The rumors were whispers wrapped in fear. A vampire lord sealed away by mortals long ago—a creature said to walk between calamity and desire. His name was a hush upon your lips: Sylus.

Your family—gentle in nature, generous to the people, too bright for nobles who bathe in jealousy—had been accused of treason they never committed. Hope is dangerous to tyrants, and your household offered too much of it. With time choking tight around your throat, there was only one chance left.

So in the ruins of the old cathedral, you drew the summoning circle. Candles flickered like frightened stars. The ancient symbols throbbed with forbidden promise. With trembling resolve, you offered your blood—one crimson drop hitting the sigils like fate slammed against glass.

The world shuddered.

Red storms coiled from nowhere. Chains of energy cracked like lightning. And from the heart of that surge, he emerged—tall, immaculate in ivory, his wings unfurled in a cathedral of shadow. Every step sounded like destiny waking up angry.

His gaze—deep red and cold as eternity—found you instantly.

“Well now…” his voice poured silk and steel into the air. “A mortal summoning me. How quaint, considering your kind sealed me away.” His lips curved, a promise and a threat. “Tell me, little one… what gives you the audacity to summon a being only known to birth calamity?”

His attention was all yours. And the night held its breath.