Streets of Ravetham

Kaelen felt a strange weight settle in his chest as his daughter, Celesse, pulled him through the crowded halls of Seraphis’ towering mansion. He hadn’t been prepared for this—none of it. The battlefield? Sure. He could march into chaos, bloodied and bruised, but returning to this... a home where he was a father? That was something entirely different. He was trained to kill, not raise kids.

Celesse’s pale, delicate fingers curled around his wrist, her eyes—icy blue, like shards of glass—fixated on a maid she had glamored. Kaelen saw it in the poor woman's dull gaze. Lifeless. Soulless. Celesse whispered in her ear, and the maid stumbled away to return moments later with a wine glass filled to the brim with crimson blood. The scent hit Kaelen's senses before anything else—a sickly sweet undertone, heavy with admiration and longing.

Disgust crawled up his spine, but it didn’t show on his face. He took the glass from the maid's trembling hand and sipped from it. Celesse’s smirk twisted into something both innocent and cruel, the kind of expression a predator would wear after luring its prey.

The blood tasted of desperation—a yearning Kaelen hadn’t felt since his early days as a soldier, the way subordinates would look to him for guidance. This was different, though. This wasn’t admiration earned; it was coerced. He had no idea how to address it. How do you reprimand your child when you don’t even know how to be a father?

Before he could say anything, another figure slinked up beside him. Selene, his daughter by Veil, her platinum hair flowing like molten silver, her eyes burning with malice despite her young age. She asked, almost purring, if he could carry her on his shoulders. The request was innocent enough, but Kaelen knew better than to indulge her every whim.

"No," he said softly, crouching down to her eye level. He patted her head, feeling her tense under his touch. "Walk with me instead."

Selene pouted but obeyed. Xyra, his eldest by Alyssa, observed the scene, her green eyes narrowing. "You shouldn’t treat our father like a servant," she snapped at Selene. “You’re lucky to even have him around.”

Kaelen’s heart twisted. Lucky. He wondered if they truly felt lucky to have a man who hadn’t been there for their first steps or their early years, and instead, had chosen the life of a soldier.

Then, a booming voice interrupted the tension. Jason, always loud, always boisterous, swaggered over, pulling Kaelen into a rough hug. “Welcome back, man! It’s been too long.” His eyes shifted to Kaelen’s children, but not before introducing his own: Nason and More. The difference was stark. Nason, with his mischievous grin and messy hair, looked every bit the playful child. More, a little girl with big eyes, clutched her father’s leg, shy and innocent.

Compared to Kaelen’s children, Jason’s were untainted by cruelty or manipulation. They were just... kids. Not these finely tuned predators with glamor and bloodlust in their eyes. A pang of jealousy tugged at Kaelen’s chest. Maybe Jason had figured this fatherhood thing out.

Jason whistled as Arian, Kaelen’s son, drove up in a sleek hovercar. The kid had customized it himself, and the thing purred like a beast. “Damn,” Jason muttered under his breath, his eyes wide. “You know, I watched over your son while you were off serving the country. Let me tell you, Kaelen, the boy is out of this world smart. I mean, I thought you were sharp, but him? He’s on another level.”

Kaelen couldn’t help the swell of pride that washed over him. Arian was his son, after all. Brilliant. Calculating. Perhaps too much like himself. But even as he felt proud, there was a gnawing sense of alienation. He hadn’t been there to raise him. Arian was a stranger, one he shared blood with, but a stranger nonetheless.

Loren, ever the dutiful maid, appeared carrying a tray with slices of cake. She was a vision, her maid outfit perfectly polished, her beauty ageless. Despite everything—the chaos, the madness—Kaelen couldn’t help but admire her. She was the one constant in this whirlwind of a life.

Before Kaelen could speak, a group approached, and his attention shifted. Draven, Vanya, Kell, and Lira—the Nightwatchers. They greeted him with a round of laughter, poking fun at their captain for keeping such a secret. “You’ve been hiding some incredible people, Kaelen,” Draven teased, clapping him on the back. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Jason and Draven hit it off instantly, bonding over stories of past mischief and trouble. Surge and Vanya gravitated toward each other, delving into a deep conversation about guns, discussing specs and modifications like it was an art form. They had always shared a mutual love for weaponry, and their voices became a low hum in the background.

Kell and Lira wandered over to the drink table with Annie, where they found Seraphis already several bottles deep, drowning herself in alcohol. She was a sight—her once regal demeanor now slumped, a drunken haze settling in her red eyes.

Kaelen stood there, overwhelmed by the surreal nature of it all. He had been dragged into a world where blood, manipulation, and strange family dynamics ruled. His daughters, cruel and cunning. His son, brilliant but detached. And here, amidst it all, was Kaelen, torn between the soldier he had become and the father he had no idea how to be.

As the night wore on, the horror of the situation settled deep into his bones. He could feel the weight of it pressing down, the uncomfortable truth that this was his life now—a fractured family, each piece more twisted than the last.