White Prince's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Miguel Tepes swung the diamond-edged katana and stumbled. Sun poured over the courtyard stones, warm on his white hair and pale skin. He was the son of Dracula, one of two vampires ever born instead of made, one of two who could walk in daylight. He wanted one thing now: to fuse his three arts into a single flowing weapon. Ninja stealth. The samurai's blade. His witch blood. He would become a warrior no vampire could beat. He needed that skill because he had already failed once, and someone had died for it. He attacked the training post again. His feet moved like a ninja. His hands gripped the sword like a samurai. His witch blood pushed heat into his palms. The three fought each other. His strike landed late and weak. The blade skipped off the wood. Weeks ago he had watched a vampire hunt down one of his human lovers. He had lunged too slow, arts tangling, and reached her too late. He swore never again. But his body still betrayed him mid-strike. "You are fighting yourself." Sofia Tepes stood at the courtyard edge. She was Dracula's youngest wife, and she had raised Miguel since birth. Her golden headdress caught the sun. She never flinched from daylight or from him. She crossed the stones and took the katana from his hands. "You lead with the ninja. Then the samurai argues. Then the witch blood shouts over both." She turned the blade in the light. "Three masters. One body. They will never share." "Then teach me to make them share," Miguel said. "No." She pressed the hilt back into his palm. "Stop dividing them. There is no ninja, no samurai, no witch. There is only you. The arts are not three tools. They are one tongue." Miguel raised the sword. He tried to think of nothing. His mind still split into three parts. He failed. The post stood untouched. "You are still counting steps," Sofia said. "Bleed for it." She drew a thin knife and cut his forearm before he could speak. Pain flared. His witch blood surged to heal the wound, and something opened. The heat did not shout now. It ran under his feet and into his hands at once. He moved without choosing which art to use. He did not step, then strike, then burn. He simply struck. The katana cut clean through the post. The wood dropped in two pieces. Miguel stood still, breathing hard. For the first time the three arts had answered as one voice. Sofia wiped her knife. "There. That is the warrior." Miguel looked at the halved post, then at the sun on his skin. He could fight now. He could protect them all. But a fused warrior needed more than a blade to shield every lover from every vampire. He needed the pact. And the only power that could bind such a spell lived with the witches who hated humans most.