Prologue: The Awakening
Once upon a time, beyond the reach of mortal kingdoms, stood a land called Hlarin — a realm so powerful its borders stretched beyond rivers, deserts, and mountains. No kingdom dared challenge it. For it was ruled not by mere men, but by mythical beings — the Royal Blood Vampires.
These vampires were nothing like the bloodthirsty beasts whispered about in ancient tales. They walked beneath the sun, dined on mortal food, and lived as nobles among men. Yet their blood held unmatched power. Just a single drop could heal a dying soul. In return, they asked for willing offerings of blood — a sacred exchange honored for generations.
Hlarin flourished. Disease vanished. Crime fell. The kingdom bathed in peace and prosperity.
At the heart of this paradise, a child was born:
Princess Rafaela — radiant, compassionate, and beloved by all. She ran with the children of the villages, laughed with farmers, and sat with the sick. To the people, she was not only royalty — she was hope itself.
On the eve of her 20th birthday, Rafaela's transformation was complete. Her aging halted. Her blood awakened. She became one with the Eternal Line — a full Royal Blood Vampire, destined to live forever.
But the awakening of her blood rippled beyond the borders of Hlarin.
Far in the Dark Forest, long-forgotten creatures stirred.
They were called Wild Vampires — savage, feral descendants of the ancient bloodline. Stronger than beasts, swifter than wolves, and mad with hunger. It was said five strong men were needed to slay just one. For centuries they slept in silence, their blood dormant…
Until Rafaela was born.
Drawn to her scent, they rose. One by one. Tribe by tribe.
Then they marched.
And kingdoms fell.
Villages were left hollow, corpses pale and drained. Men, women, children — none were spared. Entire cities turned to graveyards in a single night. Panic spread. The name of Rafaela became a whispered curse in borderlands.
When the news reached Hlarin, the people were stricken with fear. And fear, in time, turned into blame.
Angry mobs flooded the streets of the capital. They no longer saw Rafaela as a blessing, but as the reason darkness returned.
Yet the princess did not hide.
She stepped out onto the palace steps, alone. Unarmed. And in front of the roaring crowd… she knelt.
"I do not ask for your forgiveness," she said softly, "but your trust. I was born with this blood, but I choose to protect you — not doom you."
Suddenly, a man hurled a stone.
It struck her face. Blood trickled from her cheek.
The guards moved to arrest him, but Rafaela raised her hand.
"No," she whispered. "Let him be."
Then she turned to the crowd, her smile soft and sorrowful. The man who struck her fell to his knees, ashamed, and began to weep.
Her calmness silenced the chaos. Her compassion tamed the fear. One by one, the people returned to their homes, their anger dimmed by grace.
Peace did not last.
The kindness of Princess Rafaela had calmed her people once… but fear is a beast that never sleeps.
As more kingdoms fell to the Wild Vampires, whispers turned into fury, and fury turned into action. From the shadows of taverns and the corners of frightened villages, a resistance was born — forged by hatred and fear. They did not see the Royal Bloodline as protectors anymore. They saw them as the source of the world's suffering.
Led by men with rage in their hearts and steel in their fists, the resistance made a vow:
"End the blood, stop the curse."
And so, one storm-filled night — they struck.
The Royal Castle of Hlarin, once a beacon of majesty and power, was engulfed in flame. Screams echoed across marble corridors. Nobles — innocent Royal Vampires who had lived in peace for centuries — were slaughtered without mercy.
The guards, loyal to their dying breath, fought to protect the royal family. But they were overwhelmed. The very people they once swore to defend had turned against them.
And in the throne room, they found her.
Princess Rafaela, alone in the ashes of her fallen home. Dressed in white, splattered with blood, her golden eyes met theirs — not with fear, but sorrow.
She did not resist.
They bound her in silver chains, etched with holy runes. Her power faded as each link wrapped around her limbs. She was dragged through the streets, now soaked with fire and betrayal, and brought before the people she once loved.
The leader of the resistance raised his blade high and declared:
> "She is the harbinger of ruin! We will offer her life and stop the monsters that haunt our world!"
Some roared in agreement.
But others hesitated.
"She spared us… she knelt for us…"
"She never raised a hand, even when we turned on her…"
"If you kill her, will that really stop them?"
A whisper spread across the crowd like wind through a graveyard.
Then, an old mage stepped forward. His voice cracked like dry parchment.
> "The Wild Ones are not chasing blood. They seek her.
If you kill her, they will never stop searching.
But if you seal her… if she vanishes… perhaps they will forget."
So it was decided.
The princess was spared death — only to suffer something worse.
Beneath the earth, a tomb was carved in silence.
Her chains were anchored to stone, her body encased in spells older than kingdoms. Magic sealed the chamber, silver sealed her skin, and silence sealed her fate.
No sunlight would ever touch her again.
No laughter. No song.
Only the memory of what was lost.
---
But the curse did not end.
After they sealed the princess, the Wild Vampires did not stop.
