A heavy clang echoed through the grand foyer as the iron doors, engraved with intricate sigils and ancient crests, began to part. The sound reverberated through the massive hall, a haunting song of metal and age. Beyond them, a line of servants in black stood motionless, heads bowed low beneath the dim silver glow of the chandeliers.
A voice rang above the murmuring nobles firm, commanding, and ceremonial.
"Announcing, His Grace, the Heir of House Harvellene Caelric Auren Harvellene and His Lord Father, the Duke of the Crimson Crest Corvane Harvellene."
The crowd silenced instantly.
From the shadowed threshold, two figures stepped forth.
They moved with the calm of authority elegant and deliberate, every stride echoing power that needed no words. Caelric, the heir, was dressed in a tailored black suit, its fabric trimmed with thin silver thread that shimmered faintly beneath the chandeliers. His hair dark and perfectly combed back reflected the faintest light, and when he lifted his head, the hall gasped.
Those eyes red as burning garnet glinted with quiet confidence, cold yet magnetic. The young heir carried himself not as one seeking attention, but as one used to being watched. His lips formed no smile, yet his presence itself seemed to command it.
Beside him walked Duke Corvane Harvellene, taller, broader, his aura colder his black attire lined with deep crimson embroidery. His face was that of a man who had seen kingdoms rise and fall and still stood above their ruins. A silver pin in the shape of a thorned rose rested upon his chest the sigil of House Harvellene.
Murmurs rose among the nobles, low and reverent:
"The Harvellenes… their beauty is unnatural…"
"Look at the heir his eyes truly burn."
"And the Duke, he hasn't aged a day in years…"
The two stopped before the grand staircase, where the chandelier above reflected in their eyes like molten glass. Duke Corvane took a step forward, his deep voice rolling through the hall.
"Welcome, esteemed guests and noble friends. Your presence honors our house. Tonight, the Harvellene family gathers not only in celebration, but in gratitude to renew old ties, and to prepare for what is to come."
He smiled faintly polite, practiced, unreadable.
"You have our deepest thanks for gracing this occasion."
As he spoke, the upper balcony came alive.
From behind the velvet curtains, the women of the Harvellene family appeared each one strikingly beautiful, each wearing variations of black lace and dark silk. Their eyes, too, gleamed crimson under the faint candlelight. From the youngest to the eldest, they stood in silent poise, gazing down upon the gathering nobles. It was like witnessing a portrait come to life a family blessed and cursed by beauty.
When the Duke gestured, the enormous metal doors beyond the hall opened again, revealing a grand dining chamber.
Gasps followed.
The ceiling arched high with gold filigree that twisted like roots; tall stained-glass windows glowed faintly red from the storm clouds outside. A long table stretched across the room, lined with gleaming goblets and silverware, and at its center, platters of rare fruits, roasted meats, and delicacies shimmered under the crystal light.
"Please," said the Duke with quiet command, "join us."
The nobles entered, voices rising with awe and envy. The scent of spice, wine, and polished oak filled the air. They took their seats one by one, men adjusting their coats and women whispering behind jeweled fans. At the center of it all, the Duke sat at the head of the table majestic, calm while Caelric took the seat to his right, every motion deliberate, precise.
Beside the Duke sat his wife the Duchess, her youth almost unnatural. Her hair was pale as frost, her skin smooth, untouched by time. She wore a thin black dress, simple yet impossibly elegant, the fabric gliding like smoke as she moved. When she turned her head slightly, the room seemed to pause for a heartbeat.
"The Duchess…" a noblewoman whispered. "She looks… younger than her own son."
The Duke only raised his goblet, his voice steady and composed.
"To our guests. To the bonds between houses. And to the name Harvellene may it never fade."
The nobles raised their cups, echoing the toast, though beneath the polished civility, whispers flowed like wine. Some murmured of envy. Others, of unease.
