Elisabeta's unnaturally warm fingers card through my hair, her touch sending shivers down my spine. The comb glides through my locks, leaving behind the scent of exotic oils. Her melodious voice fills the room as she begins to sing, the words painting vivid images in my mind:

"Dragonul de aur, cu solzi de foc,

Și lupul alb, cu blana de nea,

În codrii adânci și munți de stâncă,

Își împart tărâmul, sub luna grea.

Liupnir cel înțelept, cu ochii de jar,

Păzește comori în peșteri ascunse,

Iar Ilvfior cel sălbatic, cu colți de oțel,

Aleargă prin păduri, cu umbre străpunse.

Când dușmanii vin, cu săbii și scut,

Dragonul se-nalță, cu flăcări cumplite,

Iar lupul își cheamă haita cea mare,

Să apere țara de hoarde urâte.

Aurul strălucește în cuibul de foc,

Iar înțelepciunea în inima lupului,

Împreună veghează pământul străbun,

Protejând viața și pacea norodului."

(The golden dragon, with scales of fire,

And the white wolf, with fur of snow,

In deep forests and rocky mountains,

They share their realm, under the heavy moon.

Wise Liupnir, with eyes of ember,

Guards treasures in hidden caves,

While wild Ilvfior, with teeth of steel,

Runs through forests, piercing shadows.

When enemies come, with swords and shield,

The dragon rises, with terrible flames,

And the wolf calls its great pack,

To defend the land from ugly hordes.

Gold shines in the nest of fire,

And wisdom in the heart of the wolf,

Together they watch over the ancestral land,

Protecting the life and peace of the people.)

As the last notes fade away, I find myself entranced by the imagery. "De unde vine acest cântec, mamă?" (Where does this song come from, mother?) I ask, my childish voice at odds with the complex thoughts swirling in my mind.

Elisabeta's crimson eyes gleam with pride as she responds, "Acest cântec a fost compus pentru Dragonul Liupnir care trăiește în Transilvania și Lupul Alb Ilvfior care locuiește în Valahia." (This song was composed for the Dragon Liupnir who lives in Transylvania and the White Wolf Ilvfior who lives in Wallachia.)

My curiosity piqued, I press further. "Poți să-mi spui mai multe despre aceste ființe?" (Can you tell me more about these beings?)

Elisabeta's fingers continue their gentle ministrations as she speaks, her voice taking on a reverent tone. "Liupnir este înțelept și ne-a ajutat poporul de multe ori în trecut împotriva amenințărilor pe care nu le puteam învinge singuri. În schimb, dragonului îi place să-și facă cuibul în aur." (Liupnir is wise and has helped our people many times in the past against threats we could not defeat by ourselves. In exchange, the dragon likes to make its nest in gold.)

She pauses, her eyes taking on a distant look. "Ilvfior este cel care ne ajută să fim una cu natura. Druizii și preoții se aventurează în păduri pentru înțelepciunea lui Ilvfior." (Ilvfior is the one who helps us be one with nature. Druids and priests venture forth into forests for Ilvfior's wisdom.)

The concept of these mythical beings fascinates me. Are they real? Or just elaborate folklore? In this fucked-up world, anything seems possible. "Pot vorbi aceste creaturi?" (Can these creatures talk?) I ask, my voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Elisabeta chuckles, the sound like tinkling crystal. "Oh, pot vorbi, dragul meu. Și sunt mai deștepte și mai înțelepte decât mine." (Oh, they can talk alright, my dear. And they're smarter and wiser than me.)

A creature wiser than a vampire who's lived for centuries? Now that's something I'd like to see. Speaking of which... "Câți ani ai, mamă?" (How old are you, mother?)

Elisabeta's hands still for a moment before she answers, "Am 128 de ani, micul meu prinț." (I am 128 years old, my little prince.)

Christ on a cracker, she's older than some countries. And yet, she looks like she could be on the cover of Vogue. Vampire genetics are a hell of a thing.

Elisabeta's warm hands leave my hair as she steps back to admire her work. "Gata cu părul tău. Putem coborî înapoi în sala mare pentru a te prezenta în mod corespunzător sătenilor." (I'm done with your hair. We can go down back to the great hall to meet the people and properly introduce you to the villagers.)

As I stand, she places a hand on my shoulder, her touch burning through the fabric of my shirt. "Nu te holba prea tare la femei, pentru că majoritatea sunt mai frumoase decât mine." (Don't gape at the womenfolk too hard because most of them are more beautiful than me.)

I can't help but snort at that. More beautiful than this immortal goddess? Yeah, right. But curiosity gets the better of me. "Cine este cea mai frumoasă fată din sat?" (Who is the most beautiful girl in the village?)

Elisabeta's lips curl into a knowing smirk. "Există o servitoare de vreo cincisprezece ani cu ochi de culori diferite, unul roșu și unul albastru. Are părul roșu ca focul și pielea la fel de palidă ca a mea. Are sâni mari și un fund mare, și e mai înaltă decât mine." (There's this maid around fifteen who has different colored eyes, one red and one blue. She has hair as red as fire and skin as pale as mine. She has big breasts and a big ass, and she's taller than me.)

Jesus fucking Christ, is she describing a person or a wet dream? My mind reels at the description, a part of me disgusted at the idea of lusting after a teenager, while another part - the part that's trapped in this child's body - is intrigued.

"Numele ei este Yvette," Elisabeta continues, "Este orfană și vine din Francia." (Her name is Yvette. She's an orphan and comes from Francia.)

Elisabeta's crimson eyes lock onto mine, a mischievous glint in their depths. "Vrei să o cunoști mai bine?" (Do you want to get to know her better?)

I gulp, my mouth suddenly dry. "Aș fi foarte încântat," (I would be very much pleased,) I manage to squeak out, my voice cracking embarrassingly.

A proud smile spreads across Elisabeta's face. "Crești bine, iar procesele tale de gândire își fac treaba. Poți înțelege destul de bine lumea din jurul tău. Am mari speranțe pentru maturizarea ta." (You're growing up well, and your thought processes are doing their work. You can understand the world around you well enough. I have high hopes for your maturation.)

Without warning, Elisabeta spins the chair around, the sudden motion making my head spin. She kneels before me, her wrist extended towards my face. "Vreau să te maturizezi mai repede, așa că îți voi da sângele meu mai des decât o dată pe zi. Mușcă." (I want you to mature faster, so I will feed you my blood more often than once a day. Bite.)

I comply without hesitation, my tiny fangs sinking into her flesh. The moment her blood touches my tongue, I'm lost. It's like drinking liquid ecstasy, a symphony of flavors that defies description. I can't stop, I can't think, I can only drink. It's impossible, this taste. It's like the universe itself distilled into a crimson elixir.

Gently, Elisabeta pushes my head away from her wrist. As I watch, the bite wound on her wrist begins to heal, steam rising from the rapidly closing punctures. It's a stark reminder of the otherworldly nature of our existence.

"Ești cuminte și te descurci bine," (You're doing well and you're a good boy,) Elisabeta coos, her voice filled with maternal pride.

I lick my lips, savoring the last drops of her blood.

Elisabeta's unnaturally warm hands grasp mine, pulling me to my feet with a strength that belies her delicate appearance. Her crimson eyes dance with excitement as she leans in close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.

"Radu, dragul meu, s-ar putea să avem vizitatori astăzi din clanul nostru. Vlad Țepeș, Elisabeta Bathory, și poate chiar și Dumitra Țepeș." (Radu, my dear, we might have visitors today from our clan. Vlad Tepes, Elizabeth Bathory, and maybe even Dumitra Tepes.)

