The hall was thick with tension. Every vampire in the chamber watched Ethan with guarded, suspicious eyes.
He glanced around at them, unfazed.
"Right then," he said evenly. "I'll say what I came here for. As of today, the war between Lycans and Vampires ends."
The reaction was immediate—low murmurs, sharp looks, disbelief.
"And from this day forward, your two races will have a peaceful relationship. I've already made the Lycans' leader, Lucian, agree to it—by providing him some benefits."
He didn't clarify what those benefits were.
He didn't need to.
When the name Lucian left his mouth, the hall shifted.
"Lucian?" "He's dead." "That's impossible."
Whispers spread like wildfire. Eyes turned toward the figure standing nearby, the one holding Kraven down.
Is that…?
Lucian stepped forward into clearer view.
Alive.
The disbelief on their faces said everything.
Amelia's expression hardened instantly, centuries of pride and prejudice sharpening her voice.
"Why should we?" she said coldly. "Lycans are nothing more than beasts. Savages. They do not deserve to stand on equal footing with us."
She had lived long enough to remember the first generation—wild, uncontrollable creatures. To her, nothing had changed. Even if they could take human form now, in her eyes they were still animals.
Lucian's gaze did not waver.
"And yet," Lucian said quietly, but with weight behind it, "at the hands of those 'beasts,' you almost died."
That struck Amelia's nerve.
"You beast—"
Her voice stopped.
Her lips still moved, but no sound came out. A faint pressure tightened around her throat.
Ethan didn't even look at her. "Nah. I don't like anti-peace elements."
The pressure eased just enough for her to breathe, but not speak.
He stepped forward, hands in his pockets, gaze sweeping across the chamber.
"And there is one thing I have to say," Ethan continued, his voice steady but carrying through the chamber, "which has something to do with the origin of both Vampires and Lycans. After hearing it… your worldview might change."
No one spoke.
Even Amelia held her silence.
"In the 5th century," Ethan began, "during the time of plague and collapse, there was a Hungarian warlord named Alexander Corvinus."
"Who survived when thousands around him died. A plague swept through his lands. Entire villages rotted in days."
"But Alexander did not die."
"He was infected like the rest. The difference was his body didn't reject the pathogen. It adapted to it."
Ethan's eyes sharpened slightly.
"The virus bonded to him. Perfectly. It rewrote him."
"He became the first true immortal."
"Alexander had sons," Ethan continued. "Three of them. And the virus flowed through their blood."
"One who was bitten by a wolf became the ancestor of Lycans. One who was bitten by a bat became the first vampire—the true ancestor of your race," Lucian said, finishing the thought slowly as the realization settled.
Ethan gave a small nod. "Yep. That's the true history. And for your information—Viktor isn't the father of your race."
The chamber stirred.
Several vampires exchanged sharp looks. That statement alone was enough to crack centuries of doctrine.
Until now, many among them believed their power traced back to Viktor's authority and the elders who followed him. The idea that their origin lay elsewhere—outside the coven's narrative—shook that foundation.
"You're saying…" one vampire muttered, "…that Lycans aren't a separate creation?"
"They aren't," Ethan replied calmly. "They originated from the same bloodline. Same father. Same source."
Amelia's expression hardened, but she did not interrupt.
"And before you dismiss this as a lie," Ethan continued, his tone steady, "Marcus Corvinus is the true ancestor of vampires. Not Viktor. Not any elder after him."
A ripple of disbelief moved through the hall at the name.
"Marcus?" someone whispered.
"Yes," Ethan said. "Marcus, son of Alexander Corvinus. The first vampire."
He paused deliberately.
"And still—he is weaker than me."
That drew sharper reactions than the history lesson.
One vampire stepped forward, visibly irritated. "Then what the hell are you?"
Ethan's faint smile returned, not mocking—just certain.
"I'm not a descendant," he said. "I'm not a branch of the bloodline."
He looked around the room, letting it settle.
"I am the source above your source."
"A god among Vampires."
Ethan's eyes deepened into a darker red, not brighter — heavier. The shift was subtle, but every vampire in the room felt it instantly. A cold sensation slid through their veins, not from the air, but from inside their own bodies.
The walls around them peeled away, as if reality itself stepped back. In the next breath, they were no longer inside the chamber.
Above them stretched the open night sky, vast and oppressive, the full blood moon hanging low and heavy as if watching the scene unfold. Its crimson glow bathed everything in a sinister light, turning stone and shadow into shades of dark scarlet.
Before them stood Ethan.
He was surrounded by a sea of blood that spread outward in every direction, pooling at his feet, reflecting the moonlight like a shattered mirror. The metallic scent hung thick in the air, and the surface rippled slightly with each subtle movement he made.
Then—
Snap.
The sound was ordinary.
The effect was not.
Every vampire felt their blood surge violently, then compress. Their hearts stuttered. Knees buckled without permission. One by one, they dropped to the ground, not because they were forced physically, but because something in their lineage compelled them to submit.
Their blood knew.
It knew the hierarchy.
It knew the origin.
Ethan looked at them calmly.
"Yep," he said evenly, "that should tell your blood who I am."
None of them could rise. The more they resisted, the heavier their bodies felt, as if gravity itself had increased only for them. It wasn't fear. It wasn't magic pressing down on them.
It was authority.
Absolute.
The ruler of blood stood before them.
Only one remained standing.
Selene.
*****
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