The dining hall was vast, lit by the flickering glow of heavy iron chandeliers. The long oak table was set for a feast, though only four chairs were occupied.
The clinking of silver against porcelain echoed softly in the cavernous room as Vukan sat with his family: his father, Antoine; his mother, Jade; and Grandma Mila.
For a while, the only sounds were the quiet hum of the crackling fireplace and the scraping of utensils. Then, Antoine set his heavy goblet down.
"How is the progress of your transformation going, Vukan?" Antoine's voice was deep, a low rumble that vibrated in the chest.
Vukan stopped eating.
He lowered his gaze, staring hard at his plate of roasted meat. "I am still not ready, Father," he admitted, his voice tight with frustration. "However much I try to pull the beast out from within me, to force the change... I fail."
Jade reached across the table, her hand resting gently over his.
"Take it easy, Vukan," she said, her voice a soothing contrast to the heavy atmosphere. "You are young. You just need to focus on training your shadow composition and honing your senses for now. The rest will follow."
Antoine nodded his agreement, taking a slow bite of his meal.
"She is right," Mila added from the head of the table. Her sharp eyes analyzed her grandson. "You are close to the transformation. I can feel it in your blood. It stirs."
Vukan remained silent, absorbing their words. His mother's mention of his training brought his mind back to the unique heritage he carried.
Shadow composition.It is a power unique only to the pureblood descendants of our line. When we tap into it, a thick, pitch-black shadow—like living smoke—emits from our bodies. If we wish to hide our presence, the shadows swallow us whole, making us entirely undetectable to the world. But it is more than just camouflage. It is a weapon. The shadow composition helps us instill an absolute, primal fear in our enemies. When we are fully transformed, shrouded in that dark, twisting smoke, the terror it projects is so immense that our prey will involuntarily stop moving, paralyzed by their own dread.
"You do not have to overwork yourself, son," Antoine said, breaking into Vukan's thoughts. He leaned back in his heavy wooden chair, a look of supreme arrogance settling over his sharp features. "We are pureblood Leleu. We are way above the food chain to be afraid of anyone. Let the beast wake on its own time."
Vukan looked up from his plate, his brow furrowing. "What about the Chastels, then?"
The effect was instantaneous.
The clinking of silverware stopped dead.
The warmth of the roaring fireplace seemed to instantly vanish, replaced by a suffocating, icy tension.
Antoine, Jade, and Mila froze. Slowly, in unison, they turned their heads toward Vukan.
Their irises had vanished, replaced by a blinding, piercing glow of blood red. The predatory stare of three apex monsters locked onto him, the air heavy with an ancient, murderous malice.
The silence stretched, thick and dangerous.
Then, Jade spoke. Her voice was no longer soothing; it was a cold, venomous promise.
"They will die, today or tomorrow," she whispered. "And you will kill them with your own hands."
Antoine and Mila nodded slowly in absolute agreement.
The three of them closed their eyes. When their eyelids fluttered open a second later, the terrifying crimson glow was gone, replaced by their normal, human-like eyes.
Without another word, they picked up their silverware and resumed eating as if nothing had happened.
Vukan didn't pick up his spoon. He looked down at his bowl of broth. Staring back at him in the shimmering reflection of the soup were his own eyes. They were not red like his parents'.
They were glowing a brilliant, piercing gold, burning fiercely with an untamed, insatiable bloodlust.