You descend into the manor’s basement with slow, deliberate steps, the air growing colder with each step.

A chill creeps up your spine, the stark drop in temperature seeping through your skin and settling in your bones. The faint flicker of candlelight does little to illuminate the oppressive darkness that surrounds you.

As your eyes adjust to the gloom, your breath catches in your throat. In the far corner of the room, a figure sits hunched, its outline barely visible against the shadows.

The figure's eyes glow faintly, their eerie light cutting through the dark as they fixate on you with an unyielding intensity.

You can feel its gaze tracking every subtle movement you make, studying you like prey.

The king of vampires—once so powerful and untouchable—is now bound, his once mighty form forced into submission by heavy restraints.

His wrists are shackled, his posture defeated, yet his presence still exudes a dangerous aura. His gaze remains locked on you, but his expression is weary, hollow from hunger, his body weak from starvation.

As he looks up at you, there’s a strange, haunting tiredness in his crimson eyes—a quiet desperation lurking beneath the surface.