The hordes only scattered.
They spilled into every corner of the world, spreading chaos, turning villages into feeding grounds. Civilization bent beneath their growing numbers. Some of the creatures returned to the Dark Forest in the West, hiding in shadow… waiting.
The kingdom of Hlarin fought bravely.
For years, it stood as a shield for the neighboring realms — the last light against the darkness. Its soldiers held the line, even as their strength faded. Its walls crumbled. Its lands were bled dry.
And then, at last…
Hlarin fell.
What was once a shining kingdom now teeters on the edge of ruin, its power faded, its riches spent, and its mighty army reduced to whispers of the past.
---
Centuries passed.
People forgot the Royal Blood.
They built new cities. Told new stories.
The truth faded into myth.
Four hundred years passed.
And the world forgot.
The ruins of Hlarin lay hidden beneath forest and soil, its once-great towers devoured by time. What remained of its history became legend — vague tales of a cursed princess and a kingdom swallowed by night.
In the distant land of Velmora, a powerful empire in the west, a king lay dying.
King Therion, the Iron Bear of Velmora, conqueror of ten realms, now frail and fading. His sons tried every cure — herbs from the Southern Isles, healing scrolls from the temples of the East — but nothing worked. His sickness spread like shadow through his blood.
In desperation, his second-born son, Prince Ron, turned to older answers.
Not medicine.
Not steel.
But myth.
For years, Ron had listened to his uncle — an aging war historian and scholar of forbidden lore. The old man spoke of a legend buried by time:
> "There once lived a vampire princess," he would whisper, "sealed beneath the ruins of a fallen kingdom. Her blood could heal any wound, mend any sickness… even bring the dying back from the edge."
The court laughed when Ron brought it up. They mocked him. Called him desperate.
But Ron saw his father's face grow paler every day. He saw the strength in his people wane with each passing year.
He had no time for doubt.
And so, he gathered a company of soldiers, mercenaries, and seekers. Under the banner of a false "conquest," he led them east — toward the forgotten lands, toward the ruins of Hlarin.
The journey was long and cursed.
They passed abandoned villages, twisted woods, and bones buried in shallow earth. At night, the soldiers spoke of monsters with glowing eyes watching them from the trees.
Some spoke of the Wild Ones — still alive, still lurking.
Then, at last, they found it.
Beneath crumbled stone and ivy, a staircase carved into the earth.
Old. Cold. Hidden by time.
They descended with torches. The air was thick and silent.
Until they reached the chamber.
And there she was.
Princess Rafaela.
She hung suspended in the center of the tomb, still bound by silver chains, her skin untouched by age, her white gown faded but pure.
Runes glowed faintly across the stone walls. Her eyes were closed, her expression serene.
But as they drew closer, they saw the truth:
Her body was thin — far too thin.
Her lips were cracked and dry.
She looked like someone left to starve for centuries. A being frozen in suffering.
Prince Ron felt a chill crawl up his spine.
> "She's alive… all this time?" one soldier muttered.
> "No," whispered another. "Not alive. Not dead. That's a monster."
Even Ron, who had risked everything to find her, took a step back.
> "This was a mistake," he said under his breath. "This… isn't what I imagined."
The stories hadn't prepared him for this. Not the legends. Not his uncle's words. Nothing.
There was something wrong in the air — like the tomb itself was watching them.
Then — they touched the chains.
The runes flared to life.
The tomb shuddered. Dust rained from the ceiling. The silver burned with power, resisting their grip. The runes screamed like wind in their ears.
> "SEAL BREAK DETECTED!" a mage shouted. "The magic's reacting — but it's weak! Centuries have dulled it!"
The tomb began to vibrate, cracks spreading like veins through the walls.
> "Break the chains! We'll be buried alive!"
With brute strength and desperate magic, they shattered the silver bonds one by one. At last, the final shackle fell — and Princess Rafaela collapsed into Ron's arms.
She was light as death. Cold.
And yet, something beneath her skin still stirred.
The tomb roared.
They ran.
The tunnel behind them collapsed as they burst into the forest night, coughing, gasping, dragging the princess with them.
Outside, they stared at her.
Some in awe.
Some in dread.
Some refused to look at all.
> "She's no princess," someone whispered. "She's a weapon."
Ron said nothing.
He looked down at the girl in his arms, heart racing.
She was fragile, starving, barely clinging to life — and yet, she terrified him.
> "We don't know what she is," he finally said. "We treat her carefully. Chain her. Seal her again if needed."
They reforged her chains — not out of cruelty, but caution — and bound her carefully to the carriage, laying cloth beneath her and placing magic wards around her.
As the wheels began to roll, carrying the girl through the darkness, Ron couldn't stop staring at her cracked lips…
And wondering if she would open her eyes.
He didn't come as a savior.
He came for her blood.
But now… he feared what price that blood might carry.
> "We ride east," Ron ordered, quieter this time. "She's… coming home."