Chapter 63: Help Potion

The TV was on, volume low, but loud enough to fill the silence of the living room. A reporter’s voice droned on, covering the latest updates about the mysterious outbreak gripping the city. Footage of overcrowded hospitals, pale-faced patients with fragile bodies, played on repeat. Elara sat frozen on the couch, eyes locked on the screen. Her breathing was heavy, like a weight pressing down on her chest that wouldn’t let go.

“…the exact cause of the symptoms remains unknown. Authorities urge citizens to stay indoors after 7 p.m.…”

The voice faded beneath the rising tide of guilt that clawed at her. Elara clenched her fists, lowered her head, and whispered with a tremble in her voice.

“The number keeps growing,” she murmured. “Every night, someone new…”

Across the room, Adeline stood by the window, back turned, eyes fixed on the world outside. Her gaze was dark, sharp. She heard Elara’s words, but didn’t respond right away. Then Elara spoke again—this time, her voice cracked, soaked with guilt.

“This is all my fault…”

“If I wasn’t born with pure blood… if I didn’t exist, none of this would be happening. People wouldn’t be dying. This city wouldn’t be turning into hell.”

Adeline let out a slow breath, then turned around. Her steps were calm but heavy as she walked toward Elara.

“Don’t start this again, Elara.”

“But it’s the truth!” Elara cried, her eyes glistening.

“Stop.” Adeline’s voice was cold, but shaking from the weight of the anger she was holding back. “Don’t talk like that.”

“I… I’m the reason this is happening. If I didn’t exist, no one would be hunting for pure blood. No one would be getting hurt.”

Elara looked up at her, eyes red and wet. “Would it be so wrong if I just ended it? If I die, maybe they’ll stop looking. Maybe the innocent won’t be dragged into this anymore.”

Adeline’s boots hit the floor hard as she stood, the sound echoing in the room. Her eyes blazed—not with hate, but with fear wrapped in love. She stormed over to Elara and stared down at her, unflinching.

“So that’s your plan? Give up? Die for the people who want to use you like a weapon? Are you out of your mind?”

Elara froze, startled.

“You think dying is going to fix anything? You think if you vanish, everything will magically go back to normal? No, Elara! That’s not how the world works.”

“But—”

“Stop, Elara. I don't wanna hear.” Adeline snapped. “Do you want everything Lucien has done to mean nothing? He’s fought harder than anyone. Against things you can’t even imagine. And he’s done it all for one reason—for you. Lucien’s risked everything to keep you alive. Are you really going to throw that away? Do you think this is some kind of game to him?”

Adeline paused, her voice softening slightly.

“He might not say it out loud. But you know. I know. If you give up… if you die… it won’t just break you. It’ll break him too.”

Elara lowered her head, tears spilling silently down her cheeks.

Adeline took a deep breath and slowly sat beside her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I know this is heavy. I know what it’s like to feel like everything’s your fault. But this isn’t on you, Elara. The ones to blame are the greedy. The ones hungry for power. They started this. Not you.”

Elara turned to her, eyes swimming in tears. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

Adeline gave her a faint but firm smile. “Live. Survive. Because that’s what terrifies them most. As long as pure blood still breathes and chooses to fight, they’ll never truly win. Let us protect you. But don’t ever think death is the way out. That’s exactly what they want.”

The night sky was dark, and the wind moved softly through the silent streets of the city. Lucien walked with steady, cautious steps, weaving through deserted alleys toward a place known only to a handful of beings—a hidden Victorian house tucked behind a row of abandoned buildings.

The door opened without a knock. Its owner already knew who was coming.

Inside, the room was dim, lit only by a few hanging lanterns. The air was thick with the sharp scent of herbs—bitter, warm, with a hint of spice. Shelves lined with glass bottles full of strange-colored liquids loomed over the space. In the far corner, a man with long hair and storm-gray eyes stood with his back to Lucien, carefully dripping liquid into a copper bowl.

“It’s been a while since you showed up smelling like fresh blood,” the man muttered without turning around.

Lucien shut the door behind him. His voice was low, direct. “I’m not here for small talk. You know that.”

The man turned. His features were sharp—half-human, half-vampire, like Adeline—but older, calmer, more disciplined. One brow lifted slightly.

“I’ve heard the city. Screams hiding in the shadows. A plague that isn’t really a plague. Of course I know, Lucien.”

Lucien stepped closer. “Do you know who’s behind it?”

The man gave a faint, knowing smirk, then turned back to his steaming brew. “I have a guess. Gabriel. That conniving old snake never really stops, does he?”

Lucien didn’t answer—just stared, eyes like knives.

“So?” the man asked again. “You want me to brew a cure? Something to save the humans from this bloodless drain?”

Lucien nodded once. “Not just a cure. I need something that pushes them back. Makes the lesser vampires run, tremble… or burn from the inside out.”

The man let out a dry chuckle. “Always the dramatic one, Aurelion.”

“I’m not joking.”

“I know.” He moved toward the top shelf and pulled down a small vial of thick, dark purple liquid. “They’re not biting, you realize. They’re draining through breath, through mist, through energy manipulation. This is old magic—older than bloodlust.”

Lucien’s eyes narrowed. “Kael Garcia.”

“Hmm…” The man nodded slowly. “Voice-line magic. Soul resonance. Yeah, that tracks. And if that’s the case, I’ll need to hit the core of that frequency.”

He returned to the table, hands moving deftly as he started mixing potions.

“It’ll take time. But I can make a protective mist you can spray around residential zones. It’ll drive them off—for a while. But they’ll adapt. They always do.”

Lucien gave a slow nod. “I only need time. Just enough to set up the next move.”

The man looked at him, eyes sharp and heavy with meaning.

“Time’s expensive, Lucien. And every night, more people drop. You can’t stall this war forever.”

Lucien met his gaze with icy resolve.

“I’m not stalling. I’m choosing the battlefield I can win.”