The Vampire Realm was quieter than usual.
Not the silence of peace. The silence before a blade was drawn.
The moonlight bled through the skylight above the throne chamber, pale and cold, casting sharp silver against the blackstone floor. Lucifer sat slouched on the crescent throne, cloak spilling down the armrest. His crimson eyes burned faint, fixed on the map hovering in front of him, a web of realms marked with threads of power.
The map pulsed. The adversaries moved. The Progenitors gathered. The war was no longer a rumor.
Soft footsteps broke the stillness.
He didn't need to look to know who it was. Luna's presence had a weight of its own—not oppressive, not sharp. Just steady, like the air bent quietly to her.
She came to stand near the base of the throne, her eyes lifting to him. For a long moment she didn't speak. The light from above caught her face, softening her sharpness, but her eyes betrayed the storm inside her.
"You should rest," she said finally.
