The moon hung high in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the ancient city of Ravenbrook. Dante stood on the edge of the city's crumbling balcony, staring out over the desolate streets below. The cool wind tousled his black hair, the soft whisper of it mingling with the faint hum of the city's forgotten history. Ravenbrook was a city of mystery, its tall, gothic buildings filled with secrets—secrets that Dante had always been curious about. But tonight, it wasn't the city that occupied his thoughts.
It was the mark.
Dante had always felt different. Since childhood, he had been plagued by strange dreams—visions of people who didn't exist, of ancient castles, and blood-soaked battles that never seemed to end. But it wasn't just the dreams. It was the mark.
The mark on his hand.
It had first appeared one night, a glowing red sigil that burned itself into his skin as he slept. At first, it had only been a faint glow, nothing more than a memory of a nightmare. But over the years, it had grown brighter, sharper, and now, it pulsed with an unnatural energy—an energy that hummed beneath his skin, calling to him in ways he didn't understand.
He flexed his hand, staring at the dark red mark that now covered his palm. It was shaped like a circle, with jagged lines radiating outward like cracks in glass. The moment he touched it, his heartbeat quickened, and the air around him seemed to change.
"Dante."
The voice came from behind him. It was low, commanding, and familiar.
He turned slowly, his hand still pressed against the cold stone of the balcony. Standing in the doorway was a tall figure cloaked in dark robes, the hood drawn low to conceal his face. Alaric. His mentor. The man who had been guiding him through his strange, chaotic life.
"You feel it, don't you?" Alaric's voice was a whisper, yet it carried a weight that made the air feel thick. "The power is awakening."
Dante didn't answer. He didn't have to. He knew exactly what Alaric meant. The mark was more than just an anomaly. It was a key. A key to something ancient, something dangerous. Something he wasn't prepared to face.
But the truth was, there was no turning back.
Alaric stepped forward, his eyes glinting beneath the hood. "This is the beginning, Dante. The awakening of your true self. It's time for you to understand what you are, what you've always been. You have the blood of the ancient lordswithin you."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
Dante stared at the ground, feeling his pulse quicken. "I'm not like them. I don't want to be."
Alaric's hand reached out, grasping Dante's shoulder with an iron grip. "You don't have a choice, Dante. The bloodline is within you. Whether you accept it or not, you will be tested. The vampire lords will come for you. They'll sense your power, your potential. And they won't stop until they claim what is theirs."
A chill ran down Dante's spine. Vampire lords. Ancient creatures of legend, whose power had ruled over the supernatural world for centuries. He had heard whispers of them, but they were nothing more than stories to him—until now.
"I'm not ready," Dante whispered, more to himself than to Alaric. "I don't want their power. I don't want to be a part of their world."
Alaric gave him a solemn look. "It doesn't matter what you want. The choice was made long before you were born. But you have a chance to control it, to shape your destiny."
He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully.
"Come with me, Dante. There is much you need to learn. And the world… is not what it seems. What you thought was normal? It's only the beginning