As they sat cooling down after their spar, Draven turned to Alex.
"My mom mentioned her mother was coming to the party," he said. "But I didn't see her."
Alex paused, then shrugged. "Grandma Ellen? She's not coming. She's... busy."
Draven frowned. "Busy with what?"
Alex glanced away. "Your mom and Grandma Ellen aren't exactly on good terms."
Draven raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"I don't know all the details," Alex said, folding her arms. "But... it's mostly because your mom married your dad."
Draven's eyes widened slightly. "So, she doesn't like my old man?"
"Basically, yeah," Alex nodded. "Your dad's a vampire—which, to most people, means he's part of the demon race.
And Grandma Ellen... well, she's kind of a big deal. One of the Five Heroes.
Having her daughter marry a vampire probably didn't sit well with her status."
Draven blinked. "Wait. What do you mean, one of the Five Heroes?"
Alex gave him a surprised look. "You seriously didn't know? Ellen—the Dark Elf assassin? That's your grandmother."
Draven stared. "She's... still alive?"
Alex laughed. "Of course she is.
A Dark Elf can live up to 10,000 years.
Grandma Ellen's only around 5,000.
That's middle-aged, basically."
Draven shook his head, a small smile forming. "So you weren't joking when you said I should call you 'Big Sis.'"
Alex flushed slightly, rubbing the back of her neck. "So... does that mean you're actually going to call me that?"
Draven gave her a look. "Sure."
But inwardly, he thought:
If Grandma's 5,000... does that mean I could live that long too? Maybe longer?
The training room door opened again, and the maid stepped in, bowing politely.
"Young Master," she said. "Here are your clothes."
Draven took the folded garments. "Change of clothes, huh?" he muttered, glancing down at his bloodied outfit.
He looked over at Alex. "Big Sis, you coming?"
Alex nodded, smiling faintly. "Yeah."
This brat's not so bad, she thought as they walked out together.
---
Back at the Party
A while later, Draven and Alex made their way back into the grand hall, the party still in full swing.
Music played softly under the murmur of voices.
Servants weaved through the crowd with drinks, and nobles mingled with soldiers and scholars alike.
Draven scanned the room, eyes searching for his father.
Before he could spot him, a man stepped into their path.
He had long black hair, crimson eyes, and pale, flawless skin.
His presence was quiet but powerful—enough to make the nearby guests subtly give him space.
The man looked at Draven with a calm, unreadable expression.
"So," he said, voice low and smooth, "you're my nephew."
Draven blinked.
The man smiled faintly. "Nice to meet you, Draven."