Chapter 11 — Two Years to Break the Chains
"Those born noble inherit a crown.
Those who deserve it must forge it themselves… in the fire of others' gaze."
— Excerpt from the Codex of Subtle Ambitions, Vol. I
Two years.
That was the time he had left before leaving for the Academy of Noble Vampires.
Twenty-four months.
Seven hundred thirty days.
Just over seventeen thousand hours.
Julius had done the math.
He redid it often, each morning, silently, while reviewing his daily routine.
The Iserath manor slowly awakened, between the shifting shadows of the hanging chandeliers and the soft steps of servants who no longer believed in silence.
But he had already been awake for three hours.
Each night, he went to bed past midnight.
Each dawn, his eyes opened before the crows began to stir.
The vampire child barely slept.
And no one seemed concerned.
Since his eighth-year shift, the world had closed in around him.
Lucien, barely two years old, had become the glowing center of attention.
The House echoed with the honeyed laughter of Lady Sereïs, her syrupy flattery, pompous envoys from her distant lineage, and the cries of the golden child.
Meanwhile, Julius was building his empire… in silence.
Not an empire of stones.
Not one of subjects.
An empire of knowledge.
Each morning: physical training.
He ran barefoot across the cold marble inner corridors.
Two hours of running, stances, and positions drawn from ancient dueling treatises.
Then came the claws.
Those he had learned to summon through blood concentration—black bone talons veined with mana.
Slow to master, but surgically precise.
He slashed the air.
He slashed mannequins.
He slashed the silence.
Each afternoon: diplomacy and etiquette.
In a large circular room with a ceiling adorned by a mirror of blood, he studied noble customs.
The right way to fold a mantle.
The precise timing of a head nod.
The phrases one must never utter before an elder.
His instructor, the severe-eyed Madame Vernasha, half-despised him.
But he learned fast.
He understood:
These rules didn't exist to structure the world.
They existed to trap those who failed to master them.
Each evening: strategy, history, and magic.
He spent most of his nights in the deep archives of the manor.
By the glow of enchanted crystal globes, Julius read everything that was meant to be forbidden.
He memorized genealogies, ancient wars between vampire houses, non-aggression treaties, and the unspoken codes of the Dark Court.
He also honed his command of vampiric mana.
Not just to summon fire, shadows, or projectiles—no.
He sought to understand the internal structure of mana.
Its flows. Its knots. Its breathing.
His goal was clear: to model mana as a language—
One he could bend, reshape, or even translate into ki or ether if needed.
The night of his ninth birthday came like a silent blade.
A banquet was held to celebrate Lucien's growth.
Lady Sereïs, radiant, had summoned bards, minor nobles, and even envoys from House Galmerion, her family of origin.
Julius had not been invited to the main table.
He watched from a mezzanine, sitting in the shadows—like a shadow.
He had grown.
His features had sharpened. His gaze had deepened.
Even his magic radiated a density that would have made an adult vampire envious.
But at that banquet, he was only a silent son.
A prince of the dark.
His father, Valemir, hadn't looked at him once
That night, Julius returned to his sanctuary.
He sat before three mirrors: one of onyx, one of glass, one of silver.
Three reflections of himself.
And he asked:
"What kind of man must I become
so that they can never again ignore me?"
A few days later, he received a sealed letter from High-Orion Domain.
The seal of the Academy. Official.
He would soon face the preliminary trial—
a formality for purebloods, a nightmare for the lesser.
And even though his blood would shield him…
Julius had no intention of simply passing the trial.
He intended to break it.
He crafted a plan.
In the year remaining before departure:
He would perfect his mastery of blood to the point of extracting and manipulating an opponent's essence mid-fight.
He would study the power dynamics of other noble houses, to better read the Academy's political terrain.
And he would create, in secret, his first information network.
A web of knowledge. Favors. Debts.
Among the servants. Among the children of other families.
Even among the enslaved.
One night, he summoned a mute human maid, known to spy for Lady Sereïs.
He did not punish her.
He did not expose her.
He offered her a gold coin, a book to learn writing, and a simple phrase:
"You work for her.
Now, you work for me too."
She accepted.
And thus, the first stone of Julius Iserath's future network was laid.
One year.
The sands in the hourglass kept falling.
But Julius…
he was building.
Not just a future.
A reign.
"The world thinks I'm a child.
The Academy will think I'm a prodigy.
They will never know… I'm a predator."