His hand clenched into a fist, and cracks spiderwebbed across the mirror's surface. "When I do, they will know the true meaning of loss. Of grief. Of a pain that echoes through millennia."
For a moment, Duncan stood perfectly still, the weight of countless years pressing down upon him. Then, with visible effort, he composed himself. The mask of cool indifference slid back into place, hiding the tempest of emotions that raged beneath.
Duncan glided to his desk, running a finger along the smooth, polished wood. Plans within plans, centuries in the making, were finally coming to fruition. The world that had forced him into the shadows would soon learn the folly of their actions.
"Vanity... All will be vanity when I'm done," he vowed to the empty room, his voice a silken caress filled with dark promise. "And I will take so much more."
A cruel smile played across his lips as he envisioned the future – a world where vampires no longer cowered in darkness, where mortals trembled at the mere whisper of his name. He would remake the world in his image, with himself seated once more upon that shadowy throne.
"But not yet," he murmured, straightening his already immaculate suit. "The board is not yet set. The players, not all in position."
A soft knock at the door interrupted his soliloquy. In an instant, all traces of vulnerability vanished, replaced by the calm, controlled demeanor of a being who had mastered the art of patience through eons of waiting.
"Enter," he commanded, his voice once again smooth as aged whiskey, betraying nothing of the emotional maelstrom that had preceded this moment.
As the door began to open, Duncan allowed himself one final thought, a promise to himself and to a memory he kept locked away in the deepest recesses of his heart: "Soon."
A familiar brunnette walked into the room. She was paled skin and carrier fire in her eyes.
Tessa's lithe form was wrapped in a sleek, black sheath dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. She approached Duncan with reverence, her movements a perfect blend of sensuality and deference.
"My liege," she purred, sinking into a deep curtsy before him. "I've returned with news from the city with no sun,"
Duncan's lips curled into a satisfied smirk. He extended a hand, helping Tessa to her feet with effortless strength. "Rise, my faithful one. Tell me of your endeavors."
Tessa's eyes gleamed with pride as she began her report. "The vampire city remains blissfully unaware of your glorious awakening, my lord. I've woven myself into their ranks, observing their petty power plays and meaningless squabbles." She paused, a hint of disdain coloring her tone. "They are sheep without a shepherd, ripe for your return."
Tessa's eyes widened, her words coming out in a rush. "No, my lord, you don't understand. He was... different. I stayed hidden, watching him, and I sensed... I sensed an a-aura..." She stumbled over her words, fear evident in her voice.
"An aura akin to... to y-yours."
The words had barely left her lips when the world blurred. In a heartbeat, Duncan was upon her, his hand wrapped around her throat, lifting her effortlessly off the ground. His face, usually a mask of cold beauty, was contorted with rage, red veins pulsing beneath his skin.
"How DARE you!" he roared, his voice a thunderclap in the confined space. "How dare you compare me to a mere mortal!"
Tessa gasped, her feet dangling inches above the floor. Her siren eyes, usually so alluring, now wide with terror, could barely focus on Duncan's face. All she saw were flashes, glimpses of fury too fast for even her vampiric senses to fully process.
Duncan's grip tightened, the veins in his forearms thickening, pulsing with ancient power. His eyes, normally steel-grey, now blazed with an unholy fire. "Who is this man?" he snarled, each word dripping with barely contained violence. "SPEAK!"
Tessa clawed at his hand, desperately trying to form words. Her voice came out as a strangled whisper, each syllable a struggle against his crushing grip.
"Bla... ke..." she managed, spots dancing in her vision. "Blake... Shelton..."
The name hung in the air between them, charged with an energy that seemed to make the very shadows of the room recoil. For a long, terrible moment, Duncan's grip remained iron-tight, his face a storm of emotions – rage, disbelief, and something deeper, more primal.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. Duncan released Tessa, letting her crumple to the floor. He turned away, his broad shoulders rigid with tension, hands clenched into fists at his sides.
When he spoke again, his voice was low, controlled, but trembling with an emotion Tessa couldn't quite name. "Leave me," he commanded, not turning to look at her. "Speak of this to no one. Not even Elena. Go."
Tessa scrambled to her feet, rubbing her throat. She backed towards the door, her eyes never leaving Duncan's imposing figure. As she reached for the handle, his voice stopped her once more.
"And Tessa?" he said, finally turning to face her. His eyes, now back to their usual steel-grey, held a warning that chilled her to her core. "If you value your existence, you will forget the name you just spoke. Understood?"
Tessa nodded frantically, slipping out of the room without another word. As the door closed behind her, Duncan stood alone, the name "Blake Shelton" echoing in his mind. Who is this man?