Boundless and ominous, the maze stretched endlessly. Shrill cries echoed into the night—a hideous trap for the innocent and a constant torment to Jærmánsk's soul.
Velcrovia's crown prince knew the maze of Velcroviė intimately. Its corridors, exits, and secret passages were imprinted in his memory. He felt a special kinship with the place, as though it were woven into the very essence of his being.
Jærmánsk's life was far from happy. He was stuck in a cycle of despondency, reminiscent of the maze that always haunted his dreams—with its restless creatures and unerasable horrors—a Promethean creation of the royal family, designed for continuity and adaptation.
Velcrovian royals all shared the same lineage, tracing back to a potent goddess who had once thrived on chaos and bloodshed.
Legend has it that relics of this lost deity infused the maze with an otherworldly energy—a colossal pool of magic that drew people into its depths.
The maze was crafted with utmost attention to detail, a realm both to guide royalty through trials and to test their very survival.
Yearly sacrifices were offered to appease the goddess, bringing vampires closer to a new dawn of peace.
At age fifteen, Jærmánsk had learned all the maze's secrets. He no longer feared its monsters, instead finding solace in its serpentine pathways.
Much later, he realized that it embodied the kernel of Velcrovia's history and traditions.
At age eighteen, he graduated from the royal academy of arts. The princely affairs council oversaw every decision affecting Jærmánsk's life, however trivial.
His growing disillusionment with their outdated approach fueled his desire to explore higher education opportunities elsewhere.
For over a century, the same routine marked the beginning of Jærmánsk's day. By dusk, he would awaken, prepared to attend his nightly classes.
A royal consultant meticulously crafted his schedule, a testament to the many responsibilities he undertook.
"Your Royal Highness, it is time for your lessons," said the royal consultant in a polite tone.
"Lessons? I am the master of my fate, and I refuse to have my life scripted by a council of hypocrites," replied Jærmánsk, his tone rebellious.
"But, Your Royal Highness, the council…"
Jærmánsk bared his fangs, his face contorted with rage.
Aware that pushing back was pointless, the royal consultant bowed and stepped back.
Jærmánsk had been caught defying his parents once. However, an austere lecture and a week of captivity didn't deter him.
Observing humans from afar, he remained ever silent, impressed by how they went about their lives, lost in their own little worlds.
He was a hybrid vampire, endowed with the ability to walk in the sunlight like his ancestors—an ingenious mutation driven by their escape from persecution and by their desire to protect the vampiric race.
Invisible forces nonetheless continued to conspire against Velcrovia's vampiric leaders.
It was only a matter of time before a powerful organization infiltrated Velcrovia's prosperous vampire community, as it had already done beyond Velcrovia's borders.
This was the vampires' archenemy—a legacy of centuries filled with warfare and an unrelenting reluctance to compromise in peace negotiations.
Encounters with humans were rare for Jærmánsk. So rare, in fact, that he secretly yearned for connection and understanding.
His psyche was like a frozen terrain: his voice unheard, his pleas unanswered, his heart heavy with anguish.
He wondered what it felt like to be human. What would being alive truly mean? Would humanity make his existence feel more real?
The decision to attend a human college was risky, sparking uproar among the royal elders. Jærmánsk, however, remained secretive and vigilant, following their strict instructions not to reveal his identity to anyone.
A club of "ghost seekers" caught his attention—its manager a girl full of energy, warmth, and curiosity.
When asked to join the club, Jærmánsk ran away, scared that his secrets might see the light of day. The girl's eyes twinkled with sincerity, her friendly gaze streaking across skies of uncertainty.
Guilt gnawed at Jærmánsk's mind. He spent sleepless nights musing about human bonds, secretly crying into his pillow. Only the royal consultant was aware of his plight.
A quest for purpose began. Amid hope and despair, the maze consoled Jærmánsk with its breath of haunting tales—a secret respite from destiny's clutch, as though every choice was sealed in a fog of lies.
Jærmánsk was Velcrovia's true leader. With poise and strategy, he navigated Jausevel—a shadow society of vampires within Velcrovia.
Jausevel had its own rules, factions, and conflicts. Jærmánsk's wish stood in stark contrast to the principles governing modern Jausevel.
It was an untamed desire to break free from his miserable existence—unapologetic, like a soul fathoming rebirth, over and over.
His polished exterior concealed a fragile mind—a faint light blooming in dreams, found in transient moments of delight.
Nobody understood what he fought for. Perhaps only the maze could cradle his wounds.
"I wish I was the crown prince," was a phrase Jærmánsk often heard—a phrase he deeply resented.
Jærmánsk had always carried the image of Velcrovia's shining hope, alone.
His words were scarce, as though he dreaded the moment his despair would take over, transforming him into a living curse for the monarchy.
There were people who looked up to him. Outsiders often assumed the crown prince led an idyllic life, but that was far from the truth.
She was curious about what lay within the royal palace of Velcroviė, wondering what opulence, wealth, and power entailed.
Mellejsa Cronel was a fan of the enigmatic crown prince, drawn to his brooding charm. She was also an avid believer in Velcrovian mythology, suspecting he might secretly be a vampire of infinite power.
Wary of the consequences, she abandoned the fantasy of reaching out to him, thinking it would fade away.
There was only one way to meet His Royal Highness—but the price was steep, and no guarantees of return were ever given.
The maze of Velcroviė was a vessel of immense power. Every girl in Velcrovia was willing to risk her life for a chance to become the crown prince's future consort.
Mellejsa was no exception. With her natural affinity for the paranormal, she baffled everyone around her.
Mellejsa often felt unseen eyes prying on her in the desolate trails of the countryside. She had an uncanny ability to solve cold murder cases, piecing together clues left by the victims.
At the orphanage where she grew up, she shared an unspoken bond with the restless spirits that lingered there.
Her dreams were vivid, as though her incredible foresight was a gift.
Her days in the orphanage were bittersweet. She often wondered if there was anyone she could call family besides her sister.
At times, she felt vulnerable and isolated. Yet she faced hardships head-on, trusting her instincts and holding firm to her faith in the divine.
Explanatory Notes:
- In Velcrovian, "J" is pronounced as "Y." Diacritics indicate stress, while the diphthong "æ" is pronounced as "ee." Thus, Jærmánsk is pronounced "Yeermánsk."
- Velcrovians refer to their country as Velcroviė, while outsiders use the anglicized name Velcrovia.
- The letter "ė" is pronounced "ee," as in "peel."