Dr. Farhaven's words hung in the conference chamber like a physical presence, the weight of her assessment pressing down on each Council member with undeniable truth. No one spoke for several long moments, the silence broken only by the soft hum of monitoring equipment from the adjacent medical room where Lucius remained unresponsive.

  Nova was the first to react, his expression transforming from shock to profound sadness. "I never thought..." he began, then stopped, struggling to process the implications. "He's done so much for all of us—for me—and we never even thanked him properly."

  Baron Cassian stared at the table, his centuries of military discipline insufficient to mask his discomfort. "I've served him for nearly two thousand years," he said quietly. "I thought my loyalty was... enough."

  "We all did," Count Dominic added, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "We assumed he knew our appreciation without requiring its expression."

  Viscount Gabriel, who had once been a priest before the Evolution, closed his eyes briefly. "In all my theological discussions with His Majesty over centuries, I never once considered the burden of guilt he carried. I spoke of redemption in abstract terms without acknowledging his personal atonement."

  One by one, each Council member confronted the same uncomfortable truth—despite benefiting from Lucius's guidance for centuries or millennia, none had ever properly expressed appreciation or gratitude. None had recognized the personal cost of his eternal vigince or the profound loneliness of his position.

  Valerian had remained silent throughout these reflections, his military bearing seemingly unchanged. But those who knew him best could detect subtle signs of his internal struggle—the slight tension in his jaw, the barely perceptible shift in his posture, the intensity of his gaze fixed on some distant point.

  When he finally stood, his movement carried such uncharacteristic abruptness that several Council members looked up in surprise. Without expnation, he strode from the conference chamber directly into the medical room where his brother y unresponsive.

  The Council exchanged uncertain gnces before following, gathering just inside the doorway as Valerian approached Lucius's bedside. Nova moved to the opposite side of the bed, his concern evident as he watched Valerian's face for any clue to his intentions.

  Valerian stood motionless for several moments, simply looking at his brother with an expression so complex it defied simple categorization. When he finally spoke, his voice carried none of his usual military authority—instead, it emerged surprisingly soft, almost gentle.

  "You've always been terrible at accepting praise," he began, a hint of familiar exasperation coloring his tone. "Even before the Evolution, when you'd come home after working impossible hours to earn money for my school fees, you'd brush off my thanks as if you were merely performing some basic function rather than sacrificing your own education, your own childhood."

  He pulled a chair to the bedside and sat, an unusual informality for the military leader who typically maintained perfect posture in all circumstances.

  "I'm going to tell you something you should have heard a thousand years ago—something you should have heard every day for the past two millennia." He leaned closer, his voice taking on an intensity that commanded attention despite its quietness. "I love you, brother."

  The simplicity of the decration, so direct and unadorned, seemed to catch even Valerian by surprise. He paused, as if gathering himself, before continuing with newfound determination.

  "I love you, and I'm going to tell you exactly why," he stated, his tone shifting into something almost resembling one of his military briefings—methodical, comprehensive, and absolutely thorough.

  What followed was unlike anything the Council had ever witnessed from Valerian. The military leader who prided himself on concise communication unched into what would become a three-hour decration, systematically addressing every aspect of his brother's existence worthy of love, appreciation, and gratitude.

  He began with their earliest years, describing in precise detail how the nameless street child who would become Lucius had sacrificed everything for his younger brother.

  "You stole food to feed me while going hungry yourself," he recounted. "You slept closest to the door in our hovel to protect me from intruders, even though it meant you were always cold. You took beatings from our mother that were meant for me. You worked jobs that bloodied your hands while making sure I could attend school."

  His voice maintained steady control, but his eyes revealed an emotional depth rarely visible beneath his military bearing.

  "You had no name, no documentation, no official existence—yet you ensured I had all three. You couldn't attend school yourself, so you had me teach you to read and write each night, no matter how exhausted you were from working all day."

  He detailed their life before the Evolution with a precision that spoke to how deeply these memories remained engraved in his consciousness, despite the millennia that had passed. Each sacrifice, each act of protection, each moment when his brother had prioritized Eli's welfare over his own—all recounted with perfect crity.

  "When you became sick, your first concern wasn't your own survival but ensuring I would have enough money for college," Valerian continued. "Even facing death, you thought only of my future."

