CHAPTER 4

December 10, 1489...

The Supreme Atcandis gazed out toward the palace of the whites, lost in deep thought. For years, he had not noticed the whites, who were once constantly seen working across their vast lands.

“What are you thinking about, my love?” asked Zenya, embracing her husband from behind.

“I wonder, for I no longer see the whites,” he replied.

“Perhaps they’ve just become more cautious after the chaos from before,” Zenya answered with a shrug.

Moments later, they heard the voice of their son, Asmal, calling for them repeatedly. The couple exchanged glances, realizing their guests—whom they had invited with the help of Owwa—might have already arrived for Zumir’s birthday celebration.

“Father! Zumir still hasn’t dressed!” Asmal tattled to his parents.

The couple thought the guests had arrived and were about to go to their youngest son's room when Asmal stopped them.

“He’s over there!” Asmal said, pointing to his brother, who was busy sparring with their soldiers.

The couple felt like cold water had been poured over them when they saw more than ten guards lying defeated on the ground, one barely able to stand while still fighting Zumir.

Zumir moved fluidly, unfazed as he battled the guard. The soldier failed to notice that the young prince had already moved behind him, ready to slash his throat—until Atcandis seized Zumir’s hand holding the sword.

“What do you think you're doing?” thundered his father. The eight-year-old Zumir dropped the weapon.

The guard, on the brink of death, lay gasping from the child prince’s assault.

“Where did you learn that? That hasn’t been taught to you yet, has it?” asked his father sternly.

Zumir simply stared at him. His eyes were cold, devoid of any expression, as if he were looking at something meaningless.

“Forgive me, Father. It won’t happen again,” the boy said quietly.

“Didn’t I tell you to get dressed? Our guests are on their way! Why must you be so hardheaded?” scolded Asmal, arms crossed.

“I’ll get dressed now,” Zumir replied, then teleported instantly to his room.

The three were left stunned by what they had just witnessed.

“Where did he learn that? He hasn't been taught teleportation yet—his power isn’t strong enough for that. That could weaken him! Was it you, Asmal?” Atcandis asked angrily.

At age fourteen, young vampires were just beginning to be trained in teleportation, since that’s when their strength began to mature.

“No, Father. I haven’t even mastered it myself!” Asmal denied immediately.

“Then where did your brother learn it?” Atcandis asked, visibly running out of patience.

“Calm down, my love. Asmal did nothing wrong,” Zenya said gently.

Asmal kept his head down, prompting Atcandis to sigh and pat his son’s shoulder.

“Go check on your brother. Make sure he’s dressed.”

The young man obeyed and teleported to his brother’s room. He found Zumir standing in front of a mirror, intently staring at his reflection. Asmal sighed when he saw that Zumir still hadn’t changed.

“Zumir, the celebration will start in a few minutes,” Asmal said softly.

“Brother, I had a dream last night. I don’t know why, but every time my birthday draws near, that same dream returns,” Zumir said in a low voice.

“What was it about? Was it a good dream or—” Asmal didn’t finish his sentence, because Zumir spoke again.

“I was holding a young lady in my left hand. I don’t know who she is or if we’ve met. Her face was hard to make out, but she called me by another name. We were running and flying through the forest, being chased by white vampires shooting arrows laced with a strange poison. I don’t know why we were being chased. I was struck in the heart by an arrow shot by a man from the white bloodline. Like the woman, I couldn’t see his face, but I felt something different about him. I don’t know why I keep dreaming it year after year,” Zumir explained at length.

Asmal stared at his younger brother. He saw fear and anxiety in his eyes. His heart pounded. He walked closer and patted Zumir’s shoulder.

“Dreams are the opposite of what happens in the real world. Ignore it, little brother. Maybe it’s just a dark spirit lingering around you. That’s how they are with children like you. Don’t worry—we’ll summon the best—” But again, Asmal didn’t finish.

“No need, Brother. I’ll just ignore it. I’ll change now,” Zumir said and walked toward the large bed where Queen Zenya had laid out his clothes.

“All right, I’ll head downstairs. My fellow trainees will be arriving soon,” said Asmal.

Zumir nodded. As soon as Asmal stepped out of the room, he felt the unease return.

“I hope your dream doesn’t mean anything, little brother,” he whispered to himself.

