[Friday, 8 August 2045]
The night air pressed down on Lucas like a velvet weight, thick with the scent of wet stone and distant pine. Darkness stretched like a living thing across Hallowcrest, swallowing the edges of the Academy's towering spires. The moon, hidden behind drifting clouds, cast silver streaks that barely illuminated the rooftops. Lucas's instincts screamed at him to run, to deny what Sophie had just revealed—but his legs refused to obey.
"Close your eyes," Sophie said softly, her voice threading through the wind, nearly blending into the night itself.
"What? Why?" Lucas asked, his voice tight. His chest constricted as though something inside him wanted to break free.
"You have to see it," she replied, calm yet insistent. "Not with your eyes. With your senses. Feel your blood, Lucas. Let it tell you its story."
Hands pressed to his chest, Lucas inhaled slowly. The rhythm of his heartbeat pulsed in his ears—steady at first—but beneath it, something darker, wilder, and almost sentient stirred. It throbbed against his veins as if it were trying to communicate, an urgent language made of rhythm and sensation that bypassed thought.
"The Blood Moon Art," Sophie whispered, reverence threading her tone. "A power only vampires, and half-breeds like us, can wield."
"…I see it," he murmured, voice barely audible. Shadows of memory and future collided behind his closed lids. A half-breed moved through darkness, wielding the Blood Moon Art with deadly precision—against other vampires and the agents who hunted them. The vision was violent, swift, and merciless.
"It's communicating," Sophie explained, her hand hovering in the air like a conductor of invisible energy. "Through the blood passed to you. The Blood Moon Art isn't just a weapon—it's a legacy. A memory from those who came before you. To master it, you must understand its origins."
Lucas's throat tightened. "Most half-breeds don't see this early. Usually, it takes weeks… months of training before the first visions appear."
"And yet you are seeing it," Sophie said, lifting her hands. The air around her twisted and turned, almost like liquid silk caught in currents only she could command. "Watch carefully."
Lucas watched in awe as she exhaled slowly. The wind danced around her fingers, bending in intricate, fluid patterns. Sophie's Blood Moon Art relied on subtlety, on balance, on the harmony of her blood with the world. It was not destruction—it was symphony, alive and responsive to her will.
"How… how are you doing that?" Lucas asked, his voice trembling.
"Blood Moon Art: Wind Tempo," she said simply. "You can do something similar. The Blood Moon Art isn't just manipulation—it's resonance. You'll need balance, control, and patience."
"I don't… I don't know how to control it," Lucas admitted, panic gnawing at him. "What if I hurt someone?"
"Control doesn't come on the first attempt," Sophie replied. "You won't hurt anyone tonight. But the more you panic, the harder it will become. Half-breeds fail not because of the power, but because they fight themselves."
Lucas nodded slowly. Though he understood little, he felt the truth in her words. "And… you're saying I can learn?"
"I'm saying you must," she corrected. "The Academy doesn't see difference as a gift—it sees it as a threat. Without mastery, you won't just hide—you'll be hunted."
The words sank into him like stones, heavy, inevitable.
"This… is only the beginning," Sophie said softly. "If you're ready, we start training. Before the Academy finds out… before anyone else does."
Lucas swallowed hard. His blood throbbed, impatient, restless, almost demanding action. He had blood. And it had a mind of its own.
...
Breakfast in the cafeteria was a blur. The chatter of students felt distant, as if he were submerged in water. His movements were sluggish; even the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread barely registered. He shoved down a few bites mechanically while replaying the rooftop scene in his mind.
Kell jabbed him sharply in the shoulder. "Earth to Lucas! You spacing out or something?"
Lucas blinked. "Huh? Oh… yeah. Just… tired."
Kell shrugged and returned to his plate. Lucas let his gaze wander, noting the sunlight glinting off polished silver rails, the smell of food mixing with the faint tang of cleaning chemicals. Every sensory detail felt alien, yet grounding.
Unable to bear it, he slipped out into the courtyard. The sunlight hit his face warmly, a sensation so mundane it almost hurt. Half-vampires weren't burned by sunlight like full vampires, but it reminded him he was still tethered to the world in ways others weren't. Closing his eyes, he let it wash over him, trying to calm the storm in his veins.
