Barek's actions sent a tremor through the room. Murmurs rippled among the vampire leaders, rising like wind through leaves—sharp, uneasy, and disbelieving. Their royal guards, ten of them, still lay unconscious outside the massive chamber doors. The silence following his entrance pressed against their throats like invisible hands.
No one dared move.
The air itself felt heavier, as though his presence thickened it. Even the ever-burning green candles flickered weakly, their flames bending away from him as if afraid.
For the first time in centuries, power in that room didn't belong to the King.
And every clan leader felt it.
Some glared in outrage, others sat frozen, but only one man seemed almost amused by the chaos—the Ironkong leader, Bronx. His grin spread slow and knowing, the kind of grin that said finally. His thick fingers drummed on the table like the beat of a war.
Maureen Phasera, leader of the Phasera clan, noticed the grin and raised an eyebrow. She was all precision and poise, her movements as sharp as her words. If Bronx was smiling, she reasoned, there was more history here than anyone wanted to admit. So she stayed silent, crossing her legs and folding her arms. Let the King handle it, she thought. She wasn't about to start a war with someone whose aura already felt like an avalanche waiting to fall.
But not everyone shared her caution.
"And who exactly is your son?" came a smooth, firm voice.
Sharen Mindveil.
Her violet eyes gleamed in the candlelight as she rose, posture immaculate, her long robes whispering against the floor as she stepped toward Barek. She carried herself with the calm arrogance of someone who had never known fear. Her clan's gift—mental domination—was their birthright and weapon. Even the King himself tread carefully around it.
"Because," she continued, voice cutting through the silence like a blade of silk, "whatever claim you have, this intrusion is still treason. And if you've harmed royal guards, you'd better have more than words to defend yourself."
Her gaze locked with his.
In that instant, her pupils flared with violet light. Barek's mind was pulled toward hers, his thoughts invaded by an invisible net of psychic control.
'He might look dangerous,' she thought, lips curving faintly. 'But no one escapes me. No one but the King, of course.'
For a brief heartbeat, Barek's expression faltered—just a flicker, a dazed blink—and Sharen smirked.
Then, slowly, his grin returned.
"Well," he said, his voice low, unbothered, "considering one of y'all took him, I figured I wouldn't need to paint a picture." He leaned forward, crimson eyes igniting. "But since you're askin'... my son's name is Bon."
The name rolled through the chamber like thunder.
And then Barek stood.
The table groaned as his aura surged, a force so raw that even the obsidian walls seemed to vibrate. Sharen gasped, stumbling back a step, her mental hold snapping like glass.
"He broke it—he broke through," she whispered, disbelief twisting her face. "Impossible… no one's ever—"
Barek's eyes burned brighter.
"I should probably make you regret using that on me," he said, his tone cold enough to freeze the marrow. The casual humor was gone; in its place was a predator's stillness. "But I'll assume you just don't know who I am."
He tilted his head, gaze boring through her. "So I'mma let it slide."
The flames around the room dimmed as if bowing to his will.
"Now…" His voice deepened, resonant and dangerous. "Let's try this again."
He raised a clenched fist. Power rippled outward like a shockwave.
"Which of you," he growled, "has my son?"
Gone was the grin. Gone was the calm.
What filled the chamber now was pure, distilled menace.
The air crushed down on them, heavy and suffocating. The stone table cracked faintly under the pressure. Every leader froze mid-breath, muscles locked in place as if the air itself had turned solid. Even Max, the King's calm advisor, couldn't move.
"W-What… what is this?" Maureen gasped, straining to breathe.
"I… can't move!" Valerik hissed through clenched teeth, veins glowing faintly with resistance.
"Who is this guy?" Sharen rasped, fear creeping into her voice for the first time in her life.
Max's eyes darted to the King. "Your Majesty, is he—?"
The King's hand rose slightly. Enough.
Silence.
Only the King and Bronx remained untouched, their expressions unreadable.
Barek's burning eyes settled on the King. The weight in the room shifted again, tension drawn taut like a bowstring.
The King sighed softly, then rose from his seat with calm grace.
"Y-Your Majesty?" Max stammered.
The King's silver-streaked hair caught the candlelight as he turned, his voice calm, almost indulgent. "I see you're still as aggressive as ever, Barek. But at least you've learned a little restraint. You didn't knock me out with the others this time."
Barek's grin twitched back into place. "Heh. Crazy old crone," he muttered under his breath. "Bet you're behind this mess."
Then, louder, with a forced laugh: "It's been a while, William. You know I could never do that." He shrugged, the tension easing slightly. "Blondie here just rubbed me the wrong way, is all. My bad."
"B- Blondie?" Sharen snapped, glaring daggers at him. "Who do you think you are? Jerk!"
But he'd already turned away.
Bronx's booming laugh cut through the tension. "It's been a while, Barek! Can't believe you walk in here, knock out royal guards, and still act like you own the place!"
Barek's face split into a grin. "Bronx! Still breathin', huh? That laugh could wake the dead!"
"You know I can't help it!" Bronx roared back, slamming his hand on the table as the two of them laughed like thunder given voice.
The sound filled the chamber, loud, ridiculous, and impossibly alive. The other leaders shifted uncomfortably, their dignity dissolving under the sound of two war-beasts laughing like children.
Even Maureen couldn't help the faint smile tugging at her lips. 'So they really are friends ', she thought.
The King's beard twitched upward in amusement, but when he cleared his throat, the laughter died instantly.
Barek turned serious again, eyes narrowing. "Bronx…" he said, the air turning colder. "You ain't sent for my boy, did you?"
Bronx's grin faded, his deep voice steady. "C'mon, man. You know me better than that. If I wanted your boy, I'd come to you myself."
Barek studied him for a long moment—then barked out another laugh. "Hah! That's the Bronx I remember!"
The tension melted just enough for everyone to breathe again.
But Sharen, still trembling slightly, couldn't stop herself. "To think… my mind manipulation failed," she whispered. "Who are you?"
Barek didn't even look at her. "That's a question for your King," he said, brushing past. His heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber like the toll of a bell. "Since he's the one who dragged me out here by takin' my son."
He stopped before the King's chair, leaning close enough that the green light shimmered off his teeth.
"So," he murmured, "you takin' me to my boy, or do I have to tear through this place myself?"
The King smiled faintly. "You always were dramatic."
Then, without hesitation, he signaled to Valerik.
"Maureen," the King said, his tone quiet but firm. "Escort us to Virefang Castle."
The leaders looked up in confusion, startled.
The King turned toward them, his voice echoing through the hall. "This meeting is postponed."
And then—he vanished.
Along with Barek, Valerik, Bronx, and Maureen.
The air where they stood shimmered, then fell still.
The chamber remained silent, the remaining leaders frozen between confusion and dread.
Only one thought lingered in every mind:
Who the hell is this vampire?