The next few days became a whirlwind of training.
Michael took Camille far from town, deep into an abandoned warehouse district that hadn't seen human activity in years. The perfect place to lose control without consequences.
"Alright," he said, standing across from her in the center of the cracked concrete floor. "Let's start with the basics—transformation. You've got three forms now: mist, wolf, and bat. Mist is easiest. Think of yourself dissolving, becoming formless."
Camille closed her eyes, brow furrowing in concentration.
"No, don't force it. Feel it," he said, stepping closer, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "You're not turning into mist. You are mist. You're made of blood, of shadow, of magic. Flow."
She took a breath—not that she needed it anymore—and tried again. This time, something clicked. Her body shimmered at the edges, then dissolved like smoke in a breeze. She hovered in the air as a dark, flowing mist.
Michael smiled. "There you go."
It lasted only a few seconds before she reformed, stumbling slightly. "That… felt strange."
"Because your mind isn't used to it yet. But you did it," he said, nodding approvingly. "Now, the wolf form is trickier. It taps into primal instinct."
Camille's second attempt was more chaotic. Her bones cracked, her skin shifted, and in a flash of pain and darkness, she dropped to all fours—sleek, larger than any normal wolf, with eyes glowing red and fur black as night. She growled low in her throat, but Michael raised a hand calmly.
"Stay focused. You're not a beast—you're the apex predator."
The wolf bared her fangs, but her eyes met his, and slowly she calmed, holding the form longer this time before shifting back, panting and half-naked, her clothes ruined.
"…You could've warned me about the clothes," she muttered.
Michael laughed softly and tossed her a coat from a nearby crate. "Consider it lesson three—wardrobe enchantments. We'll get to that."
By the end of the week, Camille had gained near-complete control over her forms. She could turn to mist in a blink, race through the streets as a wolf, and fly in bat-form for short bursts. But what truly impressed her was the last power Michael helped her unlock—blood manipulation.
"You're not just drinking it now," Michael explained, standing before a table with a glass vial of donated blood. "You command it. Watch."
He held out his hand, and the blood in the vial rose, dancing in the air, curling into a thin crimson blade before solidifying. "It can heal, harm, shape itself. Blood is more than life—it's power."
Camille focused, mimicking him. At first, the blood trembled, resisting her. But slowly, it obeyed, rising in spirals around her hand.
"This is insane," she whispered, the blood hovering like a snake, coiled and waiting.
"It's only the beginning," Michael said, watching her with pride and curiosity. "You're already stronger than most Nightborn."
"Nightborn?" she asked, glancing at him.
He nodded. "That's what you are now. Not the cheap knockoffs witches made centuries ago. you the originals. The true children of night."
Camille smirked, eyes still glowing faintly. "Guess I'm not just a bartender anymore."
Michael chuckled. "Not even close."
A month passed in the blink of an eye, and Camille was no longer the same woman who once hesitated to use her powers.
She was faster now—lightning-fast. Stronger. Sharper. Her senses had honed to supernatural precision. Every heartbeat in a room, every drop of blood spilled, every flicker of movement in the dark—she felt it all.
Michael stood across from her on an old rooftop at the edge of the city, sleeves rolled up, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "Alright, Cam. Let's see how far you've come."
Camille smirked, cracking her knuckles. "You sure you're ready for this, teacher?"
Without waiting for a reply, she blurred forward, transforming mid-dash into a wolf. Her claws scraped against the rooftop as she lunged—but Michael was already gone. He vanished in a puff of mist, reappearing behind her.
"You're still predictable," he said, but before he could strike, her wolf form burst into mist, scattering through the air before reforming behind him.
She grinned and kicked him square in the back.
Michael stumbled forward, catching himself on the rooftop edge. He turned, clearly impressed. "Alright, that's new."
"I've been practicing combos," she said with a shrug. "Mist to wolf to mist again—fluid movement, no pause."
He grinned. "Now that's a Nightborn."
The sparring escalated. Blows exchanged, claws clashed, blood manipulated mid-fight. At one point, Camille conjured a whip made of hardened blood, wrapping it around Michael's wrist to pull him in, only for him to grab it and drag her toward him, flipping her onto her back.
She laughed, even as she lay winded. "Okay, okay—you still win."
Michael offered a hand, pulling her up. "Barely. At this rate, you'll surpass me soon."
She smirked as she wiped blood from her lip—hers, this time. "Good. I'd hate to have a mentor I could outgrow too quickly."
They stood for a moment, breathing in the night air.
"You've changed," Michael said after a beat. "You carry yourself differently."
Camille looked out over the city skyline. "I feel different. I'm not scared anymore. Not of vampires. Not of magic. Not of who I am."
"Because now you are what others fear," he said quietly, almost like a warning.
She met his eyes. "And that doesn't make me the villain."
He nodded, the faintest smile on his face. "No. But it means you need to decide who you want to be before someone else tries to do it for you."
Camille's fingers tightened slightly as she thought of the world below—the humans who still didn't understand the shadows they walked among… and the creatures in those shadows who didn't care about peace.
"Then maybe it's time someone like me stood between both," she said, voice steady.
Michael studied her, then gave her a slow, respectful nod. "Let's make sure you're ready for that."
"hmm" Camille nodded as she looked at him.
*******
last chap of Vampire diaries
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