Amidst the chaos, Kadir moved with an unyielding purpose. The Helios Hotel trembled with the echoes of combat—a cacophony of distant gunfire, muffled screams, and the occasional roar of inhuman rage. Yet he ascended, undeterred. The stairwell stretched endlessly above him, dimly lit and saturated with the stench of sweat, blood, and fear.
To the untrained eye, Kadir appeared to be in his sixties. His silver hair, neatly combed back, gleamed under the pale light. Deep lines carved his face, not from frailty, but from decades—perhaps centuries—of enduring battles both physical and spiritual. His posture, upright and poised, exuded an ageless strength that belied the apparent weight of years. Yet there was an inscrutability to him, a quiet mystery that made one question just how many years this man had truly walked the earth.
His movements were a study in controlled grace. Where others might stagger or rush, Kadir glided, his steps so deliberate and fluid they seemed to defy gravity. Flux radiated subtly from his form, an unseen force that guided his every action. It wasn’t just a tool for combat—it was an extension of himself, a discipline refined over lifetimes.
The comparison to ballet pointe work was fitting—an art form that demanded precision, strength, and grace. Kadir’s mastery of the Flux mirrored this discipline. His feet barely touched the ground as he ascended, his core and mental energy working in perfect harmony to propel him forward. It wasn’t about speed for its own sake; it was about efficiency, about conserving energy while achieving the seemingly impossible.
Every step upward was executed with the efficiency of a man who had mastered his craft, his body responding to mental commands without hesitation.
For someone of his apparent age, there were physical limitations to contend with: the burn in his lungs, the strain in his joints. But Kadir had long since learned to ignore such discomforts. Pain was a constant companion, a whisper in the back of his mind that he had trained himself to disregard. The stairwell blurred past him, each flight conquered with an unrelenting determination.
Five minutes. That was all it took for him to reach the top.
Kadir pushed open the doors to the 50th floor, his entrance marked by an almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere. The luxurious suite before him was a stark contrast to the chaos below. Velvet curtains hung elegantly from the floor-to-ceiling windows, golden light spilling across polished wood floors. The air smelled faintly of expensive cigars and aged wine, a mockery of the violence brewing beneath.
Conrad was seated near a grand table, his posture relaxed yet commanding. The vampire’s tailored suit clung to him with an effortless elegance, his alabaster skin catching the light like polished marble. Across from him stood Elijah, his towering frame and crimson gaze radiating an aura of ancient power that seemed to swallow the room.
Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!
For a brief moment, silence reigned. Then Conrad’s gaze landed on Kadir, and his smirk faltered ever so slightly before returning in full force. “Well, well,” Conrad drawled, rising from his chair. “The mysterious master of Sharman graces us with his presence. And so quickly, too. I must say, I’m impressed.”
Kadir stepped further into the room, his expression calm and unreadable. He moved like a shadow, each step deliberate and soundless. His eyes swept over the space, taking in every detail, from the ornate carvings on the furniture to the subtle tension in Elijah’s stance.
“I’m not here on behalf of The Mualim,” Kadir said, his voice steady and measured. “I represent Argent Sword. As long as what transpires here does not threaten humanity, I am free to go where I please.”
Conrad’s smirk widened, though there was an edge to it now. “Ah, the balance. Of course. I suppose your presence here is merely an exercise in neutrality, then?”
Kadir inclined his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. “The treaty holds. The balance remains intact. As long as that is the case, there is no need for hostility.” He nodded briefly in Elijah’s direction, acknowledging the elder vampire’s silent presence.
Conrad chuckled, the sound low and amused. “Interesting. But I can’t help but wonder—why now? Why make a move at this moment? The Mualim have had countless opportunities to intervene, to prevent me from even laying eyes on the boy.”
Kadir’s expression didn’t shift. “As I said, I am not here on their behalf. My allegiance is to Argent Sword. As long as the treaty is upheld and the balance maintained, my presence is of no concern to you.”
Conrad tapped his fingers against the table, his gaze thoughtful. “Ah, yes. The infamous neutrality. Convenient, isn’t it?”
Kadir ignored the jibe, his attention briefly shifting to Elijah before returning to Conrad. “What I fail to understand is why the Sanguis Antiquus would send an elder to oversee this matter. A mere daywalker hardly seems worthy of such attention.”
At this, Conrad’s smile sharpened, his eyes gleaming with something close to amusement. “Ah, but that’s where you’re mistaken,” he said. “Daywalkers are rare, yes, but this one—this half-vampire—is unique. Likely from a bloodline unaccounted for.”
The words hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Kadir’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, the only indication that the revelation had caught him off guard. A bloodline unaccounted for? Daywalkers alone were an anomaly, but this…
“And you believe this justifies the Council’s intervention?” Kadir asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.
Conrad leaned forward, his smirk widening into something almost predatory. “Oh, I believe it justifies much more than that.”
Kadir remained silent, his gaze sharp as he processed the information. Elijah, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, finally spoke, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to echo through the room.
“The boy represents a shift,” Elijah said, his tone measured. “A convergence of bloodlines and powers that have not been seen in millennia. The Council does not act without reason.”
Kadir’s eyes narrowed, his mind racing through the implications. A convergence of bloodlines? Powers unseen in millennia? The questions multiplied, each one more pressing than the last.
Conrad rose from his seat, his smirk never faltering. “You see, Master Kadir, the boy is more than just a daywalker. He is an opportunity. A rare gem in a world that thrives on the extraordinary.”
Kadir met Conrad’s gaze, his expression unreadable. “Then it seems we have much to discuss.”