Heath sat on the edge of his bed in the same stone cell that his mother, Karen, had revealed his heritage to him not a week past. He might be the new adopted son of the Grand Maestur Demetri, heir apparent to Bucharest and he guessed he had a claim to Marumures too. The young man did not know. He did not even know what to call himself. Outside this cell, Demetri referred to him as a Shtriga and told him to behave as one that held such a rank. But they also said he was special, one who could walk during the day, a "plimbător de zi", a daywalker. Heath was the only one of his species, alone. At least when he was a disobedient Dhampier, he belonged somewhere but now, who was he?

Not much had changed in the present state of things. Heath rose in the early evening, tired from trying to convince that part of him, the Dhampir, that he needed sleep, to attend formal schooling. He had never had anything that resembled an education in Marumures. Heath had always been a quick study at most things, but those things consisted of strategy, battle tactics, and some of Shtiga history that concerned Dhampir. The rest of his education had consisted of martial training needed to keep his future Maestru safe. This new education was exciting for the first few days but soon grew frustrating as they accelerated the pace to match the young man's gifted intellect to push him to the brink.

His early mornings fell into more familiar routines with Karen and the training picked up where it left off before he struck his half-brother, albeit more than a little awkward to start. The new revelation made Heath hold back more from trying to strike at the elderly Dhampir. The understanding of feelings of family and blood bond was now understood, and he was reluctant to lose any more family than he already had. Karen had grown more frustrated by the day as the week progressed onward until her temper snapped yesterday. The sparring match quickly turned into a fight for his survival. He had just recently awoken from that loss, knowing that even facing such a fact, he still could not bring himself to harm her.

A gentle rap on the door brought him out of his thoughts and he looked at the door expectantly in silence. If it was the tutors from his "father's" house, then they would not wait for an answer they would come in. After waiting a minute longer, he spoke up.

"I am decent, you can come in"

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The door opened to admit his mother into the room. Her bent body looked more worn by the day. He looked at her worriedly, a question going unanswered between them. She held up her hand to keep him from speaking.

"In a little Heath," She said in an exhausted voice, "I will explain more about me but first, you have got to stop holding back during training. I know you are because I have trained you since birth. I know there is the heart of a true Dhampir beating in there somewhere and we need to unlock it. We have to figure out how to make you switch between your heritages. Yesterday was my attempt to do that and it failed. It was why my Maestru has me training you because of the Blood Bond. You will have trouble hitting me, harming me but if you can flick that switch and recognize me as a threat, Blood will not matter."

Heath looked at her questioningly, "And why do I even need to do that? No one here is even related to me."

"It is not my place to say or speculate. I am but a guardian and a servant. I would suggest you direct those questions to your Father when you see him."

"They said this would be a new life but so far this seems like my old life." Heath said with some regret, "Only it is worse because I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't know where in my world I belong or if I should even exist!"

"HEATH!" She almost shouted to stop his tirade, "That is enough. Self-doubt right now will not get you anywhere nor will self-pity. This life is much preferable to what you were living in Marumures. You are now Shtriga and a plimbător de zi. You are one of a kind and irreplaceable. I am dying!"

The cell went completely still with that declaration as the words reverberated on the stone and out into the darkness beyond. Heath looked at his mother with a stricken shock on his face. She gently took his hands in hers and drew close to him. He could feel just how cold her hands were, worn and calloused. He could see how tired and sick she looked.

"Dhampirs start to age rapidly past one hundred years of age." She explained with a shuddering breath, "That is why it is a tradition that on the Dhampir's one hundredth birthday, they give back their life to Morteas Eterna by way of Dreptul la Sânge, the Right of Blood. I will be one hundred and fifty this spring. There has never been a Dhampir this old but I can feel something growing inside me. The Maestru has sensed it too and has denied me that right because of it. Humans call this thing cancer, a corruption of the body. He will still lay my body with honor but I will not be at rest. I have weeks maybe months."

Heath stared into the void. Weeks, or at best months before the last family, the last Blood connection he had in Bucharest would be wrestled from him and he knew what it meant to be alone.