Angel stirred from slumber, the thin morning light filtering through the arched windows of his dormitory room. The second day of his academy life had begun.
His uniform—still crisp despite yesterday's activities—clung to him with a certain unfamiliar weight, a reminder of his new identity as a student of the prestigious Unitas Institution Academy. Today's first session was general studies, a class unrelated to the four ruling factions of the academy. Angel, a studious boy by nature despite his aloof demeanor, sat quietly at his desk, absorbing the lecture like a sponge.
The professor's words faded into background noise as Angel doodled meaningless lines in his notebook. Though not unimportant, the subject matter held little interest compared to the mysteries surrounding the factions—the Vampire Lords, the Mage Factions, the Warborn, and the Watchers.
As the midday bell echoed through the marble corridors, the students scattered like flocks of birds. The cafeteria buzzed with cliques reuniting, nobles holding court, and commoners seeking quiet corners.
Angel claimed his usual seat in the far corner—isolated, shaded, and silent. He began eating his lunch: a blood-fruit drink and a tray of nutrient-packed academy rations.
The sound of a tray sliding across the table broke his peace.
"What are you doing here?" Angel asked flatly, not even glancing up.
"Why? Am I not allowed to sit here?" came the reply. Latisha Edevane, sharp-tongued and proud, took her seat without awaiting approval.
"Nope," Angel muttered through a mouthful of food.
Unbothered, Latisha delicately placed her cutlery and began eating with aristocratic poise.
Moments later, the shuffle of footsteps approached. Angel instinctively glanced sideways.
"Lina?" he blinked, momentarily surprised.
"Can I sit beside you?" Lina Fontaine asked timidly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Angel wiped a smudge of grime from his cheek with a napkin and gave a soft smirk. "Go ahead."
"T-thank you." She sat beside him with a shy but genuine smile.
Latisha shot them both a look—a cold, narrowed glare that could pierce bone.
"Your eyes are stabbing me," Angel commented without turning to her.
"Commoners do get along quite quickly, don't they?" Latisha replied, her voice dripping with disdain.
"You and your obsession with status again…" Angel sighed.
"As a noble, it is only right that I remain aware of my standing," she said haughtily, brushing her golden hair behind one ear. "The blood of prestige doesn't simply flow in anyone."
"Then enlighten me," Angel challenged, sipping his red drink. "Tell me about these noble clans you admire so much."
Latisha looked pleased to educate, but he interrupted her with a slight grimace. "It tastes like apple. You'd never guess it was made from blood fruit."
Latisha paused, frowning at the irreverence. Still, she pressed on, ever the proud lecturer.
"Very well. Since you're so eager to know..."
She folded her hands and began in a tone fit for courtrooms.
"The Vampire Faction's noble clans rose to prominence after the fall of the First Blood Lord—Cain Moriarty. With his passing, the purebloods, no longer bound by the Moriarty family's dominance, formed individual clans vying for power."
She paused to look around, ensuring no one nearby was listening too closely.
"The most influential among them are:
The Apex Council, formed by the three strongest families, including what remains of the Moriarty line.
The Blood Imperators, war-blooded noble families who once served directly under the Blood Lord.
The Shadow Syndicate, a secretive group rumored to be connected to the Progenitor Prince—possibly a survivor of the original vampire line.
The Ancient Conclave, a council of oldbloods with political aspirations toward the throne.
The Obsidian Guardians, who rule the icy northern territories.
And finally, the Crimson Covenant—those who remain loyal to the Blood Lord's memory, believing in his eventual return."
Angel stared into his cup, watching the surface ripple slightly. He hadn't realized how fractured the world of vampires truly was.
"Angel," Lina's voice called softly, tapping his arm.
"Hm?" he snapped back.
"The bell's ringing."
"Oh… right."
He quickly packed his things, trailing behind the students heading for the final class of the day.
The afternoon sunlight poured through the cathedral-like windows of the Magic Studies Hall, illuminating dust motes like glittering stars. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood at the podium, radiating confidence.
"I am Professor John Arden," he said, his deep voice echoing with clarity. "A researcher from the Arcane Concordium and your instructor in the fundamentals of magic and the mage society."
Angel stared. This guy looks like the main lead from one of those Korean soldier dramas, he thought dryly.
Professor Arden continued. "As your studies advance, so too will the complexity of what we cover—starting from the basics to the high theories established by the Magistry."
With a wave of his hand, luminous text appeared on the chalkboard—without chalk, without touch.
Gasps spread across the room. Angel's eyes widened in amazement.
"Let us begin with the Sources of Magic," Arden said.
The glowing letters spelled:
> Magic is an inherent trait of all humans, woven into the fabric of our world. However, it remains hidden from common knowledge for good reason.
> Those with stronger bloodlines or natural sensitivity can tap into ambient magic more easily.
> The ambient magic field permeates everything—subtle, invisible, yet ever-present.
The script shifted.
> Magic's limitations depend on several factors: innate talent, elemental affinity, and environmental access to ley lines—mystic veins of power running through the world.
> Ley lines require specific geography to draw upon—ritual circles, sacred sites, or nodes of convergence.
> Older civilizations often intertwine their cultures and religions around these arcane sources.
> Ultimately, magic is a secretive force—capable of great good and unspeakable horror.
Professor Arden's voice flowed like poetry. "Now, some rare individuals draw magic from external sources—contracts, forbidden relics, even divine blessings..."
Before he could finish, a hand shot up.
"Sir," Angel stood up. "What exactly are ley lines?"
The room fell quiet. Even the scribbling of pens stopped.
Latisha hissed in a whisper, "Why did you ask that!?"
Angel shrugged. "I want to learn."
"That's still—!"
"Shut up."
Latisha's mouth clamped shut in disbelief as Angel fixed his attention back on the professor.
Professor Arden's eyes lit up. "A curious mind outside the Mage Faction? How delightful. Sadly…" He sighed. "The explanation deserves more time than we have. We'll cover ley lines thoroughly in our next lesson."
The bell rang soon after.
"Class dismissed. Until next week," Arden said, walking out with his robes billowing behind him.
Angel slung his bag over his shoulder and stared at the chalkboard one last time, watching the magical text dissolve into glowing dust.
"Magic…" he murmured, voice low and filled with something new.
A spark.
"I want to learn more."