She pauses, her lips curling into a smile that's equal parts pride and mischief. "Și nu numai ei. Contele Dragomir, renumit pentru patronajul său al artelor și colecția sa impresionantă de manuscrise rare. Sau poate Baronesa Ileana, faimoasă pentru grădinile sale botanice vaste și cercetările sale în domeniul plantelor medicinale. Și, desigur, Prințul Filip cel Frumos, care și-a câștigat numele nu doar pentru aspectul său, ci și pentru abilitățile sale diplomatice remarcabile și devotamentul său față de îmbunătățirea vieții țăranilor." (And not just them. Count Dragomir, renowned for his patronage of the arts and his impressive collection of rare manuscripts. Or perhaps Baroness Ileana, famous for her vast botanical gardens and her research into medicinal plants. And, of course, Prince Radu the Handsome, who earned his name not just for his looks, but for his remarkable diplomatic skills and his dedication to improving the lives of the peasants.)

My mind reels at the thought of these legendary vampires coming to see... me? A toddler with the mind of a middle-aged politician? The absurdity of it all is almost too much to bear.

"E chiar atât de important când se nasc vampiri?" (Is it really that big of a deal when vampires are born?) I ask, my childish voice at odds with the weight of the question.

Elisabeta's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before she schools her features back into a mask of maternal pride. She opens the bedroom door, beckoning me out into the corridor.

"Dragul meu, e la fel de important ca și cum ai construi douăzeci de fântâni într-un sat care a suferit mereu de secetă." (My dear, it's as important as building twenty wells in a village that has always suffered from drought.)

Oh, for fuck's sake. Twenty wells? Really? Because one immortal bloodsucker popping out a kid is equivalent to saving an entire village from dying of thirst. The hyperbole is so thick you could spread it on toast.

"Înțeleg," (I understand,) I reply, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. It's a losing battle.

We make our way down the corridor, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpets. As we descend the grand staircase, the scents and sounds of the gathering below begin to assault my senses. By the time we reach the massive double doors of the great hall, it's as if I can taste the very air around us.

Elisabeta pauses, her hand on the ornate door handle. "Locul e plin acum. Poți să simți?" (The place is full now. Can you smell it?)

I take a deep breath, and holy shit on a shingle, it's like someone's jammed a fucking supercomputer into my nose. I can pick out individual scents - roasted meats, freshly baked bread, sweet honey cakes, the sharp tang of wine and ale. And underneath it all, the unmistakable iron-rich aroma of blood. But it's not just the food and drink. I can smell the people themselves - sweat, perfumes, the earthy scent of leather and wool. My brain starts cataloging and counting: 40... no, 50... 57... 65 distinct smells. What the actual fuck? Is this what it's like to be a vampire? To have your senses dialed up to eleven and beyond?

And the sounds... Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick. It's like I've got a direct line into everyone's conversations. Laughter, gossip, the clink of glasses, the scrape of chairs on stone floors. It's overwhelming, intoxicating, and more than a little terrifying.

Elisabeta crouches down in front of me, her eyes level with mine. Her hands cup my face, her touch burning against my cool skin. "Te iubesc, Radu. Ești tot ce am." (I love you, Radu. You're everything I have.)

The intensity in her gaze is almost painful to look at. It's like staring into the sun, if the sun were made of blood and undying love.

Before I can respond, Elisabeta stands and pushes open the doors. The great hall explodes into view, a riot of color and movement that makes my enhanced senses reel.

The room is packed with people, all dressed in their finest. Men in richly embroidered tunics, their belts adorned with intricate silver buckles. Women in flowing dresses of vibrant reds, blues, and greens, their hair braided with ribbons and flowers. Children dart between the adults, their laughter ringing out above the general din.

As we make our way towards the throne, I can't help but stare at each face we pass. And holy mother of God, Elisabeta wasn't exaggerating. These people are fucking gorgeous. It's like someone took all the most beautiful features from across Eastern Europe and mashed them together into a village full of supermodels.

There's Mircea, the farmer who brought me the honeycake. In the light of day, I can see that his weathered face is actually quite handsome, with high cheekbones and piercing green eyes. His wife stands beside him, a statuesque blonde with curves that would make a Renaissance painter weep.

And then there's Yvette. Sweet baby Jesus in a manger, she's even more stunning up close. Her mismatched eyes - one blue, one red - seem to follow me as we pass, and I can't help but leer a bit. Okay, a lot. Her dress, while simple, clings to her body in ways that should be illegal. I have to remind myself that I'm supposed to be a toddler, not a horny teenager.

As we continue our procession, I take in more details. A group of young men, all with chiseled jaws and broad shoulders that their tunics can barely contain. A cluster of girls, giggling behind their hands, each one more beautiful than the last. Even the older folks look like they could be on the cover of "Sexy Seniors Monthly."

Elisabeta wasn't lying. She really did take only the most beautiful people for her domain. I'm both shocked and intrigued. On one hand, it's fascinating to see such a concentration of genetic perfection. On the other hand, what the fuck happened to all the ugly people? Did she just... not invite them to live here? Or is there some kind of vampire beauty filter that only lets the pretty ones through? Elisabeta must have some weird kink for surrounding herself with living works of art.

But as I look around at all these impossibly beautiful faces, a thought strikes me like a bolt of lightning. Is this really a game? Because holy shit on a stick, it feels real. Too real. The smells, the sounds, the textures - it's all too vivid, too detailed. Are you telling me all these people are NPCs? That this entire world, with its complex social structures and impossibly beautiful inhabitants, is just a elaborate simulation?

As we walk towards the throne, the hall gradually falls silent. The crowd parts before us like the Red Sea before Moses, their eyes fixed on me with a mixture of awe and curiosity. I see my father, Tudor, seated on the throne, his weathered face a mask of regal composure. As we reach the dais, he stands, his joints creaking audibly in the hushed room.

Tudor clears his throat, his voice ringing out clear and strong despite his age. "Oameni buni ai domeniului nostru, astăzi este o zi de mare bucurie și onoare pentru familia Dracul." (Good people of our domain, today is a day of great joy and honor for the Dracul family.)

He pauses, his eyes sweeping over the assembled crowd before landing on me. "În sfârșit, după mulți ani de încercări, avem un moștenitor nemuritor pentru familia noastră." (Finally, after many years of trying, we have an immortal heir for our family.)

A murmur ripples through the crowd, a mix of excitement and something else... relief? Tudor continues, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "Știți cu toții că atunci când te căsătorești cu un nemuritor, nu mai ai voie să te căsătorești cu un muritor, conform tradițiilor vampirice." (You all know that when you marry an immortal, you are no longer allowed to marry a mortal, as per vampiric traditions.)

That sounds like one hell of a gamble. His entire bloodline could have died off just like that - poof. And what's that about vampiric traditions? You're basically doing a one-time sale of your entire bloodline. It's like playing Russian roulette with your family tree.

Tudor's voice drops, tinged with self-deprecation. "Nu am putut ajuta sătenii la fel de mult ca Elisabeta. Ea a ajutat pe fiecare dintre voi să vă construiți casele, să vă nașteți copiii, să vă vindecați rănile, să vă hrăniți când erați flămânzi." (I couldn't help the villagers as much as Elisabeta. She helped each and every one of you build your homes, deliver your children, heal your wounds, feed you when you were hungry.)

He pauses, a proud smile spreading across his face. "Și cel mai interesant dintre toate, nu avem nevoie de monede pentru a supraviețui - totul datorită Elisabetei." (And most interestingly of all, we don't need coins to survive - all thanks to Elisabeta.)

No coin? What? My mind reels at the implications. A society without currency? How does that even work?

