PRIME APEX

The meeting place was neutral ground—an abandoned cathedral on the outskirts of the city, hidden from human eyes. Time had ravaged the once-sacred halls, leaving behind only echoes of a forgotten past.

The stained-glass windows had long since shattered, their skeletal frames allowing fractured beams of gray morning light to spill into the cavernous space.

Shadows stretched like clawed fingers along the cracked stone walls, and the air was thick with the scent of aged wood, dust, and something else—something older, darker, almost alive.

I had assumed we would meet at the Devour Club, however I was mistaken.

Xander stood beside me, his arms crossed, tension coiling through his frame. Across from us, the Sire—leaned lazily against a broken pillar.

His expression was unreadable, but there was a weight to him, an authority that made the very air in the room feel heavier.

He exuded the effortless arrogance of someone who had held power for centuries, as if this meeting was a mild inconvenience rather than a pivotal moment in an uneasy truce.

And yet, beneath his nonchalance, I could sense it—his interest. He was watching, assessing.

They had addressed their followers. Now came the real test.

Xander was the first to break the silence.

"We've got a sort of deal," he said.

"They're willing to work with the ferals, but only under strict conditions."

The Sire smirked. "Naturally."

"They won't tolerate betrayal," Xander warned, his voice edged with steel.

"And neither will we," the Sire countered smoothly.

His eyes gleamed as he tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the exchange.

"My people are restless, but they'll comply… for now."

Then his gaze slid to me, dark and knowing.

"They're curious about her. Some more than others."

I stiffened but said nothing. I wasn't sure what to say, and even if I had been, my voice felt trapped somewhere in my throat.

Xander took a subtle step in front of me, his posture bristling.

"Which brings us to our next step," he said, keeping the conversation moving.

"We need to speak to those who might have answers."

"The oldest immortals," the Sire murmured, his voice carrying an edge of reverence—and caution.

"The ones who have witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations."

His gaze flickered toward me for the briefest moment before he continued.

"If anyone knows the truth about what makes her different, it's them."

"But finding them will not be easy," Xander said.

"They disappeared centuries ago. Some live in seclusion, others rule from the shadows. We don't even know where to start looking."

A heavy silence settled over the cathedral, thick with uncertainty.

Then, unexpectedly, the Sire spoke again.

"Don't forget about the other clans. They might know something too."

Xander frowned. "You mean… werewolves?"

"And other immortals," the Sire said with a shrug.

"But as you pointed out, they're scattered. Finding them—especially their elders—will be just as difficult."

I listened, absorbing their words but feeling lost in all of it. A week ago, my life had been normal.

Now, I was standing in a ruined cathedral, caught between ancient factions, hearing words like ferals, elders, and immortals as if they were everyday terms.

My heart pounded, but I forced myself to stay still, to keep up.

Then, through the haze of my shock, something clicked—a thin, fragile thread of logic forming in the chaos.

I took a breath, steadying myself. My voice came out quieter than I intended.

I turned to the Sire. "You..."

His gaze flicked to me, unreadable. Then, with the slightest tilt of his head, he corrected me.

"I have a name. Not just 'you'."

His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it. "The name is Vlad."

I swallowed. "Vlad."

The name felt heavy in my mouth, weighted with history I didn't yet understand. I shifted my gaze to the other man.

"Xander."

Something about the way they watched me made my pulse spike, but I pushed through. My mind was still fogged with confusion, but a thought had begun to take shape.

"What about… records?" I asked.

Both men turned to look at me, their expressions unreadable. But at that moment, I knew I had their attention.

Xander frowned. "Records?"

I swallowed and found my voice.

"The archives. Every vampire faction keeps records—bloodlines, history, and notable figures. If we cross-reference them, maybe we can find patterns. Clues in their disappearances, locations they've visited over the centuries. There has to be something."

The Sire studied me for a long moment before tilting his head slightly.

"It's a tedious approach."

"But a necessary one," Xander countered.

The Sire exhaled through his nose, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Fine. But we'll need access to archives from both sides—feral and benevolent."

His gaze locked onto Xander.

"Are your people willing to share?"

Xander hesitated. The tension between them was palpable. Then, finally, he nodded.

"They will. As long as yours do the same."

A slow smile spread across the Sire's face. "How diplomatic of you."

The atmosphere remained tense, but for now, at least, they were cooperating.

I exhaled, feeling the first sliver of hope since this meeting began.

"Then that's our plan," Xander said.

"We gather information, track down the oldest, and get answers."

"But," the Sire added, his voice dipping lower, "there's one more thing to consider."

Something in his tone made my stomach tighten.

"What?"

"If the oldest immortals know the truth about you, Leighton… others might as well. Let's just hope the Great Elders remain ignorant.

A shiver ran through me.

"What are you saying?"

Xander's expression hardened.

"I'm saying we're not the only ones looking for them. We have to start immediately," Vlad said.

His words hung heavy in the air.