Vladislav's Background in the Story Eternal Shadows of Love
Vladislav is the crown prince of an ancient vampire kingdom hidden in Eastern Europe, most likely rooted in the royal blood of Wallachia or Transylvania—a region historically associated with vampire legends. His full name, Vladislav (often abbreviated to Vlad), carries overtones of "owner of glory" in Slavic, and he inherited the royal title from a lineage that had been ruler of the night for centuries. His kingdom is one of the most powerful among the vampire nobles, with a cold marble palace hidden in the Carpathian mountains, where they control dark politics, blood trade, and secret alliances with certain humans.
As crown prince, Vladislav was raised in eternal luxury and absolute power. From childhood, he was taught that vampires were a superior race that had the right to everything—human blood was only a resource, and emotions were only a weakness. However, behind the charismatic and handsome facade (perfect pale skin, jet black hair, fiery red eyes that can turn pitch black when angry), Vladislav suffers from a severe personality disorder: extreme Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD), combined with dissociativeidentity disorder (multiple personality disorders or several personalities). This gives it several "faces" that take turns controlling:
One personality: affectionate, romantic, and alluring—he can whisper eternal promises, making the victim feel special and loved like a goddess.
Another personality: cold, manipulative, and power-hungry—he treats people as objects to be controlled.
The darkest personality: sadistic and insane—he enjoys physical and mental torture, often laughing when he sees blood flowing or hears screams, because for him the pain of others is indisputable proof of his power.
This disorder likely stems from his stressful childhood: as heir, he was forced to witness mass executions, betrayals at court, and brutal vampire rituals to "strengthen" his blood. This trauma fractured his soul, making him believe that the only way to feel whole was to dominate and destroy others—especially those he "loved," because love to him was total ownership.
His political engagement with Lady Elara (a human noble with mixed blood) was actually a truce strategy between the vampire and human worlds, but for Vladislav, Elara was just a new trophy. He tortured her systematically: poisonous bites that left permanent scars, psychological games that made Elara doubt her own sanity, and a cycle of affection-torture that made the victim emotionally attached (trauma bonding). Vladislav sees Elara as completely his; Elara's escape is not just a betrayal, but a direct attack on his fragile ego—sparking a mad rage that makes him mobilize an entire army after her.
In this story, Vladislav represents the dark side of eternal power: immortality that should be beautiful actually becomes a curse due to a corrupt soul. He is not simply a bloodthirsty monster, but a psychological predator who uses his split personality to manipulate, torture, and ultimately destroy anyone who dares challenge his control. His shadow continues to stalk Elara and Xochitl, because for Vladislav, losing Elara means losing control—and that's the worst thing that could happen to an eternal narcissist like him.
Vladislav is not just an antagonist; it is a tragic reflection of what happens when unlimited power meets incurable madness. And his hunt for Elara is just the beginning of a bigger storm that will rock the boundaries between wolves and vampires.
Morning dawned with thick fog covering the valley like a gray blanket. The sunlight could barely penetrate the canopy of ancient trees, leaving only a faint tinge of gold that touched the ruins of a small Aztec pyramid at the center of the wolf camp. Elara woke up stiff, the wool blanket still around her shoulders. The smell of last night's campfire mixed with the scent of dried blood and healing herbs still lingered in the air.
He sat up slowly, touching his neck. The marks from Vladislav's last bite—two dark red crescent-shaped marks—still burned hot, as if his own blood refused to heal completely. Every pulse there was like a whisper: "You're mine… forever."
Elara shivered. He hugged his knees, trying to chase away the image.
Heavy steps approached. Xochitl appeared from behind a giant banyan tree, carrying a basket of wild fruit and fresh leaves. His black hair was wet with morning dew, his silver-gold eyes looked softer under the dim light. He stopped a few steps in front of Elara, as if to make room.
"You look better," he said quietly. "But your eyes still carry last night."
Elara looked down. "Aku mendengarnya… dalam mimpi. Dia memanggil namaku. Bukan dengan marah, tapi… dengan suara yang dulu aku cintai. Suara yang membuatku percaya dia bisa berubah."
Xochitl placed the basket on the ground, then sat down on the flat rock opposite. "It's his strongest weapon. Not fangs, not claws—but the memories he implanted like slow poison."
Elara looked up. "You know a lot about him."
"I know about monsters disguised as lovers," Xochitl answered. His eyes looked far away, towards the invisible horizon. "A long time ago, before I became Alpha, I had a human lover. Her name was Citlalli. She was... like you. Fragile on the outside, but fiery on the inside. Vampire killed him to send a message to me. They made him choose: die quickly, or die slowly while calling my name. He chose the second one, so I could hear his screams until the end."