And under the glow of the chandeliers, the heir's red eyes flickered once as if recalling something, somewhere far from this grand hall.
The hall shimmered with the haunting glow of chandeliers made from black crystal, their dim light glinting off the silverware laid neatly upon the long dining table. The nobles' chatter filled the air like a symphony soft laughter, the clink of crystal glasses, the murmured awe of those honored to stand within the Harvellene estate's walls.
But then, a single sound sliced through it all.
Clink.
The Duke had risen. The faint chime of his knife against the rim of a wine glass echoed like a bell of silence. Instantly, the room quieted dozens of eyes turned toward him. Corvane Harvellene stood tall at the table's center, his black coat lined with intricate silver embroidery, his hair falling neatly past his shoulders. His eyes, crimson and calm, reflected the flickering lights like rubies drenched in dusk.
"My dear guests," he began, his tone silk and iron woven as one. "We thank you for gracing our humble home on this most sacred of nights."
Laughter rippled softly through the nobles, the kind born from admiration and nervousness. Corvane's lips curved into the faintest smile as he lifted his wine glass.
"It has been ten years since the last gathering," he continued. "A decade since we opened these doors. Many may believe the House of Harvellene hides away out of arrogance... or fear."
He paused. The air seemed to darken around him.
"But tonight," he said, voice rising with quiet power, "we remind the world that we are still as beautiful, as formidable, and as eternal as we have always been."
Soft applause followed. The Duke smiled faintly, but his next words cut through the hall like a whisper of death.
"This celebration… is not only to display our beauty and our sparkling red eyes."
A few guests chuckled, unaware of the shadow creeping into his tone.
"No," he said, lifting his glass higher. "This is to remind the world that the Harvellene name still bleeds power that we are alive, and we endure."
He turned his gaze across the table toward his son. Caelric sat poised and silent, his red eyes gleaming faintly in the candlelight, expression unreadable.
Corvane's next words fell like thunder.
"To remind them that we still exist… as what we are."
He raised his glass once more, voice dropping into a near whisper that carried through every corner of the grand hall.
"Us—Vampires."
Gasps erupted from the guests. But before anyone could stand before anyone could scream the soft shuffle of feet echoed behind them. The maids, the servers, the quiet attendants standing by the walls… moved.
In one dreadful instant, the hall was filled with the sound of silver slicing flesh.
Throats opened like ribbons. Crimson sprayed across silk gowns and marble floors. Dozens of nobles fell silently, their eyes wide with disbelief, their hands grasping at the air as their lives poured into the waiting goblets below.
The maids faces blank, elegant, cold tilted the glasses, letting the blood fill them neatly, as though performing an art form.
One by one, they placed the brimming cups before the family seated at the table.
Corvane took his glass first. The red liquid gleamed like molten rubies beneath the chandelier's glow. He smiled a slow, wicked thing and raised it to his lips.
"To the Harvellenes," he whispered. "To our eternity."
He drank.
The blood stained his mouth crimson. It ran down his chin, painting his neck like a scarlet necklace. Around him, the rest of his kin lifted their glasses and drank as well each sip followed by trembling laughter, by sighs of ecstasy, by the low hum of pleasure only hunger could summon.
Caelric drank too. The glass lingered near his lips longer than the rest, his eyes half-closed, the faint tremor of thought flickering behind them. When he finally drank, the red ran slow and deliberate down his throat, a ritual more than thirst.
When the Duke placed his empty glass down, his eyes shut for a brief moment then opened again, glowing brighter, burning deeper. A smile split his face as laughter bubbled out, rough and unrestrained.
The rest followed.
Laughter low, mad, and echoing.
It rose through the grand hall, filling the air with a sound too human to be human. Their fangs caught the light, their eyes glowed like the dying embers of a storm.
They laughed among the corpses and the spilled wine, among the scent of iron and perfume, like gods mocking mortality.
And above them, the black crystal chandelier swayed faintly as if trembling in fear.