Reincarnated with a lucky draw system

Isobel's emerald eyes glinted with skepticism, narrowing as she leaned forward in her chair, her voice sharp with incredulity. "And why, exactly, did you feel the need to spin me this wild tale, Lyrith? What does any of it have to do with me?" Her fingers tightened around the armrests, the polished wood creaking under her grip, as if anchoring herself against the weight of Lyrith's cryptic words.

Lyrith, lounging with an air of casual arrogance, tilted her head, her silver hair catching the dim candlelight of the room. A playful smirk danced on her lips, her crimson eyes gleaming with secrets. "Oh, come now, Isobel. Not everyone gets the privilege of uncovering their family's hidden legacy. Consider yourself lucky—most would kill for such knowledge." Her tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something heavier, something ancient, that made Isobel's skin prickle.

Isobel scoffed, tossing her raven-black hair over her shoulder, her voice dripping with disbelief. "You're seriously trying to sell me the idea that I'm a descendant of *Dracula*? That's absurd. It doesn't even make sense!" She crossed her arms, her posture rigid, as if shielding herself from the ridiculousness of the claim. The very notion felt like a slap to her family's memory, a mockery of everything she knew.

Lyrith didn't respond immediately. Instead, she slid off the edge of Isobel's desk with the grace of a panther, her boots clicking softly against the stone floor. She toyed with her slender fingers, twirling a strand of her hair as she fixed Isobel with a quiet, piercing stare. "Believe what you want, darling," she said, her voice low and deliberate, "but the truth doesn't bend to your doubts. It simply *is*." Her words hung in the air, heavy with conviction, as she perched on the desk again, her presence commanding the room.

Isobel's jaw tightened, her mind racing to process the implications. Lyrith's nonchalant demeanor only fueled her frustration. "Fine, let's entertain this nonsense," she said, leaning back, her tone laced with sarcasm. "You're saying my ancestor survived some cosmic ordeal, only to give birth in some forgotten corner of the universe?"

Lyrith's lips curled into a faint smile, as if savoring Isobel's defiance. "Exactly. Velira, your ancestor, barely clung to life after her desperate reverse summoning teleportation—a feat that drained her to the brink. She gave birth to Liam Highborn, your father, in a desolate, backwater star system, far from the eyes of the universe's enforcers. But childbirth, combined with the toll of her escape, was too much. She withered away, her strength sapped, leaving Liam to carry the weight of her legacy." Lyrith's voice softened, almost reverent, as she recounted the tale, her gaze distant, as if seeing the events unfold in her mind.

Isobel's heart stuttered at the mention of her father. "That's not true," she snapped, her voice trembling with defiance. "My father wasn't some… some *vampire*." The word felt foreign on her tongue, heavy with implications she wasn't ready to accept. Her father had been a beacon of strength, a demigod among men, not some creature of legend.

Lyrith's laugh was soft but cutting, like the chime of a blade against glass. "Oh, he was a vampire, alright—though a tragically weak one, considering the grandeur of his bloodline. You can't blame him, though. The universe slapped him with a curse so cruel it makes your little corrosive blood curse look like a child's prank." She waved a hand dismissively, her rings glinting in the flickering light.

Isobel's breath caught, her eyes widening in shock. "A curse? My father was *cursed*?" The words felt like a punch to her chest, stirring a whirlwind of emotions—anger, confusion, and a pang of grief for the man she'd idolized.

Lyrith nodded, her expression uncharacteristically somber. "The Curse of the Soul. The universe's cruelest punishment. It shackles a being's latent talent, dims their bloodline's brilliance, and stifles their potential. Your father, Liam, bore the weight of all four vampire clans' power—Ripper, Conservative, Nightstalker, and Nightmare—yet the universe deemed him too dangerous to flourish. After Dracula defied the cosmic order and Liam's anomalous existence threatened its balance, the universe wasn't taking any chances." Her voice carried a hint of pity, a rare crack in her usual bravado.

Isobel's mind reeled, her fingers digging into her palms. "How *special* was my father that you keep going on about him like this?" she demanded, her voice sharp but wavering. The more Lyrith revealed, the more inadequate Isobel felt, as if her own existence paled in comparison to the legacy she was supposedly tied to.

Lyrith leaned forward, her crimson eyes glinting with intensity. "Let me paint you a picture, Isobel. There are four vampire clans, each led by a primogenitor, each unique in their dominion. The Ripper Clan wields blood like a weapon, bending it to their will with unmatched precision. The Conservative Clan summons blood familiars—beings from alien realms bound by blood resonance. Nightstalkers surpass all others in raw physical prowess, their bodies honed to perfection. And the Nightmare Clan? They twist minds, weaving illusions and bending wills with a mere thought." Her voice was almost hypnotic, each word dripping with reverence for the ancient powers.

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle before continuing. "Now, consider this: your father, Liam, was born of Velira, whose lineage ties to the Conservative Clan's primogenitor and Vemora, a Nightstalker of near-primogenitor purity. Add to that Dracula and Meredith, primogenitors of the Ripper and Nightmare Clans. Liam carried the blood of *all four* clans—a convergence of power unseen in eons. Little wonder the universe shackled him to mediocrity." Lyrith sighed, a rare flicker of frustration crossing her face.

Isobel's heart pounded, her father's memory tarnished by this revelation. "My father wasn't weak," she said, her voice fierce, her hands slamming onto the desk. "He was one of the strongest demigods this planet ever saw!"

Lyrith's eyes softened, but her tone remained firm. "Please, Isobel. Comparing your father to the rabble of this backwater world is an insult to his bloodline. He was a titan bound by cosmic chains. And then came the anomalies—you and your brother. The universe, in its petty vengeance, cursed your brother with the same Soul Curse. But with your birth, the universe hit a wall. It couldn't curse two children from one generation with the same curse. I don't know why, it was as if it wasn't within it's power. It's The reason you have a lesser curse. Consider it as you brother shielding you from its full wrath. That's why you bear the corrosive blood curse instead—a lesser burden, but a burden nonetheless."