Xochitl's voice remained calm, but her hands were clenched until her knuckles turned white. Elara felt the pain like it was her own.
"I don't want you to be the second Citlalli," he continued. "That's why I won't let you go alone. And that's why I'll teach you to survive."
Elara frowned. "Endure?"
Xochitl got up, holding out her hand. "Wake up. Today you learned how your blood fights the poison."
They walked towards a small cave in the side of the hill, where a small waterfall flowed from the mouth of a rock carved with Aztec symbols. In the cave, there is a natural pool whose water is clear but glows faintly silvery blue—holy water used by the wolf clan to cleanse the influence of vampires.
Xochitl led Elara into the water up to her waist. The cold is bone-chilling, but cleansing at the same time.
"Close your eyes," he whispered. "Taste your blood. Listen to what your body says, not what the memories say."
Elara complied. At first there was only cold and fear. Then, slowly, something moved inside his chest—like a warm wave rising from his stomach to his neck. The bite marks on his skin started to feel hot, then sore, then… started to fade in color little by little.
But suddenly, Vladislav's voice echoed in his head again, not from outside, but from within his own blood.
"You think you can forget me, darling? I'm in every drop of your blood. You drink my blood. You drink my promise."
Elara gasped, almost falling. Xochitl immediately hugged his waist from behind, holding him still standing.
"Don't listen to him," he said firmly, his voice like an anchor. "Listen to me. Listen to my heartbeat. Listen to the moon that still remains in my blood."
Elara forced herself to focus on the strong, steady beat of Xochitl's heart against her back. Slowly, Vladislav's voice weakened, like a scream swallowed by the wind.
When they emerged from the water, the bite mark on Elara's neck had faded into a pale scar—not completely gone, but no longer throbbing like before.
Elara looked at Xochitl with teary eyes. "Thank You."
Xochitl just nodded, but her hand still held Elara's waist longer than necessary. "This is just the first step. Vladislav will not stop. He will look for an opening—maybe through dreams, maybe through the blood that still flows in your veins, maybe through someone you trust."
Suddenly, a huge black crow landed on the rock at the mouth of the cave. Tied to his feet was a small scroll of blood-red parchment.
Xochitl took it carefully. He opened the scroll, and his face hardened.
Vladislav's elegant, sinuous handwriting:
"My dear Elara,
I give you three lunar days to return voluntarily.
If not, I will burn that forest down to its roots—and I will make sure you see every wolf you protect die one by one, starting with the Alpha you hugged tonight.
You know I always keep my promises.
Come back, or watch everything turn to ashes.
Forever yours,
Vladislav"
Elara read the letter over Xochitl's shoulder. His body trembled again, but this time it wasn't out of fear alone—there was a small anger starting to flare in his eyes.
Xochitl rolled the letter back up, then burned it with a touch of her finger that suddenly brought out small sparks from her skin—an Alpha power she rarely showed.
"He wants you to feel guilty," he said coldly. "Don't give him that satisfaction."
Elara stared at the fire that was consuming the parchment until it was gone. "I won't go back. But… I also don't want your people to die because of me."
Xochitl turned Elara's body to face her. Their distance was so close that their breaths mixed. "They didn't die because of you. They fought because this was their home. And now, you're part of this home—if you want to be."
For the first time, Elara didn't look down. He looked directly into those golden silver eyes. "I want to."
Xochitl smiled faintly—the first truly warm smile since Elara arrived. But that smile quickly faded when a warning roar sounded from the guard at the top of the hill.
Vladislav did not wait three days.
Black shadows began to move through the trees—the vampire army had approached the rune's boundary, and this time they brought something more dangerous than just fangs: a traitor from within the wolf clan itself, who now stood at Vladislav's side with glowing red eyes.
The war has entered a new phase.
And in the midst of the impending storm, Elara and Xochitl stand side by side—two broken souls, but starting to find strength in each other.
Citlalli is a figure from Xochitl's deepest and most painful past, an ordinary human woman of Aztec descent who lived about 400 years ago, during the final heyday of the Aztec civilization before the Spanish conquest. The name "Citlalli" means "star" in Nahuatl, and he was like a star to Xochitl—a bright light amidst the eternal darkness he lived in as a werewolf.
Citlalli was born in a small village on a mountainside near Tenochtitlan (now Mexico City). She was a skilled herbal weaver and healer, known for her sincere gentleness and hidden courage. Her long hair was jet black like a moonless night, her eyes were a warm brown like the fertile soil after rain, and her skin was tan with a small tattoo of a cornflower on her wrist—a symbol of hope and rebirth in Aztec culture.
