My Blood Legacy: Bloodlines

The night had dissipated without fanfare, as if carefully gathered by invisible hands to give way to a new cycle. The first light of morning streamed through the tall windows of the Training Center, filtering in soft tones that glided across the walls and floor with an almost ironic delicacy for a place that breathed discipline, blood, and power. The world outside was slowly awakening, but within that space... something had been in motion for much longer.

In the kitchen of the reserved quarters, Serafall moved with an unusual lightness for someone of her position. There was no rigidity in her gestures, nor that calculated coldness that defined her presence before subordinates. There, in that isolated space, there was only fluidity. She hummed softly, a gentle and unhurried melody, while moving among the utensils with a natural familiarity, as if that kind of routine was something she rarely allowed herself... but which she mastered perfectly.

She wore only a dark apron that covered the essentials, tied tightly at the back, but still leaving her shoulders, arms, and part of her legs exposed, her pale skin contrasting with the soft morning light that filtered through the cracks in the window. Her hair fell loose, slightly disheveled, different from the impeccable image she normally presented to the world, as if this version of her belonged to a completely different context—more intimate, more silent.

On the counter, the preparation followed a pattern that, at first glance, might seem strange to human eyes. Small containers with blood of different shades were precisely arranged, some denser, others more translucent, each being handled with almost culinary attention, as if they were rare ingredients. The aroma that filled the room, however, was not unpleasant—on the contrary. It had layers, soft notes that blended in a curiously harmonious way, creating something that went beyond the simple idea of ​​raw food.

Serafall stirred a pot in circular motions, the dark liquid reacting to the heat as she adjusted small details, adding something here, removing something there, always with the same tranquil expression. From time to time, she brought the spoon to her lips, tasting carefully, frowning slightly for a second before precisely adjusting the seasoning.

There was something almost... domestic about the scene.

Something that didn’t match the figure that, hours before, had passed through bodies as if they were made of paper.

And yet, it was her.

Without contradiction.

Without effort.

In the next room, the silence that had been maintained during the night began to slowly fragment. Victor, who until then had remained immersed in a deep sleep, began to react almost instinctively. First, a slight movement of his fingers. Then, a subtle change in his breathing. And then... the smell.

It came before any thought.

Before full consciousness.

An alluring aroma, unlike anything he had ever experienced before, yet... inviting. There was something about it that drew his attention almost automatically, awakening not only his body, but something deeper, something directly connected to his nature.

His eyes opened slowly, still heavy from rest, blinking a few times as he tried to adjust his vision to the soft light that already dominated the room. For a moment, he simply remained there, looking at the ceiling, letting his mind organize itself, letting the memories return to their proper place.

And then he realized.

Something was... different.

His gaze drifted to the side of the bed.

Nothing.

He frowned slightly, shifting a little more, tugging at the sheet gently as if expecting to find someone there.

But there was no one.

Not Scarlett.

Not Carmilla.

He was absolutely certain they had both been there when he fell asleep. He remembered their presence, their warmth, their closeness—it wasn’t something his mind could simply invent. And yet... the space beside him was empty, as if it had never been occupied.

Victor propped himself up on his elbows, looking around the room more attentively now, his senses beginning to expand as he fully awoke. There were no signs of a struggle, of a hurried departure, of any interruption.

Just... absence.

And, at the same time—

The smell.

Stronger now.

Closer.

He took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed it. There was something almost hypnotic about that aroma, something that not only awakened hunger but also curiosity. It was different from the raw smells he had previously associated with blood. This was... prepared.

Worked.

Refined.

He ran a hand over his face, letting out a small sigh as he finally got out of bed. His movements still carried a trace of slowness, but there was attention in them now, a slight expectation that grew as he oriented himself in the space.

His feet touched the cold floor, and he walked towards the bedroom door without haste, but also without hesitation. Each step seemed to align his thoughts a little more, connecting what had happened the previous night with what was now unfolding before him.

He opened the door.

The hallway was silent.

But the smell... now it was unmistakable.

It was coming from the kitchen.

Victor followed in that direction, curiosity guiding his steps naturally. There was no tension in his body, nor excessive caution. If there was anything strange, he showed no concern about it—only interest.

And then he arrived.

He stopped at the entrance.

And he saw.

The scene presented itself before him almost identically to the memory he already carried... and, at the same time, completely new.

