How long has it been since I last opened my eyes?
The scent of blood was the first thing to greet me—sharp, metallic, clinging to the back of my throat like smoke. My chest heaved, but the air was thin, stale… suffocating.
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. The world was pitch black. I blinked, but there was no change.
Where am I?
A soft, crumbling sound reached my ears—ashes slipping into the cracks beneath me, seeping in like whispers from the dead. The walls pressed close around me. Cold. Wooden. Dry.
My fingers brushed the grain above me, trembling. I tried to recall—anything—but my mind was wrapped in fog, fragments drifting just beyond reach. Faces without names. Screams without voices.
My limbs were stiff, locked in the stillness of something far too long.
And then it struck me.
A coffin.
I was in a coffin.
Panic surged, hot and bright, fighting through the numbness. My hand clawed upward, searching, pushing. The hatch groaned as it gave way, light spilling in—not sunlight, not warmth—just pale, gray dust and silence.
I rose, barely able to sit. The stench of decay and burnt stone invaded my senses.
And what welcomed me…
…was ruin.
The world above had fallen into ash.
Using what little strength remained, I dragged myself out of the coffin that had entombed me.
The air bit cold against my skin as I emerged into a ruined chamber—a place that once might have been regal, now reduced to rot and silence. The pillars stood broken, jagged like shattered ribs of a great beast. Blood had soaked into the once-vibrant carpets, dark and dried in some places, freshly smeared in others. A single lantern, once swaying on its final chain, gave out a hollow clink… and fell. It hit the floor with a final crash, shattering into silence.
The stench of blood thickened with every inch I crawled, coiling in my lungs like smoke. The taste of iron clung to my tongue.
Outside the room—if it could even still be called that—the castle was drowned in shadow and rot. The distant caw of crows echoed through the open, crumbling arches. They circled above like watchful spirits. Each corridor I passed whispered of violence. Blood smeared the stone. Walls bore claw marks and ruptured flesh.
Whatever had happened here… had happened recently. Maybe moments ago.
Then I smelled it—something worse than blood.
Burnt flesh.
My body trembled. Still too weak to stand, I forced myself onward, crawling through the wreckage, my hands slipping against the blood-slick stone.
I needed to find someone. Anyone.
And then I did.
A corpse.
A brother of my kind—now little more than meat for the carrion beasts. Vultures hunched over him, their feathers matted with gore, their beaks pulling at exposed entrails. One eyeball dangled loosely from its socket, the other already gone. His arms—torn to the bone—one was halfway down a vulture's gullet, swallowed greedily.
I froze. My breath caught.
There was no dignity in death here.
Only ruin.
I couldn't do anything for the dead man now turned into a feast.
The vultures scattered the moment they saw me, their wings slicing through the dust-choked air. Their eyes—black, glinting—lingered for only a second before vanishing into the ruins above.
I was alone again.
Still weak, I pulled myself forward, fingers numb as they dragged across the cold stone. Inch by inch, I reached the grand archway at the end of the hall.
The dining room.
What awaited me there… was far worse.
A long banquet table stretched beneath the collapsed chandeliers and crumbling portraits. Once a place for laughter, bloodlines, and toasts—now a theater of desecration.
Laid out across the table was the body of another vampire—a woman.
One of my own.
Her corpse was garnished—garnished—with herbs, sliced fruits, and flowers, as though her death was not a tragedy, but a delicacy. Her body had been prepared. Her torso was split open, and her innards had been served like courses on silver platters. Her eyes were missing. Her throat hollowed.
The plates surrounding her brimmed with organs. Her liver, her heart, her marrow—offered. As if some beast had taken great care and cruel pleasure in the arrangement.
In the background, pots still simmered.
The fire had not yet died.
The kitchen was still warm.
I gritted my teeth, planting one hand against the wall. My legs trembled as I forced myself upright. Pain lanced through my spine, but I managed to stand. Just barely.
Drawn by the quiet bubbling of something behind the counter, I stepped closer, steadying myself.
One of the pots hissed with steam. I gripped the lid.
I hesitated.
Then, slowly, I opened it.
Inside—
A stew of fingers. Human, vampire—uncertain. Boiled down to bone, skin peeling. Floating beside them, another pot… filled with eyes. Staring blankly, swirling in the broth like pearls.
I shut the lid.
I wanted to scream.
But silence was safer.
Using the wall for support, I dragged myself forward, each breath sharp against the stench lingering in the air. My hand trembled as it pressed against cracked stone, blood-stained and still warm in some places.
The Grand Hall... I have to check the Grand Hall.
The inner corridors were painted in red. Blood soaked the walls, trailing in broken handprints and dragged streaks. Symbols—some carved with blades, others with claws—covered the stone like curses. These were not the signs of war.
They were marks of massacre.
As I descended the stairs, my foot slipped.
A scream tore from my throat as my body tumbled downward—head, shoulder, spine—slamming into each cold, unforgiving step. I crashed into the floor below, a pool of half-coagulated blood greeting me with a cruel embrace.
