Damien turned with the intention of leaving, but Glinda appeared out of thin air, standing right in front of him.
"Grandma," Damien breathed, surprised.
He walked over and embraced her tightly.
"Why are you exchanging words with your father, son?" Glinda asked gently, holding his face between her hands.
"I'm sorry, Grandma, but he—he's never been there for me. Who is he to question my character or attitude? All those years I used to visit when I was little, he never once showed me his face. Always standing in the shadows."
His voice cracked as the memories resurfaced.
"I remember once… when he praised me for beating Dishon in a duel. I was so happy. I ran to hug him—and what did he do? He pushed me away like I was some piece of trash. Even the late King used to treat me like his own son—and I wasn't even his. So why can't my own father do the same?"
"You see, Glinda?" Dracula said coldly. "The boy has been showered with too much love by those pathetic creatures. They've turned him into an emotional fool. Is he even my son?"
"Hey!" Damien snapped.
"Don't you raise your voice at me, Damien!" Dracula thundered.
"The people you call pathetic are the same ones who raised me, nurtured me, and taught me how to survive. Where were you all that time? Hiding? Watching? You gave me up—because you were scared. Afraid some foolish vampires might kill me. And you call yourself powerful? What a joke."
Dracula's jaw clenched. "Fine. Maybe I have no right to belittle the people who raised you. I'm sorry if I sounded ungrateful. As for that hug… I thought I already apologized. Why are we still dragging it?"
"You're just like your mother," he muttered under his breath, but Damien heard it loud and clear.
"Listen—I don't go around begging for forgiveness, so count yourself lucky."
"Oh please," Glinda cut in with a mocking laugh. "Dracula, will you stop lying to the boy? We all know how you grovel when Azarel is mad at you. You're like a lost puppy wagging his tail."
"Glinda," he growled, warning in his tone.
"Grandson," she said, ignoring him. "Don't waste your breath. Your father is just a stupid vampire who doesn't know how to feel. All he truly cares about is Azarel—and you have to accept that."
"At least he cherishes your mother," she added, her tone softening. "He made her Queen when he had the chance to choose another—because your father, here, has tons of mis—"
"Glinda!" Dracula snapped, eyes flaring.
"Oop. I'm talking too much again…" she said with a mischievous smile.
"Why did you stop her?" Damien asked coldly, glaring at Dracula. "I already know you have mistresses. And don't worry—I never expected much from you. How could I possibly be disappointed in a man I have no respect for?"
Dracula stood frozen. It was as if someone had poured ice water down his spine. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. The boy he once held with pride and joy now stood before him… calling him a man unworthy of respect.
"Oh, dear…" Glinda muttered, her hand on her chest. "Did you have to say all that?"
She turned to Damien and offered her arm.
"Come. Let's take a stroll around the castle. When both your tempers cool down, we'll talk about why you were summoned in the first place."