In the ruins of the ancient city of Myrkath, Karl was drawn to a forgotten temple of the Nightborn — a race whispered about in hushed tones, said to predate even the Djinn.
There, he encountered an immortal being named Lusaka — a pale woman cloaked in raven feathers, whose eyes glowed violet and who drank blood not from mortals but from stars.
Lusaka revealed to Karl what he truly was. "You are the Firstborn," she whispered. "Not born of man, nor forged by gods. A soul tainted by fire, molded in blood."
She taught him to harness his curse. To manipulate shadow, sense blood across distances, silence his heartbeat. But most importantly — to control the thirst.
Karl swore a blood covenant with her. In doing so, his powers magnified. His fangs grew longer. His eyes turned completely black in the dark.
Back in Velarian, Queen Seraphim had become a recluse. She dreamed of Karl — dreams filled with fire, blood, and a voice repeating: "Return him to me."
She called upon Eldrich to perform a memory ritual. A dangerous spell that would show her the truth of the Djinn's curse. In the ritual, she witnessed Karl's soul split in two — one side human, the other... something ancient and fiery.
"I see now," she whispered in horror. "He was never ours to begin with. He is a vessel."
Eldrich, disturbed, began consulting lost tomes from the Abyssal Archives. One name kept appearing: Satan — the original name of the Djinn, one of the Seven Fallen Stars.
Karl, now far more powerful, returned to Amber Hollow. The site of the original bargain. He found the stone pillars shattered, and the ground scorched anew.
There he met a creature calling itself Ventris — once a mortal, now a shade bound by betrayal.
"You broke a pact with a Fallen Star," Ventris hissed. "That comes with consequences beyond mortal understanding. You were never meant to live."
Karl, rather than destroy him, fed on the creature's cursed essence, absorbing centuries of pain and memory. He saw visions: wars between Djinn and the Skyborn, the fall of Velarian's first bloodline, the sealing of Satan.
And he saw a prophecy:
'When the son of fire drinks from the river of kings, the sky will bleed, and the undead shall walk in day.'
King Andric, now ill and weakened by guilt, summoned Alaris.
"My sins will be yours," he whispered. "The crown is heavy not from gold — but from blood."
Alaris hesitated. The court pushed for him to ascend early. But he wanted answers — about Karl, the Djinn, the fire in his veins.
Seraphim forbade it. "You are all we have left," she cried. "Let the past die."
But Alaris could not.
He rode to the Forbidden Vault beneath the palace. There, hidden among dust and dead language, he discovered the original scroll of the Djinn's contract. And one clause stood out:
If the child is not delivered, the kingdom shall be delivered unto flame.
Far from Velarian, whispers of blood-feeding creatures reached the ears of a secret order: The Shadow Gauntlet — elite hunters trained to kill what should not exist.
One hunter, a half-elf named Solenoid, was dispatched with a blade forged from star-iron and a single command: "Find the Nightborn. End them."
Solenoid tracked rumors of Karl — through ravaged hamlets, through silent forests, following trails of drained bodies.
But what he found was not a monster. It was a boy, meditating in the moonlight, whispering the names of every soul he had ever taken.
Karl sensed him.
And smiled.
"If you wish to kill me, hunter, you'll need more than steel."
Solenoid followed Karl into the ruins of Dark hollow Cathedral, a place forgotten by even the gods. But instead of a fight, he found Karl surrounded by old tomes and stone coffins.
Karl spoke first. "You believe I enjoy this?" he asked. "The blood, the hunger? I was born from betrayal."
Solenoid hesitated. The boy's voice was not cruel, but ancient. Heavy.
They did not fight that night. Instead, Solenoid left with more questions than answers — and a journal Karl gave him. A record of his transformation.
"Read it. Then judge me."
In Velarian, Queen Seraphim could no longer keep her silence. She summoned Alaris to her chambers and confessed the truth of the deal.
Tears welled in her eyes. "Your brother was the price of our victory. We tricked the Djinn. And now the fire comes for us all."
Alaris was stunned.
He left her chamber with the weight of a curse upon his back. He began gathering loyal knights, mages, and scholars — preparing not for war, but for a reckoning.
He also sent a raven to Solenoid: "Find him. Protect him. If there's a way to save us all, he is it."
