My Blood Legacy: Bloodlines

The dining table, which should have been a minimally civilized space for socializing, was filled with an atmosphere so dense it was almost palpable. The contrast was almost comical: neatly arranged plates, impeccably aligned silverware, breakfast meticulously prepared by Serafall—and yet, three gazes laden with silent resentment that made every second there too awkward to ignore.

Carmilla sat with impeccable posture, but the way her fingers drummed lightly on the table betrayed her contained irritation. Her eyes, normally confident and almost amused, now carried a colder intensity, occasionally turning to Victor with an expression that mixed judgment and disbelief. Scarlett, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide her own discomfort; she leaned back in her chair in a way that was too relaxed for someone at a formal dinner, her arms crossed and her eyes half-closed, clearly still irritated—and perhaps a little humiliated, though she would never admit it aloud.

Victor, seated between them and facing Serafall, seemed the only one not crushed by that absurd tension. He ate calmly, as if it were just another ordinary breakfast, though his eyes occasionally scanned the surroundings, fully aware that he was walking on an extremely fine line. The silence dragged on, heavy, uncomfortable, stretching far beyond what anyone there would consider acceptable.

And he was the one who broke it. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

"You two need to get over this," he said directly, resting his elbow on the table while lightly twirling his fork between his fingers, his tone almost casual—which only made things worse. "I’m not going anywhere. So there’s not much point in you sulking like this."

The effect was immediate.

Carmilla stopped moving her fingers.

Slowly, she turned her face toward him.

"Get over it?" she repeated, with a dangerous calm that made it clear this wouldn’t end well. "Do you really think this is something we simply... get over?"

She leaned slightly forward, her eyes now fixed on his, with no intention of softening what was to come.

"We spent almost a whole day upside down," she continued, each word well-articulated, laden with an elegant yet sharp irritation, "while you were busy fucking your own mother like the world was going to end."

The silence that followed was... deafening.

Scarlett let out a small sigh through her nose, as if she were just waiting for the cue.

"And that’s without mentioning," she added, in a drier, yet equally cutting tone, "that we were dragged into that... experience... because of the bond of the marriage pact." Her eyes turned to Victor, filled with an almost cruel clarity. "Obviously we’re nervous. Or haven’t you really thought about that?"

Victor opened his mouth.

And closed it.

For a moment, he simply... had no answer.

And that, in itself, was rare.

It was at that exact moment that the dry sound of metal against wood cut through the air.

Serafall banged her fork on the table.

Not hard enough to break anything.

But enough to completely silence the room.

The impact wasn’t in the sound.

It was in the intention.

"Enough," she said, without raising her voice, but with a firmness that allowed no questioning. Her gaze swept over Carmilla and Scarlett first, lingering a little longer than necessary, as if assessing how much she could tolerate. "You two, quiet."

And then—

She turned her face.

Her eyes met Victor’s.

"And you," she continued, now with a slight narrowing of her gaze, "be quiet until I tell you to speak."

Victor raised his hands slightly, in silent surrender, leaning back in his chair without arguing.

Serafall then took a deep breath.

The tension was still there.

But now... organized. Controlled.

She rested her elbow on the table, interlacing her fingers in front of her face as she observed Victor with much more focused attention.

"Now," she began, in a more steady tone, though still carrying her natural intensity, "let’s stop this charade for a moment."

Her eyes didn’t leave him.

"What do you want from life now?"

The question came directly.

No beating around the bush.

No sarcasm.

"You’re sitting here," she continued, tilting her head slightly, "with three vampires who are over five thousand years old around you." A slight arch appeared on her eyebrow. "So I imagine you have at least some idea of ​​what you intend to do with it."

Victor stared at her for a few seconds.

He thought.

And then he shrugged.

Just like that.

"I want to get stronger."

The answer was as direct as the question.

No frills.

No long justifications.

And, surprisingly... that was enough.

Serafall nodded slowly, as if she had expected something along those lines, her gaze softening almost imperceptibly.

"That’s a good approach," she said, returning to a more relaxed posture, though still dominant at the table. "Simple. Direct. It works."

She picked up the glass in front of her, swirling it slightly before continuing.

"If that’s what you want," she added, now in a more serious tone, "then you’d better start preparing."

A brief pause.

Enough to give weight to the next words.

"For the Coming of Age ceremony," she said, her eyes fixed on him again, "and for the Blood Ascension."

