"Here are the reports from the past week, my Lord."

In an ostentatiously decorated room, with walls made of dark obsidian and ceiling adorning a chandelier well-lit by candles, right before the window lay a desk and a chair. On this chair sat a young man who looked to be in his early twenties with clean cut black hair and ruby red eyes. His skin was pale, as was the man's who stood before him. And he wore a high collared black coat and black trousers, with long dark shoes.

Karl nodded toward the decrepit old steward, who placed the bundle of papers on his desk before retreating from the room. Without even skimming through the thick stack, Karl could feel the beginnings of a headache. Sometimes he wondered what had overcome him to take up the mantle of Count on his 18th birthday.

Indeed, it was his birthright, something that he would've had to shoulder eventually, but that didn't change the reality. He was now confined to these four walls, a mountain of paperwork, and endless worries that gnawed at his mind.

Feeling apprehensive over what he may find, he deferred for a brief moment before steeling his resolve and nudging the topmost sheet, flipping it over. The title and opening lines of the document confirmed his fears, and he leaned back in his chair, groaning softly.

Fifteen years ago, Arthur Bloodthrone had sat in this very chair, eagerly taking up the affairs of the County. Now, fifteen years later, his son cursed the high heavens for the burdens piled before him.

Just four years ago, Crimson Vale County had been a thriving region in the Night Realm. While it couldn't match the older, more prominent houses in history or prestige, its rapid development and immense potential more than made up for it. That is, until the portal appeared.

Even during the reign of Arthur Bloodthrone, the Crimson Vale County was considered weaker than Wraithmoor County by a large margin. Since his death, Crimson Vale had done well enough to stay afloat and climb higher, despite the added pressure from others. However, the appearance of the portal changed everything; it provided an opening, and Aamon struck straight through the county's flimsy defences. Now, they were being bled dry at every opportunity that arose.

When the portal appeared, Bloodcrest Knights stumbled upon his men guarding the site. They accused him of stealing from the king and mercilessly slew his men, all under the guise of securing the prize for the crown. To anyone with even a shred of wit, the true motive was plain to see. Yet no voice rose in protest, for each sought to claim their share of his territory's spoils.

By the time the dust settled, the portal—and the mountain range surrounding it—had been claimed by that snake, Aamon. The King, meanwhile, had stood by idly, watching the unfolding chaos as though it were nothing more than a play.

Earth.

The world beyond the portal; said to be a treasure trove of resources and land. In the end it had brought him nothing but hatred and ruin. Now, Aamon prodded and taunted him at every turn, trying to provoke a response out of him. The intent behind his actions was clear as a sunny day.

Karl's eyes scanned the report, anger surging within his chest. Another fire in Green River Village. Houses destroyed, lives lost, farmland burned to ash. The cost to repair the damage would have to come from his own strained coffers.

It wasn't the first time this had happened. In the four years since the portal's appearance, Aamon's forces had grown increasingly brazen. They would set his fields on fire, burn the villages and even sabotage his already meagre forces. The destruction wrought had drained Karl's resources and left his County teetering on the brink of collapse. Even now, he could already feel the walls closing in, the pressure from his rivals mounting by the day.

His anger boiled over. With a snarl, Karl slammed his fist onto the desk. The wood splintered under his supernatural strength, splitting the table in two. The papers went flying to the corners in a mess of chaos and disorder. The crash was loud enough to bring two guards bursting into the room, swords drawn and alert.

Karl waved them off with a frown. "I need a new table," he said curtly. "And clean this up while you're at it."

He rose from his chair and strode out, leaving the wreckage behind.

Bloodrock Castle was a marvel of engineering, an almost impenetrable fortress. Sometimes Karl wondered if its formidable defences were the only thing staying Aamon's hand. It certainly wasn't the King.

His mood soured further as these thoughts churned in his mind. Seeking some respite, he stepped onto the balcony, letting the crimson light of the sun—visible only once every ten days—wash over him. Below, a modest force of twenty men trained under the watchful eye of Knight Stan.

"Conquering your emotions is the first step to conquering your enemies, my Lord."

The voice drew his attention, and he turned to see a man in his thirties with neatly combed black hair and hazel eyes. Dressed in knightly armour and bearing the insignia of House Bloodthrone—a throne with a chalice of blood on its seat—his uncle, Ronald Wright stood there with a smile on his lips. He was both a mentor to Karl and one of the only few people he could trust.

"How can I conquer my enemies when I'm not allowed to fight them?" Karl replied bitterly. "Good morning to you too, Uncle."

Ronald smiled faintly and stepped beside him. Karl turned back to the horizon, gazing at the distant mountains. There was a storm of emotions dancing beneath his calm exterior.

"War isn't the only way," Ronald said. "And violence isn't always the answer."

"You keep saying that," Karl muttered. "And look where it's gotten us. Day by day, we're being stripped of everything. Eventually, there will be nothing left."

Ronald sighed, familiar with this argument. This wouldn't be the first time Karl had vent his frustrations on a table and stood here to bask in the warm crimson light, while his gaze would peer into the distant horizons. Ronald understood his emotions on a much deeper level. For that he could never fault him.

"Have patience, Karl," he said. "There's always a way, no matter how dire the circumstances get. Besides, if push comes to shove—we won't hesitate to cross swords."

Karl chuckled despite himself. They both knew the futility of struggle, and the unlikely scenario and the outcome from such a fight. Against an older and more prominent hose like Aamon's, it would be like throwing an egg against a rock.

"Actually, I came to deliver this." Ronald held out a folded piece of paper.

Karl took it with a puzzled look, reading quickly.

"Aurelia is returning tomorrow," Ronald said, pre-empting him.

"Then we should prepare a feast for her," Karl said. "Have the chefs make her favourite meal."

"There's no need for that," Ronald rebutted. "Given the current state of things, she wouldn't appreciate it."

"A single meal won't break our finances," Karl argued.

"It's not about the money," Ronald replied. "Just keep things simple, alright?"

Karl reluctantly nodded. Aurelia was Ronald's daughter and Karl's cousin. She had been trained as a knight by her father, and was known to hold tremendous potential, as was proven by her rapid development. A month ago, the report had arrived after an act of sabotage poisoned their crops. Having no choice and with little force to command he had been forced to send her to handle the matter.

"Before I go," Ronald said, pulling a rusty key from a pouch, "I have something for you. Your parents entrusted this to me, to give to you on your 19th birthday. I felt reluctant at first, but it wouldn't do to keep it from you any longer."

Karl stared at the key, a surge of complicated emotions bubbling within him. Memories of his parents were faint, being only 4 years old as he was. The most of them he remembered was their smiles and kind words. Knowing that they had left something for him and that it had been sitting there for past fifteen years, stirred a deep sense of longing.

"It's for the bottommost dungeon room," Ronald explained, handing over the key. "I don't know what's in there, but you don't have to feel obliged to check it. Still, Good luck."

Karl nodded silently, watching his uncle leave.

Unlike what his uncle thought, Karl didn't feel grief or sadness when remembering his parents. He felt no aversion toward checking out the room, and with time to spare, he decided to see what his parents had left for him. He descended the stone steps into the castle's depths, the oppressive dark offering no hindrance to his vampiric sight.

Whatever awaited him, he could only hope it was worth the anticipation.