CH 70 - A Rage That Never Died

CH 70 - A Rage That Never Died

The night wind slipped through the tall windows of the Regane Clan’s library, carrying an unusual chill. The ancient stones that held up the building seemed to drink in whispers from the past stories of betrayal, power, and blood. Daeron stood alone in the vast hall, his black cloak swaying gently in the breeze left behind by lingering magic.
Silence. The air still carried the cold trace of Gabriel’s presence, not a breeze like usual, but a pressure like death breathing against the back of one’s neck. The stone walls echoed the remnants of a voice soaked in vengeance, and Daeron stood at the center, staring blankly at the door where the shadow of the past had just appeared.
He kept his eyes fixed on the spot right where Gabriel had stood just minutes ago. Not the broken, bloodied boy from long ago, but a calm figure, head held high, a thin smile hiding a thousand poisons. That presence was gone now, but what it left behind was thick, a charge in the air, heavy with threat and unspoken fury. Even the space between the old bookshelves felt darker, as if the shelves themselves were holding their breath.
Daeron turned slowly, his steps nearly silent, heading back toward the old shelf where ancient tomes lay scattered. But just before his hand could turn the next page, the air shifted again.
Lucien stood before him, emerging from the shadows like a ghost. His gaze was sharp, not out of suspicion, but because something in his blood had stirred, responding to Daeron’s silent call.
“You called me,” Lucien said, his voice low and calm, but laced with tension. He stood at the edge of the darkened hall, his stance steady. His face gave little away, but the energy around him shifted like a wolf sensing the snap of a hidden trap.
“I did,” Daeron answered quietly, meeting the gaze of the Aurelion heir. “But you came a few minutes too late.”
Lucien stepped closer. “Someone else was here?”
Daeron nodded, and didn’t hide the worry in his face. “Gabriel.”
Lucien’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the room, as if searching for traces of a lingering presence. His expression tightened. There was no need for a detailed explanation just the name was enough to summon a flood of dark possibilities.
“What did he want?” Lucien asked, though he already seemed to know.
Daeron didn’t answer right away. He walked to the table and opened the ancient manuscript he’d been reading earlier. On the page was a depiction of an old blood ritual, clan symbols long extinct and at its center, the name: Pure Blood. He tapped the page gently.
“He didn’t hide his intentions. He knows about Elara. About her blood. And worst of all…” Daeron looked at Lucien, his gaze sharp. “Gabriel came carrying old hatred that still burns in every breath. I fear he’s moving faster than we thought.”
Lucien inhaled sharply, frustration creeping into his voice. “He never forgot…”
Daeron looked up at the ceiling, as if he could still hear Gabriel’s cold, cutting words:
“Funny, Daeron. You slaughtered my whole family, and now you speak of balance?”
“Gabriel has changed,” Daeron murmured. “Not just stronger. Far more dangerous. His hate isn’t an old wound anymore. He’s forged it into a weapon.”
Lucien clenched his fists, but said nothing.
“He knows about Elara’s blood,” Daeron said under his breath. “And Gabriel didn’t come with just a plan… he came with vengeance.”
Lucien clenched his fists. “He wants to use Elara’s blood for the ritual?”
“He didn’t say it outright,” Daeron replied. “But the way he spoke… the way he carried himself… he’s already made up his mind. And if that’s true, we’re not just dealing with a power-hungry vampire. We’re facing someone who doesn’t care who burns so long as the world burns with his vengeance.”
Lucien fell silent. His eyes stared blankly at the wall, but his mind was racing. He could already picture Gabriel, that mocking smile on his face, standing in the midst of a blazing war, laughing over the ruins.
“He mentioned his family,” Daeron continued, his voice calm but heavy. “Blamed me for their deaths. Maybe he’s right. Maybe not. But that hatred… it’s been festering for far too long. And now, Elara is at the center of it.”
Lucien turned sharply. “He’ll come for her. That much is certain.”
“Not just him,” Daeron warned. “Everyone who knows about this ritual will come. Werewolves hiding in the northern mountains. Blood-magic users among humans. Even creatures from the underworld that have slept for centuries.”
Lucien stepped back, then locked eyes with Daeron. “Then we hide her. Better than ever before.”
Daeron nodded. “But you need to understand something, Lucien… if this war truly breaks out, if Gabriel gets to Elara’s blood first, this world won’t be able to tell shadow from light anymore. There’ll be no safe place. Not even for us.”
Lucien let out a breath, and for the first time, there was a flicker of weariness in his eyes.
“I’ll protect her,” he said. “Even if it means facing Gabriel. Even if it means fighting… myself.”
Daeron looked at him for a long moment before speaking quietly, “When the time comes… you’ll have to choose, Lucien. Not just between Elara and the world, but between who you are… and who you’ll have to become.”
Lucien glanced toward the library’s tall window, where the night sky was being swallowed by thick clouds. Lightning clawed across the heavens, and behind those shadows, he felt something drawing closer.
“I warned him,” Daeron said. “The balance between our races, between this world and others, cannot be disturbed. But he spoke of change of erasure. Of a new world, wiped clean of humans… or all of us.”
Lucien stared at the flickering candlelight on the table, its flame dancing like a death omen. “If he gets Elara…”
“He won’t just destroy,” Daeron cut in. “He’ll create something that can’t be controlled.”
They fell into silence. Long, heavy silence.
Until Daeron finally spoke, voice low and distant, “I looked into Gabriel’s eyes tonight… and I didn’t see a vampire. Not an immortal. I saw emptiness. A void that can only be filled by the suffering of others.”
Lucien raised his head. “Then what do we do?”
Daeron held his gaze and answered with quiet gravity, “Don’t just hide, Lucien. Don’t just protect Elara. If this turns into war… you need to stand as a leader. Like Aurelion once did. Or more.”
“I won’t strike out in anger. That’s what Gabriel wants for me to lose control. For me to play his game. But I won’t. Because the one who controls the board… isn’t him. It’s me.”
From deep within the oldest shelves of the library, a whisper stirred, soft as breath trapped between pages of a cursed manuscript:
“The Pureblood cannot be saved… only sacrificed.”