CHAPTER 6

[WHEN FATE COMES

CALLING]

ZION - [THE VAMPIRE REALM]

The palace gates opened with a low, drawn-out groan as Fate Stark's convoy approached. A soft fog crept over the cobbled courtyard, swirling like silk around the wheels of his black carriage. Zion's skies were overcast, tinged crimson with the eternal twilight that bathed the vampire realm, as though even the heavens held their breath.

Inside the royal palace, everything gleamed-polished obsidian floors reflected the golden light of hanging chandeliers, while blood-red drapes framed the towering windows. Guards in silver armor lined the grand hall, standing at rigid attention.

At the top of the staircase, Queen Cecilia stood tall, her posture regal, eyes sharp. Clad in a long gown of deep midnight blue threaded with silver veins, she looked every inch the queen of shadows and power. Her crown-angular, elegant, and deadly in its design-caught the light like a blade.

The heavy palace doors parted, and Fate Stark stepped inside.

There was no fanfare. No trumpets. Just silence.

He wore his signature long coat, raven-black with silver embroidery that shimmered like stardust. A ring with a shifting stone-impossible to name in color-gleamed on his finger. His gaze swept across the hall, absorbing every detail with calm amusement, as if he had already seen this moment in a dream long ago.

Cecilia's lips curved into a measured smile. "Welcome to Zion, Head of the Council."

Fate inclined his head, eyes never leaving hers. "Queen Cecilia. It's been too long."

They stood in that moment-two forces, two kinds of power. One born of blood, battle, and cunning. The other of time, vision, and fate itself.

She stepped forward. "I trust your journey was... uneventful."

He chuckled. "Unfortunately, yes. But your realm never fails to make up for the monotony. Even your skies hold stories."

"I despise the way you speak."

"And you always pretend you don't understand them."

Cecilia's smile tightened, though her tone remained calm. "My attendants have prepared a suite in the East Wing. I've also arranged for a welcoming banquet at dusk."

Fate began to walk beside her, his footsteps eerily soundless on the stone floor. "How very generous of you. Tell me, do all your guests receive such a grand welcome or only the ones who unsettle you?"

Cecilia stopped at the base of the grand staircase, turning to face him. "Only those I can't ignore."

Fate grinned. "Then I am honored."

She motioned to her steward, who bowed and disappeared down a side corridor. The grand hall emptied slowly, the guards dismissed, until it was just the queen and the council's head walking through the corridor of silver mirrors.

"Tell me," she said at last, breaking the silence. "Are you truly here because you were bored?"

Fate looked out one of the narrow windows. The twilight light cast sharp angles across his face. "Boredom is merely the skin of it. Beneath that... lies something deeper. I wanted to explore more why vampires are so addicting."

Cecilia turned sharply toward him, her heels echoing off the marble as she halted. Her gaze pierced through the dim, reflective corridor like twin blades.

"Addicting?" she repeated, the word tasting like venom in her mouth. "Is that what you think we are? A vice? A curiosity to unravel when the world fails to amuse you?"

Fate didn't flinch. He kept his eyes on the horizon beyond the glass-on the blood-tinged clouds drifting slowly across Zion's sky.

"I think power always draws the curious," he said. "And yours-vampiric power-is ancient, intimate. It's not worn like armor, but carried like instinct. There's beauty in it. Danger too. And danger, Queen Cecilia... is rarely dull."

Cecilia exhaled slowly, the tips of her fangs briefly visible as her patience frayed.

Fate was never going to tell Cecilia the real reason he had come to Zion. Not now. Not to her. And Cecilia, sharp as ever, understood that unspoken truth. The flicker of something untrustworthy behind his eyes didn't escape her-nor did the weight of whatever future he carried in silence.

She no longer wished to play this dance.

With frustration, Cecilia turned away from him, her voice crisp and void of warmth.

"Our head butler will show you to your chambers," she said, not looking back. "Rest there. The banquet begins at evening twilight. The Crown Prince will be in attendance, the real heir to the throne."

She paused, then turned slightly over her shoulder, her tone growing icy. "Don't you dare try any of your dirty tricks on him, Fate. Xyran is not a game for you to meddle with."

Fate raised one hand lazily in the air, as though taking an oath, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I won't," he said, voice as light as a breeze, but the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

Cecilia didn't bother with a reply. With a sweep of her midnight-blue gown, she vanished through the corridor, leaving behind only the distant sound of her heels echoing off the stone.

A moment later, the tall, pale figure of the head butler approached. His face was expressionless, his movements silent, as though he too was carved from the stillness of the palace itself.

"This way, Head of the Council," the butler said with a respectful nod.

Fate followed, his gaze roaming across the intricate carvings on the walls-ancient tales of war, blood, and eternal loyalty. Yet none of it stirred him. His thoughts were elsewhere.

The real heir to the throne.

He repeated the words in his mind like a puzzle waiting to be turned over.

So the prince would be there. Good.

Two birds with one stone.

The dusk banquet, he knew, would reveal far more than wine and pleasantries.

Maybe, just maybe, Fate would get the chance to meet the young man from his vision-the one veiled in shadows and fire, with eyes that held the weight of centuries.

And Fate Stark had always been good at finding the threads worth pulling.

