Chapter 1: A Vampyre Hybrid Diary

My name is Neiryn (Neil for short). So was the name that my adoptive parent gave me over 14 centuries ago. Neiryn means ´surrounded by light’ which is quite ironical since my kind burns when exposed to the sun. According to the legend, my father’s race (the Vampyres) inherited the curse of their maker Lilith which made her lose most of her powers during the day. When Lilith was betrayed and killed by one of her progeny, the full impact of the curse was borne by the survivors. Vampyres’ skin started to burn when exposed to sunlight. The weaker the Vampyre the faster they burned. At least, that was true until my father was born.

Over the last millennia, my family liked to aggravate people. My father, Vincente, was no exception since he was the exception to the rule. By far the most powerful Vampyre King that ever existed since Lilith’s reign, he was also the weakest of all against sunlight. Thankfully, he regenerated much faster than any other Vampyre and also had some very useful powers. Otherwise, he would not have survived for 8 centuries as the Vampyre King. That is until the day I was born and I accidentally burned him.

As I said before, we Daciano-Sanguere – that is my family’s name- like to aggravate those who surround us. Just like my father before me, I was no exception yet I was the Exception. I did not burn at the sunlight. Instead I burned Vampyres with my sunlight shield (yes I have one, pretty cool ha?!). One touch, and burn baby burn… Not that, Vampyres were the cuddling kind but still it was a problem. The worse issue was that I did not need a touch to burn them. I seemed to start shining each time I was happy which happened a lot and ended up with many sunburned Vampyres. Not that they did anything to please me (I would not say that listening to them plan my death made me really happy). Still, seeing them burn seemed to make me shine with joy (naughty boy). I am not certain whether it was the burning or just seeing them run about trying to put out the flames that made me laugh.

I know what you think: I was truly my kind’s curse.

Please, don’t judge me too fast. I was just a two days old baby back then. T__T

For the record, my father did not hold a grudge over the burning. Well at least, he was still alive contrary to his own birthmother and so was my twin sister. You must understand that the Royals of the Vampyre race all have some very interesting and lethal powers. One of Vincente’s primary powers was poison. He managed to poison to death both his mother and his twin sister before he was even born and then extracted himself from his dead mother’s body in a small bat form. Shape shifting, as you might have guessed, was his second power. His third gift manifested a few minutes after he was born when he telepathed the other Vampyres present in the room that he was thirsty which – he also happened to mention – was not surprising since he was not only born prematurely but he also had to deliver his own very sweet self as his mother was too weak to carry him to term.

Ironically, and believe me, my family knows something about irony. His mother was supposed to be immune to most poisons. Another matter that gave the Vampyres pause was that the only known bat shifters were Lilith and her daughter Layla who were both slain by their family. Their death plunged the Vampyre kingdom into chaos and was rumored to be the reason of the downfall of the Vampyre race. Add to that, Vincente was born with the Sanguere eyes (blood red) which were the trademark of the original Royals. Such eyes manifested in very few Royals, and only when they were reaching their maximum power level. To have someone born with them was very unlikely. Due to these elements, my father, who was not supposed to be acknowledged as a potential heir to the kingdom having been born to a half-blood mother, became automatically the next in line for the throne. The Vampyre Council considered that he could only be a true descendant of Lilith. His own mother was also acknowledged as the only Vampyre-Red Elf hybrid ever made and deeply mourned. To be precise, her magic was mourned.

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