Three thousand years ago, the Moriarty Kingdom was consumed by a plague unlike any seen before. A virulent contagion swept across its lands, mutating its victims into cannibalistic beasts driven mad with bloodlust. At the center of it all stood the eldest prince, Cain Moriarty.
He bore the brunt of the transformation, having been exposed to the highest concentration of mutagens. Yet, unlike the frenzied masses, Cain did not descend into savagery. Where others tore their kin limb from limb, Cain stood still—silent, composed. He did not crave flesh. He did not drink human blood. Not yet.
---
In the modern lecture hall, a projection shimmered mid-air as Professor Lanny flicked her hand, sliding the hologram to the next slide.
"As we take a closer look, it becomes clear—the Crimson Virus is far more intricate than we imagined," she said, eyes gleaming behind crystal lenses. "So much so, it's almost unfathomable that it was created three millennia ago."
She paced slowly across the platform.
"Unlike conventional vampires, we were not born immortal. It was the original 'living vampires'—those who survived the plague—that allowed us to study the virus in greater detail."
Angel leaned back in his seat, arms folded, his expression unreadable.
"Are all mages this obsessed with sounding smart?" he whispered to Latisha.
Latisha chuckled under her breath. "Let's just say they prize wisdom more than flashy power."
The professor's voice rose again, reclaiming their attention.
"To truly understand purebloods," Lanny continued, "we must study the genetic code of Prince Cain Moriarty. His transformation was unique—his DNA, an anomaly."
The slide displayed an ancient double-helix interwoven with crimson strands.
"Purebloods, you see, were the few survivors of the capital. It was only those within Cain's immediate vicinity who received his altered gene through direct exposure or administration."
She tapped the screen.
"The rural regions didn't fare as well. Those who survived did so by sheer chance or... less stable mutations."
"But how did the prince's gene contribute to the creation of purebloods?" she posed rhetorically.
She answered herself with a confident smile.
"The virus didn't remove their hunger for human flesh. It refined it. Distilled it. The urge to devour was reduced to a thirst—for blood, the very essence of life. This, we theorize, was the prince's doing."
She turned off the projection.
"That concludes today's lesson. We'll continue next week."
With a shimmer of light, she vanished in a blink.
"Whew…" Angel exhaled as he stood. "Two subjects a day is enough."
Latisha stretched and yawned. "Speak for yourself."
But before Angel could exit, a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Noah.
"You answered a question that doesn't exist in the ancient texts," he hissed.
"Noah, stop!" Latisha said, stepping forward.
"Stay out of this, Latisha. I'm sick of half-bloods pretending they're better than us."
Noah tightened his grip, but Angel calmly brushed it away.
"Am I obligated to explain myself?" Angel asked coolly.
"You might want to keep your voice down. Professor Lance is just outside."
With that, he exited the classroom, leaving Noah fuming.
"Damn worthless half-bloods…" Noah muttered.
Outside, Professor Lance stood near the hallway window, arms folded.
"Hm… Courage. That's new," he mused as he watched Angel's retreating figure. "He's not the same boy he was before he took in my lord's blood…"
---
That evening, Angel returned to his dormitory, an ancient stone room preserved from the days of the old capital. Dust motes danced in the moonlight filtering through the gothic windows.
He scanned the room, searching for something—anything—left behind by the one known as the Blood Lord.
"Nothing…" Angel sighed, collapsing onto the bed in frustration.
"I expected more. This was the room of Cain Moriarty…"
But something felt off.
"Hm?"
A strange sensation pulsed beneath the mattress. Angel tore it away and found a wooden box embedded within the bed frame.
"How did I not think of this before?"
The box had no traditional keyhole. Instead, it bore an inward bowl shaped like a thumbprint, with a needle protruding at the center.
"No way…"
Realization struck. The lock required blood.
Bracing himself, Angel pressed his thumb down. The needle pierced his skin, and crimson fluid pooled into the indentation. The box shuddered, the metal rusted in seconds, and the lock crumbled into dust.
"Got it," Angel whispered, wincing slightly before healing almost instantly.
Inside lay a leather-bound diary, its cover aged yet untouched by time. The language was unfamiliar, arcane… yet somehow, Angel could read it effortlessly.
He read the entire night.
---
They call it unification… but there is no unity.
The four factions remain divided. The Hunters seek to erase us from existence. The Wolves claw at our borders, prideful and wild. The State of Magistry watches us with suspicion, peace treaty or not.
Even within, my own kin rebel. The Bat Elders have forsaken our throne—only Lord Noctis remains by my side. Nobles squabble over land and coin, while my family sits on a throne of silence.
I will not show mercy. I believe in my daughter's vision. If there is a child of fate, let him achieve what I could not—true unity.
Angel lowered the diary, thoughts swirling.
"But… the factions are united now… aren't they?"
He stared at the ceiling.
Was Cain truly delusional? Or had Angel misunderstood everything?
---
Above, on the academy's rooftop, two figures watched the night sky.
"I wasn't expecting you here again," said Malachi, voice light with amusement.
"I go where the bloodline needs me," Lance replied solemnly.
"How was his first day?"
"Strange. He answered questions that no pureblood should've known. He's changed… ever since accepting our lord's blood."
"I taught him in Japan. The fact he still remembers… It means something."
"Remembering is one thing. Genius is another," Lance said, folding his arms.
"He was bullied for his mind back then. Too smart for his own good. That kind of pain... it leaves a mark."
"I'll judge for myself," Lance said flatly. "I'm his professor now."
"Suit yourself." Malachi turned and vanished into the shadows.
The moon hung silently in the sky as if watching over the boy below—the last light of a fading kingdom.