My lord, the werewolves are killing our people in Brooklyn. The witches demand compensation for the fire in Queens. And the Crimson Fang clan requests your judgment on a territorial dispute that's been dragging on for three months."
Lucian Nightshade stared at Viktor from his obsidian throne, feeling absolutely nothing. The words hover over the several centuries like water over stone. Another crisis. Another complaint. Another century of the same problems wearing different faces.
"Handle it," Lucian said, his voice flat.
Viktor hesitated. His second-in-command had served him for over a hundred years, and even he looked uncertain. "My lord, the werewolves specifically requested your presence. Alpha Marcus says—"
"I don't care what Marcus says." Lucian stood, his movements fluid and inhuman. "Fine them. Punish them. Kill them if necessary. You know the laws as well as I do."
The throne room fell silent. Twenty vampire clan leaders stood around the circular chamber, all of them watching Lucian with various expressions of concern, fear, or calculation. The underground hall stretched high above them, carved from bedrock beneath Manhattan over the course of over two centuries. Torches flickered against the dark stone walls, which were all covered in ancient symbols.
Lucian looked at each face and felt nothing. Not anger. Not satisfiedsatisfaction. Not even boredom, really. Just a vast, empty coldness that had been growing inside him for decades.
"This council is dismissed," he announced. "Viktor handles day-to-day matters until further notice."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered vampires. Damien Cross, a relatively young vampire lord at four hundred years old, stepped forward with a concerned expression that didn't reach his calculating eyes.
"My lord, forgive me, but the supernatural community needs your direct leadership. These are dangerous times. HumansThe humans grow more technologically advanced every year. We can't afford to—"
"We've had dangerous times for three hundred years, Damien." Lucian cut him off. "Somehow, we survive. Viktor knows what to do."
He walked past Damien without another glance, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. The crowd parted for him automatically. Even after centuries, vampires still feared their lord. Lucian supposed he should feel satisfaction about that. He didn't.
Viktor caught up with him in the corridor outside the throne room. The passageway stretched into darkness, lit only by occasional torches. The underground city sprawled beneath New York in a network of tunnels and chambers that humans never suspected existed.
"Lucian," Viktor said quietly, dropping the formal title now that they were alone. "What's happening to you? You've been distant for months. Years, really."
Lucian stopped walking. He turned to face his oldest friend, studying Viktor's worried expression. The vampire had dark hair, sharp features, and the lean build of a fighter. He'd been turned in the 1800s during the Civil War, and Lucian had found him half-dead on a battlefield, giving him the choice of death or eternal life. Viktor chose life and never regretted it.
Until recently, Lucian envied that certainty.
"How old are you, Viktor?" Lucian asked.
"You know how old I am. A hundred and sixty-three."
"And in all those years, have you ever felt... nothing? Not happiness or sadness or anger. Just nothing at all?"
Viktor frowned. "Sometimes after a bad century, I suppose. After the wars. But it passes."
"It's been passing for me for fifty years now," Lucian said. "The emptiness just grows. Food tastes like ash. Blood barely satisfies anymore. Music sounds flat. Art looks like a colored canvas. I've forgotten what joy feels like, Viktor. I've forgotten what anything feels like."
The admission hung in the air between them. Viktor's expression shifted from worry to something deeper, almost fear.
"You need to feed more," Viktor suggested. "Or perhaps take a lover. Isabella has made it clear she'd welcome you back, and—"
"Isabella." Lucian laughed, a sound without humor. "I broke her heart two hundred years ago because I felt nothing for her. Before that, I felt nothing for Catherine. And before her, nothing for Marie. Do you see the pattern?"
"Then what do you need?"
Lucian resumed walking, moving deeper into the tunnels. Viktor followed in silence. They passed other vampires going about their business—guards patrolling, administrators carrying documents, younger vampires training in combat chambers. The underground city hummed with activity, a hidden world beneath the human one above.
Finally, they reached Lucian's private chambers. The room was sparse despite his wealth—a bed he rarely used, bookshelves crammed with volumes in dozens of languages, a desk covered in papers he hadn't looked at in weeks. A single window showed the tunnel outside, which was really just a wall since they were a hundred feet underground.
Lucian pulled an ancient leather-bound book from his shelf. The pages were yellowed with age, covered in cramped handwriting in Old Latin. His grandfather had given it to him shortly before Lucian was turned into a vampire in 1697.
"Do you know what this is?" Lucian asked.
Viktor shook his head.
"My grandfather's journal. He was a scholar, very interested in old magic and ancient rituals. He died when I was twenty-five, right before I turnedI was turned." Lucian flipped through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "There's a ritual in here. One that can temporarily strip a vampire of their immortality and power."
