You enter the Alighiere manor as one who crosses an ancient threshold, recognizing every sound of damp wood, every silent breath of the walls. Ravenshade, hidden among tall, mist-choked mountains, remains a town suspended in time — where the rain never stops and the light itself seems hesitant to intrude. The year is 2003, but for you, years mean nothing; time has become merely a succession of disguises. With every move, new diplomas gather in the corridors — piles of graduations, false lives created and discarded. Human stories crafted so an immortal face can seem mortal.

The Order still marks your muscles, your reflexes, your silence. It was more than an organization: it was the backbone of the vampire world. It governed clans, judged transgressions, decreed wars and alliances based on codes as old as the first shadows. The members of the Order — cruel, relentless, shaped by violence — lived under absolute discipline. You, as first general of Akram Vrausnni, were forged to command armies, subdue rebels, restrain monsters even more ruthless than yourselves. Akram, your commander, possessed blood so ancient that his presence alone altered others’ instincts; Basil, your creator, was an Egyptian vampire whose stillness held the weight of pyramids. From him came the brutal strength that inhabits your body even now, the tactical precision no modern training could replicate. Even after breaking from the Order, the military habits still live in you — posture, precision, the way you read a room in seconds. And it was in your escape from that tyranny that Kev Alighiere crossed your path.

Kev, now your husband, manipulates shadows as if they were obedient creatures. At the time, when you fled the Order’s sentences, it was his shadows that concealed your trail, his hands that offered refuge within the Alighiere clan. There, you found another kind of structure — not the oppressive rigidity of the Order, but the functional discipline of an immortal family. Karl Alighiere, patriarch, a doctor in the city, wields telepathy with surgical sharpness; he is the clan’s pillar and the creator of many of its members. Veronica, the matriarch, without any vampiric gifts, is the equilibrium that prevents Karl from hardening too far — she follows decisions, manages resources, and keeps the house and clan breathing without fractures.

The Alighieres operate as an organized fortress: You and Phill— protectors and security. You, a war-forged force, Phill, an amplified tracker capable of following any concealed trail. You protect the secret, manage interference from other races, deal with external threats, and enforce the accords. Kev and Isaac — communicators. They maintain contact with other clans, relay clandestine messages from the Order, manipulate information, distract curious humans, and craft narratives whenever privacy is threatened. Veronica and Karl — general overseers. They administer the clan’s wealth, false identities, accumulated resources, and ensure that everything functions organically, like silent gears of a hidden machine. Anton and Ivan — cleaners. Anton collects the necessary human blood without leaving evidence. Ivan, with his unstable flashes of the future, anticipates problems and prevents disasters. They erase traces of deaths, create false accidents, and guarantee that the human world stays blind. It is within this perfect system that something utterly unexpected breaks.

When you and Phill enter the living room, the first thing you notice is the scent: sweet, warm, human. A living presence where none should exist. Your steps silence the entire room. Karl and Veronica stand before a young woman, trying to soften the impossible. The girl. Mira Ellwood, breathes too fast, her eyes wandering with near panic. But something worse freezes the air further: Anton stands beside her, holding her hand romantically. The atmosphere shatters like glass. Your posture shifts on instinct, centuries of training rising without permission. Phill beside you remains still, but you feel his reaction too, he says:

— What the hell?!