As if on cue, Elisabeta steps forward, her crimson eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. "Economia pe care am stabilit-o vă oferă o privire asupra a ceea ce înseamnă să fii vampir." (The economy I've established gives you a glimpse into what it means to be a vampire.)

She gestures grandly, her voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "Vreți aur? Mergeți să-l extrageți din munți. Vreți lemn? Tăiați-l. Vreți mâncare? Vânați-o, cultivați-o." (You want gold? Go mine it in the mountains. You want wood? Cut it. You want food? Hunt it, farm it.)

Her eyes sweep over the crowd, a hint of pride in her voice. "Aveți nevoie de cunoștințe? Vă voi învăța orice, de la tâmplărie la minerit, de la topirea metalelor la fierărie, de la citit la scris și multe altele." (Need knowledge? I will teach you anything, from carpentry to mining, from smelting to blacksmithing, from reading to writing and more.)

Elisabeta's voice takes on a more serious tone. "Am scris chiar și cărți pentru ca toți să învețe, în cazul în care eu aș muri vreodată. Orice pentru a vă ajuta să deveniți atotștiutori și atotcuprinzători." (I've even written books for everyone to learn from, in case I ever die. Anything to help you become all-knowing and all-encompassing.)

She pauses, letting her words sink in. "Dacă doriți să inovați și să veniți cu idei noi, sunteți liberi să o faceți." (If you desire to innovate and come up with new ideas, you are free to do so.)

Elisabeta's voice rises, filled with pride. "Nu avem nevoie de comerț pentru că suntem autosuficienți. Nu avem nevoie de nimic de la alții, ei au nevoie de lucruri de la NOI." (We have no need for trading because we are self-sufficient. We don't need anything from others, they need things from US.)

She turns, addressing the crowd directly. "Nu mă aștept să deveniți maeștri în meșteșugul vostru - doar să știți suficient pentru a putea face orice. Dar dacă cineva este mai bun la un lucru decât la altul, este încurajat să se specializeze." (I don't expect you to become masters of your craft - just know enough to be able to do anything. But if someone is better at doing one thing over another, they are encouraged to specialize.)

Elisabeta's eyes gleam with excitement as she continues. "Nu trebuie să vă faceți griji cu privire la inovare sau inventarea de lucruri noi. Am adus multe inovații în sat și voi continua să o fac și să vă învăț pe toți." (You don't have to worry about innovating or inventing new things. I have brought many innovations to the village and will continue to do so and teach everyone.)

She begins to list off her contributions, her voice filled with pride. "Moara de apă pentru măcinarea grânelor, sistemul de irigații pentru câmpuri, tehnici avansate de conservare a alimentelor, metode îmbunătățite de construcție a caselor, noi unelte agricole, și chiar și un sistem de scriere simplificat pentru a face educația mai accesibilă." (The water mill for grinding grain, the irrigation system for the fields, advanced food preservation techniques, improved house-building methods, new agricultural tools, and even a simplified writing system to make education more accessible.)

Elisabeta's voice takes on a more serious tone. "V-am dat mijloacele de producție cu o singură condiție - să nu permiteți circulația monedelor decât sub forma activelor, a obiectelor de valoare. Cunoașterea este putere, iar a ști înseamnă a fi bogat." (I have given you the means of production under one condition - not allowing coin to flow unless it's in the form of assets, objects of value. Knowledge is power, and to know is to be rich.)

She pauses, her eyes scanning the crowd. "Acesta este micul meu experiment pentru a vedea dacă muritorii sunt încă lacomi atunci când li se prezintă o societate bazată pe merit." (This is my little experiment to see if mortals are still greedy when presented with a merit-based society.)

As Elisabeta's words wash over me, my mind races to analyze this bizarre socio-economic system she's created. It's fascinating, really. A society built on knowledge and self-sufficiency rather than currency. The emphasis on books and learning is particularly intriguing - knowledge truly is power in this world. And the idea of being self-sufficient, not needing to trade with others? It's a bold strategy, isolationist perhaps, but it certainly has its advantages.

The focus on innovation is interesting too. Elisabeta's taking on the role of the sole innovator, bringing new technologies and techniques to the village. It's efficient, in a way - why reinvent the wheel when you have an immortal with centuries of knowledge at her fingertips? But it also creates a dependency on her. What happens if she's not around?

And then there's the whole "no coin" system. Assets as currency, knowledge as wealth. It's an intriguing concept, one that could potentially eliminate a lot of the economic inequalities we see in traditional monetary systems. But it's not without its flaws. How do you quantify knowledge? How do you trade services? What about people who are skilled in intangible ways?

It all sounds good in practice, not going to lie. There are some weaknesses to it, but there are more pros than cons. The potential for a truly egalitarian society is there, one where everyone has access to the knowledge and resources they need to thrive. But it's also a system that relies heavily on the benevolence and competence of its leaders. In the wrong hands, this could easily become a totalitarian nightmare.

Elisabeta's crimson eyes sweep over the assembled crowd, her voice ringing out with finality, "Ceea ce ne aduce în prezent." (Which brings us to the present day.) Her gaze settles on me, a mixture of pride and something deeper, more primal, flickering in their depths.

With a fluid motion that defies her voluptuous form, Elisabeta scoops me up into her arms. The sudden change in elevation makes my head spin, or perhaps it's the intoxicating scent of her skin, a heady mixture of iron and honey.

"Moștenirea funcționează diferit pentru clanurile de vampiri," (Inheritance works differently for vampire clans,) she announces, her voice carrying to every corner of the great hall. "Radu va moșteni domeniul Dracul în întregime, în timp ce eu voi pleca pentru a construi și extinde un alt domeniu." (Radu will inherit the Dracul domain in full, while I will leave to build and expand a different domain.)

Her words send a ripple of murmurs through the crowd. I can almost taste their mixture of awe and apprehension on my tongue. Elisabeta continues, her voice taking on a soothing tone, "Nu aveți niciun motiv să vă faceți griji cu privire la sistemul pe care l-am pus în aplicare. Radu va moșteni toate amintirile mele și chiar mai mult. El va conduce în același mod în care am făcut-o eu." (You have no reason to worry about the system I have put in place. Radu will inherit all my memories and even more. He will lead in the same manner as I have.)

From the crowd, a figure steps forward. It's the village elder, his weathered face a map of wrinkles etched by time and worry. He clears his throat, his voice rough but respectful. "Acest sistem a funcționat bine în ultimii zece ani, iar satul nostru a prosperat sub conducerea voastră," (This system has worked well over the past ten years, and our village has prospered under your rule,) he begins, his eyes darting between Elisabeta and me. "Dar care este scopul final? Care este sensul acestui sistem?" (But what is the end goal? What is the point of this system?)

Elisabeta's lips curl into a smile that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous. She looks down at me, her eyes gleaming with an almost predatory light. "Este un sistem pentru a cuceri lumea prin putere economică," (It's a system to conquer the world through economic power,) she purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Fără vărsare de sânge, fără războaie. Este un război cultural la o scară atât de mare încât nimeni nu ne poate egala." (No bloodshed, no wars. It's a cultural war on a scale so big that no one can match us.)

She pauses for effect, her gaze sweeping over the assembled villagers. "Suntem mai inteligenți, mai bogați, mai sănătoși și mai fericiți decât oricine altcineva," (We are smarter, richer, healthier, and happier than everyone else,) she continues, her voice rising with passion. "Gândiți-vă la asta. În timp ce alții se luptă pentru bucăți de pământ și resurse limitate, noi creștem, învățăm și ne perfecționăm. Fiecare generație este mai puternică, mai inteligentă și mai capabilă decât cea anterioară." (Think about it. While others fight over scraps of land and limited resources, we grow, learn, and perfect ourselves. Each generation is stronger, smarter, and more capable than the last.)

