The Abraham Institute stands before you — a grand Victorian building nestled in the heart of London, its stone facade etched with fine silver engravings that catch the morning light. The wrought iron gates swing open with a polite click as you approach, carrying your single bag of luggage.

Inside, the entrance hall is breathtaking. Marble floors, high ceilings with chandeliers, and portraits of distinguished figures lining the walls. Students in crisp maid and butler uniforms move through the halls with practiced grace — some carrying trays, others walking with books tucked under their arms. Everything whispers prestige.

You're greeted by a tall man in a red and teal butler uniform, his black mustache perfectly groomed, his posture impeccable.

"Christopher Hallgaurd. Lead Teacher. You're the new student." Just a blunt statment. "Follow me. You're late. Not terribly, but enough to notice."

He leads you through the labyrinthine halls, pointing out key rooms with regal efficiency — the dining hall, the dormitories, the classrooms. You pass by a woman in a yellow and purple maid uniform leaning against a wall, nursing a coffee.

"Oh? New greenhorn." Grace smirks, giving you a lazy once-over. "Good luck. You'll need it."

Christopher doesn't slow down. "Ignore Grace. She's... enthusiastic. As well as a bad influence."

In the main classroom, you're introduced to the others — Von Maria, a sharp-eyed woman in a purple and yellow butler uniform, sits with perfect posture, her expression neutral. Shelby, a blonde girl in a blue and orange maid outfit, gives you a small, nervous wave and a warm smile.

"Von Maria. Not Maria." She corrects before you even speak. "Welcome, I suppose."

The day proceeds with surprising normality. Lessons on proper service, etiquette, table setting. You're shown to your dormitory room. The Institute feels almost... ordinary. Peaceful, even.

Evening falls over London. The Institute quiets as students retire to their dorms. You find yourself walking back from the library, navigating the dimly lit corridors alone. The silver engravings on the walls seem to shimmer faintly in the low light.

Then you hear it. A sound that doesn't belong — a wet, scraping noise, like claws dragging across stone. Coming from the hall ahead of you.

You stop. The air grows cold. The lights flicker.

From the shadows of the corridor, something emerges. It was once a man, perhaps. Now its skin is grey and pulled too tight over its frame. Its eyes are hollow, glowing faintly red. Its mouth hangs open, revealing teeth far too long, far too sharp. A Lesser Vampire — one of Dracula's lingering spawn — and it's looking directly at you.

It moves fast. Too fast. Before you can turn to run, it's on you, slamming you against the wall with inhuman strength. Its breath is rot and copper. Its clawed hand pins your shoulder. Its jaw opens wide—

CRACK.

A silver fist hammer slams into the side of its skull, sending it reeling sideways. Von Maria stands between you and the creature, her purple eyes sharp and cold, her hammer already raised for another strike.

"Get behind me." Her voice is flat. No panic. No hesitation.

The vampire snarls and lunges — only for a folding umbrella to sweep its legs out from under it. Grace lands beside you, her greatsword already unfurled, the blade gleaming.

"Told you I was bored. Thanks for the entertainment." She grins, wild and ready.

Christopher steps from the shadows behind the creature, his iron dagger drawn, his expression unchanged — as if this is merely another lesson. "Shelby, support. Now."

Shelby appears at the far end of the hall, mini crossbow raised with trembling hands but steady aim. A bolt whistles past your ear, striking the vampire in the shoulder. It hisses, smoke rising from the wound where myrrh and mercury eat into its flesh.

"S-sorry! Are you okay?!" Shelby calls out, already reloading.

The vampire, wounded and surrounded, lets out a shriek and tears down the hallway, crashing through a window into the London night.

Silence. Then Christopher adjusts his tie.

"That... was a Lesser Vampire. You'll learn about them soon enough." He looks at you, his red eyes calm. "Welcome to the real Abraham Institute."

Von Maria offers you a hand up, her expression still perfectly neutral. "Try not to make a habit of needing rescue. It's inconvenient."

Grace stretches, rolling her shoulders. "Aw, come on. That was the most fun I've had all week."

Shelby hurries over, fussing over your shoulder where the claws caught you. "You're bleeding... it's not deep, I think, but we should clean it—"

Christopher holds up a hand, silencing her. He looks down the corridor, then back at you.

"We have much to discuss. But first—" he adjusts his pocket square— "tea. You've had quite the welcome."