jorghan had never met but whose existence represented everything that had been stolen from him.

And finally, bringing up the rear, a young woman with dark hair and sharp eyes that seemed to see more than the others.

Scarlett—Jamie's daughter from his first marriage, Grace's stepdaughter, the one person in this family whose relationship to the conspiracy had always been ambiguous.

He still couldn't remember seeing her during his childhood. But she looked healthier than the last time he saw her.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and stopped, all of them staring at Jorghan with expressions that ranged from confusion to growing horror.

Grace spoke first, her voice carefully controlled but with an undercurrent of something that might have been fear. "What are you doing here?"

"How did you find us?"

"Guards! What are you doing?"

Jorghan smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant expression. "How have you been, Mother? It's been a while."

The guards didn't move; they didn't dare attack him, as they saw what had happened earlier.

They didn't obey her orders; they just stood beside them.

The colour drained from Grace's face.

"Mother?"

The same confused look was present on everyone's face.

Beside her, Jamie went rigid, his hand moving instinctively toward where he presumably kept a weapon.

Lukas looked perplexed, glancing between the adults for an explanation. He was more shocked that Jorghan had found his way to their home and wondered how he got here.

And the thing with his mother.

He seems obsessed with his mother.

But Scarlett—Scarlett's expression is delightful. She was happy to see Jorghan again.

"Guards!" Lukas shouted, his young voice cracking slightly.

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