A vampire is born twice. First in flesh. Then in ambition.
Iserath Proverb
Days had passed. Or perhaps weeks.
Hard to tell, when time had no light.
The Iserath manor did not know the sun.
Hours were marked by the pulse of mana in the walls, by the shifting scents in the hallways, and by the whispers of servants one never heard entering.
But that day, Julius felt something different.
A presence.
Gentle. Cold. Sharp.
She entered without a sound.
The door to his room simply… opened.
And there she was.
Lady Lise Iserath.
First wife of Valemir. His mother. Officially.
An antique beauty.
Hair black as ashes. Skin like alabaster, nearly translucent. Eyes… not red. No. Pale amethyst, like the last light of a winter dusk.
She looked at him.
For a long time.
Then approached. Slowly.
Julius, in his infant body, stared without blinking.
He knew what she represented.
His only potential ally in this House of silence and dangerous smiles.
But he didn't know… whether she wanted him to survive.
She reached out.
Her cold fingers brushed his cheek.
And she spoke.
"You never cry. Not even when they cut you."
Her voice. Soft. Low. Like a sigh inside a crypt.
"You have your father's eyes. But not his patience."
She smiled. Without warmth.
A vampire's smile. All facade. All calculation.
"I hope you learn quickly. Because this world does not forgive hesitation."
She sat. The cradle creaked softly under her weight.
For a while, no words. Just… her gaze fixed on him.
As if searching for something behind his eyes.
Then she added, almost to herself:
"Sereïs already plots to erase you.
She believes her blood is purer.
That her unborn son will be the true heir."
"But she does not know… that Blood never lies."
Julius understood.
This was no mother.
This was a noble. A player. A keeper of lineage.
And in this world… he was a chess piece. Not yet sacrificed—but never safe.
She rose. Slowly. Leaned down. And whispered close to his ear:
"Survive. Become more than a name.
Be a threat. A real one."
Then she turned. And disappeared.
Julius remained there, motionless.
The beating of his heart echoed in his chest like a distant drum.
He had just understood:
This wasn't a family.
It was a battlefield.
And he was still on his knees.