The Evaluation Chamber had been prepared with technology that most vampire nobility believed lost to time—if they had ever known of its existence at all. Advanced digital dispys lined the walls, their crystalline surfaces projecting holographic data with such crity and definition that the information appeared to float in mid-air rather than emanate from any physical source.

  Lucius sat at the center of this technological marvel, his posture perfect as always, his movements precise as he maniputed vast data arrays with subtle hand gestures. The contrast between his traditional royal attire and the futuristic technology surrounding him created a visual representation of vampire society's duality—ancient traditions maintained as facades while advanced systems operated beneath the surface.

  Lord Cavendish, a viscount from the former Orlov territories who had managed to retain his position through six centuries of carefully banced political maneuvering, approached the chamber with practiced confidence. The summons he had received specified only that his "territorial governance would be evaluated," with no indication of process or criteria. He had prepared accordingly, rehearsing accounts of his domain's prosperity and stability that had served him well in previous royal assessments.

  The guards opened the massive doors to admit him, and Lord Cavendish's confidence faltered momentarily as he took in the scene before him. Rather than the traditional evaluation setting—ornate furnishings, ceremonial artifacts, attentive scribes—he found himself facing a room transformed by technology he had believed existed only in pre-Evolution legends.

  Holographic projections surrounded Lucius, dispying territorial data, resource allocation metrics, popution statistics, and governance records spanning centuries. Maps of Cavendish's territory rotated slowly in three dimensions, overid with color-coded indicators that the viscount couldn't immediately interpret.

  "Lord Cavendish," Lucius acknowledged without looking up from the dispy he was currently examining. "Territorial administrator of the Eastern Highnds since 1372 by traditional calendar, 372 years after the Evolution by current reckoning."

  "Yes, Your Majesty," Cavendish replied, struggling to maintain his composure as he approached the central dais. The precision of this date—accurate to the exact year he had assumed his position—suggested a level of record-keeping far beyond what he had believed possible.

  "In 1437, you implemented changes to resource allocation in your territory's primary extraction facility," Lucius stated, his fingers moving through the holographic interface to bring forward a new set of data. "Expin the rationale behind reducing nutrition provisions by 27% while increasing extraction quotas by 34%."

  The specificity of the question—not just the policy but the exact percentages—struck Cavendish like a physical blow. These figures had never appeared in his official reports to the royal administration. They existed only in his territory's internal records, documents he believed accessible solely to his most trusted administrators.

  "A temporary measure, Your Majesty," he began cautiously, "necessitated by seasonal shortages and—"

  "The measure remained in pce for 47 years," Lucius interrupted, another dispy illuminating with a timeline showing the policy's implementation and eventual reversal. "During which period resource mortality increased by 63% while reported yields to the central authority decreased by 17%."

  Again, the precision of these figures left no room for the vague expnations and diplomatic evasions that had served Cavendish through centuries of governance. The holographic dispys showed not just data points but comprehensive historical trends, corretions between policy changes and outcomes, comparisons between reported figures and actual conditions.

  "The discrepancy between extracted resources and reported yields suggests significant undocumented appropriation," Lucius continued, his voice maintaining the same measured tone that somehow carried more weight than any accusation. "Approximately 31,472 units of premium resources over the period in question, according to these calcutions."

  The exact figure—31,472 units of blood that Cavendish had secretly diverted to personal use and bck market sales—appeared in glowing figures before them. Not an estimate or approximation but the precise number, accurate to the individual resource.

  "I... there must be some misunderstanding in the historical records," Cavendish attempted, his carefully rehearsed responses crumbling against this overwhelming digital evidence.

  "The records are quite clear," Lucius replied, his fingers moving again to reveal images that Cavendish recognized with growing horror—his private estate during the period in question, his eborate personal blood vaults, even documents bearing his own signature authorizing the construction of hidden storage facilities unknown to central authorities.

  As the evaluation continued, Cavendish found each of his expnations systematically dismantled by evidence spanning centuries—not just his diversion of resources but every significant governance decision throughout his tenure. Policies that had benefited his personal connections at territorial expense, judgments that had punished enemies rather than served justice, appointments based on loyalty rather than capability—all id bare in holographic detail too precise to dispute.

