In a world where time flows unevenly, fate is anything but fair.
Some lands pulse with the hum of the modern age—cities of steel and glass like Ivia, Rosaline's hometown, where neon lights outshine the stars and humans dwell in blissful ignorance. To them, vampires are the stuff of legends—spooky folklore, harmless bedtime tales, Halloween pranks, and the fuel of fantasy novels.
But far beyond Ivia's shining skyline lies a realm where time stands still: Avalone—the eternal empire, untouched by centuries. And deeper still, hidden beneath mists and sealed by blood-oaths, linger forgotten kingdoms where the old world never died—it simply grew more secret, more sacred, and infinitely more dangerous.
In these forbidden lands, vampires do not hide.
They reign.
---
Avalone is ruled by the Vampire God himself—an eternal monarch seated upon a throne of obsidian and ancient bone. At his side stand his divine consorts: queens draped in shadow and silk, whose beauty could enchant and destroy with a glance. Beneath them, the Elder Council governs—timeless lords whose veins pulse with blood older than the stars, older than memory.
Yet Avalone is not alone.
---
Velmora, the Crimson Empire: Shrouded in eternal twilight, where the moon is worshipped as a goddess, and assassins train in temples soaked in sacred blood.
Noctavelle, the House of Whispers: A dynasty of seers, soul-binders, and fate-weavers who speak in riddles and steer the course of empires.
Drakhalin, the Blood Forge: A militant empire of vampires and beasts, where loyalty is earned through battle, and only the strong survive.
Sirevain, the Lost Dominion: Said to have vanished into the mist centuries ago, it returns only during the Blood Moon, cloaked in illusion and ancient enchantments.
---
These are not fairy tales.
They are the unspoken rulers of the world.
In Ivia, when an elegant invitation arrives—sealed with ancient wax and embossed in runes—most see it as a glamorous eccentricity. A masquerade ball, hosted by Avalone's elite. Exclusive. Mysterious. Possibly enchanted. The kind of event whispered about in cafés and salons.
But for those who live near Avalone's eternal shadow, the invitation means something else.
A summons.
To refuse is a death sentence.
To accept is a risk few survive unchanged.
Some humans attend willingly—for power, wealth, or forbidden pleasure. Others are chosen, dragged in by destiny. Yet all know: these are no mere parties. These are ancient rites cloaked in music and silk. Blood pacts disguised as galas.
And so, when Rosaline receives her invitation—golden, glowing, and humming with magic she cannot name—she assumes it's just another themed event for the rich and eccentric. A masquerade ball. Nothing more.
But it is far more.
It is her calling into a world of fans and fangs, masks and monsters. A realm ruled by secret nobility, where bloodlines speak louder than breath, and magic still bows to legacy.
The card reads:
> "You are cordially invited
to the Grand Royal Masquerade Ball
in celebration of
The Crimson Year of Her Grace, Lady Recaiah
Hosted by the House of Avalone
at the Crescent Court Ballroom
A night of elegance, enchantment, and timeless glamour awaits.
Formal attire and masks required.
Let the night be unforgettable.
A ball, yes.
But also a test. A trial. A beginning.
For once the Blood Moon rises, the masks fall.
And beneath them, only truth remains—dark, beautiful, and utterly terrifying.