As the chaos within vampire society intensified, Lucius recognized the need for direct intervention. Three nights after the reporter's revetions had spread throughout all territories, he ordered preparations for an unprecedented public address to representatives from every vampire domain.

  The Great Hall of State—a vast chamber rarely used except for the most significant ceremonial occasions—became the center of frantic activity. Security teams swept the space repeatedly, establishing yered protection protocols under Valerian's personal supervision. Communications specialists installed broadcasting equipment that would transmit Lucius's address to every vampire territory simultaneously, ensuring that even those unable to attend physically would witness this historic moment.

  Pace protocol officers presented Lucius with detailed pns for traditional ceremonial elements—eborate introductions, formal processions, ritual acknowledgments of territorial representatives—only to find their carefully crafted protocols summarily rejected.

  "No," Lucius stated simply after reviewing their proposals. "This occasion requires directness rather than ceremony."

  The chief protocol officer looked momentarily stunned. "But Your Majesty, the Ancestral Protocols dictate—"

  "The Ancestral Protocols were established to maintain the illusion of traditional vampire nobility," Lucius interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "That illusion no longer serves any purpose."

  Throughout the preparations, Nova observed from the periphery, noting how Lucius's decisions consistently emphasized substance over form, transparency over tradition. When pace staff asked where Nova would be positioned during the address, Lucius's response was immediate and definitive: "Beside me."

  This simple decration caused visible consternation among the protocol officers, who exchanged concerned gnces before one brave soul ventured to question. "Beside you, Your Majesty? But the traditional position for... companions... would be—"

  "Nova stands beside me," Lucius repeated, his voice carrying the weight that had governed vampire society for a millennium. "Make the necessary arrangements."

  By the evening of the address, the Great Hall had filled beyond capacity with representatives from every vampire territory. Archdukes Dante and Seraphina occupied their formal positions, though both appeared unusually subdued following their recent recognition of how their scientific curiosity had affected their retionship with Lucius. Valerian stood at military attention near the dais, his presence reinforcing the unprecedented unity of leadership this occasion represented.

  The nervous murmur of the assembled vampires fell to absolute silence when the main doors opened to admit Lucius. He entered without fanfare or announcement, moving with characteristic precision toward the central ptform. Nova walked beside him, exactly as Lucius had insisted, their synchronized pace creating a visual statement about Nova's status that required no verbal crification.

  When Lucius reached the speaking position, he surveyed the assembled crowd for several moments before beginning. His gaze moved methodically across the representatives, seeming to catalog every reaction, every expression, every subtle shift of posture. The silence stretched until it became almost uncomfortable, ensuring that when he finally spoke, every word would receive complete attention.

  "Yes," he began simply, "I am Subject 23."

  The directness of this opening statement sent a visible ripple through the audience. No flowery introduction, no gradual building toward revetion—just immediate confirmation of what vampire society had been processing for days.

  "Yes, I created our species, though not intentionally." His voice carried effortlessly throughout the vast chamber without apparent effort. "Yes, Valerian is my brother. And yes, we can walk in sunlight, eat food, and have abilities beyond typical vampires."

  Each confirmation nded with the precision of a carefully pced bde, cutting through centuries of mythology and specution. Lucius continued with the same measured directness, neither rushing through revetions nor dwelling unnecessarily on details.

  "You have questions about how this occurred, why it was concealed, what it means for our society moving forward." He acknowledged these concerns without defensiveness. "Some answers will come in time. Others matter less than you might imagine."

  His gaze swept the assembled representatives once more before he continued.

  "What matters now is not what I've concealed, but what we build with this truth." This statement shifted the focus from past deception to future potential, a rhetorical pivot that seemed to release some of the tension in the chamber. "The foundations of vampire society were established on necessary fictions during chaotic times. Those foundations have served their purpose, but they cannot support what we must become."

  Nova, standing slightly behind Lucius's right shoulder, observed the audience's reactions with analytical detachment. The assembled vampires seemed to move through stages of emotion—shock giving way to uncertainty, fear transforming gradually into cautious anticipation as Lucius's address continued.

  "Vampire society will be restructured," Lucius announced without preamble. "Not through revolution or chaos, but through methodical evaluation and realignment. Merit and character rather than origins or age will determine position and authority."

  He gestured toward Nova without looking back. "Consider this being beside me. Despite two centuries of captivity and attempted subjugation, he maintained dignity and identity that his captor could not extinguish. This represents the quality of character that will define status in our restructured society—not bloodline, not age, not arbitrary cssification."

  The bold decration of fundamental social restructuring created another wave of murmurs throughout the audience, though none dared interrupt Lucius directly. As his address continued, he outlined principles rather than specific changes, establishing philosophical groundwork rather than detailed implementation pns.

  As the address reached its conclusion, Lucius's voice took on a subtly different quality—an authority beyond the considerable power he had always projected as king. This was something more elemental, the voice of the being who had inadvertently created their entire species now speaking with full acknowledgment of that reality.

  "You have all known Archduke Lucius, and King Lucius the first," he stated, the formal titles carrying a new significance in this context. "Now, you will know who Lucius, former Subject 23, progenitor of all vampires and wereanimals and the only king you will ever have, is."

  The assembled vampires responded with a mixture of emotions that varied throughout the massive chamber—awe from some, fear from others, uncertainty from many. The careful bance of power that had defined vampire politics for millennia had fundamentally shifted in a single statement: "the only king you will ever have."

  "After two thousand years of shadows, we step into the light," Lucius concluded, his gaze sweeping the assembly one final time. "Both figuratively and, in my case, literally."

  The significance of this final statement—the deliberate reference to his sunlight immunity—seemed to crystallize the full import of everything that had come before. This was no metaphorical commitment to transparency but a decration that fundamental realities of vampire existence were different than commonly believed.

  As Lucius finished speaking, the Great Hall remained in absolute silence for several heartbeats. Then, beginning near the dais and spreading gradually throughout the chamber, vampires began to kneel. Not in the panicked prostration caused by Lucius's unleashed power days earlier, but in deliberate acknowledgment of a new understanding of their king's true nature.

  Nova, still standing beside Lucius, witnessed this wave of recognition with quiet fascination. The transformation occurring before him wasn't merely political or social but something more fundamental—vampire society collectively processing what it meant to exist because of one being's transformed DNA.

  Lucius accepted this acknowledgment with the same composed dignity that had defined his rule for millennia, neither encouraging nor discouraging the dispy. When he finally turned to leave, Nova moved with him, their departure as synchronized as their entrance had been.

  As they passed through the massive doors leading from the Great Hall, Nova noted that Lucius's expression remained perfectly controlled despite the monumentally significant address he had just delivered. Only someone watching extremely carefully might have noticed the subtle rexation of tension in his shoulders—the almost imperceptible release of two thousand years of careful concealment.

  The public commitment to transparency Lucius had just made marked a definitive end to the secrecy that had defined vampire governance since its inception. Whatever came next would develop in full view rather than through shadows and strategic manipution. In a single address, Lucius had fundamentally reset vampire society's foundation, establishing his unveiled true nature as the acknowledged center around which all else would reorganize.