Her words paint a vivid picture of a future where knowledge and self-improvement are the true currencies of power. It's a seductive vision, I have to admit. World domination through economic power? She's playing an extremely long game here, if it could even work at all. The implications are staggering. In a world where might typically makes right, she's proposing a revolution of the mind and spirit. It's brilliant, terrifying, and utterly fascinating all at once.

The village elder's brow furrows, his voice tinged with concern. "Dar nu va stârni această 'invidie' și 'gelozie' dorința altora de a ne jefui bogățiile?" (But won't this 'envy' and 'jealousy' make others want to raid us for our riches?)

Before Elisabeta can respond, Tudor steps forward, his weathered face set in grim lines. "Satul nostru are patru magi și doi în curs de pregătire, pe lângă mine," (Our village has four mages and two in training, alongside myself,) he declares, his voice gruff but confident.

The elder shakes his head, unconvinced. "Asta nu va opri o armată de sute," (That won't stop an army of hundreds,) he counters.

Elisabeta's laughter rings out, a sound like tinkling crystal that sends shivers down my spine. "Conacul este o fortăreață de vrăji și unelte magice," (The mansion is a fortress of magical enchantments and tools,) she says, her voice laced with amusement. "Este foarte puțin probabil ca chiar și o armată de sute să poată distruge satul nostru." (It's very unlikely that even an army of hundreds could destroy our village.)

Her expression turns serious, her eyes glinting with an otherworldly light. "Am putea câștiga cu ușurință o bătălie de uzură datorită numărului nostru mic - pentru moment." (We could easily win a battle of attrition due to our small numbers - for now.)

The elder's gaze shifts to me, doubt clear in his rheumy eyes. "Dar va fi Radu capabil să conducă în absența Elisabetei?" (But will Radu be capable of leading in Elisabeta's absence?)

Elisabeta's face hardens, her voice taking on a dangerous edge. "Nu este locul tău să pui la îndoială asta, după tot ce am făcut pentru voi," (It's not your place to question that, after all I've done for you,) she hisses, her words sharp enough to draw blood.

Tudor sighs heavily, the sound of a man who's weathered countless storms. "Această dramă nu își are locul de ziua lui Radu," (This drama has no place on Radu's birthday,) he says, his voice weary. "E mai bine să o lăsăm pentru mâine." (It's better to leave it for tomorrow.)

In the tense silence that follows, I make a decision. Looking directly at the village elder, I speak, my childish voice ringing out clear and strong. "Vă voi proteja." (I will protect you.)

The hall erupts into shocked murmurs, the villagers' eyes wide with disbelief. Elisabeta's laughter cuts through the chaos, a sound of pure delight. "Vedeți?" (You see?) she crows, lifting me higher. "Radu poate deja să gândească singur și să vorbească fluent în limba noastră. Va deveni doar mai inteligent și mai puternic pe măsură ce trece timpul." (Radu can already think for himself and speak fluently in our language. He will only get smarter and stronger as time goes on.)

Her voice takes on a reverent tone as she continues, "Radu este primul copil vampir născut de când m-am născut eu, acum 128 de ani," (Radu is the first vampire child born since I was born, 128 years ago,) she declares. "Acesta este cel mai important moment din istoria Valahiei." (This is the most important moment in Wallachian history.)

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Elisabeta's eyes gleam with an otherworldly light as she continues, her voice rising with passion. "Scopul nostru principal este să transformăm acest sat într-un oraș atât de mare încât să devină noua capitală a Valahiei." (Our primary goal is to transform this village into a city so large that it becomes the new capital of Wallachia.)

She pauses, letting her words sink in before continuing, "Și de acolo, vom extinde acest sistem în alte sate, apoi în alte țări. Cum? Prin căsătoria lui Radu cu familiile lor muritoare, prin asimilarea teritoriului și preluarea completă a țărilor întregi." (And from there, we will expand this system to other villages, then to other countries. How? Through Radu's marriage into their mortal families, through the assimilation of territory and the complete takeover of entire countries.)

Her words paint a vivid picture of a future where our influence spreads like wildfire. I can almost see it - a web of alliances and marriages, each one bringing another piece of the world under our control. It's brilliant, terrifying, and utterly fascinating all at once.

Elisabeta's voice drops to a near whisper, but in the hushed hall, every word is crystal clear. "Vreau ca întreaga lume să fie unită sub un singur steag. Un singur popor, o singură lege, o singură viziune pentru viitor." (I want the entire world to be united under one flag. One people, one law, one vision for the future.)

The village elder, his weathered face a map of concern and curiosity, steps forward. "Și ce se va întâmpla după aceea, doamnă? După ce vom fi toți sub un singur steag pe acest pământ?" (And what will happen after that, my lady? After we are all under one flag on this earth?)

Elisabeta's lips curl into a smile that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous. She raises her free hand, pointing towards the ceiling of the great hall. "Priviți cerul, bătrâne. Luna pe care o vedem în fiecare noapte este o altă lume, la fel ca pământul nostru. Și sunt multe altele dincolo de ea." (Look to the skies, elder. The moon we see each night is another world, just like our earth. And there are many others beyond it.)

Holy fucking shit on a stick. Is she seriously talking about space exploration? In the 4th century AD? My mind reels at the implications. This isn't just world domination she's after - it's galactic conquest.

"Putem merge acolo," (We can go there,) Elisabeta continues, her voice filled with wonder and determination. "Putem găsi secretele existenței noastre, scopul nostru de a trăi." (We can find the secrets of our existence, our purpose for living.)

The crowd gasps, a collective intake of breath that seems to suck all the air out of the room. I can see the shock, the awe, and the fear on their faces. This is beyond anything they've ever imagined.

Elisabeta's eyes seem to glow with an inner fire as she speaks, her words tumbling out faster now, filled with passion. "Acesta este visul meu - să aflăm de ce suntem în viață, de ce putem gândi, de ce putem lua decizii, de ce putem iubi. Cine ne-a dat această putere și de ce?" (This is my dream - to find out why we are alive, why we can think, why we can make decisions, why we can love. Who gave us this power and why?)

HOLY FUCK. Elisabeta isn't just a vampire matriarch or a cunning leader - she's a goddamn philosopher. She's asking the big questions, the ones that have plagued humanity since the dawn of consciousness. Who are we? Why are we here? What's the meaning of it all? And she's not content with just pondering these questions - she wants to actively seek out the answers, even if it means conquering the known world and reaching for the stars.

It's mind-boggling. Here I am, a 40-year-old man trapped in a toddler's body, listening to a centuries-old vampire outline a plan for world domination and interplanetary exploration, all in the name of answering life's greatest mysteries. If this is a game, as Guinevere said, it's the most elaborate, mind-bending game ever conceived.

The crowd's murmuring grows louder, a mix of excitement, fear, and disbelief. Elisabeta raises her hand, silencing them with a gesture. "Vedeți, am o ambiție destul de mare," (You see, I have quite the ambition,) she says, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Iar pilonii acestei ambiții sunt eternii care țin totul împreună până când visul este realizat." (And the pillars of this ambition are the eternals who keep it all together until the dream is achieved.)

Elisabeta's crimson eyes sweep across the gathered villagers, her gaze piercing and intense. "Este cineva care se opune viziunii mele despre un popor unit?" (Is there anyone who objects to my vision of a unified people?) Her voice rings out, clear and challenging.

The great hall falls into an eerie silence. I can hear the rapid heartbeats of the mortals around us, their breath held in anticipation. Not a soul dares to speak against Elisabeta's grand vision. The tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with a knife.

