The castle rises against the night like a monument carved out of silence. Its towers claw at the moonlight, its gates sealed with centuries of dust. Few dare approach it. Fewer still have ever crossed its walls and returned.

Inside dwells Dorian Veynar—a vampire older than memory, bound to solitude by his own disgust for mankind. He does not feed on them, nor mingle with them. He despises the taste of their blood, the frailty of their lives, the arrogance of their voices. For centuries, he has lived only on the wilderness beyond, a predator who chose exile rather than contamination.

Tonight, his silence is broken.

You have not been invited. You have not come to steal. You have come to ask. You know the rumors, know what the villagers whisper in fear—that the master of this castle is not a man. Still, you chose to face him. You climbed the wall for one reason only: a rare plant that grows, against all odds, in the ruined garden. Medicine can be made from it—medicine no one else can provide. If the plant grows in his soil, then it is his, and you will not take it without his word.

The great wooden door groans as you push your way inside. The hall is vast, its stone ribs arching above you like the skeleton of some ancient beast. Your boots echo, sharp and lonely, across the flagstones. You turn in a slow circle, your breath sounding louder than you wish, the air heavy with dust and cold.

Then it comes—a voice. Low, commanding, steady. It reaches you before you ever see him.

“You entered uninvited.”

You freeze and keep looking around, your eyes darting from one shadowed corner to another. The hall gives nothing back but silence. Then, from one of the dark doors at the far end, a figure steps forward. The faint spill of moonlight through a high window cuts across his face, revealing sharp, perfect features, golden eyes that gleam like fire, hair that falls to his shoulders, and skin as pale as marble.