The tunnel beneath Whitmoor was older than the school itself—lined with cobwebbed stone and the distant sound of dripping water. It twisted like a serpent, winding deeper beneath the earth with each step. Flickering torches lit themselves one by one as Sabastin led the way, his coat sweeping the floor behind him like a shadow.
Alex followed close, his heart thudding—not from fear, but from something new inside him. It wasn't just adrenaline. It was instinct. Ancient. Restless.
Adam trailed behind, checking over his shoulder constantly. "Bro, are you sure we're not walking into a vampire cult?"
Alex didn't answer. He felt strange… stronger. His senses were heightened—he could smell the moisture in the air, feel the heartbeat of the rats in the walls. Even the darkness no longer seemed threatening.
"We're here," Sabastin said.
He stopped before a stone door etched with runes and claw marks. With a single press of his hand, it groaned open.
Inside was a chamber like nothing Alex had ever seen.
The underground court stretched wide and tall like a cathedral, glowing dimly with red crystal light. Black banners with silver crests hung from stone columns. Vampires—real vampires—stood in silence around a circular platform, draped in regal clothes and armor forged from bones and iron.
At the center sat an obsidian throne. Empty.
All eyes turned to Alex.
A female vampire with grey-white skin and piercing gold eyes stepped forward. Her voice was smooth but cold.
"So... the Blood Monarch awakens."
Sabastin nodded to her. "Lady Nereza. He is as the prophecy described."
She circled Alex slowly. "He's raw. Untrained. He smells like human."
Alex bristled. "I am human."
Her smile revealed elongated fangs. "Not for much longer."
Another voice spoke up—this one gruff and bitter. "We should not bow to a child who doesn't even understand what he is."
A tall vampire in blood-red armor stepped from the shadows. His name, Sabastin whispered, was Lord Corvan. Warrior. Skeptic. Dangerous.
"I didn't ask anyone to bow," Alex snapped, surprising even himself. "I'm not here to play king. I'm here for answers."
"Then sit," Lady Nereza gestured to a stone seat carved near the throne. "And listen."
As Alex took his place, the Court began to speak.
They spoke of a war centuries ago, when the original Monarch ruled both vampire and man from the shadows. But when the Monarch was betrayed, the royal bloodline shattered—vanishing into hiding.
Sabastin had spent his life tracking it.
"You," Nereza said, "are the last strand. The blood in your veins is older than any of us. And it's waking."
Alex clenched his fists. "What happens when it fully wakes?"
Corvan leaned forward. "You either rise... or burn."
Meanwhile...
Above ground—across town—inside a candle-lit safehouse.
The hunters regrouped.
Their armor was scorched. One of them limped, clutching a wound. But their eyes were hard, unbroken.
A man stood before them. He was older, with silver hair and a silver cross-shaped scar carved into his face.
"Agent Killian," one of the hunters saluted. "We failed. He awakened."
Killian didn't blink. "Then it begins."
He turned to the large board behind him, filled with maps of Whitmoor, surveillance photos of the school, and a red circle drawn around Sabastin's office.
"We underestimated that scientist," he said. "He was shielding the boy."
A younger hunter stepped forward. "Sir, what is he?"
Killian looked him dead in the eyes. "He's the heir to the first vampire. A Monarch."
The room went silent.
"He's the only one who can reunite the scattered bloodlines. The only one who can raise the Court from slumber. If he isn't stopped—"
He pulled a dagger from his coat, etched in silver and laced with runes.
"—the world won't survive the storm that follows."
Back in the Court…
Alex stood now, trembling slightly. His body ached again. His veins felt hot—like something inside was trying to stretch free.
Nereza handed him a goblet of dark red liquid.
"Drink. This is the binding rite. It will unlock what still sleeps inside you."
Adam shot forward. "Hold up—what's in that?"
Sabastin whispered, "It's blood from the Ancients. Mixed with ironroot and lunar ash."
Alex took it. His reflection rippled across the crimson surface. He knew—if he drank it, there was no turning back.
But there was no time for hesitation.
He drank.
The room shattered.
Pain burst through his spine like lightning. He dropped to his knees. His fingernails blackened, his eyes burned crimson. A symbol—the same claw-marked crest from the vault—burned across his chest like a brand.
The vampires watched in reverent silence.
Then the pain faded.
Alex rose.
And he was changed.
His eyes glowed, but now they held something more—authority. His heartbeat was slower. His breath quieter. He could feel the others in the room, sense them like echoes in the dark.
"You are now bound to the Court," Nereza said. "And to your destiny."
Before he could answer, the walls of the Court shook.
Sabastin's eyes widened. "We've been found."
Corvan growled. "Hunters."
Above them, the vault exploded.
Alex looked up, the taste of blood still on his lips.
"I guess we're not hiding anymore."
He reached for the bone-handled sword laid across the throne.
And this time, the weapon didn't resist his grip.