"Good evening, my fellow Kindred, apologies for this disrupting summoning, but the matter is urgent and…troubling. We, the Camarilla, have always strived to keep the existence of our race in order, and we all know that without these efforts, the Kindred society would have fallen apart a thousand times already." The blonde, Caucasian male spoke while walking towards the front of the stage. Obviously, he possessed the highest authority in the room, "Among our laws, The Six Traditions are the most fundamental of all, and punishments for violations of them are severe…as the Judicator of Tremere Clan, Garrett, for your experience and seniority, should have understood it."

"Yes, Prince LaCroix." Although weak and badly wounded, Garrett was still in total self-control—in peace, even, "I have nothing to say to defend myself."

Defend himself? For what? And why is she involved? There were so many questions clouding Leona's mind, but she didn't even dare to make a sound, not to mention enquiring or explaining herself: she realized nobody cared—they didn't care she had no idea what crime they were talking about, and if she was innocent for it. They probably didn't even know who she is.

That attitude of indifference—for their own kind…gave her freezing chills.

"The Third Tradition demanded approval from the clan Regent before embracing any human, and you didn't seek approval at all." The Prince had a sigh in pity, "Never thought I would ever need to lecture this, but the nature of our species determined our small population: we are feeding on humans, whose modern progress is making it harder and harder to keep us in secret, so we have to abide by the procedures to make sure our new members are worth the risk."

Now Leona knew what was going on here, still she was utterly unable to understand what Garrett was thinking—keeping her in the dark about the Tradition thing and getting himself caught. Was it because she asked him to do it? That's why he couldn't ask for the permission for her Embrace?

But if Garrett had told her there are whatever regulations about this, she would absolutely be willing to follow it and even if it didn't work, she would in no way force him to turn her.

So why…Garrett, why?

Biting her lower lips in fear, Leona looked at Garrett for just even an small indication of hope or comfort, but he didn't give her anything. Powerlessness—it had been a long time since her last tasted its humiliation and bitterness, and last time…it had caused death.

The mere notion of it tore her heart.

Seeing Garrett already gave up any form of justification, Prince LaCroix thought for quite a while, weighing the words he was going to use, and declared: "You are a very respected member of Camarilla, Garrett, both by your clan and others…but whatever your intentions were, to commit this violation and to conceal your motivations, the law is clear. It pains me to announce it, but the sentence is death, execution by Prime Judicator."

"No!"

With strength and courage bursting out, Leona shouted, rose up and bared her fangs for the first time, like a crippled, agitated animal, almost torn up the chains that bound her hands, but was still easily overpowered by the guards around her. They stomped repeatedly on her stomach, holding her twisting body down, and all she could do was just watching Veronica walking towards Garrett, drawing out her slender, silvery sword, aiming it at his neck.

"I'm sorry."

Finally, Garrett turned his head towards Leona, apologized with a sincere, sorrowful regret.

Then a red splash shrouded her sight, and when this viscous crimson dripped down, she saw Garrett facing her, staring at her with those turbid, lifeless eyeballs, with his head cleanly separated from his neck.

He's dead. He's decapitated. He died of fucking, bloody decapitation. Someone is dead for her again. AGAIN.

Those were the only thoughts in her head.

She wanted to scream and cry, but that impulse stopped in her throat, as if this clog of emotions was too immense to come out from there, and the only sound she was making was a hoarse, tenuous whimper.

God is beyond measure in wanton malice, and matchless in his irony.

A fire ignited from inside Garrett's body, burning all his remains into nothing, and the trial carried onto Leona's part unbothered by her weeps, as if they were mute to all people present.

"Without a Sire, most Childes would be lost in the world, never knowing their place and responsibility," the Prince continued his speech, "therefore, I have decided that…"

But he was interrupted by a group of Kindred who just broke into the opera. Unlike the fancy guests who were here invited, their way of dressing was more casual—t-shirts and jeans, something normal people would choose for daily life; some of them looked more rebellious, though, wearing a punk or progressive style, forming a sharp contrast against the exquisite garments seen in the auditorium.

And the one leading them was a young man in leather jacket, the buzz cut and eagle eyes made him look like a soldier: "Decided what? Killing another innocent for your bullshit law?"

Heated discussions exploded in the hall, with the name "Nines" coming up repeatedly on people's lips. And the uninvited just stood there in silence, glaring fearlessly at Prince LaCroix on stage, as if he's power—a power that could order Garrett to be beheaded on scene—is nothing to them, while the Prince went into a period of consideration. He took a seemingly unintentional glimpse at one of the VIP boxes upstairs, where a white-haired young man who appeared no older than 20 was sitting there, looking back at him too. They had a short exchange of opinions through glances, and the Prince carried on, remaining polite and…almost friendly:

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

"Please hear me out, Mr. Rodrigues," He was addressing directly to the leader of this opposing group in person, "I've decided to take on the role of educating this Childe: she shall be instructed the ways of our kind, and be granted with all due rights."