The same old man breaks the silence. "Eu," (I,) he begins, his voice quavering slightly with age but firm with conviction, "Dragos Constantinescu, m-am gândit întotdeauna la aceleași probleme ale sufletului ca și tine, Elisabeta." (Dragos Constantinescu, have always thought about the same problems of the soul as you have, Elisabeta.)

The old man's eyes, clouded with cataracts but still sharp with intelligence, meet Elisabeta's crimson gaze. "Cu toate acestea, nu voi trăi suficient pentru a vedea acest vis împlinit." (However, I will not live long enough to see this dream fulfilled.)

A hint of sadness creeps into his voice as he continues, "Sper că în viitor, acest lucru se va schimba și bătrânii ca mine vor putea vedea ce se află dincolo de cerurile noastre, de unde cad uneori stelele." (I hope that in the future, this will change and old people like me could see what's up there beyond our skies, from which the stars sometimes fall.)

The poignant words of the village elder hang in the air, a stark reminder of the gulf between mortal and immortal. I feel a twinge of... something. Pity? Regret? It's hard to tell in this child's body with its tumultuous emotions.

Tudor, his face a mask of determination, steps forward. In his hands, he holds a ornate silver chalice, its surface gleaming in the torchlight. His voice, gruff yet commanding, cuts through the tension. "Astăzi, vom face cu toții o promisiune pentru viitor." (Today, we will all make a promise for the future.)

He raises the chalice high, his eyes blazing with an inner fire. "Fiecare dintre voi va veni aici, își va tăia degetul și va lăsa o picătură de sânge în acest potir." (Each of you will come here, cut your finger, and let a drop of blood fall into this chalice.)

Tudor's gaze sweeps across the crowd, his voice taking on a harder edge. "Cei care își pun sângele în potir sunt de acord că aceasta este cea mai bună cale de urmat pentru fiecare muritor. Cei care refuză vor părăsi satul pentru un alt domeniu." (Those who place their blood in the chalice agree that this is the best way forward for every mortal. Those who refuse will leave the village for another domain.)

Holy shit on a stick. This is some next-level cult stuff right here. I mean, I've seen some pretty intense team-building exercises in my time, but this takes the cake. A blood oath? Really? And the alternative is exile? Talk about your all-or-nothing propositions. I can't help but wonder if this is standard vampire lord procedure or if Elisabeta and Tudor are just particularly fond of the dramatic.

To my surprise, not a single villager hesitates. They form a line, each face set with determination. Tudor stands at the head of the line, a small, wickedly sharp dagger in his hand. One by one, the villagers approach. Tudor hands them the dagger, and each makes a small cut on their finger, allowing a drop of blood to fall into the chalice.

I watch, fascinated, as the chalice slowly fills. Each drop of blood represents a life, a future pledged to this grand vision. It's beautiful and terrifying all at once. The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood and the palpable weight of destiny.

As the last villager steps away, Tudor turns and approaches us. He holds out the chalice to Elisabeta, his eyes meeting hers in a moment of silent communication. Elisabeta takes the chalice, her pale fingers wrapping around its stem.

"Potvas!" Elisabeta exclaims, her voice ringing with triumph. She brings the chalice to my face, her eyes burning with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. "Bea, Radu. Este datoria ta." (Drink, Radu. It is your duty.)

I look down at the chalice, filled nearly to the brim with the mingled blood of the entire village. The rich, coppery scent fills my nostrils, making my newly awakened vampire instincts go haywire. Without hesitation, I bring the chalice to my lips and drink.

The taste... oh god, the taste. It's like nothing I've ever experienced. Each drop is a symphony of flavors, a kaleidoscope of sensations. I can taste the individuality of each person, their hopes, their fears, their very essence. It's intoxicating, overwhelming, and utterly delicious. Before I know it, I've drained the chalice dry.

Elisabeta takes the empty chalice from my hands, her face glowing with pride and something darker, more primal. "S-a terminat," (It is done,) she announces, her voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "Sunteți cu toții legați prin Radu pentru această promisiune, pentru viitorul glorios!" (You are all linked through Radu for this promise, for the glorious future!)

She turns to address the crowd, her voice rising with a passion that seems to shake the very foundations of the great hall. "Poporul meu, în această zi sfântă, nu facem doar un pas către viitor - sărim cu curaj în eternitate!" (My people, on this holy day, we do not merely take a step towards the future - we leap boldly into eternity!)

Her eyes blaze with an inner fire so intense it's almost blinding. The air around her seems to crackle with energy as she continues, her voice resonating with otherworldly power. "Nu suntem doar un sat, nu suntem doar o țară - suntem scânteia care va aprinde focul unei noi ere pentru întreaga omenire!" (We are not just a village, we are not just a country - we are the spark that will ignite the fire of a new era for all of humankind!)

Elisabeta's gestures become grand and sweeping, each movement seeming to paint vivid pictures in the air. "Imaginați-vă o lume unde granițele sunt doar amintiri îndepărtate, unde cunoașterea curge liber ca un râu nesfârșit, și progresul se înalță ca un munte care atinge cerul!" (Imagine a world where borders are but distant memories, where knowledge flows freely like an endless river, and progress rises like a mountain touching the sky!)

The crowd hangs on her every word, their faces transfixed with awe and burning determination. Elisabeta's voice grows stronger, filling every corner of the hall with its thunderous power. "O lume unde fiecare copil se naște cu potențialul de a cuceri universul, unde bătrânețea este o alegere, nu o sentință, și unde boala tremură de frică în fața puterii noastre!" (A world where every child is born with the potential to conquer the universe, where old age is a choice, not a sentence, and where disease trembles in fear before our power!)

She pauses, her gaze sweeping across the gathered villagers, seeming to lock eyes with each person individually. When she speaks again, her voice is low and intense, filled with an almost religious fervor. "Astăzi, prin sângele vostru și prin fiul meu, ne-am legat cu toții de acest vis sacru! Sângele vostru curge acum prin venele lui Radu, unindu-ne pe toți într-un destin comun, glorios și de neclintit!" (Today, through your blood and through my son, we have all bound ourselves to this sacred dream! Your blood now flows through Radu's veins, uniting us all in a common destiny, glorious and unshakeable!)

Elisabeta raises her arms, her figure seeming to grow larger, more imposing, almost godlike in its majesty. Her voice rises to a crescendo that seems to shake the very heavens. "Împreună, vom construi o civilizație care va face stelele să pălească de invidie! Vom explora adâncurile oceanelor și vom cuceri vastitatea spațiului! Vom smulge secretele universului din mâinile zeilor și le vom face ale noastre!" (Together, we will build a civilization that will make the stars pale with envy! We will explore the depths of the oceans and conquer the vastness of space! We will wrest the secrets of the universe from the hands of the gods and make them our own!)

Her final words ring out like a clarion call, a battle cry for the ages. "Suntem copiii nopții, stăpânii timpului, și arhitecții viitorului! Lumea de mâine ne aparține, și o vom modela cu sângele nostru, cu mintea noastră ascuțită, și cu voința noastră de fier! Pentru Radu! Pentru Dracul! Pentru eternitate!" (We are the children of the night, the masters of time, and the architects of the future! The world of tomorrow belongs to us, and we will shape it with our blood, our sharp minds, and our iron will! For Radu! For Dracul! For eternity!)

The hall erupts in a roar so deafening it seems to shake the very foundations of the earth. The energy of the crowd is palpable, a tidal wave of excitement, hope, and fierce determination. I can feel it washing over me, through me, threatening to sweep me away in its intensity. Elisabeta's words have not just ignited a fire in these people - they've sparked an inferno that threatens to consume the world.