  Then came the Evolution—the transformation, the chaos, the birth of vampire kind. Valerian described how his brother had wandered until captured by human resistance fighters, allowing himself to be tortured and experimented upon without resistance because he believed he deserved punishment for what he had accidentally unleashed.

  "I found you after months of searching," Valerian recounted, his voice tightening almost imperceptibly. "The humans had been experimenting on you for months, trying every method to kill you while your body continuously regenerated. If I had arrived just two hours ter, they would have begun dissecting you while you were still conscious. When I sughtered everyone in that facility and asked why you hadn't fought back or escaped, you said you deserved everything they did to you because of what you had accidentally caused."

  Several Council members shifted uncomfortably at this revetion, having never heard this particur detail of their king's early existence. Nova remained completely still, his gaze fixed on Lucius's unresponsive face as he absorbed this new understanding of the being he had come to love.

  "I told you then what I'm telling you now," Valerian continued. "Your worth isn't measured by your mistakes or your successes, but by who you are. And who you are, brother, has always been someone worthy of love."

  His methodical recounting continued through their integration into vampire society, the careful construction of their separate identities as Archdukes, the strategic pnning that had guided vampire development for millennia. Each achievement, each sacrifice, each moment of foresight or compassion—all catalogued with military precision but described with brotherly pride.

  "You established Cassian's territory as sanctuary for wereanimals when they had no protection," he noted, nodding toward the Baron. "You arranged Dominic and Sera's retionship to humanize blood farming. You orchestrated Gabriel and Maria's partnership to create religious framework for both vampires and humans. You recognized Kieran's hybrid potential when others would have destroyed him. You matched Maximilian and Elias to preserve knowledge and technology. You maniputed Duke Aric and Nat's victory in the Crimson Games to establish merit-based advancement."

  Hour after hour, Valerian continued his comprehensive accounting—not just of Lucius's governance achievements, but of the character that had guided those decisions. The patience that had sustained two millennia of careful pnning. The compassion that had tempered pure strategic calcution. The vision that had seen beyond immediate convenience to long-term sustainability.

  "You could have ruled through fear alone," Valerian observed. "With your power, you could have crushed all opposition and established absolute dominance. Instead, you chose the harder path—guiding rather than controlling, persuading rather than commanding, building something that could outst even your immortal existence."

  The Council members listened in stunned silence, many hearing for the first time the true scope of Lucius's influence on their individual lives and retionships. The carefully orchestrated "coincidences" that had brought compatible partners together. The subtle interventions that had prevented disastrous conflicts. The quiet support during periods of personal or territorial crisis—all provided without acknowledgment or expectation of gratitude.

  "I am eternally grateful," Valerian stated, his voice unwavering despite the emotion evident in his eyes. "Grateful for the childhood you sacrificed to give me education. Grateful for the transformation that allows us to share immortality rather than being separated by death. Grateful for the military territory you helped me establish, the unique vampires you helped me create, the purpose you helped me discover."

  His voice softened slightly as he continued. "I'm grateful for my wives, whom you helped me find across centuries. Grateful for my children, whose existence would have been impossible without your support. Grateful for the extended family we've built—this Council, this society, this future we continue to shape together."

  Throughout this extraordinary decration, Lucius remained unresponsive, his expression unchanged, his body still except for the shallow breathing that confirmed his continued existence. Yet Valerian spoke as if certain his brother could hear every word, his determination undiminished by the ck of visible response.

  "I love you, brother," he repeated, the phrase becoming a refrain throughout his decration. "Not for what you've done, though your achievements would merit celebration for millennia. Not for what you've given me, though your generosity has shaped my entire existence. I love you simply for who you are—the nameless boy who protected me before you became Subject 23, the determined spirit who guided vampire society toward something better, the visionary who imagined possibility when others saw only present reality."

  As his decration approached its third hour, Valerian's voice showed no sign of fatigue. If anything, it had gained strength and conviction, as if each reason articuted reinforced his determination to reach his brother through the psychological barrier Dr. Farhaven had identified.

  "I love you, brother," he stated one final time, his voice carrying absolute certainty. "And I am profoundly proud of you—proud of what you've accomplished, proud of what you've overcome, proud of what you continue to build even after two millennia of existence."

  He leaned closer, his final words meant for Lucius alone though the entire Council could hear them in the silent room. "You are worthy of love, brother. You always have been."