The night sky above the Vampire Kingdom bled crimson.
Twin moons hovered low over the obsidian towers of the royal castle, their eerie light casting long shadows upon the silver-stained marble. Bats wheeled in frantic circles over the high spires as if drawn by the agony echoing through the walls.
Inside the royal palace, deep within the birthing chamber draped in scarlet silk and laced shadows, Queen Seraphina's scream pierced the silence.
"Push, Your Grace!" the midwife cried, sweat beading on her pale forehead. "One more push—he's almost here!"
Blood soaked the linens beneath the queen's legs as she arched her back in pain. Her face, once calm and regal, was twisted with strain. Her long, silvery black hair clung to her face, and her fangs clenched as another wave of contraction rocked her slender frame.
Standing by her bedside, cloaked in emerald green robes, was the High Prophet — the oldest living vampire in the realm, his ancient eyes clouded with mist, as if he were staring beyond the veil of time itself.
Suddenly, the room was filled with a rush of wind, and then—silence. And then… a cry.
The child's cry.
The midwife caught the newborn in trembling hands, eyes wide as the child's voice echoed through the chamber. But this was no ordinary cry. It vibrated through the stone. A wave of energy burst out with it, causing the candle flames to sway and the wooden pillars to groan.
The wind outside howled.
Seraphina collapsed backward, her chest rising and falling as tears gathered in her red-tinted eyes.
"…Let me see him," she whispered.
The midwife brought the child forth, cradled in clean cloth. Seraphina's arms wrapped around her son as she pulled him close to her chest. His skin was a warm light brown, his hair black and soft. His tiny hand curled against her collarbone as his cries quieted.
Then his eyes opened.
They were the color of deep sky—blue, impossibly vibrant. Not red, like all vampires. Not gold, like werewolves. But human blue.
The High Prophet stepped closer, his trembling voice shattering the silence.
> "That… is no ordinary child."
---
Moments later, word had reached the throne room. King Valdros, the dark-haired ruler of the Vampire Kingdom and the sire of five sons now six, sat upon his throne made of bone and obsidian. His expression was grim as the Prophet and three of the high Elders stood before him.
"Your Majesty," one of the Elders began, his hands behind his back, "the newborn… the sixth prince. He is… unusual."
> "Unusual?" the king repeated, his voice like gravel. "Explain."
The Prophet stepped forward, his old hands clasped tightly.
> "He is unlike any vampire I have ever sensed. His blood sings… It carries echoes of something ancient. Something forbidden."
The king's gaze sharpened. "You speak in riddles, old one. Is he dangerous?"
> "Not yet," the Prophet replied. "But he is powerful. Too powerful to be ignored."
Another Elder stepped in. "My liege, with all respect… The boy's energy rippled through the castle the moment he cried. No newborn should be capable of that."
King Valdros leaned forward. "He is my son. My sixth. Born from Seraphina, my most trusted queen. You suggest he is… unnatural?"
There was hesitation, then the Prophet spoke again.
> "I must share a prophecy I received over a century ago, one I could never place—until now."
The room fell silent.
The Prophet raised his hand, and his voice dropped to a whisper that somehow echoed like thunder.
> "Born of shadow and flame, from the blood of enemies entwined, he shall rise.
He shall carry the curse of both, yet belong to neither.
He shall be the key that ends the war of a thousand years…
…or the sword that severs the vampire legacy."
Silence. Even the guards stiffened.
One of the Elders hissed through his fangs. "Treasonous prophecy…"
> "Truth," the Prophet said coldly. "The boy is destined for greatness. Or ruin. The fate of the Vampire Kingdom may well rest in how he is raised."
The king stared into the fire crackling beside his throne.
"His name?" he asked quietly.
"Seraphina has called him… Kenneth."
A beat passed. Then the grand doors creaked open—and a small figure lingered by the threshold. A child of about nine, tall for his age, with sharp features and crimson eyes that flickered with arrogance.
> "You called for me, Father?"
It was the Firstborn Prince—Aurelius. Strong, composed, and already feared by nobles twice his age.
> "Come," Valdros said. "Meet your new brother. The sixth."
Aurelius approached slowly, his hands behind his back, eyes betraying a flicker of something he'd never admit: jealousy.
He had overheard the prophecy from behind the doors.
The idea that a newborn brother could one day rival his claim… burned him.
> "Kenneth," he said under his breath. "So this is the threat."
---
Back in the Queen's chamber, Seraphina sat alone, cradling her son.
She looked into his peaceful, impossibly blue eyes. A smile touched her lips as she whispered into his ear:
> "You're special, my love… You're my light. I don't care what they say."
Outside, the castle seemed to hold its breath.
Already, whispers were spreading. Elders murmured of omens. Nobles gossiped of human-colored eyes. Servants avoided the chamber.
But within those walls, within Seraphina's arms—there was only love.
And thus began the tale of Kenneth—the Anomaly.
The boy born to change the world.