---

The Supreme Atcandis and his friends were joyfully chatting while watching their children bond. Zumir was the youngest among them, as the other children were all aged ten and up.

“This boy, Joaquin, has such a hard time learning teleportation. He’s been practicing for months, but still can’t do it outside the mansion,” Suliro shared.

“How old is your son now?” asked Toran.

“Seventeen,” Suliro replied.

“Well, at least teleportation is his only struggle. My son, who’s thirteen, still can’t fight properly—especially with a bow. His aim is all over the place,” said Arus.

Atcandis remained silent, listening. His thoughts turned to Zumir, who, despite having no formal training, had already mastered the sword and teleportation effortlessly.

“Supreme, how’s your eldest, Asmal?” Toran asked.

“He’s skilled with both bow and sword, but still struggles with teleportation. He tires quickly after using it,” the Supreme replied.

“Even Kellyo gets headaches after teleporting. It takes focus and energy to do it right. The farther you want to go, the more power you need,” Suliro added.

Their conversation paused as drums and trumpets sounded. Everyone stood and applauded as Zumir entered. His expression was cold, detached from the world around him. He didn’t smile as he sat in the seat prepared for him. Guests greeted him one by one, then everyone ate together.

Disliking crowds, Zumir slipped away to his room and gazed at the sea through his large window. He had never been there before, and at that moment, he longed to go. He removed his thick red outer garment, revealing the long-sleeved white tunic underneath—just enough to protect against the cold. He looked at his reflection and saw the red and black swirling in his eyes. He closed his eyes, focused his mind on his desired location, and felt warmth surge through his body. Soon, he heard waves crashing against stone.

When he opened his eyes, he was standing atop a cliff. Giant waves slammed into jagged rocks below.

The air was cold, the ocean deep blue. The wind whipped strands of his messy hair. He smiled faintly, realizing he could now teleport to distant places. He stood and looked back at the kingdom, now tiny from where he was. The black flag waved gently in the night breeze.

“I did it,” he whispered.

He examined his palms and fingers, wondering how he could do things he hadn’t been taught.

Even his older brother, who trained daily, couldn’t teleport this far. Was something strange about him? Or was he simply learning quickly from secretly watching the whites train in the South?

His parents didn’t know he often snuck away when they were busy governing and when Asmal was training. He remembered being six when he slipped out while the palace was unattended. Owwa had gone with Asmal, leaving him alone. He flew off in search of fun. Unknowingly, he reached a mountain where he saw whites training—children learning swords and bows, older youths practicing teleportation. He kept returning to watch. At seven, his father began teaching him the basics of weapons.

“Prince Zumir, the first thing you must remember is—” his trainer began, but Zumir cut him off.

“I challenge you to a duel,” he said coldly.

“Haha, come now, Your Highness, behave yourself. I’ll be blamed by your father. He pays me to—” the trainer didn’t finish. Zumir interrupted again.

“Are you underestimating me?” he asked, staring him down. The trainer gulped as Zumir’s eyes turned red.

“Of course not, Your Highness. Swordplay is no joke—” But he fell silent again when Zumir pointed a blade at his neck, then suddenly appeared behind him, blade still in place.

The duel happened, and Zumir won. The trainer was stunned that the child, with no formal instruction, knew how to fight.

“I don’t need you. You may leave and never return,” Zumir said, turning his back and heading to his room to rest. The trainer sat stunned on the ground beside their used swords.

At five in the morning, his mother woke him for training, angering him for disturbing his sleep. From that day, he never allowed the trainer back, telling his father he’d train himself.

“You must learn, Zumir, because you will succeed me! A Supreme must master weaponry!” Atcandis said angrily.

Zumir stayed silent, head bowed, listening. He turned to face the large window as his father continued.

“If you're afraid, that’s part of the training. To learn, you must feel every emotion—” But Zumir stopped listening.

He closed his eyes and teleported away.

Zumir returned to the present, realizing he had been standing on the cliff for half an hour. He decided to return home—his parents were surely looking for him. Upon returning to the kingdom, Twari, his father’s right hand, immediately noticed him. Zumir gave him a slight nod and mingled with the guests. He caught a suspicious glance from a man but ignored it.

Next time, he planned to visit a distant forest using teleportation.