A Blade That Bites Back

The rain had not stopped since dawn.

Drops slid down the academy windows in serpentine patterns as Cain sat in the back of Advanced Essentia Convergence class, his katana resting across his lap beneath the desk, concealed in the folds of his academy cloak. His eyes were fixed on the blackboard, but his mind remained firmly on the man at the front.

Professor Valen.

The so-called "transfer" wore the same tailored robes, spoke with polished restraint, and moved with a scholar's grace—but Cain saw the truth. That man did not belong here. The way he observed the class, the subtle twitch in his left hand every time someone channeled Essence—he wasn't just evaluating students.

He was measuring threats.

"Essence," Valen said, turning with a piece of chalk, "is not merely energy. It is memory. Will. Hunger. Most practitioners feed it techniques. But few ever listen to what it wants in return."

He drew a strange sigil on the board—three intersecting triangles wrapped in a coiling serpent.

Cain's eyes narrowed slightly. That's not a standard diagram.

Valen turned around.

"Now then… Mister Siegfried."

Every head turned. Cain rose slowly, his chair sliding back with a low scrape.

Valen smiled faintly. "You've been silent all class. Would you mind demonstrating how you circulate Essence through your primary affinity?"

Cain stared at him. "Primary?"

"Yes," Valen said, still smiling. "Your strongest affinity."

Cain could hear Laurifer's voice in his head instantly.

> He's fishing. Don't bite. Don't react. Be deliberate.

Cain gave a slow nod, stepping to the center of the classroom's open sparring ring. A small crystal obelisk activated with his presence, registering his pulse and affinity.

He raised one hand.

Essence flared—a controlled surge of fire, radiating from his palm like a coiled serpent unbinding itself. It wasn't overly aggressive, but it carried weight. The temperature in the room spiked subtly.

Students murmured. Some took notes.

But Valen… blinked.

Just once. A flicker of disappointment or confirmation?

Then Cain let the flame vanish.

"Fire," he said simply, "is my most compatible essence."

Valen nodded. "Efficient. Clean."

And yet Cain felt it—the tiniest twinge of curiosity pressing against his soul. It wasn't an attack. It was like a whisper brushing the edge of his essence—a probe.

He's trying to peel me open without making a sound.

Valen turned away and continued the lecture, but Cain's blood ran colder than ice.

---

Later that evening, back at the Siegfried estate, Cain stood beneath the sakura tree in the courtyard, watching the petals fall like embers in the wind. Aurora approached in silence, her white training robe stained with light marks of dirt and sweat.

She held a wooden training blade loosely in one hand. "Aildris says you've been distant."

Cain didn't respond at first. Then, with a slight nod, "I'm being hunted… again."

Aurora stepped beside him, her eyes soft. "That professor?"

Cain's voice was low. "He knows. Or suspects. My affinities. Maybe even my bloodline. And he's not from Mystic Falls."

Aurora twirled her wooden sword in idle circles. "Then we deal with him. Together."

Cain turned toward her, the usual chill in his gaze melting slightly. "You're not afraid?"

"I've seen what fear does," she replied, eyes lifting to meet his. "It turns kings into cowards. And tyrants into monsters. But you, Cain… you wear your fear like armor."

Cain looked away. "Maybe I'm already the monster."

Aurora reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. "Then be my monster."

For a moment, Cain said nothing.

Then he stepped forward, blade in hand, unsheathing the Ashen Fang.

"I need to train. I won't survive what's coming otherwise."

Aurora smiled. "Then let's see if that fire of yours burns hotter than mine."

---

They sparred beneath the trees under the crescent moon. No words. Just motion.

Aurora's style was graceful, precise—a dance of silver and silence. Cain's, by contrast, was ruthless. Each strike from the katana was a calculated execution. His flames didn't roar—they coiled like serpents, striking at weakness.

But as their blades clashed and feet twisted in perfect rhythm, a new realization dawned on Cain.

He wasn't fighting her.

He was synchronizing.

Each blow, each block, was matched—not in dominance, but in partnership.

When they finally stopped, both panting lightly, Cain held out a hand.

Aurora took it without hesitation.

In that moment, Cain Azaroth—the last of his bloodline, the heir of forgotten Supremes—felt something unfamiliar flicker in his chest.

Not rage.

Not vengeance.

But stillness.

And for a Tyrant born of death and darkness… that was far more dangerous.

---

Back in the academy, Professor Valen sat alone in his private quarters.

A long scroll lay unrolled across the floor, covered in red runes.

He dipped a clawed finger in a vial of black ichor, then marked a symbol onto the paper:

Target: Cain Azaroth. Status: Suspected Triple Affinity.

Beneath it, a message in a forgotten tongue flickered to life:

> "The blood of the dead Supremes flows again. The Tyrant lives."

Valen smiled.

"Soon."