Xochitl met Citlalli during her youth as a wolf (only about 50 years after being cursed), when she often disguised herself as a trader or hunter to approach human villages without arousing suspicion. Citlalli is the only one who is not afraid of him even though she feels there is something "other" about him. He sees Xochitl not as a monster, but as a lonely and hurt man.
Their relationship developed slowly and in secret. Citlalli is the only person who knows Xochitl's true identity as an Alpha wolf. He never asked Xochitl to abandon her curse; instead, he learned about the world that night and even helped Xochitl heal her battle wounds with an ancient Aztec potion. They share a simple dream: one day, when the war with the vampires subsides, they will live together on a quiet mountainside, far from the fighting.
However, that happiness did not last long.
The vampire aristocrats, who were then beginning to expand their influence into the New World through Spanish ships and their human allies, saw the Xochitl-Citlalli relationship as a weakness. They kidnapped Citlalli from his village on a moonless night. To punish Xochitl for daring to protect humans and refusing an alliance with vampires, they perform ritualistic torture in front of the bound Xochitl.
Citlalli was given the final choice by the vampire leader at that time: die quickly with one fatal bite, or die slowly while being forced to call Xochitl's name over and over until his last breath. Citlalli chose the latter. He knew that if he died quickly, Xochitl wouldn't hear his screams—and he wanted her to know that he loved her until the end, even with unimaginable pain.
Xochitl dipaksa menyaksikan semuanya. His wolf howl shook the forest that night, but he couldn't free himself from the silver chains made specifically to restrain Alpha. After Citlalli breathed her last breath while whispering Xochitl's name, the vampire left her body at Xochitl's feet as a "parting gift".
Citlalli's death was a turning point for Xochitl. Since then, he has become a colder Alpha, more cruel in the war against vampires, but also more closed off towards everyone. He vows never again to let a human—or anyone—into his heart, because he believes love only brings destruction.
Elara's appearance hundreds of years later reawakens the wound. Elara bears some similarities to Citlalli—not physically, but in her fragile tenderness, hidden courage, and the way she views Xochitl not as a monster, but as a protector. That's why Xochitl is so protective of Elara: she sees Citlalli's reflection in her, and she vows not to repeat the same failure.
Citlalli is not just an ex-lover; he was the reason Xochitl survived the centuries in that eternal war. He was the star that once lit up her life, and now only remains as a bitter memory that makes Xochitl afraid to fall in love again—until Elara comes and begins to heal the wound that she thought would never heal.
The morning mist still hung over the valley when the first roar of warning echoed from the hilltop. It wasn't a normal wolf howl—it was deeper, more fractured, like someone fighting against himself.
Xochitl immediately moved. His body tensed, the fine hairs on his arms and neck standing up. He pulled Elara behind him with one hand, while the other hand was holding the long obsidian knife he always carried at his waist.
"Bring yourself closer to me," he ordered lowly. "Don't let go."
Elara nodded, her heart beating fast. He could feel a vibration in the air—something wrong, something too close.
From behind the trees appeared a figure who shouldn't be there: Mateo, one of the oldest betas in the Xochitl clan. The man over a hundred years old, who had been Xochitl's brother-in-arms since the time of the Spanish conquest, now stood by Vladislav's side. His eyes, which were once warm brown, were now burning red like coals, a sign that vampire blood was flowing in his veins. Beside him, Vladislav appeared with a slow smile full of satisfaction, his long black coat fluttering like the wings of a giant bat. Her black hair was flowing perfectly, her red eyes glinted triumphantly.
"Good morning, Alpha," said Vladislav in the sweet voice that used to make Elara tremble with false hope. "I have come to take what is mine."
Mateo took one step forward. His voice was shaking, a mixture of regret and new madness. "I'm sorry, Xochitl… he promised freedom. Freedom from this curse. From never-ending pain."
Xochitl didn't answer with words. His silver-gold eyes burned brightly, and a low roar came from his throat—not a threat, but a final warning.
"Mateo," Xochitl muttered, her voice like shifting stone. "You know the rules. Traitors die at the hands of their own Alpha."
Mateo laughed bitterly, but there were tears in his red eyes. "You don't understand. I'm tired, Xochitl. Centuries of fighting, centuries of watching brothers die… and for what? Because you're afraid of falling in love again? Because of Citlalli?"
That name was like a knife piercing Xochitl's chest. Elara felt the man's body stiffen against her.
