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."
Chapter Two: Blood and Fire
Night fell over the forest like a shroud. Ron's company made camp beneath the shadowed trees, torches flickering between tents, the scent of roasted meat carried on the wind. Soldiers sat around a great fire, laughing, sharing stories, their voices masking the unease that still lingered in the air.
Inside his tent, Prince Ron remained alone — thoughts circling the pale girl they had brought from the tomb.
A guard entered quietly and gave a respectful bow. "My lord, the prisoner. What food shall we bring her?"
Ron blinked. He hadn't thought about that.
Rising from his seat, he stepped out into the camp and walked to the far edge, where a separate tent stood under guard — smaller, quieter, set apart. The girl — Princess Rafaela — was inside.
He stepped through the flap.
She lay curled on a mat, weak, her silver hair falling around her face. She barely stirred.
Ron knelt beside her.
"What do you eat?" he asked softly.
Her lips moved, but no words came. Her throat was dry, her body fragile.
Then her eyes, glowing faintly silver, met his.
"…Blood," he said.
She gave a small nod.
Ron rose without a word. From one of the guards, he took a dagger, returned to the tent, and stood before her again.
"I offer my blood," he said.
He drew the blade across his wrist. The pain was sharp, but he clenched his teeth, breathing steadily. Blood welled up and trickled down his arm.
He stepped closer.
Her eyes locked on the crimson trail. Slowly, she reached for him — her touch feather-light on his arm — and brought his wrist to her lips.
She drank.
The effect was immediate.
Color returned to her skin. Her cheeks filled with life, her frame no longer frail. Her lips flushed a soft pink. Her eyes, once dim and hollow, now gleamed like polished silver.
Rafaela — the creature, the girl — was reborn in moments.
Then, she stopped.
Ron pulled back instinctively, cradling his wrist — but there was no blood. No pain. The wound had vanished.
He stared. "The cut… it's gone."
"Royal Blood doesn't just feed," she said softly. "It mends."
Suddenly — a howl.
Sharp, shrill, inhuman.
Ron's head snapped toward the tent entrance.
A guard burst in. "My lord — shadows in the woods! Red eyes — they're… vampires."
Ron dashed into the night, sword already in hand.
Around the perimeter, soldiers stood ready. Five figures prowled just beyond the torchlight — tall, gaunt, fanged.
"Wild Vampires," Rafaela whispered, appearing beside him. "They've sensed me. My blood."
"Can you stop them?" Ron asked.
"Some may still hear me. Others will not."
She stepped forward, voice rising in a forgotten tongue. Words ancient and commanding rippled through the air like thunder beneath the surface.
Two of the Wild Vampires froze.
Their snarls ceased. They dropped to crouches, heads bowed, claws buried in the earth.
But the remaining three screeched and lunged into the light.
"Shields!" Ron shouted.
Steel clashed with claw.
The first vampire struck down a soldier in seconds. Another tore through a spear wall, howling with madness.
Then something unexpected — the two crouching vampires rose… and turned on the attackers.
One tore the feral apart in a flurry of savage blows. The other slammed a wild one into a tree, bones cracking like dry wood.
And just like that — the battle was over.
Three Wild Vampires lay dead. The other two stood, breathing hard, still as statues.
They looked at Rafaela — then turned, and without a word, vanished into the forest.
Ron lowered his sword slowly.
"They… obeyed you."
"They remembered," Rafaela murmured. "A bond, buried in blood. But they are not tamed, my lord. Not truly."
Later that night, when the fires burned low and the camp quieted, Ron returned to her tent.
She sat calmly now, restored, her silver hair glistening faintly in the candlelight. He took a seat across from her, rubbing his now-healed wrist.
"You said this isn't the first time they came for you."
"No," she replied softly. "The first time… was worse."
He listened in silence.
"My kingdom, Hlarin, once ruled with grace. We were guardians of balance — between human and vampire. But my blood awakened the Wild Ones. It stirred something old and violent inside them."
She looked away.
"And when I tried to stop them… my people turned against me. They called it duty. They said sealing me would save the world. But they were afraid. And in their fear, they chained me in silver and buried me alive."
Ron said nothing for a while.
Then, quietly, "So why didn't you kill me when you woke?"
Her eyes found his. "Because you offered your blood, not as a master… but as a man."
He met her gaze. "And the two vampires who spared us?"
"They were once part of something greater. Perhaps servants of my house, once. A memory flickered within them. But they're gone now."
"Will they come back?"
She hesitated. Her voice dropped.
"Yes. But not alone."
Chapter Three: The Gathering Fog
Dawn broke with a gray light.
The forest around them, once still and lifeless, now seemed to breathe — as though Rafaela's awakening had stirred something old beneath the roots. The trees creaked. The mist hung low. Birds did not sing.
Prince Ron stood at the edge of the camp, eyes fixed on the trail ahead. His men moved quickly, dismantling tents and packing supplies, their usual chatter gone. Silence pressed down like a second skin.
Three charred corpses still lay where the Wild Vampires had fallen. No one dared approach them.
One soldier, a young man barely grown into his armor, whispered, "They say wherever a Royal Blood walks, the dead walk with her."
Another spat to the ground. "And yet our prince rides with her."
Ron heard both, but said nothing.
He turned toward the far tent — the one set apart, where she sat in silence.
---
Within the Princess's Tent
Rafaela sat cross-legged, her eyes half-closed, face still pale but no longer hollow. Her silver hair shimmered in the morning light. She wore a dark cloak now, taken from one of the supply carts, its edges too rough for her elegance, but she did not complain.
Ron entered quietly.
She opened her eyes.
"We ride soon," he said. "There are whispers. The men fear you."
"They should," she replied, her voice calm. "What walks behind me is not yet done."
He frowned. "You said they remembered you. The Wild Ones. Do you mean more will come?"
Rafaela looked toward the trees. "Not all Wild Vampires are mindless. Some were once noble. Generals. Kings. When the blood calls… they will answer. Not all in peace."
Ron stepped closer. "Then we should get ahead of them. Get you back to Velmora."
She looked at him for a long moment.
"You still intend to use me."
He didn't answer immediately. "I intend to save my father."
A pause. Then she nodded once. "Then ride fast. The world is waking."
---
Along the Trail
By noon, the company had left the edge of the forest. The terrain sloped upward, broken by jagged rock and tangled thickets. The sky remained gray, and the wind carried no warmth.
Rafaela rode a black mare near the center of the group, flanked by two guards and always within Ron's view.
The further they traveled, the more restless the men became.
Some whispered prayers. Others checked their weapons too often.
One of Ron's lieutenants, Captain Elric, approached as the company paused to water the horses.
"My prince," he said quietly, "you've seen what she is. We all have. Whatever she was before, she's not human."
Ron narrowed his eyes.
Elric continued, "This isn't just about your father anymore. What if she's a curse? What if her blood brings war?"
Ron replied without looking at him. "That's not your decision to make."