The dinner ended not with laughter, but with silence.
Chairs slid back softly against polished stone as the Elders rose one after the other, bowing in unison before dispersing into the vast corridors of Ashur'Kai. The harem followed, silks whispering, eyes lingering, ambitions barely concealed behind lowered lashes. What remained was the echo of unspoken tension—thick, heavy, unresolved.
Tal did not linger.
He left the hall with measured steps, his long black coat trailing behind him like a shadow tethered to the throne itself. Every servant instinctively pressed closer to the walls as he passed, heads bowed, hearts pounding under the weight of his aura. The fire inside him had not dimmed. If anything, it burned hotter now, coiled tightly beneath centuries of discipline.
His study received him in quiet reverence.
Tall shelves carved from obsidian stone lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes, political records, and blood-bound scrolls older than most kingdoms. A massive desk sat near the balcony, overlooking the sleeping spires of Ashur'Kai. The room smelled faintly of parchment, steel, and something darker—power.
Tal removed his gloves slowly, deliberately, placing them on the desk. His hands clenched once.
Then again.
The hunger surged.
Not the familiar thirst for blood alone—but desire, sharp and insistent, crawling beneath his skin like something alive.
"You're spiraling."
Layla's voice cut through the room, calm but edged with concern.
Tal did not turn as his sister stepped inside, the door sealing behind her without a sound. She crossed the room gracefully, violet eyes fixed on him with an intensity only blood could grant.
"You felt it," he said quietly.
"I did," Layla replied. "And it's not normal."
Tal turned then, pale face carved from control, eyes faintly glowing. "Careful, sister."
She stopped before him, unafraid. "This hunger isn't bloodlust. It isn't desire. It's… fixation. It feels targeted."
Silence stretched between them.
Tal exhaled slowly. "I've ruled for centuries. I know my body. I know my cravings. This is neither indulgence nor madness."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know." His jaw tightened. "And that is what unsettles me."
Layla folded her arms. "You've been splitting yourself thinner than ever—Ashur'Kai, Nocturne Global Security, politics, surveillance. The human realm alone is enough to drain a god."
Tal's lips curved faintly. "The human realm is predictable. Their fears are easy to read. Governments rise and fall at the whisper of information."
"And yet," Layla pressed, "something there is feeding this hunger."
He didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Control it. Don't suppress it completely—suppression fractures. Feed properly."
Tal's eyes darkened.
"I intend to."
Layla turned toward the door, pausing only once. "Whatever this is, brother… it's coming closer. I can feel the threads tightening."
When she left, the room felt colder.
Tal moved to his chambers without delay.
The space was vast, carved in dark stone and silver, lit by soft crimson light. He removed his coat, then his shirt, pale skin etched with faint, ancient sigils that pulsed gently beneath the surface—marks of pure blood lineage.
He rang once.
Fael appeared silently. "Your Majesty."
"Send for Lady Anya."
"At once."
Lady Anya arrived moments later, dressed simply, respectfully. She knelt the moment she entered, head bowed, pulse quickening. She was immortal, devoted, trained in reverence and restraint.
Tal approached her slowly.
"This is sustenance," he said quietly. "Nothing more."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
He lifted her gently—not roughly, not tenderly, but with absolute authority. His fangs descended, piercing skin with practiced precision. Warm blood flowed, rich and potent, grounding him—steadying the sharp edges of his hunger.
But it did not cure it.
The fire dimmed… yet did not disappear.
Tal pulled away, sealing the wound with a touch. Lady Anya swayed slightly but remained standing, eyes glazed with reverence.
"Go," he said.
When he was alone again, Tal pressed his palm to his chest.
The hunger remained.
Focused. Intent.
Waiting.
And somewhere far beyond Ashur'Kai—beyond kingdoms, beyond bloodlines—a pulse answered it.
Unaware.
Unnamed.
Unavoidable.