Vampire Progenitor System

”Can’t believe I’m back here this soon,” Lucifer muttered, hands in his pockets as he stared up at the tall, ivy-covered gates of the Williams mansion. The place hadn’t changed—still cold, still perfect, still watching.

Ruka whistled low beside him. ”Damn. Your adoptive folks are really living it up, huh?”

Lucifer didn’t respond, just gave him a sideways glance. He didn’t like the word ”adoptive.” Never had. The Williams were just names on paper. Nothing more.

Temmy looked around, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. ”So... you think they’ll let us crash here for a bit?”

Francisca smiled, walking a little ahead. ”Of course. The moment I told them Lucifer had a brother, they got all curious. You know how my mom gets—already planning a welcome dinner and everything.”

Lucifer raised a brow. ”Dinner, huh? Hope they didn’t bring out the fancy forks. I’m not in the mood to pretend I’m a proper gentleman tonight.”

Francisca laughed softly. ”Trust me, they won’t care. You’re family now.”

Lucifer said nothing, but his eyes lingered on the mansion as the gates opened slowly, creaking like old bones. Inside, warm lights spilled out from the front porch, illuminating the manicured lawn and grand doorway. A pair of butlers stood by, ready.

”I guess this is home again,” he muttered.

The others followed him in, not knowing just how twisted the history of that house really was—or how many secrets were buried beneath its perfect floors.

As they stepped through the iron gates, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot was the only sound for a moment. The lights from the mansion cast a golden glow, and standing in the center of it all—like figures from a drama stage—were Gerald Williams and Vulpina.

Gerald stood tall in a deep navy suit, not a wrinkle in sight, but his loosened tie and open collar told a different story—laid-back, almost lazy in his elegance. A glass of red wine dangled between his fingers like it didn’t weigh a thing. His hair was salt-and-pepper, slicked back but slightly tousled, as if he’d run his hands through it too many times today. A charming grin stretched across his face the moment he saw Francisca.

”Pumpkin! You’re finally home!” he called, arms wide. ”And you brought guests—well, well, look who’s still alive.”

Lucifer didn’t even blink.

Beside him, Vulpina stood like a shadow of ancient power. Long silver hair flowed down her back, tied loosely with a crimson ribbon. Her deep violet kimono shimmered slightly in the light, patterned with fox motifs and autumn leaves. Her eyes—cold, narrow, golden like twin suns—moved from Lucifer to Ruka with a gaze that felt like it could peel your soul open.

She didn’t smile. She never did.

”Lucifer,” she said quietly, voice like still water under moonlight. ”And this is...?”

”This is Ruka,” Francisca answered quickly, placing a hand gently on Ruka’s back. ”Lucifer’s brother. I thought it was time you both met him.”

Vulpina’s gaze lingered on Ruka longer than necessary. The boy shifted slightly, sensing something primal under her stare. After a breath, she nodded.

”I see.”

Gerald chuckled and took a slow sip of his wine. ”Don’t mind her. She stares at everyone like they just stepped on her tail. Come on inside. The chef’s been losing his mind prepping tonight’s spread. You’re lucky—he only brings out the black truffle stuff for people he hates or loves. And I haven’t decided which one you are yet, kiddo.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. ”Nice to know some things haven’t changed.”

”Welcome home, then,” Gerald said with a wink.

The front doors opened wider, and warm air rolled out, filled with the smell of roasted duck, garlic butter, and something sweet baking in the oven.

As they entered the mansion, Vulpina’s gaze lingered behind them—past the gate, into the shadows—sensing something... off.

”Another shift,” she muttered under her breath. ”The wind smells different tonight.”

The dining room was like something out of an old painting—long mahogany table, high-backed chairs, soft candlelight flickering across polished silverware. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out into the dimly lit garden, where soft jazz floated from hidden speakers tucked among the rose bushes.

Lucifer sat near the center, elbows on the table, poking at his salad with mild disinterest. Ruka was next to him, stiff and awkward, trying to keep up with the rhythm of the evening. Francisca sat across from them, smiling now and then, trying to smooth over the silence with little bits of conversation.

Gerald was at the head of the table, already on his second glass of wine, telling some half-exaggerated story about the time he ”accidentally” got involved in a royal banquet in Dubai.

”And there I was—halfway through a speech I didn’t write, being toasted by people I couldn’t even understand, and your mother just stood there pretending she didn’t know me,” he said with a laugh, waving his fork like a conductor.

”You told them you were a descendant of a god, Gerald,” Vulpina said flatly from the other end, slowly slicing into her steak. ”They took it seriously.”

He shrugged. ”Well, technically, I am married to one.”

Ruka almost choked on his drink. Lucifer didn’t react.

Francisca chuckled, nudging Ruka gently. ”You get used to them.”

”I’m trying,” Ruka said, eyes wide as he glanced between the two parents like he’d stepped into a drama he didn’t study for.

The dishes kept coming—pan-seared fish, honey-glazed duck, mashed potatoes with truffle oil, grilled asparagus, and bowls of miso soup (Vulpina’s personal request). The chef made sure every plate was perfection.

”So, Ruka,” Gerald leaned forward, sipping from a smaller glass now filled with something golden and stronger, ”what’s your deal? You look like a kid who’s seen too much for his age.”

”I... guess I have,” Ruka said, shoulders stiffening.

Lucifer glanced at him, but said nothing.

Gerald raised a brow, but didn’t press. ”Alright. Just don’t cause trouble for Franny here. She has a bad habit of picking strays.”

Francisca rolled her eyes. ”Dad...”

”I’m kidding! Mostly.”

Vulpina remained quiet for most of the meal, only speaking to correct Gerald’s terrible use of chopsticks or to ask Lucifer how long he planned to stay.

”Not long,” he answered simply. ”Just until I settle a few things.”

That seemed enough for her. She nodded and returned to her soup.

The rest of dinner passed in quiet conversation, low laughter, and occasional clinks of glasses. For a while, it felt normal. Warm, even.

No monsters.

Just a strange, cobbled-together family eating dinner in a mansion that felt too big for its own silence.

As the plates were cleared and dessert arrived—slices of strawberry tart with whipped cream—Gerald leaned back and said, ”Now this, this is peace. No explosions, no screaming, no shadowy things crawling on the ceiling... just food and family. I could get used to this.”

Lucifer didn’t say anything, but a small twitch at the corner of his mouth almost counted as a smile.