  Other nobles waiting their turn outside the Evaluation Chamber observed Cavendish's eventual emergence with growing unease. His normally impeccable appearance had deteriorated during the hours-long assessment, his aristocratic composure repced by the haunted expression of someone who had seen the impossible—their entire existence documented with inescapable precision.

  Simir scenes repeated throughout the day as Lucius methodically evaluated nobles from across vampire territories. Each entered with rehearsed defenses and carefully constructed narratives of their governance, only to find these preparations inadequate against the comprehensive digital records that Lucius had maintained throughout his rule. Some emerged stripped of titles and authority, others with reduced domains or specific remediation requirements, a few with provisional confirmation of their positions pending demonstrated improvements.

  Countess Veronique entered expecting the same ceremonial evaluation process she had experienced six times in her centuries as a territorial administrator. She departed three hours ter with her authority restricted to a quarter of her former domain, explicit reparation requirements for vilges where her extraction policies had caused colpse, and a stern warning that failure to implement specified reforms would result in complete removal.

  Baron Thorne, whose territory bordered Cassian's domain, emerged with a rare expression of relief—one of few nobles whose governance records had shown consistent fairness and innovation even when such approaches weren't politically advantageous. His evaluation had concluded with expanded authority and resources to implement his sustainable practices more broadly.

  Throughout these evaluations, Lucius maintained perfect focus on the task at hand, his attention moving seamlessly between holographic dispys showing centuries of accumuted data. The technology itself served not merely as evidence but as statement—a demonstration that the king's oversight had always been more comprehensive than any noble had realized, his knowledge of their actions more complete than they had ever suspected.

  Late in the evening, as Lord Renwick awaited his turn with growing anxiety after witnessing multiple nobles emerge in various states of distress, the chamber doors opened unexpectedly. Instead of summoning Renwick, however, the guards merely stood at attention as Nova appeared in the corridor, apparently intending to enter the Evaluation Chamber.

  What happened next astonished the waiting nobles more than any technological revetion or governance judgment they had witnessed throughout the day. Without hesitation or expnation, Lucius immediately powered down the advanced dispys, the holographic projections dissolving into nothingness as the room's lighting returned to normal levels. With a single gesture, he dismissed the officials who had been assisting with the evaluations, their departure so efficient it suggested practiced protocol for this exact situation.

  Most shocking of all, Lucius dismissed Lord Renwick and the remaining nobles without expnation, their appointments rescheduling automatically through pace systems. The message delivered to each indicated only that "His Majesty's evaluations will resume tomorrow evening at sunset," with new appointment times precisely allocated.

  The nobles exchanged bewildered gnces as they departed, struggling to comprehend what they had just witnessed. The king, who had maintained uninterrupted focus throughout a full night of intensive evaluations—who had dismissed nobles with centuries of service without hesitation when their records failed his assessment—had immediately suspended all proceedings at the mere appearance of one hybrid.

  For those with sufficient insight to understand what they had observed, this moment revealed something profound about vampire society's new reality. Governance matters that had once seemed paramount, noble status that had once appeared immutable, political considerations that had shaped vampire society for millennia—all these now held secondary importance compared to Lucius's attention toward the one being whose presence apparently outweighed all other concerns.

  As the chamber doors closed behind Nova, the waiting nobles departed with yet another piece of evidence about their transformed world. Their king had ruled for a millennium with perfect attention to governance, had guided vampire society with unwavering focus for two thousand years—yet now, that same being unhesitatingly set aside the most significant administrative restructuring in vampire history for a brief interaction with a former captive hybrid who had entered vampire society mere days ago.

  Whatever connection existed between Lucius and Nova clearly transcended any governance priority, any noble standing, any territorial consideration. For beings who had existed for centuries believing in rigid hierarchies and immutable status, this realization proved perhaps more disorienting than any technological revetion or historical accountability they had encountered in the Evaluation Chamber itself.