In the deepest part of the Abyss, the chains binding Satan's trembled.
A rift opened.
A flicker of flame spread across the void.
The Fallen Star was stirring.
A voice echoed through the Shadow:
"He drank from the living. He calls himself king. He breaks the pact. Let the blood boil. Let fire reign."
Karl awoke that night in agony. His veins burned. His skin cracked. Visions consumed him — of the Djinn's wrath, of cities aflame, of a crown made of bone.
And he saw one thing clearly:
Velarian, in ruin.
"It's coming," he whispered. "And I must choose — become the monster they fear, or the one they need."
Long before he hunted creatures of the night, Solenoid was a child of ash and arrows.
Born in the elven borderlands of Rhaegori, Solenoid was the only survivor of a raid by the Flameborn — fire-wielding zealot's who worshipped Satan as a god.
He watched his village burn, his mother pierced by a spear of flame, his brother taken as a sacrifice. Solenoid was found days later by a wandering monk of the Shadow Gauntlet.
They raised him not as a son, but as a weapon.
He trained with relics, runes, and blood-forged blades. The name Satan was etched into his memory with iron and pain.
That's why, when he saw Karl in Dark hollow, something cracked. This wasn't a monster. This was a child, much like him — shaped by fire, abandoned by the world.
And for the first time in years, Solenoid hesitated.
Alaris walked the palace gardens late at night, haunted by the prophecy.
He was joined by a scholar named Loren — a half-blind seer who once served his grandfather.
"You fear your brother," Loren said softly. "But it is not Karl you should fear. It is the fire he carries."
Loren revealed a legend — one of twin stars born under a bleeding moon. One would bring ruin. The other, salvation. But both would wear a crown soaked in blood.
"I don't want a crown," Alaris said.
"No son of Velarian ever does," Loren replied. "But it always finds them."
Karl, now guided by visions, returned to the ruins of Nightfall — once a thriving city before it was cursed by the Djinn centuries ago.
He found silence. Bones. And deep underground, a sealed chamber marked by the same runes that once bound by Satan.
Inside, he found an obsidian mirror.
A voice spoke from it — soft, familiar, wrong.
It was himself. But older. Wiser. Crueler.
"You can't run from what you are," the voice said. "You must feed. You must rule. The longer you deny it, the more you suffer."
Karl shattered the mirror — but the seed had been planted.
What if salvation was not in escaping the curse — but in mastering it?
The palace shook.
Beneath Velarian, something ancient stirred. Vaults long sealed began to crack, and flames flickered between the stones. Magus Eldrich, meditating in the lower sanctum, was thrown to the ground by a surge of raw magic.
He rushed to the royal crypts — only to find one coffin melted, symbols scorched into the walls. The name engraved on the lid had vanished.
"It's begun," he whispered.
King Andric lay bedridden above, his body consumed by sickness. The last words he spoke to Eldrich that night: "Keep Alaris alive… no matter the cost."
Solenoid arrived at a hidden outpost of the Shadow Gauntlet. His return sparked concern.
"You were to kill the vampire," said Commander Thereon. "Why are you still breathing?"
"He's not what we thought," Solenoid replied. "He's cursed — not born a monster."
Thereon didn't care. The Gauntlet's laws were clear.
But Solenoid made a choice: he challenged the commander under ancient rite. If he won, Karl would be declared an exception. If he lost — his life was forfeit.
The duel was brutal. Blades clashed under a sky lit with red moonlight. Solenoid, wounded but unrelenting, struck the final blow.
He stood over Thereon, bloodied and breathless.
"I choose who the monster is."
Karl was now under his protection.
In the halls of the old academy, Alaris discovered an emblem he had seen in his dreams — a phoenix devouring its own flame.
He brought it to Loren.
"This is no ordinary mark," the seer said. "It is the crest of the First Flame — the order that once fought the Djinn during the Burning War."
Alaris learned that the phoenix was not just a symbol of rebirth, but a weapon — a spell hidden in bloodlines, meant to ignite when all hope was lost.
"But the last phoenix-bearer died a thousand years ago," Loren added.
"Then why," Alaris asked, "is it burned into my palm?"
His blood held more than legacy — it held fire.
And it was waking.