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Randal interjects nervously. "There are also rumors of a self-proclaimed vampire king in Seattle..."

I clench my fists, rage bubbling up. Arrogant bullies like this so-called king bring out my ugliest side. If the rumors prove true, I'll dig up the truth and make him pay.

I rise abruptly. "Enough chatter. We have work to do. Turn over every stone, chase every scrap of information about this mortal. I expect results, not excuses."

I storm out, fury fueling each step. How the hell am I supposed to find one specific human in that teeming mortal cesspool? This prophecy makes no goddamn sense. I need a drink to take the edge off before I do something drastic.

Walking briskly through the empty moonlit halls, my polished shoes clicking loudly, I head for my private chambers. Inside, I kick off my shoes and shrug out of my suit jacket, then grab a crystal decanter of whiskey and pour myself a generous three fingers.

Sinking into a leather armchair, I take a long, burning sip, letting the alcohol soothe my frayed nerves. Staring into the flickering fire, I try to force order on the chaotic mess of half-truths and vague prophecy clouding my mind.

A knock on the door interrupts my brooding. "Enter," I call out.

Eva strides in, her flowing dress trailing her. I motion to the liquor cabinet in offering, but she declines with a shake of her head. "We will find them, Rhyland," she says, standing by my chair. Her voice resonates with calm authority. "Have faith."

I huff skeptically and take another swig. "Faith requires certainty. Right now, I have none."

Eva rests a hand gently on my shoulder. "Yet you led us through worse odds. Your determination is what we need now. With it, we cannot fail."

When I look up at her, my resolve strengthens. She's right; wallowing in doubt gets me nowhere. I finish my drink and stand.

"I'll leave for Seattle tonight. We'll get answers." My voice now rings with renewed conviction.

Eva smiles. "There's the leader I know. Lead the way, and we shall follow."

The path remains unclear, but I will find this mortal come hell or high water. My kind's survival depends on it.

Rhyland

5

Continuing to nurse the whiskey, its heat feels like a damn necessity—something to scrub away the taste of that council debacle. I'm sitting in what you could call my 'high-end cave': all dark woods, heavy fabrics, and a crackling fire that doesn't do enough to chase away the ghosts of my past.

The year 867 burned itself into my memory, the Battle of York, where shit hit the fan, and I got dealt a new hand—immortality wrapped in pain and power. The transformation was a bitch, like nothing I'd ever felt, but damn, the strength that came with it was intoxicating.

I thought I could save my family, but I was too late. Wiped out. My history turned to ash. Ever since I've been carrying that darkness with me, the only comfort being the grip of the shadows.

A knock breaks through the haze of my brooding. It's Erik, my brother-in-arms, who doesn't know the meaning of small talk. When we first clashed against a vampire nest, I knew this guy had my back, no questions asked. He's a beast in a fight and just as relentless in the politics of our kind.

He steps in and makes himself comfortable without touching the whiskey. I pour another for myself—we've got crap to sort through, like the antics of Lucian, our brother who's got his hands in too many pies up in Seattle.

"Lucian thrives in Seattle, ingratiating himself with influential figures, human and supernatural alike," Erik updates me. "But perhaps he has forgotten his true loyalties amid such ambitious dealings," Erik reports in that no-bullshit tone of his.

I can't help but snort at that. "He's always been a sneaky bastard, but he's got a nose for useful dirt. Still, gotta make sure he doesn't get too cocky."

Erik's face grows grim. "Adrian resides at the Obsidian Enclave still, seeking profane power without care for the cost."

Now, that gives me pause. The Enclave is a freaky place for those who lust after blood magic and forbidden rituals. It's not exactly a recommended destination for wholesome fun. "Look, Adrian's got his head screwed on right. He won't get lost in the weeds...we have to trust him on that."

Erik seems unconvinced but discusses the prophecy of a fated mortal being key to our salvation. I pound my scotch in exasperation.

"Do not mock what we do not understand," Erik chides. "This prophecy has been our guiding light against the shadows for eons. There may be more at work here than we can grasp."

Can't argue with that logic, even though it feels like we're grasping at straws. Yet if there's a chance that this 'awakening' is legit, I'm not about to toss it aside without a second glance.

"We’ll find Lucian and see where his wisdom leads," he states, all stoic-like.

Once he's gone, I'm throwing my stuff in a bag—Seattle's calling and it's time to regroup with Lucian and his web of info. Plus, there's a so-called king waiting for us, thinking he can run the show. Time to knock him off his high horse.