Valecar let the silence stretch.
His silver hair drifted faintly as he leaned further back into his throne, crimson eyes half-lidded with bored amusement. The nobles watched him carefully, tension flickering through their sharp gazes as their claws rested lightly on belt hilts.
Finally, he exhaled a quiet, bored sigh.
"I see," he said softly, his voice echoing across the cold obsidian hall. "So… you come here seeking shelter, like stray dogs fleeing a burning hut."
He tilted his head faintly, gaze flickering lazily from Zane to Greta, then to the trembling witches pressed close to her chains. His eyes narrowed in faint disgust at Serah's tear-streaked, bloodstained face.
"And you expect us," he continued, his voice dropping into quiet contempt, "the pure bloodlines of the Vampire Realm… to stain our lands with such filth?"
A faint ripple of laughter flickered through the nobles. Cold. Sharp. Mocking.