By mid-morning, he was in the training field, watching other students spar. Moon Arts flared around them, ethereal energy cutting arcs through the air. He wanted that control, that mastery. Sophie's words echoed: Control doesn't come at the first attempt… the more you panic, the harder it will become.
"Lucas."
He turned. Sophie stood a few meters away, her expression calm, watchful, the kind of steady presence that made him feel small yet seen.
"Don't get too caught up in it," she said softly.
"I… I didn't even do anything," he protested.
"You did," she said simply.
Lucas stared at his hands, trembling slightly. "I don't know how."
"Then we start with conditioning," she said. "Your body sets the limit. Strength, stamina, reflexes—they dictate how your Blood Moon Art will respond. Think of it as preparing an engine for more power."
His stomach sank. He'd never been athletic. Years of neglect left him sluggish and weak. But under her unwavering gaze, a spark ignited.
"Fine," he muttered. "What do I do?"
"Push-ups, squats, sprints, pull-ups. Start with the basics."
Lucas groaned and dropped to the cold stone. His arms shook violently on the first push-ups. Sophie stood beside him, nodding approvingly.
"Form matters more than speed. Don't rush. Your blood fights chaos—it obeys strength."
Sweat dripped down his face. "The blood… fights me?" he asked, incredulous.
"Yes," she said simply. "Strengthens control. You cannot master power your body cannot handle."
Squats. Push-ups. Sprints. Pull-ups. Hours passed. Every movement burned and reshaped him. Sophie joined him intermittently, racing him, demonstrating correct form, correcting errors, cheering small victories.
"Lower, Lucas. Feel your core engage. That's how it directs your blood."
By late morning, Lucas was drenched in sweat, lungs burning, muscles trembling—but he felt it. The blood listened, responded, obeyed. No longer merely a vessel, he was learning to conduct energy, harmonize with it, command it.
Kell appeared at the edge of the courtyard, jaw slack in awe. "Whoa! Didn't know you had it in you!"
Lucas rolled his eyes. Sophie chuckled quietly, watching him push through exhaustion.
By sunset, Lucas sat on the ground, drenched, heart hammering, every muscle screaming—but inside, something had shifted. The blood no longer demanded, it waited. He could control it, for now.
"This is only the start," Sophie said softly. "Keep this up, and your Blood Moon Art will obey."
Lucas whispered, "I… I think I can do this."
"You will," she said firmly.
Later, in the dim dorm halls, Lucas followed Sophie to her room. The light spilled softly across polished floors.
"Why here?" he asked, wary.
"Private," she replied. "You cannot practice anywhere else."
The room smelled of herbs and incense. Sparse furniture suggested purpose over comfort. Sophie gestured toward the bed. "Lie down. Relax."
Lucas hesitated. "W… what are we doing?"
"It's a training exercise—energy connection," she explained calmly. "Purely practice. Not feeding—just sharing energy."
His pulse accelerated as he obeyed. Sophie's hand hovered above his chest, moving over his neck.
"Don't panic. Let it move, let it respond. Connect."
The sensation was alien, intimate. His heart thudded in rhythm with hers.
"You're responding," she said. "Your blood listens to intent. You strengthen, it strengthens with you."
Lucas swallowed, awe-struck. "So… the stronger I get, the more I'll need this?"
"Yes. But you'll learn to manage it."
When she withdrew, Lucas opened his eyes. "I… I think I can feel it."
"You didn't feed yet," Sophie said with a faint smile.
...
The next morning, Kell's snoring jolted him awake. Sweat drenched, heart racing, he staggered to the mirror—no reflection. Panic clawed at him, and he hid under the covers.
"Are you awake, Lucas? Moving under there?" Kell asked.
"Nothing… just cold," Lucas muttered.
"You hungover?"
"…Last night?"
"Yes! The forest party. You were yelling… weird things."
Kell explained the drinking, fainting, Stephanie's care, the cabin, Room 53. Lucas sat in stunned silence, trying to reconcile the events with his awakening.
Later, in class, Mr. Terrence's eyes locked on him.
"Lucas? Care to explain?"
Lucas, pale and trembling, explained, "When a vampire doesn't feed, they enter Blood Sick Psychosis—a trance where consciousness is lost, the mind fabricates scenarios, but the body hunts. It's a chemical defense mechanism."
He still couldn't believe it—but the rooftop, Sophia, her training—it all felt real. But it was all in his head.
If he was to survive the Academy, he would need to master the inner vampire within him.