Meanwhile, in a quiet town, a massive castle loomed over the surrounding land. It sat atop a hill, dominating the landscape for miles in every direction. The structure was ancient, built from dark stone that had weathered centuries of wind and rain, its walls thick and imposing. Tall towers rose at each corner, their peaks crowned with battlements that had once served a defensive purpose but now stood as monuments to a bygone era. The castle was surrounded by sprawling grounds—manicured gardens, training fields, and defensive walls that created multiple layers of security.

Inside, the head of the compound, a short man with full grey hair and a thick beard, sat at his desk reviewing documents and signing them with practiced calm. His office was spacious but austere, furnished with heavy wooden furniture that matched the castle's aesthetic. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books, scrolls, and records dating back decades, if not centuries. A large window behind him looked out over the grounds, offering a view of the distant town below.

The man's name was Gregor, though within these walls, most simply called him "Head" or "Sir." He was in his late sixties, his face lined with age and experience, his eyes sharp despite the years. He wore simple but finely made clothing—a dark tunic and trousers, practical and unpretentious. His hands moved steadily across the documents, reading quickly, signing where needed, occasionally pausing to make a note in the margin.

The work was routine, administrative, but necessary. Running a compound of this size required constant attention to detail. Supply requisitions. Training schedules. Personnel assignments. Financial reports. Security updates. It was endless, and Gregor handled it all with the same quiet efficiency he'd brought to the role for the past thirty years.

The silence was broken when a young man sprinted through the corridors, breathless and urgent. His footsteps echoed loudly against the stone floors, rapid and uneven, the sound growing louder as he approached. He didn't slow down, didn't pause to catch his breath or compose himself. Whatever he had to say, it couldn't wait.

He reached the office door and skidded to a stop, nearly colliding with the heavy wooden frame. For a moment, he stood there, chest heaving, one hand braced against the doorframe to steady himself. Then he knocked—three sharp raps that cut through the quiet.

"Enter," Gregor called, his voice calm and even. He didn't look up from his documents, his pen continuing its steady movement across the page.

The young man pushed the door open and stepped inside. He was in his early twenties, tall and lean, with dark hair that was disheveled from his sprint. His face was flushed, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

He paused to catch his breath before delivering the news, his words coming out in short, gasping bursts. "Sir… I'm sorry to interrupt… but there's been… an alert."

Gregor set his pen down slowly, finally looking up. His eyes narrowed slightly, reading the urgency in the young man's posture, in his expression. "What kind of alert?"

The young man straightened, forcing himself to speak more clearly despite his breathlessness. "One of the extinct families, sir. It's… it's reactivated."

For a moment, Gregor didn't move. He stared at the young man, his expression unreadable, as if he hadn't quite processed the words. Then his eyes widened slightly, genuine shock breaking through his normally composed demeanor.

"What?"

"An extinct family, sir," the young man repeated, his voice steadier now. "The alert just came in. The system detected activity matching one of the old bloodlines. It's confirmed."

Gregor stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Which family?"

The young man hesitated, then continued. "The family has changed its name, but the lineage is confirmed to be the same. The bloodline markers are an exact match."

"Do we know the new family name?" Gregor demanded, his voice sharp.

The young man shook his head, disappointment evident on his face. "No, sir. The alert only detected the reactivation. The system hasn't been able to pinpoint the location or identify the new name yet."

Gregor's jaw tightened. He was clearly disappointed, the frustration visible in the set of his shoulders, in the way his hands clenched into fists. This was monumental news—potentially the most significant discovery in decades—and they didn't even have a name.

"Continue searching," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument. "I want every resource we have dedicated to this. Use the network. Contact our informants. Check every database, every record, every scrap of information we have. I want that family found."

"Yes, sir," the young man said quickly, straightening to attention. "I'll see to it personally."

"And keep this quiet," Gregor added, his voice dropping lower. "No one outside this compound needs to know. Not yet. Not until we have confirmation."

"Understood, sir."

The young man turned and left, moving with the same urgency he'd arrived with, though this time with purpose rather than panic. The door closed behind him, and Gregor was left alone once more.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing, his mind churning through the implications. An extinct family reactivated, It changed everything.

⸻

Elsewhere in the same compound, a teenage girl named Helen sat on her bed gossiping with her male cousin. Her room was large and well-furnished, decorated in a style that balanced comfort with elegance. The bed was covered in soft blankets and pillows, and sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting warm light across the floor. A desk sat in one corner, cluttered with books and papers, while a wardrobe stood against the opposite wall.

Helen was blonde, slim, and wore her hair in a ponytail that swung behind her as she moved. She sat cross-legged on the bed, leaning forward as she spoke, her hands gesturing animatedly.

Her cousin, a boy about the same age, sat in a chair near the bed, his posture more relaxed but clearly interested in what she was saying. He had dark hair, a lean build, and a skeptical expression that suggested he didn't believe half of what he was hearing.

"My father says a new family has appeared," Helen said excitedly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if sharing a great secret.

Her cousin raised an eyebrow. "A new family? You mean like… a new bloodline?"

"Exactly!" Helen said, her eyes lighting up. "An extinct one. It's back."

Her cousin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "I don't believe it."

"It's true!" Helen insisted, leaning even closer. "I heard him talking to one of his advisors. They got an alert or something. The system detected it."

"The system detects a lot of things," her cousin said dryly. "Doesn't mean they're all real."

Helen huffed, clearly annoyed by his skepticism. "This is different. He was serious. I've never seen him look like that."

"Like what?"

"Like… shocked. Excited. Scared, maybe." She shrugged. "I don't know. But it was something big."

Her cousin considered this for a moment, then shook his head. "Even if it's true, what does it matter? It's not like we'll ever meet them."

Helen grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. "That's what you think. Efforts are already underway to track the family's presence."

"Track them how?"

"I don't know all the details," Helen admitted. "But they're using the network, checking records, all that stuff. They'll find them eventually."

Her cousin frowned. "And then what?"

Helen's grin widened. "And then I'm going to run away and find them myself."

Her cousin sat up straight, his eyes widening. "What? Helen, no. That's insane."

"Why?" she asked, clearly unbothered by his reaction. "It sounds exciting."

"It's dangerous," her cousin said firmly. "And your father would kill you."

Helen waved a hand dismissively. "He'll get over it. Besides, danger sounds exciting compared to the boredom of this castle."

"You can't be serious."

"I am," she said, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "I'm tired of sitting here, doing nothing, reading the same books, listening to the same lectures. If there's a new family out there, I want to meet them. I want to see what they're like."

Her cousin stared at her, clearly torn between admiration for her boldness and concern for her safety. "Your father will lock you in your room if he finds out you're even thinking about this."

"Then he won't find out," Helen said simply.

Before her cousin could respond, their conversation was interrupted when a maid arrived. She knocked lightly on the door, then opened it without waiting for permission, her expression polite but formal.

"Excuse me, young master," she said, addressing Helen's cousin. "Your father has returned and is asking for you."

The boy nodded and got up. "Bye Helen"

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