Despite the help of that mysterious, captivating girl with blue eyes and brown hair, nothing really changed—the other familiars keep ignoring or glaring at with contempt.
I sit at a table on the edge of the vast cafeteria.
It has six seats—four are empty, while the other two are taken by and Gerard.
He sits across from , both of us in the center seats, "enjoying" a tasteless plate of plain pasta—the sa exact al as yesterday.
It doesn’t surprise that vampires can’t even cook sothing simple, nor that they don’t bother offering us anything better.
With their overwhelming magic, they could prepare grand banquets, but I guess such luxuries are reserved for those in the upper dorms.
«Lyon, forget Aron and the others...» Gerard murmurs, noticing the tension in my face. «The daily tornt we endure, the way we’re forced to fight like beasts... it brings out the worst in us. In a war among the weak, unable to rebel against the real oppressors, the most fragile and desperate familiars end up lashing out at anyone. Unfortunately, this ti their frustration fell on you...»
This isn’t the first ti I’ve been in a situation like this.
Back when I was captain and star of my hotown’s soccer team, every defeat landed entirely on —even though there were eleven of us on the field.
Neither the coach nor the parents of my teammates took the bla.
It was always my fault for being "special", more talented than the rest—just like here.
But back then, I didn’t care.
’I want to see what they’ll do once I leave’ I kept telling myself.
I focused only on giving my best, ignoring their words.
So why can’t I do the sa now?
Why do Aron’s words cut so deeply?
«Mind if I sit here?»
A female voice behind .
«Of course. As you can see, there’s no shortage of empty seats,» Gerard replies warmly.
I turn around and see her—the girl with blue eyes and long, straight brown hair—standing there with a gentle smile, holding her plate of pasta.
With Gerard’s approval, she takes the seat to my right.
She’s... beautiful.
A simple, natural beauty, untouched by makeup or costics—things forbidden to familiars, even those of higher rank.
Ayra had explained it to during training: no familiar is allowed to outshine a vampire’s looks.
And vampire won—or at least most of them—are incredibly vain.
Ayra is no exception.
Between her and Sasha, it’s practically a contest.
But this girl’s beauty is different—rare, unreachable, impossible to hide, even with the scars etched across her face, probably left by her master or so other vampire jealous of her looks.
And yet, her dazzling blue eyes still shine with quiet hope.
«We t just a few minutes ago, rember?» she asks. «My na is Kimberly Dulcar. And you... well, who doesn’t know you by now? Lyon Volkom, the legendary destined familiar.»
«If that’s what it ans, I’d rather not be one...» I mutter darkly. «Dulcar...» I repeat.
«Yes, the sa house as that stubborn Aron. My mistress, Countess Alia Dulcar, and Aron’s master, Count Lucius Dulcar, are married—but also brother and sister,» she says, her voice dripping with disgust.
«Brother and sister?» I echo, just as horrified.
«In vampire society, marrying and procreating among blood relatives is common to preserve blood purity,» Gerard explains. «My mistress, Priscilla Volkom, is only thirteen, yet she’s already engaged to a blood cousin—at least that’s what I’ve gathered. It drives her mad, and she often vents her anger on , which wouldn’t even be so bad... if that venting didn’t an a generous dose of whipping...»
Marriages between relatives, arranged at that... it’s like stepping back into the Middle Ages.
«Aron doesn’t hate you, believe ,» Kimberly insists firmly. «If you’d endured the treatnt the Dulcar family inflicts on their familiars, you wouldn’t judge him so harshly. As cruel as the Volkoms are, compared to the Dulcars they almost seem rciful.»
With a quick motion, Kimberly unbuttons the top of her tunic, opening it just enough to reveal the start of her chest—small but firm, highlighted by her slightly tanned skin.
For a mont, the sight distracts from what she actually wants to see.
A "D" carved into her flesh, identical to Aron’s.
«And this is nothing compared to the rest of my body...» she murmurs, her voice heavy with sorrow and resignation as she closes her tunic again. «That’s why I ask you not to hate him. Aron is a good guy, truly. I knew him long before we beca the Dulcars’ familiars—he wasn’t like this. They turned him into what he is. Please, I beg you, forgive him...»
Her eyes glisten with tears she refuses to shed.
«I’m afraid that’s not up to ,» I reply coldly.
After all, he was the one who challenged and turned the other familiars against .
I can be patient, I can try to understand, but I have my limits—I can’t spend my ti here being treated like trash.
«I’ll talk to him later, don’t worry. We share the sa room; I’m sure I can make him listen,» she says with determination—a tone that, for so reason, gives a flicker of hope.
Before I can answer, a shrill sound tears through the air, like a siren, echoing across the entire dorm—the signal to return to our rooms.
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