Vladislav laughed softly, the sound echoing through the trees. "Oh, Citlalli… what a beautiful name. I remember that night. Her screams were so… melodious. Like a lullaby for a monster like you."
Elara felt anger burning in her chest—not just for herself, but for the Citlalli she never knew, for Xochitl who still carried that wound like an eternal burden.
"Don't say her name," Elara hissed, stepping to Xochitl's side even though the man's hand tried to stop her. "You have no right."
Vladislav tilted his head, his eyes narrowed with interest. "Look at this... my little bird is starting to learn to bite. Interesting."
He raised his hand, and the vampire army behind him took a step forward—dozens of red eyes flashed through the mist. But the boundary of Aztec runes still shimmered faintly in the air, holding them back like an invisible wall.
"Mateo," Vladislav called softly. "Show your Alpha how generous I am."
Mateo took out a short silver knife from under his cloak—the knife he and Xochitl had once used to hunt enemies. He stepped across the rune's boundaries without a hitch, as his vampire blood now granted him temporary invulnerability.
Xochitl pushed Elara behind a large tree. "Stay here."
But Elara didn't hear. He saw Mateo raise the knife, and something inside him snapped.
"Don't!" Elara shouted, running out of cover.
Mateo stopped. His red eyes flickered, as if some part of him was still fighting. "Elara…retreat."
Xochitl bergerak lebih cepat dari bayangan. He caught Mateo's wrist, twisting it until the knife fell. The two men wrestled on the wet ground, claws and fangs appearing in an instant. Wolf blood and vampire blood mixed in the grass.
Vladislav just watched, smiling. "Look, Elara. This is what happens when you choose another monster. He will kill his own brother for you. How… romantic."
Elara ran over, but one of the female wolves from the clan held her back. "No! Let Alpha finish this."
The fight ended quickly. Xochitl pressed Mateo to the ground, her knees on the beta's chest, her hands gripping his neck. Mateo didn't fight anymore. His eyes returned to brown for a moment—their original color.
"I'm sorry…" whispered Mateo. "I am not strong."
Xochitl closed her eyes. His voice cracked as he spoke. "You've chosen, Hermano."
With one swift movement, Xochitl snapped Mateo's neck. The beta's body was limp, eyes wide open, but ultimately peaceful.
Silence enveloped the valley.
Vladislav clapped his hands softly. "It's beautiful. But this isn't over yet, Alpha. Your runes are strong… for now. But the traitor's blood has opened a small gap. And that small gap is enough for me."
He looked directly at Elara. Her sweet personality emerged again—soft voice, eyes full of pretense of love.
"Come back to me, darling. I'll forgive everything. I'll make you queen of the night. You know I can."
Elara stared at him for a long time. The bite mark on his neck felt warm again, but this time it wasn't from poison—it was from anger.
"I'm not yours," he said firmly, his voice no longer shaking. "And I'm never going back."
Vladislav smiled faintly, but his eyes turned pitch black. "Three days, Elara. That's my promise. After that, I won't play soft anymore."
He turned, his coat fluttered, and his army disappeared into the mist like smoke.
Xochitl rose slowly, her body covered in blood—Mateo's blood, her brother's blood. He stared at the lifeless body for a moment, then walked over to Elara.
Tanpa kata, ia menarik wanita itu ke pelukannya. Elara hugged him tightly, feeling a small tremor in that large body—not fear, but deep sorrow.
"We have to prepare," Xochitl whispered in Elara's ear. "He'll be back in full force. And this time… he won't be alone."
Elara nodded, her hands gripping the fabric of Xochitl's robe. "Aku bersamamu. Sampai akhir."
In the distance, the wind carried the scent of impending blood and fire. The moon was still hidden behind the clouds, but next night it would be full again—and with that full moon, the real war would begin.
The full night arrived sooner than expected, as if the moon itself couldn't wait to witness the bloodshed that was to come. Silver light flooded the valley, making the Aztec runes at the boundary of the wolf territory gleam like veins of liquid gold. But the shine begins to fade at some point—the small crack opened by Mateo's traitorous blood is still there, like an unhealed wound.
In the center of the camp, Xochitl stands on an ancient altar stone once used for moon rituals. His body was half-transformed: pointed ears, elongated claws, jet black fur covering his shoulders and arms, but his face remained human—a handsome Aztec face with a sharp nose, thick lips, and silver-gold eyes that now burned like moonfire. He presided over a confirmation ceremony: the entire clan knelt around him, singing an ancient song in Nahuatl that sounded like a prayer and a threat at once.
