When Fear Tried to Call Itself Strategy

When Fear Tried to Call Itself Strategy

15th day of August, the Year of our Source 2011

I have just returned from what Fides called a “council meeting,” though calling it that feels far too generous. It was less a council and more a tangle of frayed nerves, contradictions, and leaders who no longer know which direction they face. Fides opened the gathering with her grand solution: we are to ignore the war, ignore Ravens Claw, ignore the Brotherhood of Blood, and behave as though none of them exist. She believes that if we simply refuse to acknowledge the hostilities, the conflict will somehow dissolve into nothing. It is the kind of plan born not from strategy, but from fear—the hope that if one does not look at the wolves at the door, perhaps the wolves will politely vanish. She spoke of how peace might return if every clan cooperated, yet even as the words left her lips, her council splintered beneath her. They contradicted one another, argued with one another, and spiraled into petty tangents with the ease of leaves catching fire.

She claimed we must refrain from retaliation, yet insisted we could defend ourselves if absolutely necessary, though she never once defined what “necessary” meant. Her logic collapsed the moment she spoke it. I made it clear, as calmly as I could, that I will defend myself, that I will defend Sangre Luna, and that I will not stand idle and allow another vampire to sink their teeth into my throat for the sake of appearing composed. Each time I said so, I felt her flinch. She wants peace, but not the peace won through strength or diplomacy; she wants the kind of silence found by hiding behind a locked door.

From there, the meeting unraveled even further. HotJasmine flitted in and out like a mischievous spirit, giggling, interrupting, offering nothing of value while feeding the chaos. Raven attempted diplomacy, Beth tried to anchor the room in practicality, and the rest spoke over one another until the entire gathering felt more like a farce than a council. Not a single soul seemed to understand what Fides’ plan truly was—least of all Fides.

Then came the moment that revealed just how lost Eternal Love truly is. Raven announced that Oberon is already posting publicly that he is “about to drop that cease fire.” The words rippled through the room. A proclamation of that magnitude should never reach a council through rumor, yet Fides insisted she knew nothing of it. This claim hung in the air only seconds after she had said she was told something in confidence. She backtracked, contradicted herself, invoked Lachiel as though invoking his name might somehow clarify the tangle, and then denied knowing who he speaks to or what he chooses to share. It was dizzying, and more than a little humiliating to witness. A leader should never be the last to understand the shape of her own war.

I do not say this lightly: it feels as if Eternal Love is marching at the head of a parade with no map and no destination, guided only by the frantic beat of their own fear. They speak of unity, yet cannot agree on a single course of action. They speak of peace, yet none of them share the same definition of it. They speak of strength, yet every word trembles with desperation. And through it all, they kept looking to me. Raven insisted the next statement should come to me, as Regent, for review. Beth agreed. Even Fides hesitated before addressing me, aware perhaps that I will not swallow nonsense simply to keep the illusion of harmony intact.

I am courteous, but I am not blind. If this is the leadership entrusted with holding the bloodline together, then the fracture has already begun. When the meeting finally dissolved—after more bickering, mismatched stories, and nervous laughter—I could only say what was true: “That was pointless.” It was. No strategy, no unity, no clarity. Only a desperate attempt to wrap words around a wound already bleeding into the dirt.

I do not despise Fides. I see clearly that she is drowning, grasping at anything that might keep her line afloat, but her hands shake too much to hold anything steady. And even drowning leaders can pull entire clans beneath the surface with them. Sangre Luna must remain clear-eyed. We will defend ourselves. We will bend to no Arch’s fear. And I will not allow my clan to be dragged into ruin by a plan built on wishful thinking and trembling voices.

The Realm is shifting. Each conversation, each strained smile, each frantic whisper confirms it. Something is cracking beneath all of this, and Eternal Love is pretending not to hear the sound. I am tired. I am irritated. And I am very certain that if this is the path they insist upon, Sangre Luna will need to choose its own.

— Zoe