Rain lashed against the bus windows, drowning the city in rivers of neon. Ren leaned his forehead against the glass, watching his reflection blur, tired eyes hollow beneath the flicker of streetlights.
Twenty-two years, and what did he have to show? No family. No achievements. A handful of acquaintances who had long drifted away. His grades were average, his part-time job numbing, his future dim. He was, by every measure, forgettable.
And yet his nights were not empty. They were haunted by dreams—dreams of a throne hall carved of obsidian and bathed in crimson light. Armies kneeling. Wolves howling under a blood moon. And at the heart of it all, a man of impossible beauty: silver streaks in his hair, eyes glowing red-violet, aura suffocating.
The dreams always ended with the same whisper.
Valerius.
Ren had never spoken of it. How could he? They felt too real, too heavy, as though they weren't dreams at all, but… memories.
Thunder cracked. The bus lurched. Tires screamed as headlights swerved into their lane.
The impact was deafening. Metal tore. Glass exploded. Bodies flew.
Ren's body hit the asphalt, pain searing through every nerve. Rain pooled crimson around him. Voices screamed, but the world blurred, sound dimming, light fading.
So this is it, he thought bitterly. A pathetic end to a pathetic life.
And then—
A voice. Deep. Resonant. Eternal.
"Fragile flesh. Fleeting breath. Yet within you burns my shadow."
Ren's lips trembled. "...Who?"
The voice laughed, low and knowing. "When the Red Moon bleeds the sky, you shall awaken. You are mine, as I am yours."
The storm roared. Ren's heart faltered. And then, silence.
---
Darkness stretched infinite. No body, no breath—only his soul adrift.
Yet crimson threads coiled around him, pulling him into a vast hall.
Pillars of black marble soared into eternity. Runes pulsed faintly red across their surface. At the far end, a throne of obsidian loomed, empty yet heavy with presence.
Ren stumbled forward. "Where… am I?"
Beneath the glasslike floor, visions swam. Wars waged under blood moons. Silver-haired aristocrats cloaked in crimson auras. Wolves with golden eyes. Fair folk dancing in twilight. Hunters blazing with rune-light. And towering shadows consuming the heavens.
Among them, one figure stood apart. Tall. Regal. Terrifyingly beautiful. His dark hair shimmered with silver, his eyes burned crimson-violet, his every breath radiated dominion.
Ren froze. He saw his own reflection in that face.
The man spoke, voice rolling like thunder.
"Valerius Noctheris. Primarch Eternal. My name… your name."
Ren stumbled back. "No! I'm Ren! Just Ren!"
The throne cracked. Reality fractured.
The voice thundered: "Die as Ren, or awaken as Valerius. The world awaits."
Crimson light devoured him.
---
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A heartbeat dragged him back. Cold air slashed into his lungs. His eyes snapped open—darkness pressed close, velvet brushed his skin, stone walls confined him.
A coffin.
Panic surged. He shoved upward. Stone groaned. Dust rained. With a final heave, the lid cracked open.
Moonlight spilled in—red, immense, suffocating.
Ren gasped. The voice that left his throat was not his own—deeper, resonant, commanding.
He looked at his hands: pale, elegant, veins faintly glowing crimson. In the polished stone, a reflection stared back—hair black streaked silver, eyes burning red-violet, a face aristocratic, flawless, eternal.
He wasn't Ren anymore. He was the man from his dreams.
He was Valerius Noctheris.
The crypt roared awake. Torches burst alight with crimson flame. Banners long rotted stirred in unseen wind. Upon them glowed the crest of Noctheris: a black serpent devouring a blood moon.
The air trembled. His aura spilled uncontrolled—crimson lightning cracking along stone, oppressive majesty weighing down the world. Shadows lurking in corners shrieked and collapsed, forced to kneel. Wolves far beyond the crypt howled in submission.
Ren's heart raced inside. I don't want this. I don't understand this.
But the body moved with aristocratic poise. His every gesture exuded dominance.
The coffin behind him split further, releasing a whisper: "Rise, Primarch. The world shall tremble."
---
The crypt doors groaned. Footsteps echoed.
Val's aura flared crimson, crackling.
The doors parted. A woman stepped in.
Tall. Elegant. Raven hair cascading like silk. Eyes of amethyst touched with frost. Draped in black and silver, she radiated timeless grace.
When her gaze fell upon him, she stopped. For the first time in centuries, her mask cracked. Reverence filled her face. Relief.
She fell to one knee, bowing low. Her voice trembled.
"At last… my lord Primarch. You return."
Ren's mind reeled. Who—?
But his body stood regal, silent.
The woman lifted her head. "I am Krystal Ardeyne, your servant eternal. Before your slumber, you told me: 'When the Red Moon returns, so shall I.' I have waited… for centuries."
She raised her wrist. A faint scar lay across perfect skin. "A drop of your blood kept me as I was. Ageless. Untouched. Each dawn, I rose knowing the night would bring you back. I built wealth, carved power, ruled empires in shadow—all meaningless but for this moment."
Her voice caught. "I have watched kingdoms rise and fall, but never did my faith waver. I knew the prophecy would hold true. And now, it has."
Attendants entered—figures cloaked in black. One draped a mantle of crimson-lined black upon his shoulders. The ancient garment fit as though it had never left him.
Ren's chest tightened. She's waited all this time? For Valerius. Not… not for me.
But Krystal's eyes burned with devotion. "The world has changed, my lord, but it still bends to the Eternal Blood. I exist to carry your will. Command me."
She extended her hand. "Come. Walk this new age. Let me guide you."
Val's hand lifted, elegant, unhesitant. Inside, Ren screamed denial. But his body—his very soul—moved as Valerius.
Krystal's fingers curled around his, steady, sure.
---
They emerged from the crypt. Outside waited a carriage, black and sleek, its design a fusion of archaic nobility and modern luxury. Attendants bowed deeply, not daring to lift their eyes.
Above, the blood-red moon loomed vast, drowning the night in crimson.
Krystal gestured toward the city's skyline—spires of glass and light stretching skyward. "The mortals think themselves advanced, with machines and steel. But beneath their illusions, the old blood still rules. Every throne, every guild, every academy bends to power. To us."
She turned, smiling faintly. "There is a place where heirs of every power gather. Hunters, Fae, Lycanthros, even our kin among the Eternarch. The Arclight Academy. I have prepared your entry. There, you may walk unseen, observe this world, and when the time is right… claim it."
Ren's thoughts spun. An academy? After a coffin?
But Valerius's face remained unreadable, his aura eternal.
Above them, the blood moon glared.
And within, a whisper curled like smoke:
"Brother…"
Val froze. Crimson eyes sharpened. The voice was unfamiliar, yet his bones remembered it.
Erythros. The Crimson Sovereign.
Krystal heard nothing. She only bowed her head, devotion blazing in her gaze.
"The world has forgotten your name," she whispered. "But I never did. And now, my lord… they will remember."
The carriage doors shut with finality.
And thus, Valerius Noctheris stepped once more into the world—an immortal reborn, a human soul trembling within.