The grand halls of Blackthorn Academy echoed with the chatter of students. Despite the tension that had been growing, the façade of normalcy still clung to the school like a fading shadow. Dante sat at the edge of the courtyard fountain, watching the water ripple under the cool sunlight. He clenched his fist, the faint glow of the mark on his palm concealed beneath his gloves.
"You're unusually quiet," whispered Leah, settling beside him. Her golden hair caught the light, shimmering as if it had a life of its own. "Not that you're the life of the party, but still."
Dante gave her a sideways glance. "Just thinking."
"About Gregor?" she asked, her voice dropping into a softer tone.
He nodded. The animosity between him and Gregor had reached its peak. Their clash during combat training had almost turned deadly, and though the instructors had intervened, Dante knew Gregor's hatred wouldn't be quenched so easily.
The problem was that Gregor wasn't just a rival; he was cunning and resourceful. Dante couldn't shake the feeling that Gregor was planning something far more dangerous than petty squabbles.
Later that day, during History of the Bloodlines class, Dante found himself distracted. The instructor, Professor Calder, droned on about the ancient conflicts between vampire clans and their human allies. But Dante's thoughts were elsewhere, replaying the confrontation with Gregor from two days ago.
The words still rang in his ears: "You think you're special because of that mark? It doesn't make you powerful—it makes you a target."
"Dante, are you paying attention?"
He blinked, realizing Professor Calder was staring at him, along with half the class. Leah stifled a laugh beside him, and Dante straightened in his seat.
"Yes, Professor," he muttered.
Professor Calder raised an eyebrow but continued his lecture.
As the class ended and the students began to disperse, Dante noticed Gregor lingering near the doorway. Their eyes met, and a smirk tugged at Gregor's lips—a silent promise of trouble.
That evening, Dante returned to his dormitory only to find it ransacked. His books were strewn across the floor, and his desk had been overturned.
"What the—?" Dante muttered, stepping over the mess.
His heart sank as he noticed the piece of parchment pinned to the wall with a dagger. The message was scrawled in thick, angry letters:
You don't belong here.
Leah burst into the room moments later. "I heard—oh no." Her gaze swept over the mess, landing on the note.
"It's Gregor," Dante said, his voice tight.
Leah frowned. "He's gone too far this time. You have to report this."
Dante shook his head. "Reporting it won't stop him. He wants me out of here, and he's not going to stop until he gets what he wants."
The next day, Dante found himself cornered in one of the darker corridors of the academy. Gregor and his lackeys had been waiting for him.
"You've been getting too comfortable, Dante," Gregor sneered, stepping closer. "Let me remind you of your place."
Before Dante could react, Gregor lunged, his hand crackling with dark energy. The mark on Dante's palm flared to life, and an invisible force pushed Gregor back, sending him crashing into the wall.
The other students froze, staring at Dante with a mix of fear and awe.
"What are you?" Gregor hissed, struggling to his feet.
Dante didn't answer. He didn't need to. The mark on his palm glowed brighter than ever, and for the first time, Dante felt its power fully awaken.
"Stay away from me," he said, his voice steady but deadly.
Gregor glared at him, but there was fear in his eyes now. Without another word, he and his lackeys retreated down the corridor, leaving Dante alone.
That night, Dante sat on his bed, staring at the mark on his palm. It had saved him, but at what cost? He knew the power inside him was growing, and he wasn't sure he could control it much longer.
Leah's voice broke the silence. "You're stronger than you think, Dante. But you can't fight this alone."
Dante looked at her, the weight of her words sinking in. For the first time, he realized that the battles ahead wouldn't just be against others—but against himself.
And the war was only beginning.