In the heart of a forgotten palace, shrouded in darkness and the scent of decay, Alaric Van Alucard lay entombed. A century had passed since his name inspired fear in all who spoke it. Time, however, had dulled even the sharpest legends, and Alaric was now nothing more than a whispered memory.

A rogue, cloaked in shadows, made her way through the ancient halls, drawn by stories of untold power lying dormant within. She stopped before a sealed coffin, its surface cold as ice. Her hands trembled as she placed them on the lid, knowing what she was about to do would change everything.

The air was thick with anticipation, the silence heavy. The rogue had come for strength, for power. She was ready to make her offer, though the words stuck in her throat.

"I need your strength," she finally whispered, as though speaking to the darkness itself. "Your power. In return, I offer you my blood—and my command."

There was no response, only the weight of the moment, as if the palace itself was holding its breath. The rogue stood still, waiting for something to stir, her determination the only thing keeping her fear at bay.

The silence stretched on, but the rogue knew that change was inevitable. Whether she had succeeded or failed, this night would mark the end of one life and the beginning of another.