Elara stood beside him, not as a guest, but as part of the circle. The holy potion he had drunk this afternoon made his blood feel hotter, stronger. Vladislav's bite marks on his neck were now just pale scars, but every time he closed his eyes, he could still feel a faint pulse—like a second heartbeat that wasn't his.
Xochitl turned to him. His voice was low, only for her ears.
"You don't have to fight tonight. You can hide in the sacred cave."
Elara shook her head firmly. His black hair fluttered in the night wind. "I've been hiding for too long. If I run again, he wins."
Xochitl looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. His hand briefly touched Elara's cheek—a warm touch in the cold night. "Then fight by my side. Not as a victim. As a queen."
That word made Elara silent. Not the cold and power-hungry vampire queen, but the wolf queen—born from fire, blood, and the moon.
Suddenly, the rune in the north shattered with a sound like cracking glass. Black smoke rose from the gap, and from within emerged Vladislav—not alone. Behind him marched an elite army of vampires: their bodies were taller, their eyes darker, and among them were even more terrifying creatures—vampires who had been "enhanced" with ancient blood, their skin patterned like the cracks of cracked marble, their fangs long and curved likesickle.
Vladislav stepped forward, his coat brushing the ground. His crazy personality was dominating tonight: his smile was wide, his eyes were pitch black, but his voice was still sweet like poisonous honey.
"Elara, my love… look how beautiful tonight is. A full moon for both of us. Come back, and I promise—no more pain. Only eternal pleasure."
Elara took a step forward, her hand gripping the small obsidian knife that Xochitl had given her this afternoon. "I've had enough of your promises, Vladislav. You're not love. You're poison."
Vladislav laughed—a laugh that echoed like thousands of broken glasses. "Poison? Maybe. But you've been drinking poison for years. You're addicted to me."
Xochitl growled. Its body completely transformed into a giant wolf in an instant: nearly three meters tall, black fur glistening under the moonlight, eyes blazing gold-silver. Its roar shook the trees, sending birds flying in fright.
Battle erupted.
Wolves leapt from all directions, claws meeting fangs, red and black blood splattered across the sacred ground. Xochitl menerjang langsung ke arah Vladislav, tapi pangeran vampire itu gesit—ia menghindar dengan gerakan seperti asap, lalu menyerang balik dengan cakar yang memancarkan dingin membekukan.
Elara did not remain silent. He ran between the fights, avoiding bites, towards one of the elite vampires who was attacking the young female wolf. With an obsidian knife, he stabbed straight through the creature's chest—not killing it, but enough to make it flinch back. The sacred potion in his blood made the wound burn like sacred fire for a vampire.
Vladislav saw that. His eyes narrowed. "You're changing, my little bird. You're starting to enjoy violence."
Elara looked at him directly. "I'm starting to enjoy freedom."
Vladislav jumped at him—fast, too fast. But Xochitl was already there. His wolf body got in the way, his claws scratched Vladislav's arm until black blood spurted out. Vladislav roared, but not because of pain—because of anger.
"You dare touch mine?!" he screamed.
Xochitl returned to her half-human form, standing in front of Elara. Blood flowed from the wound on his shoulder, but his eyes were calm. "He belongs to no one. He chose himself."
Vladislav laughed crazily. "Choice? Humans have no choice before immortals like us!"
But just then, the remaining runes started to burn brightly. From within the forest, a new shadow appeared—an old woman from the wolf clan, who had been hiding in the sacred cave. He is the oldest healer, who holds the last Aztec artifact: a moonstone that can summon the power of the goddess Coatlicue.
The woman lifted the stone high. A dazzling silver light burst from the stone, touching every vampire that crossed the boundary.
Vladislav flinched back, his skin blistering like he had sunburn. His troops screamed in pain.
"It's not finished yet!" he roared, his voice breaking between sweet and crazy personality. "I'll be back! And this time, I'll burn everything—starting from you, Alpha, then your sweet new lover!"
He disappeared in a black mist, carried back by the rest of his army.
Silence returns. Only the sound of labored breathing and wounded moans.
Xochitl fell to her knees, exhausted. Elara ran towards him, hugging the large body even though the blood stained her dress.
"You're safe," Elara whispered, tears flowing.
Xochitl raised her face, touching Elara's cheek with trembling fingers. "You were the one who saved me tonight. With your courage."
They looked at each other under the fading light of the full moon. Their wounds were many, but for the first time, there was something stronger than pain: hope.
But in the distance, the wind carried a faint whisper—Vladislav's still echoing voice:
"I'll be back… and you'll be begging me to end it all."
The war is not over yet. Just a brief respite before the next storm.