In the depths of a quiet valley.
Soran stood in front of a grave in deep thoughts. There was a river in the distance. In the coming spring, flowers would be in full bloom in this wilderness. He gently lifted a tombstone and took in a deep breath. Then, he took out his knife in preparation to carve something.
"In memory of Ariana."
Soran sat down and looked at the sky, seemingly thinking about what to carve for her epitaph.
He didn't know her that much. However, Soran knew what being a vampire meant. From a Vampire Spawn, Vampire Minion, to a Blood Descendant, etc., all the way to being a proper Vampire, the whole process was an unforgivingly cruel mandate. Whatever beautifications that the folklores had did not exist at all. The dark creatures were still dark creatures and had nothing to do with the good or justice. From the moment of transformation, the newborn vampire was fated to be enslaved until the moment they were set free.
