Streets of Ravetham

Kaelen tore off the stiff, uncomfortable orange jumpsuit with a sigh of relief, slipping into his usual dark clothing. His attire felt like a second skin, a sharp contrast to the prison uniform, and he finally felt like himself again. As he adjusted his jacket, the weight of everything that had happened pressed on him, but the comfort of familiar clothes gave him a small reprieve.

He moved through Valerian’s opulent mansion, the grandeur of the place always striking. Every detail exuded wealth and class—the polished marble floors, the ornate chandeliers hanging like glittering stars, and the priceless artwork adorning the walls. The air smelled faintly of expensive cigars and polished wood, mingling with something darker… blood.

Kaelen found Valerian sitting in his vast dining room at a long, polished table. Valerian wore an impeccably tailored black suit, the fabric smooth and fine, with subtle crimson accents in the cuffs and tie, matching his regal demeanor. His pale skin almost seemed to glow under the soft chandelier lighting, and his sharp, aristocratic features were framed by hair that, though mostly dark, had silver strands running through it like threads of moonlight. His eyes, cold and calculating, glinted as he raised a glass of what Kaelen now recognized as blood to his lips, sipping it with the casual air of someone enjoying fine wine.

“Come join me for lunch,” Valerian said, his voice smooth and velvety, yet holding a command Kaelen couldn’t ignore.

Kaelen’s stomach growled in response, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten all day. “Sure,” he said, sitting across from Valerian at the grand table. Platters of food—exotic fruits, roasted meats, and finely baked breads—were laid out before him, and Kaelen eagerly began to eat. The flavors were rich, bursting on his tongue, but his mind couldn’t escape the tension still clinging to him.

Between bites, Valerian glanced at him. “Where is Loren?” he asked casually.

Kaelen swallowed hard. “She went to the charity event. Delphinus might attack, and she’s there to record evidence if he does.”

Valerian leaned back slightly, swirling the blood in his glass. A small smile played on his lips. “What a dutiful girl. Did you know, before she was exiled, she was a princess of Alfheimr? And that she was betrothed to you, Kaelen?”

The shock hit Kaelen like a punch to the gut. He coughed, choking on his food. One of the nearby maids, a tall woman with sleek, silver hair pulled into a tight bun, rushed to his side. She wore a black-and-white maid uniform, pristinely pressed, her expression calm yet concerned. She handed him a napkin, her gaze respectful but distant, as if she’d seen this reaction many times before.

Kaelen gratefully took the napkin, wiping his mouth and trying to regain his composure. “Does she know?” he asked, his voice still hoarse.

Valerian’s smile widened, his fangs just barely visible. “Of course not. The betrothal was canceled due to your… unique circumstances. But it seems fate has its way of playing tricks on us.” He waved his hand dismissively, as if their broken engagement was merely a footnote in a grander story. “Anyway, time for me to call my adopted daughter and check on her progress.”

Kaelen’s head spun. Adopted daughter? He blurted out, “But I thought she was just working for you as a maid?”

Valerian chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “No, no. She chose to be a maid all on her own. Said it reminded her of her beloved Nanna, and she wanted to follow in her footsteps. Who am I to deny her that dream?”

Kaelen sat back in his chair, stunned. He had never thought of Loren like this before. She had always seemed so focused, so professional. Valerian’s tone was proud, almost fatherly, when speaking about her, and Kaelen couldn’t help but admire this side of him.

But something gnawed at him. He looked at Valerian, searching for the right words, his thoughts racing. Finally, he asked, “Are you… a vampire?”

Valerian, who had just begun dialing Loren’s number on his sleek, old-fashioned rotary phone, paused. He turned his gaze to Kaelen, studying him with a measured look. “Indeed, I am. Why do you ask?”

Kaelen felt a knot tighten in his chest, but he forced himself to ask the question that had been plaguing him. “Mason isn’t a vampire, and my mother was still alive when I was born… so, I was wondering if you knew who my biological father was.”

For a moment, Valerian’s gaze became intense, his pale eyes narrowing. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Just as Kaelen thought he might not answer, Valerian’s phone rang, shattering the tension. He picked it up, and Loren’s voice came through the line, crisp and professional.

“Milord, I’ve successfully recorded evidence. Bankhands’ goblin goons attacked Cygnus’ charity event. Tell Kaelen he’s in the clear. I’ll be making my way back now.”

Valerian listened quietly, his expression unreadable. When the call ended, he set the phone down and looked back at Kaelen. “I am your father, Kaelen,” he said, his voice low but deliberate. “And it was my idea to have Mason raise you.”

Kaelen’s world spun. The realization hit him like a tidal wave, drowning out everything else.

“If the world knew you were a dhampyr,” Valerian continued, his voice calm, “you’d be hunted by vampire hunters for the rest of your life.”

Kaelen was still reeling, barely able to process it all. But Valerian stood up, brushing off the conversation like it was nothing more than a minor revelation. “Let us depart. The trip to Zagoth’s lair will take two hours, and I must be transported there in my coffin, given it is still daylight.”

Valerian’s calm, aristocratic composure remained intact as he left the room, leaving Kaelen to grapple with the weight of his words. The maids and butlers watched Kaelen with neutral, professional expressions. They moved with grace, clearing the table and preparing for their master’s journey without a word.