The entire opera sank into silence upon this announcement, and Leona, a Tremere Childe who miraculously survived the trial, finally caught the attention of every single pair of eyes in this space—except for the Prince and the mystery man in the box, who left immediately after the speech. They stared at this young Asian woman covered in her Sire's blood curiously, trying to figure out anything that's interesting enough for her to be spared.

Leona didn't seem to care now, however, even after the guards unchained her. She just sat there on the ground with that blank expression, facing where Garrett was killed—which was completely spotless after the cleansing flame.

Not even a corpse left…to prove his death.

Veronica approached her as the rest of the crowd started leaving. A pain of repentance surfaced on her face, since now on one was watching. "I'm sorry." She said, squatted down, took off her coat and put it on Leona's back, covering her already ragged and dirty dress.

Although this was from the headswoman of Garrett, something about Veronica, a maturity or motherhood, made the gesture very hard to refuse. Leona raised her head towards her, took a few seconds to squeeze out a fragile smile to show some gratitude.

It was the second "I'm sorry" she heard in an hour. It wasn't really that comforting.

"Follow me." Veronica said.

They exited the opera through the backstage passage, then stepped into a Stretch Lincoln Limousine. Prince LaCroix was already in there, reading something on the tablet screen, and as soon as them two arrived, the car took off, blended itself into the traffic with two escorting vehicles.

It was silent for quite some time among the three, until the Prince finished reading. He looked up and smiled, inquiring: "Leona Lee?"

Leona used her silence as an yes. She was still trying to…rebuild her reason around this.

"I'm Sebastian LaCroix, Prince of Camarilla, North America from Clan Ventrue, and this is Veronica LaCroix, Prime Judicator of CNA, also a Ventrue." After a brief introduction, he suspired and took an unexpected, direct way to cut into the topic, "I won't ask if you're alright or rationalize anything, it won't do any good, because the most urgent matter for you is to earn a place in our society, and it won't be any easier than this. How much did Garrett teach you about us?"

And to her own surprise, his pragmaticism helped Leona get back to the track very efficiently, like a boat being pulled to the harbor by a strong anchor in a tempest. She listed the bullet points of everything she knew, and after listening carefully, LaCroix nodded and said: "Good, then you know the basics, you'll learn the rest in practice. I did declare my duty as your tutor, but you are still sireless in fact, and most of the new-borns will be accounted for and educated by their Sires before going through a test to prove themselves qualified as a Neonate—the title of a formal, independent citizen in the Kindred society.

"I'm saying this because for you, you don't have the buffer period of hiding under your Sire's wings and letting him take responsibility for everything, and only a neonate will enjoy the resources Camarilla provides individually: blood bags, haven, job and social ties…"

"So I will have to complete this Neonate test right away," Leona saw where the Prince was heading, "otherwise my survival was illegitimate and unsecured."

"Yes. " LaCroix raised his eyebrows, looking impressed by her reaction, "Also there's a matter of your bloodline, too. Unlike the other six Camarilla clans, Tremere had their own…'screening procedures' for new members. I just talked to your clan Regent, Strauss, about your condition, and we agreed to save you some trouble—he has determined the content of the test himself, so if you go through this one, you will be acknowledged both by Camarilla and your clan. Any questions?"

"Where do I start?" Leona managed to get herself back into the office state, putting all…personal issues aside. Fortunately she'd done this a lot for work before, so it wasn't that hard, and she actually liked the familiar, mechanic feeling of doing this right now—after a night as such, she was just too tired and numbed to deal with emotions.

LaCroix passed her a folder with some files, some cash, and a phone inside: "I just read your documents and noticed you didn't have any experience in martial arts and weaponry, so you will go to Santa Monica and find an agent of mine over there to receive training and instructions of the test, all the details are in here…"

As they were talking, the limo drove into a parking lot of a skyscraper. Seeing this famous building now, Leona understood why she felt like the name LaCroix had passed her ears—they were at the head of LaCroix Groups, one of the oldest investment giants in the world, which her company had worked with. Now that the connection's made, it seems the Prince's the true owner of this empire.

Leona got off the car, gazing at this stunning modern edifice covered by glass curtain walls and feeling a little bit unreal. A few months ago, she was here running errands for her manager, having no clue how close she was to this…supernatural side of the world.

And now, she was one of them.

"Boom!"

Her thoughts were interrupted by a deafening sound of explosion, followed by a intense wave of heat from behind. Leona looked back, only to find fire and smoke rising up in a pit nearby, and a fleet of black vans rushing towards them from not far.

She stood in startle, until Prince LaCroix shouted at her:

"Run! It's Sabbats!"