The deliberation of the Archdukes sted precisely one hour—a formality rather than a necessity, as the outcome had been evident to all present during the tribunal. When the gong sounded to reconvene the proceedings, the assembled nobility returned to their positions with the synchronized movements of those accustomed to ceremonial precision.

  Orlov was escorted back to the center of the chamber by two attendants. His condition had deteriorated further during the recess—the stress of the proceedings and proximity to so many well-fed vampires had intensified his hunger to nearly unbearable levels. His hands trembled continuously, his yellowed eyes darted frantically around the chamber, and the sour odor of animal blood became more pronounced as his body temperature rose with agitation.

  The four Archdukes entered in the same order as before, their composed demeanor a stark contrast to Orlov's increasingly unstable state. They took their positions on the dais, and the chamber fell into complete silence.

  Lucius rose, holding a formal document that bore the seals of all four Archdukes.

  "The Council has reached unanimous decision regarding the continued qualification of Archduke Orlov to maintain his title and associated privileges," he began, his voice neither triumphant nor sympathetic, merely formal. "Based on evidence presented and testimony received, measured against constitutional requirements established at the founding of vampire society."

  He unfolded the document, though it was clear he did not need to read from it—the formality of the physical decration was itself part of the ancient protocol.

  "Regarding territorial sovereignty, the Council finds Archduke Orlov has failed to maintain 'meaningful governance of substantial territory' as required by Article Two of the Ancient Charter. His domain having been reduced through voluntary sale to 0.00017% of original holdings, with no administrative capacity maintained even within that limited area."

  Orlov flinched visibly at this first pronouncement, but Lucius continued without pause.

  "Regarding resource management, the Council finds Archduke Orlov has failed to maintain 'systems ensuring perpetual vampire prosperity' as required by Article Four of the Ancient Charter. Blood resources having been depleted entirely through extractive practices without sustainable repcement."

  Orlov's mind raged against this pronouncement, though his deteriorated state prevented proper articution. They disappeared! he thought furiously. All of them, vanished overnight! That wasn't resource mismanagement—it was sabotage! The injustice burned in his chest, but he had no evidence to present, no witnesses to call, no proof that his human resources had been stolen rather than exhausted through his practices. Even in his fractured mind, he recognized the futility of protests based solely on paranoid suspicions. Who would believe that millions of humans across territories the size of continents had simultaneously vanished without trace? Even he sometimes doubted his own memories, uncertain whether the mass disappearance had happened as he recalled or was merely a delusion born of isotion.

  Several nobles exchanged gnces at this finding, aware that this particur failing had far-reaching implications for the entire traditional faction's approach.

  "Regarding popution governance, the Council finds Archduke Orlov has failed to maintain 'effective rule over vampire society' as required by Article Three of the Ancient Charter. His domain now containing zero vampire popution beyond himself, with no subjects remaining under his governance."

  The accumuted weight of these findings began to crush whatever defiance remained in Orlov's posture. His shoulders slumped further with each pronouncement.

  "Regarding aristocratic standards, the Council finds Archduke Orlov has failed to maintain 'the dignity and bearing befitting vampire nobility' as required by Article Seven of the Ancient Charter."

  Here Lucius paused briefly, his expression softening almost imperceptibly before he continued.

  "While the Council recognizes consumption of animal blood is not explicitly prohibited by vampire w, Orlov's own published standards—which he enforced upon others throughout his reign—established this practice as 'fundamentally incompatible with aristocratic status.' By his own decred criteria, his current state fails to meet minimal requirements for noble designation."

  This particur finding—being judged by his own harshly imposed standards—seemed to strike Orlov with special force. He swayed slightly, steadying himself only through visible effort.

  "Based on these findings, and in accordance with the constitutional provision that 'An Archduke who fails to maintain the fundamental standards of the position may be evaluated by unanimous consent of his peers,' the Council hereby makes the following decration:"

  Lucius's voice took on additional gravity as he delivered the verdict.

  "Orlov is stripped of the title, privileges, and authorities associated with Archduke status, effective immediately. His position within vampire society reverts to common vampire designation, with commensurate rights and responsibilities."

  These words—expected though they were—still sent a visible shock through Orlov's emaciated frame. His mouth opened as if to protest, but no sound emerged.

  "The Council acknowledges Orlov's historical service during the early establishment of vampire society," Lucius added, a surprising concession that drew murmurs from the observers. "And recognizes his traditional significance during the formative centuries following the Evolution."

  This unexpected acknowledgment of his past importance offered the barest thread of dignity in an otherwise complete demotion.

  "Pursuant to this decision, Orlov is required to surrender the signet ring, seal, and formal decrations associated with his former position," Lucius concluded. "After which he will be escorted from these chambers as a common vampire."

  An attendant approached Orlov, bearing a ceremonial cushion upon which he was expected to pce these symbols of his former status.

  For several moments, Orlov remained frozen, staring at the cushion as though unable to comprehend what was being requested. His fingers tightened around his signet ring—the st physical symbol of his five-century reign. The chamber held its collective breath, uncertain whether he would comply or force the humiliation of physical enforcement.

