Everyone was seated now.
The silence held steady.
Sylarion glanced at each of them in turn.
His father.
Varekth.
Maelren.
No more guessing. No more shadows.
He knew who they were now.
Then, Sorynth Drekkh spoke.
His voice was calm. Cold. Absolute.
"Nyxhera University."
The room tensed.
Sylarion blinked.
He didn't recognize the name.
But Varekth did.
His jaw tightened.
Even Maelren's eyes narrowed—just slightly.
Sylarion could feel it, even without knowing.
That name meant something dangerous.
"You will leave for there tomorrow."
And just like that, the air changed.
Varekth shot to his feet.
"This is too much!" he snarled, his voice echoing off the cold stone walls.
"He won't survive there, and you know it!"
His eyes blazed with fury as he looked at their father.
"Why can't you just cage him in the manor like before? For his mistake. For… everything."
Then, turning sharply, he pointed—not at Sylarion, but at Maelren.
"Say something! He's our brother!"
But Maelren didn't rise.
Didn't flinch.
He merely sat back in his chair, eyes half-lidded, as if the weight of this conversation didn't concern him.
Then, finally, Sorynth spoke.
Cold. Icy. Absolute.
"At least he will live."
The words dropped like lead.
"The Council doesn't want him seen alive. Tensions are rising. And the little stunt he pulled…"
A pause.
"…was enough."
No further explanation.
No pity.
Only truth—delivered like a sentence.
Varekth's voice thundered through the hall.
"Who can dare to touch him in these walls? No one! Not even the elders!"
His fists slammed onto the table, dishes rattling from the force.
"You know it. I know it. We are Drekkh. Our blood alone can silence the council if we wish it."
Sorynth's gaze remained steady. Unbothered.
"You know those sneaky bastards," he said coldly, sipping from his chalice.
"They don't strike when watched."
Varekth's jaw clenched.
"So you don't even trust us?" he spat. "You don't trust your own people to protect him?"
His voice cracked.
"He's our brother. I can't lose someone again… not like we lost Mother."
He stood tall, defiant, trembling with grief barely buried.
"Enough is enough, Father!"
Sorynth's cup halted mid-air. His next words dropped like thunder:
"I will kill you if you utter another word."
The air went deathly still.
A flicker of red glinted in Sorynth's eyes—ancient, final.
Varekth turned, furious.
"Maelren, are you seeing this?!"
But Maelren didn't even lift his head.
He leaned back in his seat, one leg over the other, calmly tipping a goblet of dark blood to his lips.
"Let me drink in peace," he muttered, voice flat.
"I don't want to discuss. And lower your voice. It's itching my ears."
Varekth stared at him like he'd been struck.
"Oh my god…" he whispered, then louder, his fury boiling over.
"You too, brother? Mother did so much for us—so much—and all you want is to sit there and drink blood instead of saving our brother from a life of hell?"
His voice broke with disgust.
"Shameless. Just… shameless. You promised her. You promised her you'd protect him!"
Maelren's cup froze in his hand.
For a moment, nothing.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he set it down.
His voice exploded.
"Enough of your bullshit!"
The room trembled with his rage.
In a blur, Maelren vanished from his seat.
CRACK!
In the next instant, his hand was around Varekth's throat, lifting him clean off the ground. The air snapped with pressure as fangs bared and shadows warped behind his back.
"Enough," Maelren growled, his voice like breaking stone.
"Our brother here will live another eighty years—if he's lucky."
He shoved Varekth back against a column, eyes glowing crimson.
"How many of those years do you want him caged in a manor? Ten? Twenty? Till he dies old, weak, and useless?"
Varekth struggled but didn't fight back. His breath came short and hot, fury giving way to helplessness.
"Let him go."
Maelren's grip tightened.
"Let. Him. Go."
He dropped him.
Varekth fell to his knees, coughing, glaring upward through narrowed eyes.
Maelren turned, brushing his coat.
"It will be best for everyone," he said, coldly.
"Let him go."
Sylarion sat frozen. Everyone had forgotten him in this storm of blood and grief. All except the voice in his mind.