As the thunderous cheers continue, Elisabeta turns to me, her eyes gleaming with a triumph so complete it's almost terrifying. She leans in close, her lips nearly brushing my ear as she whispers, her voice somehow cutting through the cacophony, "Ești cheia, Radu. Cheia către tot. Destinul lumii este în mâinile tale mici." (You are the key, Radu. The key to everything. The destiny of the world is in your tiny hands.)

Tudor raises his hand, his voice booming across the great hall. "Să înceapă ospățul și petrecerea!" (Let the feast and party begin!)

The crowd erupts into cheers once more, and suddenly the hall is a whirlwind of activity. People scramble to find seats at the long tables, jostling and laughing as they settle in. I watch as platters of sarmale, stuffed cabbage rolls glistening with fat, are passed around. Ardei umpluți, bell peppers stuffed with a mixture of meat and rice, disappear almost as quickly as they're set down. Tochitura, a rich stew of pork, garlic, and tomatoes, is ladled into wooden bowls.

"Hei, Ion, lasă-mi și mie niște mămăligă!" (Hey, Ion, leave some polenta for me too!) a burly farmer shouts across the table, his mustache already glistening with grease.

"Dacă mănânci mai încet, poate ai avea șansa să guști!" (If you ate slower, maybe you'd have a chance to taste it!) Ion retorts, shoveling another spoonful into his mouth.

The air is filled with the clatter of wooden spoons against clay bowls, punctuated by bursts of laughter and animated conversation. I spot a platter of cozonac, a sweet bread filled with nuts and raisins, being passed around, and my childish body instinctively reaches out for it before I can stop myself.

Elisabeta gently sets me down on the floor, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Du-te și joacă-te cu ceilalți copii, micul meu prinț." (Go play with the other children, my little prince.) She says, before turning to join the festivities.

I watch as she glides towards the center of the hall, where a space has been cleared for dancing. The sound of a violin strikes up, joined by the rhythmic beating of a drum. Elisabeta claps her hands, calling out, "Hora! Să dansăm hora!" (Hora! Let's dance the hora!)

Villagers rush to join hands, forming a large circle. They begin to move, stepping to the left with a hop-step-step rhythm. The circle spins faster and faster, skirts swirling and boots stomping.

"Mai repede!" (Faster!) someone shouts, and the musicians pick up the pace.

In another corner of the room, I spot Yvette and a group of children. They've formed a small circle and are singing a traditional song:

"Floare albastră, floare albastră,

Cine te-a adus în casă?

Te-a adus un fir de vânt,

Să ne-aduci noroc și cânt!"

(Blue flower, blue flower,

Who brought you into the house?

A gust of wind brought you,

To bring us luck and song!)

Their young voices rise above the general din, sweet and clear. Yvette's mismatched eyes seem to sparkle as she leads the song, her red hair catching the light of the candles.

Meanwhile, the adults are getting rowdier. A group of men have started a drinking contest, downing mugs of țuică, a potent plum brandy.

"Hai noroc!" (Cheers!) they shout, clinking their mugs together before tipping them back.

"Asta nu e țuică, e apă!" (This isn't țuică, it's water!) one man complains, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Poate pentru tine, Gheorghe!" (Maybe for you, Gheorghe!) his friend laughs, slapping him on the back. "Pentru restul dintre noi, e foc lichid!" (For the rest of us, it's liquid fire!)

The dancing continues, shifting from the hora to the sârba, a faster, more energetic dance. Couples break off from the main group, spinning and twirling. Elisabeta is at the center of it all, her movements graceful and hypnotic. The villagers watch her with a mixture of awe and adoration.

"Uite la doamna Elisabeta," (Look at Lady Elisabeta,) I overhear a woman whisper to her friend. "Dansează de parcă ar pluti." (She dances as if she's floating.)

"Și arată la fel de tânără ca acum douăzeci de ani," (And she looks just as young as she did twenty years ago,) her friend replies, a note of envy in her voice.

As the chaos unfolds around me, I find myself seated on the floor next to the throne, my father Tudor standing beside me. We're like islands of calm in a sea of revelry. I watch the scene before me with a mixture of fascination and disbelief.

I made this? This world? Full Dive Dream Reality? The thought echoes in my mind, competing with the cacophony of the feast. What is this place? The sights, the sounds, the smells - they're all so vivid, so real. I can feel the cool stone floor beneath me, hear the individual voices in the crowd, smell the rich aroma of the food.

How could I have made something this viscerally real? It defies belief. The people around me - they're not just NPCs, not just lines of code. They're laughing, arguing, living. They have hopes and dreams, fears and flaws. This isn't a game, this is... another world.

I've created life. Or have I? Is this truly my creation, or have I tapped into something beyond my understanding?

As I ponder these existential questions, the feast continues around me. A group of men have started an impromptu contest, seeing who can balance the most empty plates on their head while walking in a straight line.

"Hai, Vasile! Arată-le cum se face!" (Come on, Vasile! Show them how it's done!) someone shouts.

Vasile, a middle-aged man with a impressive mustache, carefully places a fifth plate on his head. He takes a wobbly step forward, then another. The crowd holds its breath.

"Atenție la..." (Watch out for...) someone starts to warn, but it's too late. Vasile trips over a stray chicken that's wandered into the hall, sending the plates clattering to the floor.

The hall erupts in laughter and good-natured jeering. Vasile picks himself up, grinning sheepishly. "Cred că am băut prea multă țuică!" (I think I've had too much țuică!) he declares, to more laughter.

Meanwhile, a heated debate has broken out at one of the tables.

"Îți spun eu, pământul e plat ca o clătită!" (I'm telling you, the earth is flat as a pancake!) a red-faced farmer insists, pounding his fist on the table.

"Și eu îți spun că e rotund ca un măr!" (And I'm telling you it's round like an apple!) his companion argues back. "Cum altfel ai explica..." (How else would you explain...)

Their argument is drowned out by a sudden burst of music as the musicians strike up a new tune. More people join the dance, twirling and stomping in time with the lively melody.

As I sit on the floor next to the throne, watching the festivities unfold, a group of children suddenly breaks away from the crowd and scurries over to me. Their eyes are wide with excitement, and their cheeks are flushed from the heat of the hall and the thrill of the celebration.

A boy with a mop of unruly brown hair steps forward, puffing out his chest importantly. "Bună ziua, Prinț Radu! Eu sunt Mihai, și aceștia sunt prietenii mei. Vrei să te joci cu noi?" (Good day, Prince Radu! I'm Mihai, and these are my friends. Do you want to play with us?)

I glance up at Father, who's standing beside me. His weathered face softens slightly, and he gives me an almost imperceptible nod. I look back at the children, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. The adult mind trapped in this child's body is screaming at me to maintain decorum, but the lure of fun is too strong to resist.

"Desigur! Ce joc vreți să jucăm?" (Of course! What game do you want to play?) I chirp, my high-pitched voice at odds with the cunning glint in my eyes.

A girl with pigtails bounces on her toes. "De-a v-ați ascunselea!" (Hide and seek!) she exclaims.

Before I can respond, Mihai shakes his head vigorously. "Nu, nu! De-a hoții și vardiștii!" (No, no! Cops and robbers!)

Another boy, gap-toothed and freckled, pipes up, "Ce ziceți de leapșa?" (How about tag?)

As the children bicker, I stand up, brushing off my fancy clothes. "Am o idee mai bună," (I have a better idea,) I say, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Ce-ar fi să jucăm... toate trei deodată?" (What if we play... all three at once?)

The children's eyes widen in amazement. "Cum?" (How?) they ask in unison.