  Just as the tension reached breaking point, something seemed to crack within him. His shoulders slumped completely, his facial muscles went sck, and a sound emerged from his throat—not quite a sob, not quite a whimper, but some primal vocalization of total defeat.

  With trembling fingers, he removed the signet ring that had adorned his hand since the early days after the Evolution. The gold band with its blood-red rubies—once a symbol of unquestioned authority—now appeared ostentatious against his filthy, skeletal hand. He pced it on the ceremonial cushion with surprising gentleness, as though surrendering a cherished pet rather than a symbol of power.

  From within his tattered coat, he withdrew a small wax seal—the official stamp that had authenticated territorial decrees for five centuries. This too he pced upon the cushion, his movements becoming mechanical as the reality of his situation penetrated even his deteriorated mental state.

  The final item was a rolled parchment—his original decration as Archduke, bearing the signatures of those who had established vampire society in the wake of the Evolution. Many of the signatories had long since met final death, while others had evolved into the progressive faction he had so despised. He hesitated longest over this document, his fingers caressing the ancient parchment before finally relinquishing it to the cushion.

  With these surrenders complete, Orlov stood empty-handed at the center of vampire society—no title, no authority, no territory, no subjects. Just a common vampire in tattered clothing, weakened by animal blood, with nowhere to call his own.

  "The Council's decision is now complete," Lucius decred, his tone betraying the faintest note of something like compassion. "This tribunal is concluded."

  The gong sounded once more, and the assembled nobility rose in unison. The four Archdukes departed first, followed by the high nobles according to rank. None approached or acknowledged Orlov as they filed past, leaving him standing alone in the increasingly empty chamber.

  Only when the st noble had departed did two attendants approach, their manner professional but not unkind.

  "Sir," one addressed him, the simple form of address a stark change from the "Archduke" he had answered to for centuries. "You are permitted to depart. Is there somewhere you wish to be escorted?"

  The question hung in the air with devastating implications. Where could he go? His citadel had been his st refuge, and even that was no longer his. He had no territory, no home, no destination.

  "I..." He began, his voice cracking. "I require... time to consider my arrangements."

  The attendant nodded, his expression carefully neutral. "You may remain in the antechamber until dawn if you wish. After that, you will need to make other accommodations."

  This minimal courtesy—allowing him to remain until daylight forced all vampires to seek shelter—was the extent of consideration he could expect. A gesture not demanded by protocol but offered nonetheless, perhaps as acknowledgment of his former significance.

  Orlov nodded numbly, allowing himself to be guided to a small antechamber off the main hall. The room was simply furnished but comfortable—a stark contrast to his deteriorated citadel. Someone had thoughtfully provided a carafe of blood on a side table, though the attendants withdrew before he could determine whether it was human or animal.

  When the door closed behind them, leaving him truly alone for the first time since the tribunal began, the full reality of his situation finally crashed upon him. Five centuries of authority, ended in a single night. His title—the foundation of his identity since the Evolution itself—stripped away through constitutional process that he himself had established.

  He approached the carafe with desperate hope, uncorking it to inhale the aroma. Human blood—and high quality at that. Not the premium reserves served at aristocratic functions, but far superior to anything he had consumed in recent memory. A small courtesy from the Council, perhaps, or simply standard provision for the antechamber.

  He consumed it in undignified gulps, abandoning all pretense of aristocratic restraint. The nourishment spread through his system, momentarily quieting the constant hunger that had been his companion for so long. With this temporary relief came increased crity—and with crity, the full horror of his situation.

  "Common vampire," he whispered to himself, testing the new designation as one might probe a wound. "Common."

  He had spent centuries looking down upon common vampires—those without noble title or aristocratic lineage. In his domain, such vampires had been permitted the most basic existence but denied any meaningful authority or status. Now he was one of them, subject to the same limitations and prejudices he had enforced upon others.

  The bitter irony was not lost on him, even in his deteriorated state.

  As the hours before dawn dwindled, Orlov found himself facing the most immediate question of his new existence: where would he go when the sun rose? As a common vampire, he had no right to remain in the neutral territory once the tribunal concluded. He had no territory of his own, no allies willing to shelter him, no resources to purchase accommodations.

  For the first time in five centuries, Orlov was homeless.

  The realization drove him into frantic pacing, his mind spinning through increasingly desperate options. He could throw himself on the mercy of his former vassals, begging shelter from those who had once served him. The thought was so humiliating that he physically recoiled. He could approach the other Archdukes directly, seeking some form of aristocratic charity. Equally unthinkable.

  He could attempt to survive in the wilderness, hunting animals as he had in his final days at the citadel. But without territorial protection, such existence would be precarious at best—common vampires without domain affiliation were vulnerable to legal feeding by any aristocrat who encountered them.

  This particur danger had never concerned him before. In fact, he had encouraged his nobles to feed upon unaffiliated common vampires found within his territory, considering them beneath protection. Now that same system threatened him directly.

