I let the silence swell, stretching it thin until it teetered on the edge of breaking. Then, I pressed on:
— "Son of the Rebel Princess, last heir of the Mad God Emperor, sovereign of the Divine Kingdom. The man who faced the Corrupted alone and won. And son of the firstborn of the Blood Peoples. I am the Half-Breed."
Each word landed like a strike—sharp, weighty, sinking deep into the hearts of those who heard. My eyes swept the hall: confusion flickered, shock rippled, fear took root. A glass slipped from someone's grasp, shattering against the stone floor, its crash ringing out like a scream caught in a throat.
— "My mother hid me here. She lived in terror that my grandfather would hunt me down and end me. Because I am the son of humanity's greatest enemy."
I shut my eyes for a fleeting moment, the burden of that truth pressing down, swallowing me whole. She left me behind to keep me alive, I thought, my chest tightening until it ached. When my lids lifted, the hall stood still—air thick, stifling, as if time itself had surrendered its stride.
Then, a voice sliced through the strain—cool, crystalline, edged with a strange sweetness.
— "Interesting... very interesting."
It was her. The woman lingering behind Nael. Her hair flowed like wisps of smoke, silver eyes glinting sharp as steel. She stepped forward, her veil swaying in the torchlight's glow. Grace shaped her every move, yet something wild lurked in the way she fixed her gaze on me.
— "Kaelan Drakarys, son of blood and destruction. What a story you've brought us."
Her smile was a blade's edge—lovely, lethal, poised to draw blood. Her eyes shimmered, ravenous.
— "Are you, like... half-vampire?"
The question floated out, light and teasing, but the hall inhaled as one, breath held tight. Vampire? The word hung alien here, a whisper of something ungrasped. Murmurs stirred, soft and restless.
— "Bingo." I forced a crooked half-smile, though my voice quivered beneath the surface. — "Except I don't know how to awaken that side of me."
She tilted her head, eyes sparking with intrigue. Before she could press further, Nael's voice cut in—pure frost, biting.
— "It's easy. A stake through the heart solves it. Want me to do it for you?"
His words struck like a fist. Cold seeped into my bones, a shiver clawing up my spine. No trace of jest, no pause—just a flat, casual toss, as if he were remarking on the wind. The hall chilled further, silence now a heavy, smothering force.
I swallowed hard, squaring my shoulders against the weight.
— "Your turn, then." I locked eyes with him, steady, brushing aside the rising whispers. — "Enough with the mask. Who are you?"
Nael folded his arms. The blindfold veiled his gaze, but his scorn rolled off him in waves.
— "Nael Supremium. The Supreme Nephilim."
That was all—crisp, curt, as if it answered everything. The hall hushed again, but I wouldn't let it lie.
— "That's all?"
Elowen stepped forward from behind him, her voice gentle yet firm, carrying an unspoken demand.
— "Nael, you know that's not fair."
He stood rigid, a pillar of stone, but the air around him crackled faintly. At last, he gave in.
— "Nael Supremium, son of Celestia Black Supremium. The lady of time, space, and light."
He tried to stop there, but Elowen pressed on.
— "And...?"
His fist tightened, knuckles paling. His voice dropped low, rough with a growl.
— "She is the heir of the Celestial Seraphs. And the bastard daughter of the King of the Original Demons."
The hall held its breath, but Elowen's eyes stayed on him, unrelenting.
— "And you?"
For a heartbeat, he wavered. The blindfold masked his face, but fury radiated from him, raw and unspoken. He drew a jagged breath, the sound tearing through the quiet.
— "I am the abandoned prince of the Seraphs."
Elowen parted her lips to speak again. He cut her off, voice icy, trembling with barely-leashed rage.
— "Enough. What more do you want? For me to draw my entire family tree? To dig back to the beginning of the world?"
Silence crashed back, thick and cutting. Nael teetered on the brink, and the hall felt it—I felt it. My pulse hammered, his words searing into me like embers.