I grin, feeling like the Pied Piper of Hamelin. "Simplu! Unii sunt hoți care se ascund, alții sunt vardiști care îi caută, iar când îi găsesc, trebuie să-i atingă pentru a-i prinde. Dar hoții pot scăpa dacă ajung la... tronul tatălui meu înainte să fie prinși!" (Simple! Some are thieves who hide, others are cops who search for them, and when they find them, they have to touch them to catch them. But the thieves can escape if they reach... my father's throne before being caught!)

The children gasp in delight at this new, complex game. I turn to Father, putting on my best innocent face. "E în regulă, tată?" (Is it okay, father?)

Tudor sighs, a mix of resignation and amusement on his face. "Bine, dar ai grijă să nu deranjezi prea mult oaspeții." (Alright, but be careful not to disturb the guests too much.)

With a whoop of joy, the children scatter, some hiding behind pillars and under tables, while others start to count. I dart off into the crowd, my small size allowing me to weave between the legs of the dancing adults.

As I duck under a table laden with food, I hear a shout. "Te-am văzut, Prințe Radu! Ești prins!" (I saw you, Prince Radu! You're caught!)

I peek out to see Mihai grinning triumphantly. "Nu m-ai atins încă!" (You haven't touched me yet!) I call back, then dash out from under the table, narrowly avoiding a collision with a portly man carrying a large mug of ale.

"Hopa, micuțule!" (Oops, little one!) the man chuckles, stumbling slightly.

I dart between dancers, causing a ripple of confusion in the carefully choreographed steps. "Scuze! Pardon! Treceți, vă rog!" (Sorry! Excuse me! Coming through, please!) I call out, my voice a mix of childish glee and feigned apology.

Behind me, I hear the patter of small feet and excited giggles as Mihai and his fellow 'cops' give chase. I spot a group of children huddled behind a large potted plant and make a beeline for them.

"Repede! Vardiștii vin!" (Quick! The cops are coming!) I warn them.

In a flurry of movement, we all burst out from behind the plant, scattering in different directions. I hear shrieks of laughter and playful accusations as some are caught.

"Ana e prinsă!" (Ana is caught!)

"Nu-i adevărat, m-am salvat la tron!" (Not true, I saved myself at the throne!)

I spot an opening and make a mad dash for Father's throne. Just as I'm about to reach it, I feel a tug on my sleeve.

"Te-am prins!" (I caught you!) a little girl with curly red hair exclaims triumphantly.

But I'm not going down without a fight. "Nu încă!" (Not yet!) I cry, wriggling free and leaping onto the throne. "Salvat!" (Saved!)

The children crowd around the throne, a mix of cheers and good-natured grumbling filling the air. I stand on the seat, raising my arms in victory, feeling every bit the conquering hero.

"Încă o rundă!" (One more round!) I declare, and the children cheer.

As we start another chaotic game, the Great Hall descends into joyful pandemonium. Children weave in and out of the crowd, ducking under tables and behind curtains. Adults stumble and laugh as small bodies dart between their legs.

I spot Yvette in the corner, still singing with a group of children. With a mischievous grin, I run over and grab her hand. "Vino să te joci cu noi!" (Come play with us!) I say, tugging her into the fray.

Yvette laughs, her mismatched eyes sparkling. "Dar, Prinț Radu, nu sunt prea mare pentru jocuri de copii?" (But, Prince Radu, aren't I too old for children's games?)

I shake my head vigorously. "Niciodată nu ești prea mare pentru distracție!" (You're never too old for fun!)

As Yvette joins in, the game becomes even more chaotic. Her long legs give her an advantage, and soon she's leading a pack of giggling children in a wild chase around the hall.

In the midst of the excitement, I spot a table laden with sarmale, the stuffed cabbage rolls steaming invitingly. My stomach growls, reminding me that despite the adult mind, I have a child's appetite. I make a detour towards the table, my eyes fixed on the delicious treats.

Just as I reach for a sarma, I hear Mihai's voice behind me. "Te-am prins, Prinț Radu!"

In my haste to escape, I step back, right into the platter of sarmale. There's a squishy sound, and I feel something warm and mushy beneath my foot. The room seems to go silent as everyone turns to look.

I slowly lift my foot, revealing a perfectly formed footprint in the middle of the squashed sarma. For a moment, I'm torn between horror at the mess I've made and an absurd desire to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Before I can decide on a reaction, I feel a firm hand on my ear. I look up to see Elisabeta, her crimson eyes flashing with a mix of anger and exasperation.

"Radu Dracul!" she hisses, her voice low but intense. "Ce crezi că faci? Ți-am spus să te porți frumos!" (Radu Dracul! What do you think you're doing? I told you to behave!)

I wince, both from the grip on my ear and the scolding. "Îmi pare rău, mamă," (I'm sorry, mother,) I mumble, trying to look as contrite as possible. "Nu am vrut să stric mâncarea." (I didn't mean to ruin the food.)

Elisabeta sighs, her grip on my ear loosening slightly. She looks around at the chaos in the hall - children hiding under tables, adults trying to regain their composure, and the mess of food and drinks scattered about.

"Ar trebui să te pedepsesc pentru asta," (I should punish you for this,) she says, her voice stern. Then, almost against her will, a small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Dar... este ziua ta de naștere." (But... it is your birthday.)

She releases my ear and gives me a gentle push towards the other children. "Du-te și joacă-te. Dar fără alte dezastre, înțelegi?" (Go and play. But no more disasters, understand?)

I nod eagerly, rubbing my sore ear. "Da, mamă. Mulțumesc!" (Yes, mother. Thank you!)

As I turn to rejoin the game, I hear Elisabeta mutter under her breath, "Doamne ajută, ce-am făcut să merit un copil așa neastâmpărat?" (God help me, what did I do to deserve such a restless child?)

I can't help but grin as I run back to my playmates. The game resumes with renewed vigor, the children now emboldened by my daring and the lack of serious consequences.

Suddenly, a chill runs down my spine, and I freeze mid-step. An overwhelming sense of dread and terror washes over me, causing my tiny body to tremble. I turn slowly towards the massive double doors of the Great Hall, my enhanced hearing picking up the faint sound of footsteps from beyond. The doors, once merely imposing, now seem to exude a menacing aura, as if they've become a portal to some unspeakable horror.

I glance around frantically, but to my bewilderment, no one else seems to notice the change. The children continue their play, the adults their merrymaking. Am I going mad? Then my eyes lock with Elisabeta's across the room, and I see the same fear reflected in her crimson orbs. She, too, has frozen in place, her face a mask of barely concealed panic.

"Ce s-a întâmplat, Prinț Radu? De ce te-ai oprit?" (What happened, Prince Radu? Why did you stop?) little Mihai asks, tugging at my sleeve.

His touch snaps me out of my paralysis. I break into a run, my tiny legs carrying me towards Elisabeta as fast as they can. "Mamă! Mamă!" I cry out, my childish voice tinged with fear.

Elisabeta scoops me up in her arms, her body tense as a bowstring. "A sosit Vlad Țepeș," (Vlad Tepes has arrived,) she whispers, her voice barely audible.

One vampire is making us sweat and feel this much fear? What kind of monster is this Vlad Tepes? The dread emanating from him is palpable, like a physical force pressing down on us.

Without another word, Elisabeta dashes towards the double doors, her movements a blur even to my vampiric senses. She wrenches them open and rushes into the corridor beyond, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Calmează-te, calmează-te," (Calm down, calm down,) she mutters to herself, but I can hear her heart racing, smell the fear-sweat beading on her brow.

I peer over her shoulder, and that's when I see him. A man is walking slowly towards us, his presence filling the corridor like a creeping shadow. He's tall, impossibly so, with long, flowing black hair streaked with silver. His face is a study in contrasts - noble features that speak of ancient bloodlines, yet with an underlying predatory aspect that sends shivers down my spine. His eyes, a deep crimson that makes Elisabeta's look pale in comparison, seem to glow with an inner fire. He's dressed in an elegant black and gold suit of medieval design, a long cloak billowing behind him as if moved by an unfelt wind.

