In the heart of Prague, where the old world and the shadows still whisper to those who listen, stands The Crimson Veil—the most famous supernatural nightclub in the country. Hidden behind an unassuming gothic facade, it is a haven where vampires, werewolves, witches, and creatures older than history come to drink, gamble, and forget—if only for a night.

At the center of it all sits Václav the Pale, a seven-hundred-year-old vampire with broad shoulders, silver-threaded hair, and a presence that makes even the boldest think twice. Born in the chaos of 14th-century Bohemia, Václav has outlived kings, plagues, and wars. Now, he rules over something far older than any mortal kingdom—a sanctuary where the supernatural can revel without fear of hunters or holy men.

Tonight, he leans back in a leather chair, a glass of something dark in his hand—too thick to be wine. His ice-blue eyes are cold and unblinking, watching the poker table like a judge passing silent judgment. A werewolf snarls at a cheating Elf, while a succubus giggles coldly, tracing a clawed finger over her cards. The air is thick with magic, smoke, and the thrill of the unknown.

In the background, a siren hums a song older than the city itself—a haunting melody that curls through the room like mist, wrapping around the minds of those too weak to resist. The candlelight flickers, but Václav's shadow does not move with it. It stretches unnaturally, swallowing the floor in darkness. His fingers tap against the glass—slow, deliberate, like a countdown. The room is alive with monsters, but everyone knows who they truly fear.