“A people who guard their true history carry their strength forward; a people fed false history inherit only confusion.” - Lucien D’Armand, Lecture II

Lucien

Sunday, Three Days Later

Professional distance, it turned out, was excruciating.

I stood on the left side of the podium, Rafael on the right, a careful six feet of space between us. We took turns presenting material without interruption, our carefully choreographed lecture lacking all the energy that had made our previous classes electric.

The students noticed. I could see it in their expressions, the way they kept glancing between us with confusion. Where was the debate? The passionate disagreement? The intellectual fireworks they’d come to expect?

Gone. Buried under the weight of clan expectations and impossible choices.

“Professor D’Armand makes valid points about the role of human-vampire treaties in the pre-Separation period,” Rafael said mechanically, gesturing toward the timeline I’d projected. “The documentary evidence supports his interpretation.”

It was the most lukewarm endorsement imaginable. Two weeks ago, he would have challenged every point, pushed me to defend my sources, complicated my neat historical narrative in ways that made both of us think harder.

Now he just... agreed. Politely. Distantly.

I hated it.

“Professor Voss’s perspective on the testimonial evidence provides important context,” I said in return, equally wooden. “We should consider both written and oral sources.”

A student in the third row raised her hand. “Are you two okay? You seem... different.”

“We’re fine,” Rafael said quickly. “Just trying a new pedagogical approach.”

“It’s boring,” another student called out. “No offense, but we liked it better when you actually argued.”

“Scholarly debate isn’t entertainment,” I said, more sharply than intended.

“But it’s engaging,” the first student countered. “This feels like you’re reading from a script. Like you don’t actually care about what you’re teaching.”

The observation stung because it was accurate. I did care about the material, but I was so focused on maintaining appropriate distance from Rafael that I’d lost the passion that made teaching worthwhile.

“We’ll take your feedback into consideration,” Rafael said diplomatically. “For now, let’s return to the treaty analysis.”

The rest of the lecture crawled by. When it finally ended, students filed out looking disappointed, their earlier enthusiasm for the course visibly deflated.

Rafael and I packed our materials in silence.

“That was terrible,” he finally said.

“It was professional.”

“It was lifeless.” He shoved papers into his bag with more force than necessary. “This is what they want? For us to bore students into submission rather than actually engage with the material?”

“This is what maintaining boundaries looks like.”

“This is what killing good teaching looks like.” He started to say something else, then stopped himself, jaw tight. “I have office hours. I’ll see you next week.”

He left through the side door, and I stood alone in the empty lecture hall, feeling the weight of what we’d lost.

This was the right choice. The responsible choice. The choice that protected our careers and our clans.

So why did it feel so wrong?

I spent the afternoon in my office, trying to focus on grading papers but finding my mind wandering. The economic documents from the library kept nagging at me. There had been something in those ledgers, some pattern I’d noticed but hadn’t fully processed.

I pulled out my research notes, spreading them across my desk. Resource allocation, mortality rates, economic pressure points. The data told a story, but it felt incomplete. Like I was missing a crucial piece that would make everything else make sense.

My phone buzzed. An email from the Head Archivist: “Professor D’Armand, per your request, I’ve located additional materials related to the pre-Separation economic council. Documents were misfiled in the restricted collection. Available for review at your convenience.”

I stared at the message. I hadn’t requested additional materials. At least, not recently.

Unless...

I grabbed my coat and headed for the Arcanum Library, curiosity winning over caution.

The Head Archivist, an ancient vampire named Matthias who’d worked in the library for over a century, looked up as I entered his office.

“Ah, Professor D’Armand. I have the documents ready for you.” He gestured to a box on his desk. “Though I must say, I was surprised to receive a request from both you and Professor Voss for the same materials. Are you coordinating your research?”

My stomach dropped. “Professor Voss requested these documents?”

“Yes, just this morning. He said you were working on a joint project examining economic factors in the Separation.” Matthias’s expression was carefully neutral. “I assumed you were aware.”

“Of course. Yes. Joint project.” I forced a smile. “May I take these to a reading room?”

“Certainly. Room three is available.”

I carried the box to the small reading room, my mind racing. Why would Rafael request documents in my name? We’d agreed to maintain distance, to stop the collaboration beyond what was required for the course.

Unless he’d found something he thought I needed to see.

I opened the box and began sorting through the contents. Ledgers, letters, meeting minutes from the economic council that had advised vampire elders in the years before the Separation. Standard historical materials, nothing that immediately stood out as significant.

Then I found it. A letter tucked between two ledgers, written in elegant script dated 1246, one year before the Separation.

“To the assembled elders of the Northern Council,

We write to warn you that certain among our number have discovered inconsistencies in the official narrative being constructed regarding the philosophical differences between our factions. The division you propose to establish is not, as publicly claimed, a natural response to ideological incompatibility. It is a calculated mechanism to consolidate power and eliminate dissenting voices.

Several of us have gathered evidence of this deception and intend to present it at the winter assembly. We urge you to reconsider this course of action before it becomes irreversible.

If you proceed, history will remember the Separation not as a tragic necessity but as a deliberate betrayal of our youngest members.

With grave concern, Signed by seventeen members of the Economic Council”

I read the letter three times, my hands shaking slightly.

This was it. The proof that the Separation hadn’t been about philosophical differences at all. It had been about power, just as Rafael had argued. And vampires had known it at the time. Had tried to stop it.

What happened to those seventeen council members?

I pulled out my phone before I could think better of it, typing a message to Rafael: “Arcanum Library, reading room three. Now. I found something.”