CHAPTER ONE: Return to Prague
The city hadn't changed, not really. Beneath the glow of streetlights and the hum of electric life, Prague still bled history—in every cracked stone alleyway, in the silent gargoyles that watched from gothic cathedrals, in the whispers that clung to the mist rolling off the Vltava River.
And tonight, the whispers stirred.
The black limousine glided through the old quarter, its windows tinted darker than death. Inside, Lucien Virelian sat in silence. The city lights danced faintly across his sharp jawline and high cheekbones, but nothing touched his eyes. Not the city. Not the past. Not even the ache in his chest he refused to name.
He hadn't seen this city in over a century.
And now he had returned to take it.
"Elara," he said without turning, "do you feel it?"
Beside him, Elara Virelian, poised in an obsidian gown, stared out the opposite window. Her voice was soft, razor-edged velvet. "The dead magic beneath the stones? The silence in the wards? Yes. Our home's been desecrated."
"It's not home anymore," Evander muttered from the third seat, his boots kicked up, fidgeting with the silver ring on his thumb. "It's a tomb with electricity."
Lucien exhaled slowly. "Then we'll raise the dead."
The car pulled to a halt in front of Raven Hollow Estate—an ancient castle now swallowed by modern skyscrapers. Once the heart of supernatural royalty, now forgotten behind rusted iron gates and ivy-covered stone.
Kael Moren stood waiting at the gate, flanked by two loyal vampire guards. Tall, dark-skinned, sharply dressed, and sharper in mind, Kael bowed slightly as Lucien stepped out.
"You're late," Kael said, smirking.
Lucien didn't return it. "We weren't expected."
"You're the Virelians. You're always expected."
They walked through the gates in silence, the air thick with old power and older memory. As Lucien's boots hit the stone floor of the grand entrance, the warding runes across the walls flickered—acknowledging the return of blood it hadn't felt in centuries.
Home.
"Where's Asha?" Elara asked, her voice clipped.
"In the catacombs," Kael replied. "With the wolves. She's negotiating with what's left of the Nightfangs."
"Negotiating," Evander scoffed. "Meaning growling and threatening until someone bends."
Kael grinned. "You know her."
They entered the great hall, dimly lit by flickering sconces. Dust clung to the chandeliers like ghosts. And on the far end of the hall stood the throne of stone and blood, carved from a meteorite Maevra Virelian had pulled from the heavens herself.
Lucien stood before it. Quiet. Still.
"It's been too long," he whispered.
Evander snorted. "Feels like yesterday. Just with Wi-Fi."
Elara stepped forward, brushing her fingers over the carvings. "The witches sealed this place. Whatever council now rules the city didn't want us back."
Kael's eyes darkened. "There's more. They've invoked the Crimson Mandate. They're hunting immortals. One by one."
Lucien's voice dropped into a cold growl. "Who gave them permission to touch our world?"
Kael hesitated. "A new witch. Young. Unnamed. But powerful. And she's backed by the humans… the Argent Dawn."
Elara stiffened. "That secret order still exists?"
Evander's smile faded. "So we return, and they declare war."
Lucien stepped up to the throne, placing his hand on its armrest. The stone trembled under his touch, a low groan echoing through the hall.
"No," he said. "They declared a funeral."
---
Elsewhere…
Beneath the city, in a church older than the country, Asha Nightbourne drove her fist into a werewolf's jaw, sending him crashing into the altar.
"Tell your pack," she snarled, her breath thick with rage, "the Virelians are home. Fall in line… or fall in blood."
---
Later that night…
On a rooftop overlooking Prague's skyline, Lucien stood alone. The wind tousled his black coat, his eyes staring into the horizon.
He could feel it.
Magic. Movement. Memory.
And something else…
A heartbeat.
A mortal girl had entered the city that very day. Her bloodline was ancient. Unknown. And yet it called to him.
Not in hunger.
But in prophecy.
Lucien's jaw clenched. He whispered into the night.
> "So it begins… again."