The atmosphere, already heavy, seemed to gain a new layer of meaning.

It was no longer just a conversation.

It was a direction.

And, for the first time that morning—

No one argued.

Serafall kept her gaze fixed on Victor for a few moments after mentioning the ceremony, as if silently assessing how much he truly understood the weight of it. Her fingers still rested on the table, but there was a slight tension in them now, a clear indication that the subject had ceased to be mundane and entered much more serious territory. When she spoke again, her voice didn’t drastically change tone, but gained a denser depth, more laden with meaning.

"The Blood Ascension is not a symbolic ceremony," she began, tilting her head slightly, her eyes half-closed as she precisely organized her explanation. "There are no long speeches, no pretty rituals to please the audience. It’s... simple. Brutal. And absolutely efficient."

Carmilla, still leaning back in her chair, crossed her legs slowly, like someone who knew this type of event better than anyone there. Scarlett merely rested her chin on her hand, already showing a slight interest, although her pride was still clearly wounded.

Serafall continued.

"All the students in training are placed in a single camp," she explained, making a small circular gesture with her finger on the table, as if mentally drawing the scenario. "No fixed teams. No guaranteed alliances. Just survival, strategy... and strength."

Victor didn’t interrupt.

But his eyes were attentive.

"It’s essentially a battle royale," she concluded directly, without trying to soften the nature of the event. "You go in... and fight until only the strongest remain."

Scarlett let out a small "hm" through her nose, as if this was exactly the kind of thing she expected from vampires.

"And the criteria?" Victor asked, now resting his elbow on the table, clearly interested.

Serafall smiled slightly.

"The top twenty," she replied. "Those who survive... and prove they deserve it."

She paused briefly, letting it sink in before continuing.

"Those twenty receive a reward," she said, now with a slight glint in her eyes, something between pride and expectation. "A single drop... of the Primordial’s blood."

The silence that followed was different from the previous ones.

Heavier.

More... meaningful.

Victor blinked once.

And then, slowly—

He turned his face toward Carmilla.

His gaze said it all.

Carmilla noticed immediately.

And for a moment, she just stared back at him... before shrugging almost nonchalantly, as if it weren’t a big deal—even though it was.

"Vlad drained my blood before sealing me," she said, her tone too casual for the content of the sentence, crossing her arms while averting her gaze for a second. "What you drink from me now... is my blood after losing my powers."

She looked back at him.

Now more directly.

"A drop of my blood with my true strength?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow slightly. "It really is a big deal."

Victor remained silent for a few seconds.

Processing.

Serafall watched.

Attentive.

Without interrupting.

"You’ve already evolved quite a bit with what you have now," Carmilla continued, resting her elbow on the table, her tone a little more serious than before. "But this..." she made a small gesture with her hand, as if pointing to something invisible, "...this is another level."

Scarlett let out a light nasal laugh.

"Another level is an understatement," she commented, uncrossing her arms and leaning slightly forward. "A drop of true Primordial can completely rewrite a vampire’s body. Structure, blood flow, absorption capacity... everything."

She glanced sideways at Victor.

"If you survive until then, of course."

Victor smiled slightly.

It wasn’t arrogance.

But it wasn’t hesitation either.

"So that’s it," he murmured, more to himself than to the others. Serafall uncrossed her hands, resting them on the table again, her gaze fixed on him.

"It’s not just brute force that decides this," she added. "You’ll be facing people who have trained their entire lives for this moment. Some with refined techniques, others with strong bloodlines, others simply... too dangerous to ignore."

She leaned forward slightly.

"And unlike what you’ve faced so far," she continued, narrowing her gaze slightly, "they won’t hold anything back."

The atmosphere seemed more focused now.

Less chaotic.

More... aligned.

Victor leaned back in his chair, letting out a small sigh as he looked at the ceiling for a moment.

And then—

He smiled.

"Sounds fun."

Scarlett chuckled softly.

Carmilla simply shook her head, as if she had expected that response.

And Serafall...

She smiled too.

But her smile was different.

Less light.

More... sharp.

"I hope you still think that," she said, leaning back in her chair, "when you’re surrounded by twenty people trying to rip your head off at the same time."

Victor turned his face back to her.

His eyes gleaming.

"If twenty are a problem," he replied, in a calm but intentionally charged tone, "then I really don’t deserve this drop."

The silence that followed this time wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was... approved.