Elowen smiled, a glint of mischief dancing in her gaze as she tipped her head, calm as a whisper before a gale.
— "No, Nael. You skipped the father. That's how it works."
The silence thickened into a wall, dense and choking. No one dared breathe too loud, no one risked a cough. Every eye pinned him, waiting.
— "No father." Nael's voice fell like a gavel—dry, solid, resounding off the stone.
I frowned, thrown off balance.
— "What do you mean?"
He turned his head slightly, the motion slow, almost weary, as if begging for patience.
— "Have you heard of the theory of a woman generating life or getting pregnant without a man?"
The air lodged in my throat.
— "I didn't get it."
Nael let out a sharp, fleeting sigh, irritation flickering through. When he spoke again, his tone was deliberate, carving each word into the stillness.
— "Two genetic mutations occur in the egg inside the woman. This is rare even for mortals. Almost impossible for mammals. And if we apply logic to Immortals? Forget it. When you become an Immortal, all your congenital defects are eliminated. The body becomes perfect, free of genetic errors. And from then on, it's absolutely impossible for genetic mutations to occur."
I blinked, adrift in his words.
— "I don't know about that theory."
He paused, his silence heavy with judgment.
— "Then how do you want me to explain it to you?" His voice was cold as winter, laced with a weariness that hinted he'd rather be anywhere else.
The hall buzzed with murmurs—stifled chuckles, uneasy whispers. To them, it was farce or madness. I caught their glances: some smirked, others sneered, as if Nael had spun a bedtime story. Do I buy this? I wondered, doubt squeezing my chest.
But Nael stood unshaken, a rock amid the tide, deaf to the hum around him. The world could collapse, and he'd not flinch.
The whispers swelled, a restless swarm filling the space. Our tales—Divine Kingdom, Immortals, Nephilim—sounded like fireside legends, stories mortals spun to thrill or escape. Even if they believed, they'd brand us lunatics. Their stares bore into me, hard and mocking, but I stood firm. Not anymore.
I forced a grin, shattering the tension with a playful lilt.
— "Look, we're at a party for my master. Everyone's paying attention now." I raised my voice, arms sweeping wide. — "And this guy, he's the son of deities. No way he doesn't bring a gift to match, right?"
The chatter halted, eyes snapping to us. Nael's brow creased—just a touch, the blindfold concealing what I knew was puzzlement.
— "What are you talking about?"
— "You're going to give a gift, aren't you?" I tossed it out, casual but edged with a taunt.
He tilted his head, sizing me up. Then, dry as dust, he answered.
— "I'm black. It'd be a shame to let a whitey like you extort me."
I froze, arms still crossed.
— "What?"
Nael didn't stir, his voice steady, almost idle.
— "You, holy son, must have cultivation resources to spare. If there's a fat cow here to milk, it's you, not me."
The hall quivered with muffled laughter, whispers flaring anew. I let out a loud, ringing laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls.
— "And yet, you're going to give a gift to my master. She reached the King realm, after all."
He sighed, a heavy, resigned breath, as if I were a thorn in his side.
— "You talk about a gift as if I had ordered her to cultivate."
— "Doesn't matter who ordered it." I crossed my arms tighter, a smirk tugging at my lips. — "You're here. Show some class."
The hall's gazes ping-ponged between us, eager, rapt. Nael stayed mute, the blindfold aimed at me like a sightless judge. Then, with a faint, grudging nod—his nearest kin to surrender—he relented.
I stood there, arms crossed, a strange warmth blooming in my chest as I watched Nael and Kaelan exchange sharp-witted jabs. They resembled two wolves circling one another—one icy and reserved, the other bold and taunting. Nael, with that glacial fortress he calls a face, seemed almost… human for once. A rare flicker of satisfaction stirred within me, like a fleeting sunbeam breaking through a dreary, gray sky. He wasn't the type to toy with anyone, yet with Kaelan, something unmistakably shifted.
