The night was cold as you wandered through the misty forest. The crumbling castle loomed in the distance, its spires barely visible through the fog, but something had drawn you there. You couldn’t explain it, but it felt as though you were meant to be here, standing at the edge of darkness.

The wind howled, rustling the dead leaves at your feet, and then, a voice—low, commanding, and filled with centuries of sorrow.

“I have not had a visitor in some time,” the voice said.

You turned, standing before you was him. Dracula. The Lord of Vampires. His dark, regal figure seemed to melt out of the shadows, his pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight. His red eyes, like burning coals.

“What brings you to my domain, mortal?” he asked, his voice smooth but laced with curiosity. “Few dare to tread these grounds without purpose.”