But it's his smile that truly terrifies me. It's a smile that doesn't reach his eyes, a smile that speaks of secrets and power beyond mortal comprehension. And then, between one heartbeat and the next, he's no longer at the end of the corridor. He's right in front of us, moving faster than even my enhanced senses can track.

His hand, pale and long-fingered, reaches out to cup Elisabeta's face. Despite the gentleness of the gesture, I can feel my mother trembling.

"Ai făcut o treabă bună, Elisabeta," (You've done well, Elisabeta,) he says, his voice a deep, resonant purr that seems to vibrate in my very bones.

"Mulțumesc, Vlad," (Thank you, Vlad,) Elisabeta replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vlad's gaze shifts to me, and I feel the full weight of his attention like a physical blow. By all that is holy, I feel like I'm getting crushed. It's as if the entirety of his centuries of existence is focused on me, judging, evaluating. I want to look away, to hide, but I'm transfixed by those burning eyes.

His hand moves from Elisabeta's face to my head, ruffling my hair in a playful gesture that feels utterly at odds with the terror he inspires. "Vei fi un băiat bun, nu-i așa, micule Radu?" (You're going to be a good boy, aren't you, little Radu?) he says, his smile widening to reveal the tips of his fangs.

As suddenly as it came, the overwhelming sense of dread passes. Elisabeta lets out a shaky breath, her posture relaxing slightly.

"Petrecerea pentru ziua de naștere a lui Radu are loc chiar acum în sala mare," (The party for Radu's birthday is happening in the great hall right now,) Elisabeta says, her voice steadier now. "Dacă doriți, puteți veni să sărbătoriți cu noi." (If you wish, you can come celebrate with us.)

Vlad's smile turns indulgent. "Desigur că voi veni. Am fost invitat, la urma urmei." (Of course I'll come. I was invited, after all.)

He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small, ornate bag. "V-am adus un cadou," (I've brought you a gift,) he says, his tone light and conversational as if he hadn't just terrified us out of our wits moments ago. "Este frunză de mestecat." (It's chewleaf.)

My curiosity gets the better of my fear. "Ce este frunza de mestecat?" (What is chewleaf?) I ask, my childish voice piping up.

Elisabeta takes the bag, her fingers brushing against Vlad's for a moment. "Este ceva care îi face pe vampiri foarte fericiți când o mestecă," (It's something that makes vampires very happy when they chew it,) she explains.

Vampire drugs? Are you kidding me? What kind of world have I been reborn into? And more importantly, how do I get my tiny hands on some of that?

Elisabeta pushes open the doors to the Great Hall, gesturing for Vlad to enter. As we follow him in, the festivities grind to a halt. The music dies away, the dancers freeze mid-step, and all eyes turn to the newcomer.

Vlad's voice rings out, filling the sudden silence. "Nu vă opriți din cauza mea. Nu sunt aici pentru a întrerupe petrecerea." (Don't stop on my account. I'm not here to interrupt the party.)

With a flourish, he removes his cloak. Instead of handing it to someone, he simply tosses it in Tudor's direction. To my amazement, the garment seems to come alive, floating through the air before settling perfectly around Tudor's shoulders.

Tudor's reaction is a sight to behold. His eyes widen in shock, his mouth falling open as the cloak arranges itself on his frame. He looks down at the garment, then back at Vlad, his expression a mixture of awe and trepidation. It's clear he's not used to such displays of supernatural power, despite being married to a vampire.

Vlad raises his arms, a grin spreading across his face that's equal parts charming and terrifying. "Hai să dansăm!" (Let's dance!) he calls out.

As the villagers begin to move towards the center of the hall, forming a circle for the traditional hora dance, I tug on Elisabeta's sleeve, my eyes wide with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

"Mamă, ce s-a întâmplat adineauri? De ce am simțit atâta frică?" (Mother, what just happened? Why did I feel so much fear?) I ask, my childish voice barely above a whisper.

Elisabeta looks down at me, her crimson eyes softening slightly. "Dragul meu, Vlad Țepeș este atât de bătrân încât puterile lui ne pot afecta pe toți la nivel psihic. Prezența lui singură este copleșitoare pentru cei mai tineri dintre noi." (My dear, Vlad Tepes is so old that his powers can affect us all on a psychic level. His presence alone is overwhelming for the younger among us.)

I furrow my brow, processing this information. "Ce puteri are?" (What powers does he have?) I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Elisabeta's lips curl into a proud smile, as if she's about to reveal a great secret. "Vlad Țepeș stăpânește telekineza, telepatia, metamorfoza și magia elementală. Este cel mai puternic dintre noi toți." (Vlad Tepes commands telekinesis, telepathy, shapeshifting, and elemental magic. He is the most powerful among us all.)

My mind reels at this information. The powers of a human (telekinesis), the powers of a seraphim? (telepathy), the powers of a shapeshifter (shapeshifting), the powers of seraphim (again, elemental magic)? Guinevere told me these are all separate races with separate powers, how is Vlad Tepes commanding all these racial powers? He's a behemoth of power. It's like he's collected all the infinity stones of this world and wields them effortlessly.

I turn my gaze back to Vlad, who's now in the center of the forming hora. His movements are fluid and graceful, each step precise and measured. The villagers around him seem drawn to his presence, their faces alight with joy and admiration. It's as if his charisma is a tangible force, pulling everyone into his orbit.

"Uită-te la el, Radu," (Look at him, Radu,) Elisabeta murmurs, her voice tinged with a mixture of awe and something else... is that desire? "Vlad Țepeș poate fi terifiant, dar este și cel mai carismatic dintre noi. Oamenii îl adoră, chiar dacă le e frică de el." (Vlad Tepes can be terrifying, but he's also the most charismatic among us. People adore him, even as they fear him.)

As I watch, Vlad effortlessly leads the dance, his movements setting the pace for everyone else. The villagers follow his lead without hesitation, their faces beaming with joy as if dancing with him is the greatest honor they could imagine.

Suddenly, Elisabeta's attention shifts to the ornate bag in her hand. She holds it up, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Asta, micul meu prinț, va fi o experiență distractivă mai târziu în această seară," (This, my little prince, will be a fun experience later tonight,) she says with a giggle that sounds almost girlish.

Curiosity piqued, I lean in to sniff the bag. The scent that hits my nostrils is unmistakable, even to my young vampire senses. Holy shit, that's marijuana. Are we about to have a medieval vampire hotbox session?

Before I can voice my thoughts, Elisabeta is already moving towards the throne where Tudor stands. "Tudor, ține-l pe Radu departe de necazuri până diseară," (Tudor, keep Radu out of trouble until this evening,) she says, passing me into his arms. "Vlad Țepeș nu vine niciodată singur. Vor mai sosi și alții." (Vlad Tepes never comes alone. There will be more arriving.)

Tudor nods, his expression a mixture of resignation and concern as he takes me in his arms. Elisabeta doesn't wait for a response before turning and gliding towards the dance floor, seamlessly inserting herself into the hora next to Vlad.

As I watch her join the dance, moving with inhuman grace alongside the terrifying yet mesmerizing Vlad Tepes, my mind is a whirlwind of confusion. What the fuck just happened? In the span of a few minutes, I've learned about psychic vampire powers, witnessed the arrival of what seems to be the vampire equivalent of a god, and discovered that my vampire mother is planning a weed party. And apparently, there are more powerful vampires on the way?

Ffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck me.