  As dawn approached, Orlov emerged from the antechamber, having reached no resolution to his dilemma. The Council chamber stood empty, the evidence of the previous night's tribunal already removed. Even the ceremonial symbol where he had stood as an Archduke for the st time had been cleaned, leaving no trace of his presence.

  He moved through the corridors like a ghost, occasionally passing servants who barely acknowledged his existence. Without his title and regalia, he was merely another vampire—and a particurly disheveled one at that, despite the modest improvement from the human blood he had consumed.

  At the main entrance, he paused, staring out at the predawn sky. The traditional carriage that had brought him was long gone, with no return journey arranged. Of course not—the tribunal had not specified what would happen to him after the verdict, only that his title would be stripped. His future was no longer a matter of aristocratic concern.

  With no clear destination, Orlov simply began walking, following the main road away from the neutral territory. The night was fading rapidly, requiring him to seek shelter soon. Yet the ndscape offered little promising—carefully maintained estates belonging to nobles who would certainly not welcome him, wilderness areas without proper vampire accommodations, human settlements where he would find neither safety nor acceptance.

  Several nobles passed him on the road, traveling in elegant vehicles toward their respective territories. None stopped or acknowledged him, though a few gazed curiously through their windows at the disheveled figure trudging along the roadside. Did they recognize the former Archduke in this common vagrant? If so, they gave no indication, continuing on their way without comment.

  As the eastern sky began to lighten, Orlov's pace grew more desperate. Exposure to direct sunlight would not destroy him instantly as human legends suggested, but prolonged exposure would severely weaken him, potentially causing permanent damage. Without shelter, he faced a genuinely dangerous situation.

  In his increasing panic, he barely noticed the sleek bck vehicle that slowed as it approached him from behind. Only when it stopped alongside did he turn, squinting at the darkened windows with suspicion.

  The rear door opened, revealing an interior too shadowed to identify the occupant.

  "The sun rises quickly," a voice stated from within. "You require shelter."

  Orlov hesitated, uncertain whether this represented opportunity or threat. As a common vampire without protection, he was vulnerable to exploitation or worse. Yet with dawn minutes away, he had few options.

  "Enter," the voice commanded, with a familiar authority that triggered centuries of conditioned response in Orlov.

  Almost against his will, he found himself climbing into the vehicle, the door closing behind him with a soft pneumatic hiss. The interior was cool and dark, the windows tinted to block sunlight completely. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he gradually made out the figure seated opposite him.

  "Archduke Valerian," he whispered, recognizing the military bearing and blood-red eyes of the Northern Territories' ruler.

  "Simply 'Valerian' when we are private," the Archduke corrected, his expression unreadable. "Titles need not stand between us in this moment."

  This casual dismissal of formality—something Orlov would have considered outrageous breach of protocol mere days earlier—now felt strangely appropriate. Titles indeed seemed meaningless in his current situation.

  "Where are we going?" Orlov asked, aware of the vehicle's smooth movement but unable to see their direction through the darkened windows.

  "To a suitable location," Valerian replied without eboration. "You will be provided appropriate shelter during daylight hours, after which we will discuss your future."

  The phrase "your future" carried ominous undertones that even Orlov's fractured mind could perceive. Yet without alternatives, he found himself simply nodding in acquiescence.

  The vehicle continued its journey as the sun rose fully outside, its occupants protected from the light by the specialized gss. Orlov leaned back against the luxurious seat, experiencing comfort he had nearly forgotten during his years of isotion. The combination of human blood in his system and the immediate relief from homelessness created a momentary sense of security that allowed his vigince to fade.

  Perhaps that expined why he failed to notice the subtle changes in the vehicle's direction, the gradual inclination as they began ascending into what must have been mountainous terrain. By the time he became aware of their destination, they had already passed through multiple security checkpoints, the guards acknowledging Valerian with military salutes while eyeing Orlov with professional detachment.

  The vehicle finally stopped before a facility unlike any in Orlov's experience—a structure that blended seamlessly into the mountainside, with no apparent windows and multiple security features visible even from the exterior. Before he could fully process what he was seeing, the door opened and Valerian exited, gesturing for him to follow.

  "Come," the Archduke commanded. "Dawn has arrived, and we must both seek appropriate rest. Your accommodations have been prepared."

  Orlov stepped from the vehicle into the pale morning light, shielding his eyes from even this indirect exposure. As he followed Valerian toward the facility's entrance, two uniformed guards fell into step behind them—not ceremonial attendants but actual military personnel with the disciplined bearing of Valerian's elite forces.

  The massive doors slid open as they approached, revealing a dimly lit interior that offered blessed relief from the growing sunlight. Orlov crossed the threshold with Valerian, the guards following close behind. The doors sealed shut with a pneumatic hiss, cutting off the outside world completely.

  This was the st anyone in vampire society would see of the former Archduke Orlov. No announcement was made regarding his whereabouts. No record indicated his final destination. No acknowledgment marked the end of his five-century reign.

  In the official histories maintained by vampire archivists, the matter was recorded with simple notation: "Archduke position formerly held by Orlov vacated through constitutional assessment, Year 500."

  What became of the vampire himself remained unwritten.