The day had come.
Not the one they expected.
But the one they feared.
Julius, barely eight years old, stood tall in the grand hall of House Iserath.
All around him, noble vampires watched with sharp, scrutinizing eyes, whispering among themselves.
The walls, draped in black velvet, seemed to swallow light—only to crush it in return.
A cold, unwavering voice rang out:
"Julius Iserath, heir of the Pureblood, is officially sent to the Academy of Noble Vampires."
The weight of those words fell on him like an invisible blade.
The Academy.
The crucible where the true masters of the continent were born.
Where alliances were forged. Where betrayal was routine. Where ambition was sharpened like steel.
There was no room for weakness.
No room for mistakes.
Julius felt his heart beat harder.
But it wasn't fear.
It was determination.
"I will not bring shame to my lineage.
I will not be just another pawn."
Behind the heavy curtains, two silhouettes exchanged a glance:
Lady Lise, impassive.
Lady Sereïs, wearing a barely veiled smile.
The silent war between mothers was still raging.
But Julius already understood:
The true battle would be the one he'd fight on his own.
The following days became a quiet storm.
In the shadows of House Iserath's cold corridors, Julius prepared.
Not for war—not yet.
But for a trial nearly as cruel: competition.
He had two years.
Two years until his departure to the Academy.
Two years to become… someone.
Each morning, at crimson dawn, Julius trained under the watchful eyes of sword masters, mana scholars, and blood-magic tutors.
His claws, already sharp, had to become blades of light.
His body, once fragile at five, was hardening with each blow received.
But it wasn't just about brute strength.
Blood, mana, politics…
All had to fuse into a perfect dance.
In a room lined with ancient scrolls, an old man with a silver beard showed him a forming mana circle.
"You see, Julius, mastering mana means understanding its volatile nature.
It's like dancing with fire… without being burned."
Julius nodded, his eyes shining.
"And sanguinomorphosis?" he asked, his voice steadier than before.
"Your unique gift. But remember: it's also a poison.
Drink too much, and it will consume you.
Too little, and you remain weak.
Find balance."
The tension at home was palpable.
Lady Sereïs visited him from time to time, bringing strange gifts: forbidden scrolls, potions with shifting hues, mysterious artifacts.
Each visit deepened the rivalry with Lady Lise, who observed everything with quiet suspicion.
One evening, as red stars streaked across the sky, Julius sat by the great manor fireplace.
He thought back to his goals:
Never be weak.
Never lose.
Never shame those who count on me.
And above all:
One day… rule this world.
The next two years would be a silent battlefield.
But Julius was ready.
He would arm himself.
Not only with claws or spells.
But with knowledge.
With strategy.
With power.