Hey there, I'm Arthur Severus Belmont. Ten years old, and according to some people, 'troubled'. But hey, 'troubled' is just another word for 'interesting', right?

So, I was at this school called Carpathian Academy. Sounds spooky, doesn't it? It's this place in northern Transylvania, Romania, for kids who are, well, like me. A boarding school that's supposed to straighten us out.

But if you ask me, all the best heroes have a bit of trouble in their backstory.

Anyway, let's rewind my story a bit, all the way to the beginning.

I was born on a freezing December night - yep, New Year's Eve, 1980. Talk about making an entrance!

My dad had already left the stage of life six months before I showed up. Drama and mystery, right from my first breath.

Mom always told me stories about Dad. How he was brave and kind.

Wish I could've met him. But instead, I got his gravestone in the old churchyard and a bunch of 'what ifs'.

His absence was like a ghost in the house, haunting every nook and cranny. A void that I couldn't wrap my little head around.

But strangely, that gravestone brought me comfort, like a reassuring hand on my shoulder saying, "It's going to be alright, lad." It was comforting, in a ghost-story-by-the-fire kind of way.

Mom, Sonia Belmont, was a walking encyclopedia on my dad. She painted him as a hero straight out of a myth – brave, kind, and apparently loved us like a dragon loves its treasure.

I always had this nagging feeling Mom was keeping the juiciest secrets to herself.

The town's whispers were like bread crumbs leading to a gingerbread house, and I was the nosy kid who couldn't resist following the trail.

So, like a knight in slightly tarnished armor, I embarked on a quest through dusty archives. Each scrap of information about Dad was like finding a piece of a lost treasure map, revealing the secret history of our little town.

As I grew, so did my resolve, toughening up like leather in a tanner's hands. That's me – Arthur Severus Belmont, the kid with a story itching to be told, one step and one breath at a time.

During winter, summer, or spring breaks when I wasn't in school, I found sanctuary in our small but love-filled apartment. Mom and I, we were like two peas in a pod, especially during the evenings. Those were our times, lost in the realms of books, each story spinning a thread that tied our hearts in a bond stronger than the mightiest of spells.

Mom was more than just a pretty face. She had this spark in her eyes, the kind that could light up the darkest dungeons. She didn't just guide me through life; she nourished my soul with a love that was as deep as the ocean and as unconditional as gravity.

Her approach to parenting? Think of a general leading an army. Discipline, precision, and a whole lot of love.

Her expectations were as high as Mount Olympus, and when I stumbled, she was there, not to catch me, but to teach me how to land without breaking my neck.

Now, let's skip the boring parts of my childhood – you know, learning to tie my shoes, the first time I rode a bike without training wheels – and get to the good stuff, that brings me back to the school trip that changed everything.

We were headed to the National Museum of Art in Bucharest. A normal trip, you'd think. But when you're like me, 'normal' isn't really part of the vocabulary...

As I was saying, It was a day in April, when the fourth-grade class, my class, consisting of twenty-eight kids and two teachers, took a journey to Bucharest on a white old style school bus, heading to the National Museum of Art to explore ancient Dacian and Roman artifacts. 

I know—it might sound like a punishment or torture Most trips from Carpathian Academy were. But Mr. Radu, our history teacher, was leading this expedition, so I had hopes. 

I hoped the trip would be okay.

But, as luck—or my lack thereof—would have it, I was dead wrong. School trips and I? We're like oil and water, never quite mixing right, always ending in some kind of spectacular disaster.

Like when I was in the second grade and we went on a field trip to Rasnov Fortress, a historic site located in Brasov County, Romania.

While exploring the fortress, I had an unfortunate incident with a replica of an old weapon displayed in a local history exhibition—a cannon, so authentic looking it seemed ready for battle.

Despite the clear warnings that practically shouted "Do not touch!" in every language, including those only spoken by the bravest of history teachers, my second-grade self thought, "What's the worst that could happen?"

