Not yet.
He stepped away from the sanctum's edge and headed back toward the throne. His footsteps echoed again—only this time, each one carried more weight. A new rhythm. Not of doubt.
But movement.
Change.
By the time he returned to the throne room, his mind had already decided. He wasn't just going to disappear into that trial realm and leave everything to rot. He had a realm now. A throne. A people—even if half of them feared him and the rest didn't know what he wanted.
He'd figure it out later.
For now, he needed them gathered.
He took the long way down, no shortcuts. He passed through the outer wing, ignored the quiet glances of lesser vampires cleaning the walkways, and entered the old bell chamber where echoes could carry for miles.
A single pull.
The sound shook the skies again—deep and thick, a call that couldn't be ignored. It wasn't magic. It was legacy. Vampires across the realm would know the tone.
A summoning.
Within the hour, they arrived.