[Predator System]
"Well, things just got awkward. You should totally say yes."
"This place is way too safe. I mean, come on—dad drama and overprotective brothers?"
"You want power, right? Then you need more missions. And missions need chaos. Delicious, unpredictable, 'I might die tomorrow' chaos."
"Nyxhera's perfect for that."
Sylarion blinked, pulse slow but steady.
The room was quiet now, all eyes unknowingly turning to him.
His next words would break the silence.
And change everything.
Sylarion took a deep breath, his eyes sweeping across the room. The tension still lingered in the air, thick and unyielding.
"I want to go," Sylarion said, his voice calm, but carrying an edge of finality.
The room grew quiet, all eyes snapping toward him. Even Maelren's indifferent gaze shifted, and Varekth's expression faltered, his face twisted with concern.
"Think about this again, brother," Varekth's voice was heavy with emotion. "You can say no, if you want. I am with you."
Sylarion shook his head slowly, his resolve unwavering.
"No. I'm fine," he repeated, quieter but firm.
Sorynth Drekkh's gaze softened, if only for a moment, and he nodded once.
"Okay, then it's final. Tomorrow, everything will be ready for your leave."
With that, Maelren silently stood and returned to his seat, his presence returning to its usual detached calm. The room fell silent once more, save for the soft clinking of cutlery as each person resumed eating their meal.
Sorynth's voice cut through the silence as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze steady but piercing.
"This university," he began, his tone level, "is home to young adults of various species—a ground for everyone. Vampires, werewolves, ghouls, even humans… it's a place for new adults to test their strength, intelligence, and survival instincts."
Sylarion listened carefully, the weight of his father's words sinking in.
"I know you're good in studies," Sorynth continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Your academic abilities will serve you well there. But understand this—I've also arranged for some of my people to watch over you. You'll not be alone."
He paused, allowing his words to settle before adding with a hint of warning, "There will be plenty of young vampires there as well. Some with power. Some with… ambition."
Sylarion met his father's gaze without flinching, but the unease inside him grew.
"Finally," Sorynth said, his voice cold but firm, "I expect you to keep your head down. No unnecessary fights. I know you have a temper—don't let it get the best of you."
Sorynth's gaze grew harder as he leaned forward, his voice laced with a sharp edge.
"Because we won't be there to protect you," he said, his words a heavy weight. "Once you're at Nyxhera University, you're on your own. You'll face challenges, and you'll have to rely on your own strength—intelligence, cunning, whatever it takes. You won't have the safety of these walls."
The room seemed to quiet even further as Sylarion absorbed the gravity of his father's statement.
Sorynth leaned back in his chair again, his gaze still fixed on Sylarion, but his tone softened just a fraction. "Remember this—don't forget who you are. Who you come from. Not everyone will treat you as they should. And not everyone there will be… friendly."
Sylarion sat in silence, taking in his father's words. His mind churned, the weight of the conversation settling in. It was a lot to process, but something deep inside him clicked. He listened carefully, not just to the words, but to the unspoken truths lying between them.
His family truly cared about him.
Despite their differences, their motives, their methods—each of them was acting in their own way to protect him. Varekth's protective outbursts, Maelren's cold indifference, and even his father's stern commands—all of it had come from a place of concern. They weren't simply acting out of obligation or duty, but because they genuinely wanted to see him thrive.
It was strange, this realization. For so long, Sylarion had doubted their intentions, but now he saw the layers of complexity beneath their actions. They had their flaws, their struggles, but they weren't as distant as he'd once thought.
His power, Whispersense, remained active in the background, feeding him with subtle signals. The low hum of tension, the shifts in emotion—nothing escaped his notice. He could feel their sincerity, their concern, even their fear for what awaited him at Nyxhera University.
He wasn't in pain anymore. The numbness had faded, the overwhelming ache that had clouded his mind dissipating with each word spoken around the table. He wasn't sure if it was because the tension had finally broken or if it was simply the weight of his family's emotions settling within him.
For the first time, Sylarion felt truly present in the moment. He could hear their voices, feel the tension in the room, and yet there was clarity—a clarity that hadn't been there before.