Chapter 7: Solitude and Shadows

Confined within the dim confines of his quarters, Damian had forsaken both sleep and sustenance, much to his mother's distress. Seraphina stood by his bedside, her expression lined with concern as she surveyed the untouched meals before him.

"My dear, you must eat to sustain yourself," she implored softly.

"What purpose is there in sustaining myself? I am branded a rebel in my father's eyes and by the council," Damian muttered, his voice muffled by the pillow he buried his face into.

"You are not seen as a rebel, Damian. The council believes you are merely exploring recklessly. This punishment will pass swiftly if you show remorse for your actions," Seraphina reasoned gently.

"But therein lies the issue, mother. I feel no remorse, for I have committed no wrongdoing," Damian countered with quiet frustration.

"DAMIAN!"

"Mother, humans are not the malevolent creatures the council portrays them to be. They are much like us, only powerless," Damian insisted.

Seraphina's expression hardened. "Damian, one must not underestimate the strength of those who are vulnerable. It is they who are most desperate and dangerous in their attempts to protect themselves from what they perceive as threats."

"But mother, if we could demonstrate that we found alternative means to sustain ourselves without preying on their kind centuries ago, perhaps it is time to bury our ancient enmity and coexist peacefully," Damian pleaded.

"Enough, child. I will not entertain such mortal notions. They are not to be trifled with, for their minds are as fragile as their bodies. The moment you reveal yourself as not one of them is the moment you jeopardize your life and the safety of our family. I do not wish to hear any more of this, Damian. Please," Seraphina beseeched, her voice tinged with resignation.

With a heavy heart, Seraphina left Damian to his solitude, leaving him feeling more despondent than ever. It was a nadir of emotions he hadn't felt in centuries, until his inebriated and languid brother unexpectedly paid him a visit.

The shuffle of feet echoed through the silence, unmistakably Adrian's gait when under the influence. Damian remained motionless, his head still bowed as he issued a terse command.

"Leave."

"Brother..."

"Adrian, I have no desire to converse with you," Damian interjected firmly.

Adrian sighed heavily, his attempt to reach out to Damian faltering as the wine in his hand slipped, splattering the floor. "I do not regret my actions, brother. They were to ensure your safety."

In Damian's disdainful gaze, Adrian finally met his eyes. "You have not been much of a brother to me over the years. And now you betray me. If anything, you are more a traitor than a brother. Leave. I have no need for your presence."

"Believe me, Damian. I have walked that path. I have witnessed what those frail, insignificant humans are capable of," Adrian continued earnestly. "Your brother was not always this way. I drink to forget the memories I wish to erase, to unsee what I shouldn't, and to numb the pain of what is forbidden."

Gazing at his older brother, whom he had always perceived as carefree, indulgent, and self-centered, Damian began to see Adrian in a different light. Perhaps fate and time had not been kind to him.

"For the first time in years, the council has found use for me, bestowing upon me a title in secret. Even though I wanted nothing to do with a council that once cast me aside."

"A title? I thought you had turned your back on our vampiric lineage," Damian remarked, his curiosity piqued.

"I committed a grave sin once, and I paid the price by renouncing my claim to our father's throne. Yet I accepted it willingly, knowing you were more deserving. Little did I know, I would still be tethered to the council, serving as a scout to gather intelligence and monitor potential threats."

"What did you do to earn such disdain from the council?" Damian inquired, his brow furrowing in concern.

Adrian's demeanor grew somber at the question, and he vowed never to divulge the events of his past to another soul. It was a promise he intended to keep.

"You need not know," Adrian replied cryptically, withdrawing into his usual brooding and detached self before bidding Damian farewell and departing his room.

Left alone once more, Damian found himself plagued by newfound questions. He had always believed Adrian shirked responsibilities, but now he realized his brother had been bearing burdens he knew nothing about. Memories flooded back of their childhood, where Damian had been groomed by their father and the council to ascend to his rightful place, a destiny his brother had relinquished.


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