Well, I found out. In a moment that would've made even the most daring Hero facepalm, I touched the cannon.

But this wasn't just a touch; it was the butterfly wing flap that caused a hurricane. Somehow, my elementary school curiosity triggered the untriggerable: the cannon fired.

Now, before you panic, it wasn't a real cannonball, but the effect was dramatic enough. Aimed with the accuracy of a blind Cyclops, the cannon launched a harmless but loud blast right at our school bus, turning it from a vehicle of educational voyage into exhibit A of "Why We Have Rules." I swear was more the weapon's fault than mine.

 Fast forward to third grade, Bran Castle.

You'd think I'd learned my lesson, but nope.

There I was, accidentally leaning on a seemingly innocuous lever, and what happens? A fountain bursts to life, drenching us all, and the last time... Well, you get the idea. 

On this trip, I was determined to behave. Right from entering the city, I endured Ana Popescu, the freckled, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best friend Elias in the back of the head with pieces of polenta and cheese, which she bought from a small local shop. 

Elias, my best friend and partner-in-crime, was a walking, talking paradox. With a perpetual twinkle in his eye and a grin that could charm even the grumpiest of monsters, he was the kind of guy who could make a harpy reconsider its career choices.

His unruly mop of hair resembled a perpetual whirlwind, as if each strand had its own agenda. Elias had this habit of running his hands through it when he was deep in thought, which only made the chaos on his head even more endearing.

The only thing as unpredictable as his hair was his taste in fashion – a mix of mismatched patterns and colors that somehow always worked, leaving the rest of us mere mortals questioning our fashion choices. 

But don't let the quirky exterior fool you. Elias was the strategist, the brains behind our escapades, and Underneath the mischievous facade, Elias possessed a heart bigger than the labyrinthine twists of the Minotaur's maze.

He'd go to the ends of the Hell and back for his friends, armed with a sword and a sarcastic quip. 

Elias, despite his endearing and quirky nature, had a peculiar habit that made him an unintentional bullseye for the school bullies.

He had an uncanny ability to get lost in his own world of imagination, 

In a school where conformity and fitting in were considered the norm, Elias's eccentric thoughts and imaginative escapades set him apart.

He could be found sketching mythological creatures in the margins of his notebooks or engrossed in a fantasy novel during lunch, oblivious to the social dynamics around him.

His lack of concern for societal norms and his unapologetic embrace of his unique interests made him stand out. 

The bullies, always on the lookout for someone to mock and belittle, saw Elias's quirks as a weakness to exploit.

They would mock his drawings, call him names related to mythical creatures, and disrupt his daydreams with taunts. the bullies found satisfaction in targeting him simply because he dared to be different in a world that often frowned upon such individuality. 

In any case, Ana Popescu was hurling bits of mamaliga and cheese that clung to Elias's unruly mop of curly brown hair, fully aware that I couldn't retaliate because I was already on probation.

The headmaster had issued a dire warning, threatening me with in-school suspension if anything remotely bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining occurred on this trip. 

"I swear I'm going to do something about this," I grumbled. 

Elias tried to pacify me. "Hey, it's okay. I happen to like mamaliga." He deftly avoided another projectile from Ana's makeshift lunch. 

"That's enough." I started to rise from my seat, but Elias firmly pulled me back down. 

"Remember, you're already on probation," he cautioned. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens." 

Reflecting on it now, I wish I had confronted Ana Popescu right then and there. In-school suspension would've been a minor inconvenience compared to the tangled web I was about to weave for myself. 

"Stay together, class," he'd say, but who listens to that on a school trip? Certainly not Elias, my best buddy. 

We were weaving through the exhibits, dodging teachers and boring explanations, when suddenly, I saw it. The Coolest Thing Ever. A real-life, ancient Dacian sword.

Behind glass, obviously, but still, it was calling my name. 'Arthur,' it whispered, 'come and be the next King of Romania.'

