The silence that fell over the stone chamber was thick, sacred. Ti itself seed to kneel.
Nikolai stepped forward beneath the cold silver glow of the moonstone chandelier. His bare feet touched the altar's carved steps—worn smooth by centuries of succession, of bloodline, of vows spoken under the breath of ancestral ghosts.
He could feel them.
Eyes of the Dead.
Watching.
Judging.
Guiding.
Ivan's voice rang out again—this ti louder, older, a ritual cadence that did not belong to him alone, but to every Volkov before him.
"Before the moon bore down on our forefathers, before fangs were given na, and fur bore flesh, the Volkov line stood tall. Today, under this sacred roof, we na a new Patriarch."
As his father spoke, an ethereal pulse stirred within the room.
Nikolai's heartbeat slowed.
Each powerful beat sent a flood of oxygen through his body,
His crimson bloodline surged through his body like an untad storm.
The cold silver markings on his skin began to shimr—faint at first, then brighter—reacting to the silver light now pouring from the ceiling, the runes, the stone altar behind him.
Leona had vanished.
The won remained kneeling, motionless, their faces covered in delicate veils that moved gently with their breath. Their silence was not obedience.
It was power.
Their presence did not beg.
It demanded.
And then—like smoke curling from incense—the first thread began to form.
A soft, shimring tether, invisible to the unmarked, slowly erged from Nikolai's chest, just above his heart, glowing with a faint, silver fla.
It drifted forward.
Wavering.
Searching.
Until it found Selene.
The thread latched gently, wrapping around her like an oath. The crowd gasped—the ancestral spirits above stirred. Even Ivan's breath caught for half a beat.
Nikolai chose his Luna.
But before granting their blessings, a second thread spiralled into existence.
The sa colour but more vibrant and defiant.
It darted through the chamber like a wild horse and pierced Nikita's chest.
Nikita's body trembled, but she did not look up. Her hands pressed tighter together. Her veil hid her tears, but not her trembling lips.
Tears of delight.
Another gasp from the gathered families. Murmurs broke out, rippling like stormy tides through the silent sea of clan representatives.
Was this blasphemy? Was this a miracle?
Ivan did not speak. He rely folded his arms, watching with sharpened eyes.
Then a third thread erged.
Red again, yet this one shimred like a fla in water—restless, proud, untad.
It bound Risa.
And then, before silence could settle, a fourth.
The last thread was both gentle and elegant, forming a beautiful shape almost noble as it entered the chest of Kumiko, causing her tails to spread all 9 of them, fluffing out as her soft gasp of shocked, delighted echo.
Her breath beca disturbed as the thread wrapped Kumiko like a gentle hand.
Each thread carried the emotions and expectations of Nikolai, but also the way they appeared to him in their rawest form.
The elegant Selene, the wild and untad Nikita, the proud and fiery Risa and then Kumiko. Soone who beca Nikolai's comfort with her noble nature, bringing the girls together to avoid needless argunts.
"How could this be?" A werewolf muttered, shocked at the sight.
"Our new heir is quite interesting," Seraphina Volkova muttered, leaning towards Alaric Drago, who dabbed the corner of his eyes with a handkerchief. The toughest man in battle, but emotional and romantic monts were his poison. "You really love romance... why not get married?"
"Hmm... don't make fun, Sera." He grumbled with eyes focused on Nikolai.
He was just happy for the young lord as one who knew how Nikolai felt, since Ivan was a close friend, and the topic ca up when they drank together.
Four threads.
Four Lunas?
But this ceremony seed unfinished, as a throbbing pain spread through Nikolai's chest before the energy shifted.
Darkness stirred within the silver light.
Then ca two threads—black as midnight, slick like oil upon still water. They did not search. They knew their destination. They moved with ancient familiarity.
One to Lunaria.
The other… to Amphitrite.
And for a mont, the threads pulsed in harmony, each flickering with life. Red and black. Passion and depth. Fire and void. Blood and fate.
The stone altar glowed—then cracked.
From the centre of the sacred jade, a thin ray of moonlight burst forth and bathed Nikolai in radiant white, outlining the threads for all to see.
The audience, stunned into reverence, said nothing.
Because now they understood.
Their new heir, this patriarch, shattered all formulated rules, laws and things taken for granted. His threads were a little strange, but with six Lunas, it made many of the neutral nervous, while the supporters beca overjoyed.
The faction which sought peace with the daywalkers, though, saw it as dangerous.
This was no ordinary bond.