Nael plunged his hand into his pocket, swift and forceful as a strike, pulling out an object that gleamed with a piercing, eye-stinging brilliance.
— "Fire?" His voice sliced through the air, crisp and arid, as he held a law bead that glowed like a smoldering ember.
Kaelan tilted his head, a sly, crooked smile playing across his lips.
— "No."
With an impatient huff, Nael drew another. This one was a chilling blue, solid and cold, as though the sea itself had frozen into stone.
— "Water?"
A heavy silence settled over the hall. The air thickened, oppressive and stifling. Law beads didn't belong in this world—they were the stuff of myths, tales murmured in the dim glow of half-light. Yet here they were, tangible and defiant. Sweat prickled at the back of my neck, but Kaelan? He looked like a child delighting in a shiny new plaything.
— "No." His tone was calm, almost dismissive, as if none of it mattered.
Nael's eyebrow arched, a fragile thread of patience snapping. He produced two more: one so frigid it seemed to frost the air around it, the other dark and alive with shadows that twisted within like restless creatures.
— "Ice or Yin?"
Kaelan leaned closer, his eyes alight with raw curiosity.
— "Almost."
— "Spit it out." Nael's breath hissed through his nose, short and irritated.
Kaelan chuckled softly, clearly relishing the game.
— "Immemorial Yin and Ice."
Time itself seemed to halt. My heart slammed against my ribs, the air holding its breath alongside me. Law beads were legends—fragments of power too sacred for hands like ours to grasp. Yet Nael wielded them with the nonchalance of a man flipping old coins. The peak masters traded bewildered glances, their faces a gallery of silent confusion. I understood what these were. I could feel their weight pressing down on us all.
Nael selected the right one—a bead radiating a biting chill, its surface etched with black lines that writhed like shadows with minds of their own.
— "Here." He lifted it high, then turned to Mei Xiu, Kaelan's master, his voice honed to a razor's edge. — "Ask your disciple what this is."
Before anyone could draw a breath, he struck again:
— "And no, I won't give you one. You're poor; you don't have the money to pay."
His words landed like a stone shattering the still surface of a pond. I nearly choked on a laugh but swallowed it down. Kaelan stood rooted, his mouth slightly agape, that smug grin melting off his face like damp ink. It was pure gold to watch that cocky bastard take a hit like that.
He rallied fast, though, stepping forward with a smile that returned sharper, more dangerous.
— "And who is the beautiful lady?" His voice flowed smooth as honey, laced with the subtle snap of a trap springing shut.
Elowen tilted her head, her silver eyes glinting like blades catching the light.
— "Elowen, maid to young master Nael." Her reply was simple, direct, yet carried an undercurrent that dared anyone to test her.
Whispers rippled through the hall. A maid? Her, with a beauty so striking it seemed to drain the very air from the room? Eyes blazed with confusion and outrage. How could someone like her serve a boy barely old enough to shave, let alone wield authority in cultivation?
Kaelan spotted the crack and leapt in with glee.
— "So, he does whatever he wants with you?" His words were light, almost sugary, but each one sparked like flint on dry tinder.
The hall erupted in hushed chaos. Fists tightened, gazes sharpened. The question was a brazen slap, outrageous even in this den of serpents. But Elowen didn't waver. She smiled—a disarmingly sweet curve of the lips laced with venom.
— "Exactly." Swift, biting, dripping with sarcasm. She tossed fuel onto the flames and savored the blaze.
Kaelan stifled a laugh, his eyes dancing as he drank in the hall's fury like fine wine. The cultivators around us shifted hues—some flushed red with rage, others blanched in shock. They glared at him as if they'd tear him apart. And Kaelan? He couldn't have cared less.
Nael, though, stood apart—a statue carved from indifference. His presence loomed, empty-eyed, as if the uproar were nothing but faint noise in the distance. The tension, the stares, the words—they were dust to him. I almost envied that, the coldness that swallowed the world whole.