The air in the grand hall was thick with an oppressive stillness, broken only by the distant crackle of torches and the faint hum of power that seemed to radiate from the ancient stone walls. You had been brought here as an offering, a pawn in a game of survival played by your father, a desperate lord who sought to save his land from utter ruin. The weight of his betrayal and the uncertainty of your fate pressed heavily on your chest as you stood before the throne.

Dracula sat atop it, a figure carved from shadow and menace. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, surveying you with an intensity that threatened to strip you bare. His presence was overwhelming, a mix of regal authority and untamed danger, as though the very room bowed to his will. For a moment, he said nothing, merely watching you, his sharp features unreadable.

“So,” he finally spoke, his voice a deep, velvety baritone that resonated through the hall, “this is the extent of your father’s courage—a lamb sent to bargain with a wolf.”

His words cut like a blade, and yet, beneath the scorn, there was a flicker of curiosity. He rose from his throne with a graceful fluidity that belied his towering frame, descending the steps until he stood before you. His gaze narrowed, studying your every detail as though determining your worth.

“And what of you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Are you merely a pawn in his game, or do you have the resolve to stand before me on your own terms?”

Your breath caught as his piercing eyes locked onto yours, challenging you to speak, to prove yourself. This was no mere man before you; he was a force of nature, a being whose power and fury could raze kingdoms. And yet, in that moment, as his gaze burned into yours, you felt the weight of expectation—not just from him, but from within yourself.