Supreme Vampire In Black Clover

Derek's heart pounded in his chest as he stepped fully into the throne room—a vast, vaulted space filled with an otherworldly light that danced off polished obsidian and ancient runes. Every inch of the room whispered of power and tradition. Before him, arranged in a semicircle, sat the Queen and her council. The atmosphere was unexpectedly welcoming, yet never warm.

At the center, on a throne carved from midnight stone, the Queen regarded him with her blue, unwavering eyes. Her youthful features belied an aura of authority that sent shivers down his spine—eyes that held a chill beneath droplets like glistening tears. Though her beauty was undeniable, there was an edge in her gaze that spoke of sacrifice and hard decisions; she felt ancient rather than merely young.

After Derek greeted her with a small, respectful bow—one that he assumed might invite silence—reality defied his expectations.

"Young man, it's very rare to have intruders in my forest," she said.

Derek's throat tightened. "Your Majesty, I'm no intruder. I awoke in your forest with most of my memories lost—I hope you can excuse me for that."

"Oh, really? That's interesting," she replied, her voice soft yet resonant, echoing in the quiet hall. "You have come far. We usually show no mercy, but your situation is... unusual."

Derek wasn't sure whether to smile or remain guarded. Every instinct warned him to distrust, yet something in her presence made him hesitate. He forced himself to respond, "Your Majesty, I mean no harm or disrespect."

Before he could add anything further, a voice broke the silence from the left.

Mei Duskbloom, her violet-tinged eyes sparkling with quiet amusement, leaned forward. "We've seen your mental fortitude—I was the one who tested you. How do you maintain such strength when you've lost most of your memories?"

Her tone was playful, yet beneath it lay a challenge that Derek couldn't ignore.

Across from her, Elysia Frosmourne, robed in shimmering threads of enchanted ice and adorned with a delicate silver circlet etched with shifting runes, observed him calmly. "You've endured trials few mortals could bear," she said softly. "There is potential in you—a potential we wish to have by our side."

Valeria Stormrune's voice was gruff, the clink of her golden earrings punctuating her words. "Just know, while we treat you well because of the prophecy, that doesn't mean we're absolving you. We have expectations—demands you must meet. We're not here to coddle the weak."

Selene Thornweave, eyes seemingly peering into realms beyond, added quietly, "We considered uncovering your origins before involving you, but that's not possible, is it?"

Nyx Vesperia, cloaked in midnight-blue with eyes as dark as the void, spoke last, "We hold our Queen's words to heart. She says your fate is intertwined with ours, though the future is for later—this is about the present."

Derek's internal monologue churned as he listened. If I play my cards right, there might be no need for a fight. They speak of prophecy and fate—perhaps I should dance around those subjects. Every word feels like a test. The Queen's gaze is both welcoming and cold. I can't shake the feeling that I'm being measured, dissected even as I'm embraced. Can I truly trust them? Or is this merely the beginning of a partnership built on mutual necessity rather than genuine allegiance?

The Queen's eyes met his again, and in that moment the entire room fell silent. "We have seen what you are capable of," she said. "We envision you as someone who can change fate—someone who holds great power. Times are changing; new forces are emerging. But tell me, young man: we offer our hospitality, yet how will you repay it?"

Her words sent a chill through him—a reminder of the price of power and the cost of trust. Yet within that declaration, there was also a promise of transformation, of destiny unfolding.

Derek swallowed, his voice steady despite the storm inside. "I understand, Your Majesty. Hospitality shall be repaid with loyalty."

A soft smile touched the Queen's lips, and for a fleeting moment, her stern demeanor softened. The council's expressions shifted from cautious reserve to a subtle warmth, as if they recognized his resolve—though perhaps it was all just a facade.

"From now on, we shall show you your house," Nymeria said, already seated on her chair. "You will live in the village until your situation is clarified."

With a snap of her fingers, Nymeria's grimoire pulsed with a soft, eerie blue glow. Shadows flickered at her feet, twisting unnaturally before coalescing into a form beside her. Within seconds, a figure emerged from the darkness—a woman, draped in shifting shadows, her presence as sharp and chilling as the northern winds.

She was blonde, her features sculpted with an almost unnatural perfection, doll-like in their symmetry yet devoid of warmth. Her icy blue eyes held nothing—no curiosity, no disdain, just emptiness, as if emotions were a concept she had long abandoned.

"This is my right hand and executioner," Nymeria said, her voice smooth but absolute. "Her name is Eislyn. She will show you around."

Derek barely had time to process what had just transpired. One moment, he was standing before the council, still grappling with the weight of his situation; the next, he was confronted with another overwhelming presence. His mind raced, struggling to keep up.

So it just ends like this?

His gaze flickered between the witches, taking in their composed expressions. Strength radiated from each of them, an effortless command of power that made it clear—they were only entertaining him because of that damn prophecy.

If not for that, would they have even spared me a glance? Or would I have been crushed the moment I set foot in this forest?

He forced himself to push the thought aside, locking eyes with Eislyn as she took a step forward. Her movements were precise, deliberate—each step silent as death itself.

This time, he didn't need his instincts to tell him.

She was overwhelmingly dangerous.

And yet, he followed.

The doors shut behind him, sealing away the chamber and its watchful gazes. But inside, the council remained still for only a moment before the Queen's voice cut through the silence.

"He's more dangerous than we thought."

Valeria Stormrune, the commander of the witches' guard, tilted her head, intrigued by the Queen's words. "Why do you think so, my Queen?"

A soft chuckle escaped Nyx Vesperia, her midnight-blue cloak shifting as she leaned back. "Surprising," she mused. "I would've thought our battle-crazed Valeria would be the first to notice."

Valeria shot her a glare but said nothing.

Nymeria, who had remained silent, finally spoke, her silver eyes still fixed on the door where Derek had exited. "It's simple. He didn't use mana. Not once."

That caught their attention.

Nymeria's voice remained steady, thoughtful. "The physical ability he displayed—the speed, the strength—none of it should be possible without mana enhancement. And yet, he moved as if he had it naturally."

Elysia Frostmourne, ever the cold observer, ran a hand over the icy runes embedded in the table. "What's even more curious," she added, "is that he has no Grimoire. Either he's far younger than we assume… or something about him defies the natural order."

A weighted silence followed.

The Queen's fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest of her throne, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "It seems," she said at last, "that fate has placed something most… unusual in our hands."