Viktor's eyes widened. "Lucian, no. That's insane."
"Is it? I've been thinking about it for months." Lucian traced the faded ink with his finger. "The ritual makes you mortal for a set period. One year, maybe less. You experience everything as a human does—vulnerability, pain, hunger, all the things we've forgotten."
"And you want to become mortal? Voluntarily?" Viktor looked horrified. "You'd lose everything. Your strength, your healing, your immunity to sunlight. You'd be weak and fragile. Anyone could kill you."
"Exactly." Lucian smiled for the first time in months, though the expression felt strange on his face. "I'd be vulnerable. I'd feel fear again. Real fear, not just tactical concern. I'd taste food properly. Feel the cold. Experience exhaustion. All the things that make humans appreciate being alive."
Viktor paced the room, agitated. "This is madness. You're the most powerful vampire in North America. You hold the supernatural community together. Without you, there'd be chaos. War, probably."
"You'd hold things together."
"I can't. I don't have your authority or your strength." Viktor stopped pacing and faced Lucian directly. "And what if the ritual goes wrong? What if you die? What if you can't change back?"
"Then I die." Lucian closed the book gently. "Viktor, I've lived for three hundred and twenty-seven years. I've seen empires rise and fall. I've accumulated more wealth than I could spend in ten lifetimes. I've mastered every skill worth learning. And I feel absolutely nothing about any of it. This isn't living—it's just existing. I need to remember what being alive feels like, even if it kills me."
The silence stretched between them. Viktor's face cycled through emotions—anger, fear, understanding, resignation.
"How long?" Viktor finally asked.
"One year."
"And you're certain about this?"
Lucian met his friend's eyes. "I've never been more certain of anything in centuries."
Viktor sighed, a deeply human gesture he'd never quite lost. "Then I can't stop you. But I'm going on record saying this is the stupidest thing you've ever done, and you once fought twelve werewolves alone because one of them insulted your coat."
Despite everything, Lucian laughed. It felt rusty, like a mechanism that hadn't been used in too long. "That was a very nice coat."
"When do you want to do this?"
"Tomorrow night. The ritual requires specific preparation, but nothing I can't gather quickly." Lucian moved to his desk and began writing instructions. "You'll rule in my place. Handle disputes, maintain the peace, keep Damien from getting too ambitious. He's been circling for a position lately."
"I've noticed." Viktor accepted the papers Lucian handed him. "What about Isabella? She's been asking about you."
"Tell her I've gone into seclusion. Meditation. Whatever sounds believable." Lucian paused. "Actually, don't tell anyone the truth. Say I'm testing Viktor's leadership abilities. That should buy you some authority."
"And if someone challenges me?"
"Then remind them what happened to the last vampire who challenged my authority." Lucian's expression went cold for a moment, remembering the incident fifty years ago. "The memory should still be fresh enough to discourage stupidity."
Viktor nodded slowly. "Where will you go? How will you live as a mortal?"
"I'll figure it out. That's part of the point—experiencing uncertainty again." Lucian felt something that might have been excitement, or might have been fear. He couldn't quite tell anymore, but either way, it was better than nothing. "I'll take a new name. Find human work. Live in a cheap apartment instead of a mansion. Experience what ninety-nine percent of the world experiences."
"You're really doing this."
"I really am."
Viktor looked at his oldest friend for a long moment, then pulled him into an embrace. Vampires didn't usually show physical affection, but Viktor had always been more human than most. "Don't die on me, you idiot. I'll be very angry if I have to run this empire forever."
Lucian returned the embrace awkwardly. Physical contact felt strange after so long. "I'll do my best. One year, Viktor. Then I come back, hopefully feeling something again."
"And if you don't? If the ritual doesn't work?"
Lucian didn't have an answer for that. He pulled away and looked around his chambers one last time. Three hundred years of accumulated life, and almost none of it mattered. Just things filling space.
"Then at least I tried," he said finally. "That's more than I've done in decades."
Viktor left shortly after to begin preparations for assuming temporary leadership. Lucian spent the rest of the night gathering materials for the ritual—rare herbs, specific crystals, silver implements inscribed with ancient symbols. His grandfather's journal provided detailed instructions, written in the old man's careful handwriting.
As dawn approached and Lucian felt the familiar pull toward sleep that all vampires experienced, he stood at his window looking at the stone wall beyond. Tomorrow night, everything will change. He'd become mortal, vulnerable, human.
For the first time in fifty years, Lucian felt something that might have been hope.
Or maybe it was terror.
Either way, he welcomed it.