Vincent had a burning mistrust of the Conseil, no matter the circumstances.

He could see the good that was done by them as keepers of public peace and how they were a good government most of the time. But he couldn’t bring himself to trust the Conseil at any meaningful capacity. As a Routier, it wasn’t just expected, but common sense as well. Despite the good that the Conseil did by sheer virtue of its existence, it was still the Noblesse’s main toy, where they would play out their petty squabbles, little dramas and ploys to have more power.

The Routiers were little more than cattle: beings to be guided and catered only when they need something from the Routiers, taking every advantage of the vampires who weren’t lucky to be born with the blessing of Vermeil Onirique and the humans who had the bad luck of being in Drayonne.

Even though those among the Routiers could perhaps get something if they were displayed Vermeil Onirique, it wasn’t hard to see that those were little more than ways to keep the Routiers in their place: even if a peasant could get the rare trait that only the Nobles possessed, he was not a noble.

At best, an interesting curiosity. At worst, a smidge on the story of a certain family, who could simply call some favors and have said smidge be removed from their family tree…

Permanently.

That was the reason why many Routiers hid their possession of Vermeil Onirique when they had so; there were always the lucky ones who had luck and simply got a higher social standing, money and status from being related to the Noblesse, but those cases were rare. Most simply, for some reason, “left Belteaux” and were never seen again.

News would come every now and then to say how happy they were living at some small palace outside the capital, but that never felt like the truth. It always reeked of a lie that everyone heard and nobody questioned, but knew it simply wasn’t the truth. With everything that Vincent had, it was no surprise why he did everything to be just a common waiter, a common man, living his life day to day and not sticking his neck where it could be cut. Vincent unconsciously bit his lower lip.

Had they managed to see through his ruse?

With the Conseil, it’s not like life was hell. It was just something that Vincent learned how to deal with by focusing his worries over things he had the power to change. Besides, why waste his time with something he hated? No, not hatred. Vincent didn’t have the time to hate the Conseil as it would take too much time and energy that he didn’t have to spare.

Vincent despised the Conseil.

He knew this simple fact, accepted it and moved on with his life, his emotions belonging and don’t belonging to him at the same time, not unlike a scar on his body.

For him, the Conseil were little more than employees of the Noblesse, who could trade favors to get away with everything they wanted or to pass laws that would benefit them.

Vincent could still remember the days where him and Alice fought a legal battle with a competitor when a series of street renovations killed most of the rush-hour movement for ‘Merveilles’ and benefitted said competitor. It took a while, but they managed to overthrow the renovation program on the grounds that the secretary who signed the project was the brother-in-law of said competitor.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

That was just the tip of the iceberg.

He sighed as he made his way through the cracked hallways, his eyes getting used to the virtual darkness while each of his steps snapped at the floor, raising small clouds of dust.

Vincent saw the little plaque stuck to the door, almost completely ruined by rust, humidity and time, but whose words could still be read: “Record Storage Room”. As his investigation had to start from somewhere, Vincent held the doorknob and turned it, opening the door before entering.

One day, that was a well-lit room with hallways of shelves containing important files and details for the operations within the now-defunct sector. Now, however, it was completely different: the room was musky, humid and cold, with layers and layers of centenary dust claiming the room as their own, stagnating the air as it drifted lazily in the air. The scent was irritating and the vampire couldn’t contain the sneeze that came with it. The shelves remained standing for some minor miracle of carpentry, but the wood was blackened and rotten, so fragile a child could bring them down easily.

Vincent felt like it was an exercise at foolishness, as the room had little interesting save for old files grouped into numerous dossiers. He tried opening one and reading just to have an idea, however it took him a couple seconds after his eyes became red and watery due to the irritation. Just for how long have those things been collecting dust?

And reading wasn’t much better. While those terms probably meant something for an engineer or someone who worked in the field, all of the jargon was so inapprehensible it could have been an alien language describing the inner workings of black magic... At least for the parts that weren’t destroyed by humidity, crumbled or eaten away by moths and fungi.

Vincent sighed as he put the folder back into its place and walked the hallways into the opposite door as he could perhaps find something relevant to his investigation there… And to leave that humid area at once.

The vampire saw himself back into the hallways, a small sigh of relief leaving his lips. “It’s good to be able to breathe properly again”, he said to himself, as he always did. In a sense, that was one of the things that helped him not go insane with loneliness. If no one was there to listen to him, then Vincent would talk to himself. It wasn’t healthy, it was just a way to cope rather than fix the problem… But it was the tool he had.

He resumed his walking after looking both sides of the hallway to make sure no one else was there as a minor precaution to quell the feeling of unease coiling in his gut.

The dark corridor seemed to extend almost infinitely in both directions as Vincent walked. He didn’t know what to look for and it almost felt like a bad joke from Véronique. Of course she would do something like that. Not only because of her personality and social standing as a member of the Noblesse, but also because of who her family was.

The Talonner. The hunting dogs. The family known for tracking the enemies of the Conseil and bringing them to light. Their allies called them ‘Light Bringers’. The rest of the world called them ‘dogs’. So, Vérnoque being from such a family and also being someone with a position in the Conseil was another reason why Vincent couldn’t bring himself to trust her.

His steps echoed in the empty passageway, each sounding like the feeble, lingering beat of a dead heart.

“You know you can always rely on me, right, Vin?”

“Of course I can! When we get out of here I want to see what your house looks like! And eat all of the nice sweets you say your mom cooks for you everyday!”

“And then you can show me yours! And we would play together the entire day! And the whoole night!”

“What… Why?” Vincent shook his head, taking a hand to his left eye, before it moved to his temple. “Why am I remembering that…?And why now?”

No one answered as he stood in the dark.

He decided to ignore it and keep walking.