The morning began with quiet precision in Valen’s chambers, a vast space of understated opulence. Dark marble floors stretched beneath his feet, the walls lined with tapestries older than the city itself, woven in shadowed hues of crimson and midnight. Only a soft, indirect light touched the room, casting a moody glow over the vampire leader as he prepared himself for the day.Valen moved in calm, measured steps, his mind as sharply honed as the physical routines that kept him in peak form. With long, graceful strokes, he swept back his raven-black hair, exposing high cheekbones, a chiseled jawline, and eyes that gleamed with an intense, unsettling allure. His movements were deliberate, precise, echoing the control he wielded over his realm. Every action, from dressing to the minor adjustments of his cuffs, embodied the silent power he commanded.As he adjusted his collar, a faint knock came at the door—a sound that few in the Devil’s City dared to make. Dorian, his second-in-command,
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