Such an intense soul-thread ritual seen only once in several bloodlines—if ever.
The new Patriarch was not choosing his brides, and following the path set out for him, but was chosen. To create his own path, be it by fate, by love or by sacrifice.
And the Luna... was not one.
It was six.
Ivan stepped forward, his voice no longer just ritual.
But proud.
"Let them bear witness—the Patriarch of the Volkov line. Marked not by blood alone, but by will. By burden. And by bond."
"All who would protest and refuse the Patriarch, Nikolai Báthory Volkov, speak now."
Ivan's gaze swung around the room, observing them with a silent judgnt.
Even the most negative of the Volkov family remained quiet, while the supporters looked on with beaming eyes of various shades of silver.
Nikolai stood still, the threads humming like a living cloak behind him.
Even so, Nikolai remained silent.
He couldn't.
For in that mont, he felt everything.
Their love.
Their pain.
Their silent devotion.
The weight of every kiss. Every battle. Every night, he bled for them, and they for him.
And now, the world would see it.
Not a sin.
But as salvation.
His feelings were nothing to be ashad of, and the gods that looked down upon their clan accepted Nikolai's selfishness.
The threads pulsed gently, glowing in ti with Nikolai's heartbeat.
One by one, they rose.
The first to move was Selene.
She glided forward like moonlight on marble, her every step the definition of elegance, of royalty honed through centuries. Her crimson eyes shimred, not with pride, but with a raw, almost human love.
She stopped before Nikolai. Her veil slipped from her shoulders like silk surrendering to gravity.
"I was born with the world at my feet," she said, voice soft but sure. "But I never knew how to walk until you taught to fall."
A hush swept through the room.
"You gave more than desire, more than pleasure. You gave laughter, you gave a child, and in doing so… you gave myself."
Her fingers touched the red thread connecting their hearts.
"I am yours. Not as a Princess. Not as a Vampire. But as Selene—who learned to live because she learned to love you."
Selene bowed her head and kissed his hand—not in subjugation, but affection.
Then stepped aside.
Nikita was already moving.
No grace. No pause. Her steps were a swagger, hips cocked, grin half-masked beneath her veil. The white of her fur tail swished behind her as if even that couldn't contain her fire.
"Tsk," she scoffed. "Nikolai, I thought I'd be serious today. Formal, like Selene..."
The elders bristled at her language. Ivan rely raised a brow, his lips curling into a wry smile at the sight of Dimitri's daughter.
Nikita grinned wider, tearing her veil off with a shrug.
"But screw that. I love you, Nikolai. Like… 'burn the whole damn city for you' kinda love. Always have. Even when you pissed off. Even when I thought you were being stupid, since the mont I t you. It could only be you."
She stepped up to him, close—almost too close—and tapped his chest right over his heart.
"This? This thread? It doesn't an anything. It's just a leash to remind us sothing simple. You are mine. And I'm yours. Always."
She winked, kissed her thumb, and pressed it to his lips before strutting off with a playful growl.
Nikolai's eyes widened.
He couldn't stop his heart racing from the confession that suited Nikita... she clearly thought hard and chose to be herself, even if others despised or looked down on her.
Risa all but bounced forward next, sniffling loudly and waving her hands to try to stop herself from crying.
"Agh—no fair, I was gonna be cool and stylish today!"
The crowd blinked. Risa did not care.
She yanked her veil off like it was choking her, then stood in front of Nikolai, tail flicking, cat ears twitching, eyes wide and brimming with devotion.
"You rember when we t again?" she blurted. "From the mont I saw you in that jeep, I was crazy about you... but desperate to hide that fact so I teased you."
A chuckle rippled from the back.
Risa just grinned through her tears.
"I've loved you since that day. You were strong, scary, hot—like, really hot—but you looked so tired and overworked. And I just wanted to hug you and never let go. And that's exactly what I will do! Forever"
She flung herself at him, hugged him tightly around the waist, and buried her face in his chest.
"You're stuck with forever, Niko. I'll cheer for you even if the world turns against us. I'll make sure you laugh every single day."
She looked up, beaming like sunlight through rain.
"Because I love you. And I won't let go."
"..." Nikolai's heart already throbbing, slamming against his chest as he watched her skipping away without breath, hoping that he wouldn't have a heart attack.
Just as he could feel their feelings and emotions, they could feel his...
No words or reply needed, each of their faces pink and filled with utter bliss.
That's when Kumiko stood up and the atmosphere changed.
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