Okay, so maybe it didn't actually say that.

But it would have been cool if it did.

I was just about to get a closer look when – WHAM! – I walked right into a glass case.

Not my smoothest moment. I swear the

statue inside gave me a look like, 'Really, dude?'

"That's enough horseplay, Arthur," Mrs. Carrow, our other teacher, scolded.

She's new. Tall, kind of mysterious, with a look that says, 'I've seen things you wouldn't believe.' I nodded, but let's be real, I was already planning my next move.

Just as I was about to escape Mrs. Carrow's hawk-like gaze, Elias nudged me. "Check this out," he said, pointing to a painting that was definitely laughing at my clumsiness.

Okay, maybe it wasn't, but with my luck, it wouldn't surprise me...

"So, where were we? Oh yeah, the museum trip.

Right, so there we were, in the National Museum of Art, surrounded by more ancient stuff than Mr. Radu's history closet.

The thing about museums is, they're supposed to be quiet, but put a bunch of ten-year-olds in there, and it's like trying to silence a band of banshees.

I was minding my own business, honest. But Ana Popescu, our resident troublemaker with a knack for chaos, decided it was the perfect time to stir things up. She was this red-haired whirlwind, always up to something.

And that day, her something involved me, unfortunately.

There I was, admiring this old, dusty painting of Vlad the Impaler (cheerful guy, really), when Ana decided to throw a crumpled piece of paper at me. It hit me right on the head. Classic Ana.

'Epic aim, Popescu,' I grumbled, rubbing my head. 'What'd you use for target practice, your homework?'

Ana just stuck her tongue out. She was about to launch another paper missile when Mr. Radu appeared like a ghost. Seriously, the man could sneak up on a shadow.

'Mr. Belmont, is there a problem?' he asked, looking at me with those eyes that said, 'I know you're up to something, and I'll find out what it is.'

'No problem, Mr. Radu. Just learning about Vlad here. Interesting guy. Loved spikes.'

Mr. Radu didn't look convinced, but he moved on, probably to save some other artifact from our class's curiosity.

That's when it happened.

The weird part. I mean, weirder than a usual day at Carpathian Academy.

I was about to turn away from the painting when I saw something move in the corner of my eye. It was just a flicker, but when I looked back at the painting, Vlad's eyes seemed to be staring right at me. Creepy, right?

'Elias, did you see that?' I whispered, but my buddy was too busy trying to stop Ana from launching another paper attack.

That's when I heard it, a voice, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. 'Arthur Severus Belmont,' it said, and chills ran down my spine. 'Your journey begins now.'

I spun around, looking for the source of the voice, but there was nothing. Just a room full of relics and a bunch of kids who were more interested in their snacks than ancient mysteries.

I knew then that something big was about to happen. Something that would take me far from Carpathian Academy and into a world I never knew existed.

A world of magic, mystery, and maybe a bit of mayhem. But hey, that's just another day in the life of Arthur Belmont, right?

**Author's Note:**

Hey, fellow adventurers!

Thanks for diving into Arthur's world with me! Writing this chapter was a blast, and I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did crafting it. Arthur Severus Belmont is just getting started, and it's been a wild ride so far—one filled with ancient mysteries, unpredictable school trips, and a whole lot of heart.

But now, I'd love to hear from you! Is Arthur's journey keeping you hooked? Are you laughing along with his mishaps and getting those chills when things get spooky? Your thoughts, comments, and feedback mean the world to me and really help shape the story as it unfolds.

If you've got a moment, drop a comment below—whether it's to share your favorite part, predict what's coming next, or just to say hi. Your input keeps the magic alive, and it's awesome to know what you're enjoying and if there's anything you think could be tweaked.

Thanks again for joining me on this adventure. There's plenty more mystery, magic, and mayhem on the horizon, and I can't wait to share it with you.

Stay curious and keep exploring!