THE DUSK BANQUET

The grand ballroom pulsed with low music-haunting, almost hypnotic, played by musicians dressed in black velvet. Long tables draped in obsidian cloth lined the walls, set with silverware shaped like blades, goblets filled with vintage bloodwine, and delicacies prepared with eerie perfection. Candles floated midair, flickering with cold flame, casting soft shadows across marble pillars and glinting armor.

Queen Cecilia made her entrance first, accompanied by her high advisors. She was dressed in a gown of sheer shadow-gray, embroidered with tiny red garnets that looked like droplets of blood under the light. Her crown gleamed sharper than ever, her presence drawing immediate silence before murmurs resumed with respectful awe.

Not long after, the great doors opened again.

Crown Prince Xyran stepped into the ballroom.

Tall and imposing, he wore the ceremonial attire of Zion's heir-crimson and black layered robes, a silver chain crossing his chest etched with the ancient vow of the vampire royal line. His dark hair was swept back, eyes glowing faintly with the signature red hue that marked old blood. He was calm, unreadable, and yet every movement he made commanded attention. Conversations dipped as nobles turned to observe him, some bowing, others whispering.

Then came Fate Stark.

He entered quietly, no announcement, no trumpets-just the sudden silence that followed. His coat trailed behind him like smoke, his expression unreadable, eyes dancing between amusement and prophecy. But when he looked at Xyran, something shifted-just for a moment.

Their eyes met.

Cecilia noticed it. Subtle, but undeniable. A flicker of recognition in Fate's gaze, like the echo of a dream suddenly manifest.

Xyran inclined his head politely. "Council Head. Welcome to Zion."

Fate smiled faintly. "Crown Prince. I've heard much about you."

Fate was surprised and thrilled-all at once.

He had seen the young man before, but only in flashes. In firelit visions, in fragments of dreams whispered by the stars.

The moment he saw Crown Prince Xyran, the truth struck him like lightning.

It was him. The man he came to find here. He never thought it would be this easy.

The very same presence from Fate's vision-unmistakable, undeniable. The Crown Prince of Zion. The real heir to the throne. The one who was destined for something far beyond the borders of this dark realm.

The prince's movement was graceful, deliberate. He lifted the obsidian goblet from the silver tray and extended it toward Fate Stark, his expression unreadable, a hint of amusement lingering in his crimson eyes.

Without wasting a moment, Fate took it.

"To Zion," Xyran said smoothly, raising his own goblet.

Fate mirrored him, clinking the rim lightly. "And to its future."

"I did not expect the crown prince to offer drinks to old men like me," Fate said with a sly smile, swirling the deep red wine.

Xyran smirked. "You're not old, Council Head. You're eternal, aren't you? Besides, you merely look over twenty-five."

Fate let out a soft chuckle, amused. "Flattery from a prince? I must be dreaming."

"It's not flattery if it's true," Xyran replied coolly, sipping his wine. "You carry centuries in your eyes... but your face betrays none of them. How does one become a legend and still look like a myth?"

Fate gave a theatrical sigh, leaning slightly closer. "The trick, Your Highness, is never to care too much about anything-time included."

"A dangerous philosophy," Xyran noted, his gaze narrowing slightly.

"Only if you value peace over truth," Fate countered, lifting the goblet once more.

Fate could sense it in the way Xyran stood-shoulders relaxed but every nerve sharpened, as if ready to spring or vanish in the blink of an eye. The prince wasn't merely poised; he was calculated. Controlled. And yet, behind that regal bearing, Fate could see it... something ancient stirring. A flicker in his aura that didn't belong to a typical royal bloodline.

Fate tilted his head ever so slightly, studying him. "Tell me, Your Highness... do you believe in destiny?"

Xyran's eyes held his for a second too long. "I believe destiny is a word people use when they're too afraid to make their own choices."

A pause. Then he added, "But I also believe in inevitability of Destiny."

Fate's smile widened, not from amusement-but understanding. "An elegant way of saying you're not afraid of what's coming."

"I don't need to be, I am always ready to take everything that comes my way." Xyran replied, calm as still water. "I was born for it."

Yes, Fate thought. You were. But not in the way you think.

Around them, the banquet carried on, nobles chatting, glasses clinking, music haunting the air like the memory of a lullaby. Yet to Fate, it all blurred into background noise. The real music was here, between the lines of this conversation. Between glances. Between truths half-told.

He took another sip of wine, then leaned in just a touch. "There's something about you, Prince Xyran. Something that doesn't belong to this world alone."

Xyran didn't blink. "Should I take that as a compliment or a warning?"

"Whichever you like," Fate said smoothly. "But I think we both know-your story doesn't end with Zion."

Xyran didn't answer immediately. Instead, he lifted his goblet again and held it out toward the flickering candlelight. The crimson liquid shimmered, catching the reflection of both their faces in its surface.

"My story is still being written," he said quietly. "Let's hope the ink doesn't run dry too soon."

Fate's eyes glimmered. He knows. Maybe not everything but he feels it. That the currents of fate run deeper around him.

"I'd like to be there when the next chapter begins," Fate said, voice almost reverent.

Xyran turned his head slightly. "Careful, Council Head. I don't trust readers who are too eager to enunciate the tale."

Fate let out a soft laugh. "I'm not here to write your story, Crown Prince. I'm only here to witness it."