The Source’s Wrath
7th Day of October, the Year of Our Source 2011
Tonight brought a kind of tension I have rarely felt ripple through the Realm. Word reached us that Fides had done the unthinkable—spoke to Lachiel with a level of disrespect and entitlement so severe that the Source himself declared he was a breath away from expelling her and her entire bloodline. The message struck like a hammer. To hear such a threat from the one who forged this Realm is no small thing; it reverberated through every corner of Eternal Love, Sangre Luna included, because such a punishment does not fall lightly. It falls like fire, consuming every soul tied to the one who angered him. Suri heard the news first. True to her nature, she panicked, heart leaping before thought. She sent him a stream of messages—pleading with him, begging him—explaining that her family would be crushed if we were cast out for another woman’s arrogance. She told him her Queen and King were not online. She told him she loved this existence more than he could ever imagine. Then, bold in her desperation, she said something I never expected: she suggested he make me an Arch of a new bloodline instead. She told him I was loyal, dedicated, excited to be part of the Realm, that I would never have spoken to him with such disrespect. It was a startling gamble, placing my name before the Source while his anger still burned. But what stunned me more was his reply when he returned: “That is something I am considering.” Those words carried a weight I felt deep in my bones.
Not long after, the some from Realm began to gather—not Eternal Love’s leadership, but a strange mixture of vampires from different lines: clan members, sovereigns, and, most notably, two Diabolics—Super Dexing and Saint Questi. Their presence alone announced the seriousness of what had occurred; Diabolics do not descend for petty drama. Raine, Arch of Aumentare, was there as well. She played the diplomat, trying to soothe the panic seeping through the room. She defended Fides gently, saying she had been having a difficult day, that she loved her family, that her intentions had been to improve the Realm. Others were far less forgiving. Some muttered about her sharp tongue; others about her poor leadership; others worried openly that if her real-life troubles could push her to lash out at the Source, then the entire bloodline lived at her mercy. Fear thickened the air—fear of exile, fear of losing everything they had built, fear of instability in the woman meant to lead them.
Saint, with his measured calm, urged everyone to breathe, to step back, to give Lachiel space to cool. Super Dexing reminded them that insolence must be answered even when it comes from an Arch, but he also assured them that the Source would not punish the children for the mother’s mistakes. Their words carried an authority that silenced the panic, but not the dread. People clung to faint reassurances—hoping the Source’s threat would fade with the night, hoping Fides would somehow mend what she had shattered, hoping the Realm would not bleed for her pride.
Eventually, Lachiel spoke again. His tone was calmer, but not softened. He said he would not punish the entire bloodline. He said he needed time. He said anger was not the place from which to make decisions. He said they could rest for now—but he made no promises about Fides herself. It was not forgiveness. It was a stay of execution. A temporary peace hanging by a thread.
What strikes me most tonight is how close Sangre Luna came to ruin because of another woman’s mouth. How fragile our foundation was beneath someone else’s crown. How quickly one Arch’s carelessness can place hundreds of loyal souls on the brink of exile. And then, in the same breath, how my name was placed before the Source as a possible successor. I did not seek it. I did not covet it. But I would be lying if I said I did not feel the weight of that possibility settling into place. If leadership is thrust upon me one night, I will not step forward lightly—but neither will I tremble.
Tonight, I witnessed what happens when a bloodline is led by someone who forgets the weight of their title. Sangre Luna will not suffer that fate. Not while I draw this cold, unending breath.
— Zoe
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