I groaned, breath stolen, body shaking.
And then I looked up.
What I saw should not have existed.
A nightmare made real.
My kin—my family—had become ornaments in a theater of desecration.
The male vampires had been impaled on spears radiating a soft, cruel glow—holy light, tainted with mockery. Their bodies stood in perfect rows, circling the once-pristine fountain. Now, the basin overflowed not with water… but blood.
The females—
They were hung like banners.
Naked, strung by their necks from lanterns that still dripped with crimson. Some were fresh. Others had long since bled dry, their skin pale and stretched like dolls. Across their bodies were carved symbols—grotesque, sacrilegious, and utterly defiled.
I stared.
Frozen.
It was repulsive.
It was depraved.
It was a cruelty so vile that even hell would turn its gaze.
My lips curled.
A tremble ran through them as I clenched my jaw tight—suppressing the scream that clawed its way up my throat. Rage. Sorrow. Terror. They swirled like storm winds inside me, screaming where I could not.
It was horrible.
It was unforgivable.
Then—A memory flickered.Like a candle behind frost.Soft. Distant.But real.
Warm arms cradling me.
A scent of lavender and iron.
The gentle glow of dusk seeping through the stained glass windows of the family sanctum. My mother, her face serene yet strained, pulled me toward the coffin. Her voice was calm, almost melodic, though it cracked beneath the weight of unspoken fear.
"You must sleep now, Vanessa. You must. When you wake… we'll see each other again. You'll be safe."
I remember clutching her sleeves, refusing to let go.
"But why? I don't want to go! I want to stay and fight—"
She cupped my cheeks, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, the kind only mothers could hold without breaking.
"Your father prepares for war. The northern kin… they've broken the pact. They march to devour all that we are. And if we fall… then you must remain. You are our dawn, Vanessa."
The coffin had felt cold even then.
And the moment it closed—I had screamed her name.
I gasped as the memory snapped away, leaving only the blood-drenched silence of the Grand Hall.
My fingers dug into the soaked floor.
My family had sealed me to save me.
But no one came back to wake me.
Now, the halls of my childhood—of my home—reeked of death, desecration, and cruelty beyond reckoning.
And I was alone.
"Father… Mother…"
The throne room.
I needed to go there.
I forced my body forward, stumbling past the remnants of bloodshed and broken legacy. My feet moved faster than my thoughts—ignoring the screams etched into the walls, the pools of crimson still warm underfoot.
I gasped for breath, chest heaving. I didn't know what I was hoping to find. A voice? A shadow? A miracle?
I didn't care why.
I didn't want to know.
But my heart—it wouldn't stop pounding.
A furious, aching rhythm, as if it already knew what I refused to accept.
Don't think about it. Just keep moving.
"Please…" I whispered, voice cracking.
I grunted as I pushed the heavy door open. It groaned in protest, ancient hinges shrieking like wounded beasts. The moment the light spilled in, I stumbled forward—then froze.
The sight struck me like a blade through the chest.
A sight I refused to accept.
There—at the end of the crimson-stained carpet—sat my father.
Chained to the throne.
Impaled by no fewer than six glowing spears, holy light burning through his chest, shoulders, limbs. His crown lay broken beneath him. His head hung back, face tilted to the ceiling, eyes empty.
No life. No soul.
Just silence.
I trembled.
My knees buckled as I stepped forward.
"I… I just want to hug you… one last time…"
My fingers reached toward him.
But the moment I neared, the chains binding his body flared with light.
A sudden surge of divine energy lashed out, and I screamed. Lightning raced through my veins as I was thrown back, searing pain tearing across my skin.
It hurt.
But I didn't care.
I crawled forward anyway, dragging myself across the stones until I reached his side.
Tears fell freely as I grasped his hand.
I pressed it to my cheek.
It was cold. Unmoving. Rigid.
"I'm sorry… I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to protect any of you…"
Why did it have to be this way?
What did he see in his final moments?
Why did he die staring toward the heavens…?
I raised my head—
And then I saw her.
"No…"
My voice cracked.
"No…"
I shook my head.
"No, no, no, no, no—"
Please no.
Please no.
Please… no.
There—suspended above the throne, bathed in the light of the moon—
My mother.
Hung by her four limbs, her body suspended like a sacrificial offering. The same glowing chains dug deep into her wrists and ankles. She hung there… motionless… facing downward.
Exposed.
Defiled.
Her body was marked with the same profane symbols as the women in the Grand Hall. Her silver hair hung like a curtain of silk, stained red at the tips. The moonlight painted her like a relic.
I collapsed.
Sobs wracked my body.
All the strength I had left shattered.
I screamed—loud, broken, wordless.
I clawed at the stone floor, choking on air, on grief, on guilt.
My screams echoed into the emptiness, swallowed by the vastness of the ruined throne room.
They didn't answer.
They would never answer.