PROLOGUE

October 26, 1499...

A bloody battle erupted between the white and black vampires in the Kingdom of Sarsul, ruled by the black vampire Supreme Atcandis and his wife, Queen Zenya. The couple had two young sons, Prince Asmal and Prince Zumir.

Vampires flew in every direction. Blood and flesh littered the surroundings. With the Supreme severely wounded, it was left to his two sons to fight the white vampires. Zumir was injured, while the eldest, Asmal, was barely clinging to life. They had no chance to go back for their mother, for after she was slain, her body vanished into the air like ashes.

"Run! I’ll handle this!" Asmal said weakly to his younger brother.

"We can’t leave you, Brother!" Zumir shouted while trembling.

"Don’t be stubborn! Go and protect Father!" Asmal yelled at his brother before charging at the approaching white vampires.

But the Supreme and Asmal failed to escape because the Supreme was struck through the heart, and it led to his death.

"Fatherrrr!" Zumir's anguished cry echoed throughout the kingdom.

Bats scattered, and thunder rumbled across the sky. Zumir’s heart burned with rage upon seeing his older brother’s body dissolve into ashes after being beheaded.

His red eyes glowed with fury, and without hesitation, he charged at over twenty white vampires.

Black vampires were considered a plague, for they could drink the blood of their kind. In other words, they were traitors. They enslaved the innocent, and slaughtering the helpless was second nature to them.

The white vampires devised a plan to wipe out the black vampire race entirely, to restore equality and peace.

The whites succeeded in eradicating all black vampires except for one, the youngest son of Supreme Atcandis and Alyada, the young prince Zumir.

Zumir endured relentless attacks. Everyone was shocked that he remained alive, even as he bathed in his blood.

A sudden flaming arrow struck him straight in the heart, ending his life. But after a few minutes, his body did not turn to ash. They witnessed his wounds slowly heal and his body rise again.

“I was right! The black race will not end as long as that prince lives!” shouted an elder from the white vampire lineage.

Zumir’s bones cracked as he rose, attacking them one by one. Heads rolled, organs were ripped apart.

“What shall we do to defeat him?” a young girl from the white clan asked in terror.

“We must wait three centuries! Three hundred years until the one from our race is born—our only hope to defeat that creature!” the old man said, his voice trembling.

But he failed to notice Zumir was already behind him. By the time he realized it, a dagger had been thrust into his chest. The young girl didn’t escape either. Zumir’s razor-sharp claws tore apart her innards.

Zumir thought he had wiped out the white vampire race, but suddenly, his knees gave out as he felt a strange chemical slowly killing him from within. A poisoned sword had been driven through his chest and stomach, casting his vision into darkness from which he never awoke.

It was the white vampire Ismael who had struck down Prince Zumir. The poison he used could lull anyone into deep sleep for an extended period, up to a century. The chemical needs to be injected into Zumir every hundred years to keep him asleep. For if even a single dose were missed, nothing would stop the rebirth of the black vampire prince who would annihilate the white vampire race.

Once he awoke again, no poison or chemical would be able to defeat him. They knew no weapon alone could kill him.

October 26, 1599...

A great feast was held in the kingdom of the white vampires, for just the day before, the chemical had once again been successfully injected into the black prince to keep him asleep for another hundred years. He lay in a secluded room surrounded by towering walls and heavy locks. In the past century, many white vampires had passed away from a strange disease that struck the elderly, but new generations were born to continue the lineage.

Only three white vampires had the authority to see the black prince: Ismael, now the ruling Supreme of the whites; Kaigan, his son; and Luciana, his wife. Ismael had promised the former Supreme he would do everything to ensure the prince remained in slumber, whatever happened to him. He would pass down the knowledge of how to make the century-long sleeping chemical to his children up to the following generations.

Luciana stared at the peacefully sleeping prince. He wore a white camisole. His long, wave-like hair had grown, but his faint mustache remained unchanged, unlike the vampires of their kind, whose remains turned to ash or white. His skin was pale, yet his handsome features remained. His body stayed lean and strong. The large pendant around his neck remained untarnished. Over the years, he even appeared younger—a side effect of the chemical, according to the late Supreme.

“If we fail even once in injecting him with the chemical, it will be our end. This prince is far too powerful; no matter how many of us join forces, we can’t defeat him,” Luciana warned.

“That won’t happen. I will do everything to keep him asleep. Just a few more centuries, and the child destined to save us from this black vampire will finally be born,” Ismael replied.

“How powerful is this prince, that even all of us together couldn’t defeat him?” the young Kaigan asked innocently.

Ismael walked over to the prince and studied him closely. Even though they hadn’t treated the prince’s wounds from the last battle, he had healed on his own. Truly, this prince is powerful.

“He is like a violent wind, unseen in movement, unheard in step. By the time you notice him, your head is already at your feet,” Ismael explained.

Kaigan’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard.

“Black vampires with blue blood possess extraordinary abilities. They can live as long as they wish without consuming human blood or flesh, only feeding on animals. They are the most powerful vampire race ever recorded. Because of their unmatched power, they even kill fellow vampires to appear younger,” Ismael added.

He looked into the eyes of his only son. Fear and anxiety were visible in the seven-year-old's gaze.

“You will inherit the throne, my son. Promise me, until the child destined to save us is born, you must never allow this prince to awaken,” said Ismael.

Kaigan nodded, though in his heart he wished for a sibling to share the burden of responsibility. In that moment, he silently hoped for someone else to take on the duty.

Each year, their numbers grew. Yet, to this day, the oracle had revealed nothing about the family from which the prophesied child due to be born in 1799 would emerge.

What special power would this child have to destroy the last black vampire?

Would the child possess magic? Strength that surpassed the sleeping prince? What month would he be born in? What day? Would he come from the noble bloodline, or be a mere ordinary vampire?

“What if the chemical isn’t injected on the exact date, like today? Will he awaken immediately and wipe us all out?” Kaigan asked his parents as they stood by the large coffin where the prince lay.

Ismael sighed.

“He will rise and slaughter us all. None will be spared, and the one who is meant to save us will never be born. Our kind will vanish, leaving only footprints in history,” Ismael answered.

Kaigan felt his palms grow cold.

“I won’t let that happen,” he whispered.

Despite his fear, he said it to comfort himself. He was terrified of what the black prince could do, of what might happen to their race in the centuries to come.