"His soul is caught between the two… pulled somewhere it cannot decide whether to stay or return."

Luther scoffed sharply. "Only weak-willed beings die in confusion like that. Humans cling to life but tremble at death. It's pathetic."

Eleazar didn't even lift his eyes from Xavier. "Every soul dies," he said, voice steady, "whether it is today or centuries from now. Kings. Gods. Beasts. Vampires. Humans. You. Me. None of us outrun it." He paused, thumb brushing Xavier's jaw to check the tension. "And not one of them dies without fear. Not even your kind."

Luther's jaw clenched, but he didn't argue. He knew it was true.

Eleazar opened Xavier's eyelids gently, checking the response of the pupils—dilated, barely reacting. He pressed lightly against the side of Xavier's neck, then traced his fingers down to the sternum. He pressed on the navel and the ribs as though examining something far deeper than flesh, something beneath the bone and blood.

Luther watched, confused despite himself. Humans didn't examine bodies like this. They didn't understand anything close to this level.

Eleazar finished his inspection and rose to his feet. "You know the Crimson Spiral Circulation, don't you?"

The words froze Luther mid-breath.

Only the oldest purebloods knew that technique. It wasn't written anywhere. It wasn't taught outside the main line. Even among their clan, barely five vampires across six generations had ever learned it.

"How do you know that name?" Luther demanded, eyes narrowing.

Eleazar didn't bother answering. He simply turned his palm upward and drew a thin line across it with a nail. Blood flowed out instantly—dark red, luminous, pulsing with a warmth that made Luther's instincts lurch violently in response.

It smelled ancient, pure, and sweet.

Luther's throat tightened despite centuries of restraint. His fangs pulsed in his gums. He had never once in his life reacted to blood like this, not even during his youth. But now he was sure that the man standing in front of him was truly Xavier's father.

"What are you planning?" Luther asked, voice rough.

Eleazar extended the bleeding hand toward him. "Use the Crimson Spiral Circulation. Draw my blood in. Control it. Guide it to his heart. Push it through every vessel. Every inch of him. Then bring it out through his mouth."

Luther stared at him, stunned. "That technique isn't made for humans. It's meant to purge dying purebloods. You're asking me to tear apart a human body from the inside."

"That body will not break," Eleazar replied simply. "Do it. And repeat it seven times."

Luther hesitated, not because of danger but because of disbelief. "Why seven?"

"Because his soul has seven anchors," Eleazar said softly. "And one must be reached with each cycle."

Luther inhaled. Exhaled,as if contemplating. And then stepped forward.

He gripped Eleazar's wrist and drew the blood into his own palm with a practiced pull of aura. The liquid felt alive—almost aware—responding to his will with unsettling ease. Luther pushed it toward Xavier, letting it seep through the boy's skin, guided by centuries of mastery.

Xavier's body twitched violently the moment the blood entered him.

His back arched. His fingers curled. His fangs lengthened instinctively. The essence inside him lashed out like a cornered animal, reacting to something older than itself.

Luther controlled the flow, pushing it to the heart and forcing it through every vein, every organ, every bone. The moment it completed the circuit, he pulled it out through Xavier's lips, where it slid back into his own palm like liquid metal.

He reset his stance.

Cycle one.

Cycle two.

Cycle three.

By the fourth, Luther's brows furrowed—Xavier's body was not breaking. If anything, each cycle made the pressure inside him stronger.

By the seventh, Luther had to take a step back, breathing hard, because Xavier's chest began glowing faintly with a deep, pulsing crimson.

Eleazar finally spoke again. "It is enough."

Luther dropped his hand, the blood vanishing the second Eleazar closed his fist.

Xavier lay still again, but there was movement beneath his skin now—a slow ripple, like something waking far beneath the surface.

"He will wake," Eleazar said. "Not as a corpse. Not as a vampire. Not as a human. But something between the first breath and the last."

Luther swallowed hard, unable to ignore the truth in Eleazar's words.

"I don't know what you are," Luther muttered, "or what he is becoming."

Eleazar let out a quiet breath. "I know what he isn't anymore."

"And what is that?" Luther asked.

Eleazar looked at Xavier with a softness that clashed violently with the power he'd shown moments earlier.

"He isn't bound by this world. He has ascended."

He set his palm over Xavier's heart for a final moment, then stepped back.

Luther wiped the last trace of crimson from his fingers. His eyes traveled to Xavier—lying still, but no longer dying—and then back to the old man, who stood there calm as stone.

"You said you weren't here to heal him," Luther muttered. "Yet that's exactly what you just did."

Eleazar didn't even blink. "I didn't heal him. You did."

Luther frowned. "Don't play word games."

"It's the truth," Eleazar replied. "My blood means nothing if the one receiving it rejects it. No technique, no medicine, no ritual has value unless the body and soul choose to accept it. That is something no healer can force. Not even me."

He nodded toward Xavier. "He healed because he decided not to die."

Luther stared at him long enough to notice something—Eleazar's shoulders trembled faintly from strain, not weakness. Guiding that power through Xavier wasn't effortless. It had cost him.

"…Who are you really?" Luther finally asked. "No human should have blood like that. No human should stand in this chamber without being crushed. No human should know the Crimson Spiral. And no human should be tied to someone like him."

Eleazar gave him a small, tired smile—not proud, not mocking. Just honest.

"I'm no one special. Just a father who is trying his best for his son."

"Don't insult me," Luther snapped. "Answer properly."

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