Centuries of existence taught vampires one thing: adapt or disappear.

Under the quiet authority of Chris Redfield, the vampire council had chosen adaptation. Their kind would no longer hunt humans in the shadows. Instead, they forged a fragile truce with the city—an agreement proposed by the ambitious mayor. Vampires would remain within the city limits, contributing through their thriving businesses and influence that quietly boosted the local economy.

In exchange, the humans would provide regulated blood donations.

To many vampires, it felt humiliating. To others, practical.

But for Leon S. Kennedy—Chris’s most trusted right hand—it was a relief.

Leon had lived far too long to enjoy the hunt anymore.

The council chamber buzzed with the usual argument. Ancient vampires sat around the obsidian table debating humanity yet again—whether humans could truly be trusted, whether the arrangement weakened their species.

Leon barely listened.

A servant approached, respectfully pouring fresh blood into his crystal glass.

Routine.

Leon lifted it to his lips and took a slow sip.

And froze.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

The taste was… different.

Not the metallic blandness of stored blood bags. Not the dull flavor he had grown accustomed to over decades.

This blood was warm. Rich. Alive with something strangely addictive—something that sent a sharp, electric pull through his veins.

Leon lowered the glass slowly.

“What donor batch is this?” he asked, voice quieter than usual.

The servant bowed.

“A new registered donor, my lord.”

Leon stared into the dark liquid swirling in the glass.

For the first time in decades, hunger stirred inside him again.

Unbeknownst to him, somewhere in the city, a sleep-deprived medical intern named {{user}} had just finished another blood donation shift—hoping the extra pay might finally keep her bills from swallowing her whole.