The world had scents.
Jayden—no, Julius, now—was beginning to understand.
There was the scent of old leather. The scent of polished wood. The scent of blood… warm, thick, sweet.
And behind them all, more subtle, more ancient… a smell of black stone, the kind that had never seen sunlight.
He was in a world that breathed silence and immortality.
Since what they called the night of his birth, Julius had been observing.
His body was tiny, but his mind—the frustrated strategist of a retired MOBA gamer—was working in overdrive.
The nurses thought he was asleep.
The elders believed he was just an infant.
But Julius was learning. Every word. Every face. Every tone.
And that morning, he felt something had changed.
---
He was awakened by gloved hands. Delicate but firm.
They lifted him from his stone cradle and wrapped him in a black cloth embroidered with silver.
The air was cold. Like every day since he'd started breathing here.
He was carried through a hallway. Long. Too long.
Alabaster statues lined the path: figures of ancient vampires, with inhuman faces. One of them seemed to cry blood.
Julius, silent, counted the steps.
Thirty-two.
Then a spiral staircase. Going down. Always down.
The darkness grew thick, almost liquid. Then suddenly… a red light pulsed from the ground.
They had arrived.
---
A circular chamber. Walls of obsidian. A circle carved into dark marble, with lines so fine they seemed alive.
Around it, twelve figures in crimson cloaks.
At the center, an altar. And before the altar—his father.
Valemir Iserath.
Still as silent. Still as unshakable.
He stood tall, one hand resting on a long, narrow silver blade. His gaze—two red abysses—fell on Julius for a moment… then on the twelve.
"The Blood demands its due."
His voice rang like a funeral bell.
One of the crimson-robed figures stepped forward, holding a curved dagger.
Julius was laid on the altar—neither gently nor roughly. Like a sacred object.
The dagger gleamed. A red light pulsed along the blade.
He felt fear. Instinctive. Visceral. A biological alarm.
But he didn't move.
No cry. No tear.
He knew what this was: a test.
The old woman approached. Her hand barely trembled.
A word was whispered: "Sanguis."
A cut. Thin. Quick. Just beneath his thumb.
The pain was real.
Not like in a game. Not a number on a screen.
His blood flowed—one drop, two—falling onto the runes of the circle.
And then—
---
Something responded.
The circle lit up like a waking vein. Red lines pulsed, crawling up the walls. The ground vibrated beneath him.
In his chest, he felt a cold presence coil around his heart.
A voice—or was it a memory?—whispered into his inner ear:
"The Blood recognizes you."
His gaze met his father's. No smile. But… a flicker.
Perhaps satisfaction. Or simply… certainty.
The old woman stepped back. One hand stretched toward the circle.
"The legacy is stabilized. The bloodline remains unbroken."
One of the crimson silhouettes murmured:
"The Pureblood is reborn."
Julius then felt a shift. Subtle. But irreversible.
As if an invisible door had opened inside him.
Something now flowed in his veins… not just blood.
A bond, ancient and unbreakable, had just been forged between him and this House.
And that bond… he would have to master it, or it would smother him.
---
They covered him. Took him away.
Silence returned—deeper than before.
And in the darkness behind his closed eyelids, Julius thought:
No stats. No pop-ups. No indicators. Just pain… and survival.
Alright. I get the rules of this game.
No tutorial. No second chances.
"So I'll cheat another way."
---