Serafall was there.

Her back was partially turned to him, moving lightly between the counter and the stove, her apron adjusted to her body while her hair followed her every small movement. The morning light drew soft contours around her, highlighting the naturalness with which she occupied that space.

She was still humming.

As if completely oblivious to his presence.

Or perhaps... not.

Victor remained silent for a second, leaning slightly against the side of the door as he observed the scene. His eyes scanned the room, absorbing the details attentively, from the organized containers to the steam rising slowly from the pot.

And then... he smiled.

A slight smile.

Almost inevitable.

"Not this again..." he murmured, his voice low, laden with a familiarity that shouldn’t exist in that context.

He tilted his head slightly, still observing, with no hurry to interrupt the moment. There was something almost rare about it—not the action itself, but who was performing it.

And, for some reason... he didn’t want to break it immediately.

But the scent... That definitely didn’t help maintain distance.

Victor took a few steps forward, now entering the room completely, his eyes still fixed on her as he approached close enough for his presence to cease being merely a possibility.

Victor approached slowly, still carrying that relaxed air of someone who had just woken up, guided more by the scent than by any sense of urgency. He stopped right behind her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body and the slight movement of her breath, and then, with an almost dangerous naturalness, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her slightly closer while resting his chin on her shoulder. The gesture was intimate, comfortable... and completely irresponsible, considering who he was dealing with.

"You’re quite excited, Mom..." he commented, with a slight, lazy smile in his voice, as if this were just another ordinary morning.

Serafall didn’t turn around immediately.

Nor did she back away.

On the contrary—she only tilted her head slightly, as if she were fitting her face closer to his, while continuing to stir the contents of the pot with an almost unsettling calm. The corner of her lips lifted slowly, forming a smile that was too soft... too beautiful... and, for some reason, utterly wrong.

"I’m preparing your last meal~" she replied, in the same sing-song tone as before.

Victor’s body reacted even before his mind could follow.

A shiver ran down his spine so suddenly that his muscles tensed reflexively, as if something instinctive had screamed danger directly from within his bones. That wasn’t just a sentence.

It was an omen.

"What—"

"HMMM!! !AMMMm!!!"

The sound cut through the air abruptly.

Muffled.

Desperate.

Victor turned his head quickly toward the source of the noise, his brow furrowing reflexively—and then he saw.

The room.

Or rather... what had become of it.

There, in the space that until then seemed merely a tranquil extension of the lodging, Carmilla and Scarlett hung upside down, suspended in the air as if they were particularly problematic decorative pieces. Lines of blood—thick, vibrant, pulsating—intertwined around their bodies, binding arms, legs, torso, everything with almost artistic precision. The restraints weren’t just physical; there was energy in them, a pressure that made the surrounding air vibrate slightly, preventing any real attempt at escape.

Their mouths were gagged.

Their eyes... definitely not. Scarlett looked ready to explode.

Her face was flushed with rage, her eyes blazing as she writhed as much as she could, which wasn’t much, considering she was basically encased in a cocoon of hostile blood. Her tail—still partially manifested in hybrid form—whipped frantically in the air, betraying a level of indignation that words couldn’t express.

Carmilla, on the other hand...

She was angry.

But in a much more... conscious way.

Her eyes were fixed on Victor with an expression that mixed judgment, exhaustion, and a slight, silent "I told you so." She didn’t struggle as much as Scarlett, but the tension in her body made it clear that if she had the slightest opening... someone there would probably lose a limb.

Victor blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Processing.

And then slowly turned his face back to Serafall.

Now—

She held a knife in her hand.

Not just any knife.

The blade was long, elegant, but completely enveloped in a thick layer of blood that wouldn’t drip—it vibrated, pulsed, as if alive, enveloped in an intense red energy that slightly distorted the air around it. It wasn’t just a weapon.

It was a statement.

Serafall still hadn’t opened her eyes.

But the smile...

Ah, the smile.

If before it was gentle, now it was... complete.

Closed.

Extending almost excessively, curving to where it seemed no longer natural, while her eyelids remained closed, as if she didn’t need to see to know exactly where everything—and everyone—was.

"Would you like to explain..." she began, her voice low, sweet... dangerously sweet, each word coming out with a meticulously controlled calm, "...why there are two vampires..."

The knife twirled slightly between her fingers.

"...Sleeping with my precious son..."