Valen gasped awake, his chest heaving as if he had just surfaced from a drowning dream. But this wasn't his world. His mind raced as unfamiliar sights assaulted his senses. Massive, ornate stone walls loomed around him, illuminated by a faint crimson glow from torches flickering along the chamber's walls. A biting cold lingered in the air, and the heavy scent of iron filled his nostrils.

He tried to move, but his body felt alien—strange and yet powerful. He looked down, his fingers curling into a fist. Pale skin, colder than ice, greeted his gaze, and beneath it, veins pulsed slowly with dark crimson blood.

*What the hell?* Valen thought, but then came the realization—no heartbeat. A shiver crawled up his spine, but not from fear; it was something deeper, darker, a primal recognition of his new reality.

He reached up to his neck, touching his lips—sharp fangs grazed his fingertips. A vampire.

*Of course,* Valen thought, his mind racing. He had read enough fantasy to recognize the signs. But the fact that this was happening to him—*now*—was incomprehensible. Last thing he remembered, he was in his small apartment in modern-day New York, plotting his latest tech venture over a cup of coffee. Now? This. Magic, swords, and blood.

A heavy oak door creaked open, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. A figure entered the room—tall, cloaked in deep red, his pale face marked with centuries of agelessness. The man's eyes were sharp, the irises a glowing scarlet that matched Valen's surroundings.

"So, the youngest awakens," the figure said with a voice dripping in cold amusement.

Valen's mind clicked into place. *Play it smart,* he thought. If there was one thing he had mastered in his past life, it was adaptability—surviving in cutthroat corporate worlds by being clever and calculated. He wouldn't let the shock of this new world throw him off his game.

The man stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "Do you not speak, boy? Or has the hunger made you mute?" The man tilted his head, and a knowing grin curled his lips, revealing fangs identical to Valen's.

Valen decided to play along, for now. "Where am I?" His voice came out steadier than he expected. "And who the hell are you?"

A chuckle. "You must have hit your head harder than we thought during the ritual. You are Valen Drakar, son of House Drakar, one of the great vampiric families of this realm. As for me, I am Lord Aroth Drakar, your elder brother."

*Vampiric family?* The absurdity of the situation threatened to overwhelm him, but Valen kept his cool. He'd always been quick on his feet, and if this was the game he had to play, he'd learn the rules fast. He could sense it already—this wasn't just a simple world of swords and magic. There was power here. Real, tangible power, and it flowed through his new veins.

"You are no longer mortal," Aroth continued, his tone a mix of pride and warning. "The old Valen has been consumed by the bloodline ritual. You, my dear brother, are reborn."

Valen didn't flinch, though inside, his mind was calculating at breakneck speed. Reborn. New world. Different body. He needed information—and fast. 

"What now?" Valen asked, leaning into his newfound vampiric persona. "What's expected of me in this family of bloodsuckers?"

Aroth's grin widened, this time with a glint of something dangerous. "Clever, I see. Good. You'll need that wit. But understand this, Valen: you may bear the blood of House Drakar, but you are still the youngest, and power is earned, not given."

*Power.* The word settled deep within Valen's core. In his old life, he had climbed to the top through his intellect and ruthlessness. He would do the same here—only this time, the stakes were far greater.

Aroth gestured for him to follow, and as Valen stood, he noticed his movements were different—quicker, smoother. His senses heightened, as if the world had become sharper, clearer. Every flicker of torchlight, every distant echo, seemed more pronounced.

They left the chamber, entering a grand hall that stretched far beyond what his human eyes could have taken in. Massive columns of dark stone lined the path, and tapestries depicting battles, dark rituals, and ancient symbols hung from the walls.

As they walked, Valen caught sight of his reflection in a polished silver mirror. He froze. The face that stared back at him was unnervingly handsome, chiseled, with sharp cheekbones and glowing red eyes. But what truly unsettled him was the smirk forming on his lips—dangerous, playful, and full of hunger.

"You will need to feed soon," Aroth said, without turning back. "The bloodlust will hit you, and when it does, you'll be a slave to it unless you learn control."

Valen grinned darkly, a glimmer of his old self breaking through. Control. It was something he excelled at. He had played mind games with the best in his old world. This would be no different.

"And what if I don't?" Valen asked, testing his boundaries. "What if I choose to resist?"

Aroth's steps slowed, and he turned, his eyes gleaming with an ancient menace. "Then, dear brother, you'll become a mindless beast—an animal lost to bloodlust. But resist if you wish. It matters not. You'll learn soon enough that in this world, power belongs to those who embrace what they are."

The words echoed in Valen's mind. Power. It was the same here as it had been in his world. The strong survived, the cunning thrived. And now, he had an advantage: he wasn't just a vampire. He was Valen—armed with modern knowledge, sharp instincts, and the ability to adapt faster than anyone around him.

As they walked deeper into the fortress, Valen's thoughts sharpened. He would learn the rules of this world—magic, swords, politics—and then, he would bend them to his will. He didn't care about family legacies or ancient bloodlines. What he cared about was survival, control, and ultimately, domination.

This world would soon learn: a modern mind trapped in a vampire's body could be more dangerous than any sword or spell.

And Valen Drakar would rise above them all.

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