The full moon that night hung in a starless sky, its light so bright that it seemed to unveil the manifestation of an ancient castle standing gracefully on the slopes of high mountains, far removed from the bustle of the city. The structure flaunted magnificent and awe-inspiring architecture, with towering stone spires—an eternal monument untouched by time. Inside, the cold night air crept through the large windows, carrying a silence accompanied only by the moon's dim glow. A silence enveloped every corner of the room, as if protecting the secrets and memories of a distant past.
A soft breeze whispered through the castle halls, carrying faint echoes from long ago. Behind the comfort of his sofa, a pale figure with a face exuding eternal elegance sat silently. Damon Ryth, the castle's owner, reclined weakly with his eyes closed as if trying to hear the voices carried by the wind that night.
Moonlight swept across his face, accentuating the sharp contours of his jaw and his tightly sealed lips, as if he held many secrets known only to him. Yet beneath that calm exterior, his closed eyes concealed the turmoil within.
His hand, cold as ice, gripped the armrest as if seeking support. A premonition gnawed at him this time. A premonition so strong it seemed to torment him slowly. The universe seemed to conspire to give him signs—of something, or someone—waiting to be found beyond the castle walls.
Damon slowly opened his eyes, their crimson gleaming in the dim light. Like a rare ruby gemstone. "Is tonight the night?" he whispered softly, almost like a question thrown to the moon. His gaze shifted to the large window that framed the mountains in the distance, where the moon hung perfectly above.
"It's you, isn't it, my dear? I know you will come for me! Just for me, won't you, my love?" he murmured again, as if answering himself. "Congratulations on your birth, my dearest Lunar."
The words sounded like a prayer, spoken with a tone filled with hope and sorrow. His face remained cold, without a smile or any other expression, yet a small droplet—not blood, but a tear—slowly trickled from the corner of his eye, freezing before it touched his cheek, cracking and shattering into tiny fragments, disappearing as the cold wind swept through the stone crevices.
The pair of eyes that usually seemed unwavering now reflected a profound loneliness, a familiar sensation that had tormented him for centuries.
His mind began to blur into the darkness of the room when a knock on the door disturbed the silence. The sound arrived in a way he had anticipated, yet it felt familiar. Without opening his eyes, Damon knew who stood behind the door.
"Come in," he said, his voice deep and heavy, as if he had been awaiting this visitor.
The door opened slowly, and Caius—the loyal and wise assistant—stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him. He appeared calm, though there was something deep within his expression—something suggesting he too felt the same tension. Caius gazed at Damon, who still sat on the sofa, his eyes conveying unspoken words.
"Master," Caius said in a low voice, "I sense something unusual tonight."
"It seems you feel it too. My Lunar is truly remarkable, isn't she?" Damon replied, his voice heavy, filled with happiness but also sorrow. For the past few days, he had felt a stirring within his chest, though his heart had long been dead. Only his Lunar could affect him this way.
Damon took a deep breath, as if he truly could. He looked at Caius with a penetrating gaze. In that silence, all the questions, fears, and hopes that had long been buried wrestled within him.
"Lunar Celestine Feva," he whispered softly, as if uttering her name was both a soothing and burning incantation to his heart. "She's not only in my heart. All this time, I've kept her in my eyes. So that whenever I open or close them, she's the only one I see. But as time passes, I feel further away from her, even though I know our fates are intertwined."
"Waiting is never easy, Master," Caius said, his voice full of wisdom. "The fates of you and Princess Lunar have found their path. When that time comes, you will no longer feel distant from her. Because... the two of you are one. I hope fate will favor you again this time."
"Let's hope so," Damon whispered softly, as if speaking to himself. "Let's hope so."
For a moment, silence enveloped the room once more. However, this time it felt more menacing. Like shadows creeping into his mind. He knew. Somewhere far away, on the other side of the world, his eternal enemy felt the same.
He, too, was waiting.
Not to welcome, but to interfere.
He would always stand between them, as a disruptor to his bond with Lunar, a true threat, a thorn in every dream Damon had for Lunar.
~~
The soft chime of a piano filled the night, slicing through the silence with a melody both soothing and melancholic. His pale, long, and slender fingers danced across the keys, exuding the grace of a maestro lost in his own world. The beautifully arranged notes flowed like a river. Yet this time, something different lingered in each note he played. The notes whispered of longing and deep emptiness. Of loss.
Suddenly, the tune stopped. The melody that should have continued now hung in the air, unfinished. His fingers froze just above the keys, as if time had stopped with him. His sharp, dark eyes—like obsidian reflecting the night's darkness—stared blankly ahead.
His gaze didn't merely stop at the space before him—it pierced beyond physical boundaries, transcending reality, as if he was pulled back into a past filled with memories, both bitter and sweet.
Since birth, he had possessed that power—a rare ability belonging only to pureblooded dracula. The ability to project his memories, forming a magical prism that reflected his soul. That prism held every fragment of his memories with anyone, including Lunar, without limits.
If the memories grow stronger, the prism will shine with an indescribable beauty—silvery, pink, slightly purple, with blends of blue and green dancing in perfect harmony. That light, though captivating, seems ironic to anyone who knows him, as those colors starkly contrast with what he has always shown—cold and unwavering.
Yet, beneath it all, the prism is undeniable proof of his heart that never stops feeling. His heart, though frozen by time, still carries a pulse—a pulse that can only be revived by someone. Only her.
On the body of the grand piano, a glass of Jeroboam of Chateau Mouton Rothschild 1945 sways gently in the breeze drifting through the open window. The sharp and sweet aroma of wine mingles with the cold night air. For a moment, a faint smile forms at the corner of his lips—not a happy smile, but one full of understanding, as if realizing something greater has occurred.
Like barren land after a long drought, now drenched by rain. Only one person could stir him like this—Lunar, the princess of the Hyuth Kingdom. A deep breath causes the silk drape shirt he wears to shift slightly with his body. Drac Vozasmyth, the eternal enemy of Lunar's beloved, closes his eyes briefly before murmuring, his voice hoarse yet brimming with emotion.
"This feeling… is so familiar. While others get drunk on alcohol, I am intoxicated by my own feelings."
A faint smirk crosses his face, not from joy, but from a bitter awareness of love that was never truly his.
"She has been born," he whispers softly, barely audible, yet strong enough to fill the emptiness in his heart.
~~~
A small town in the far north, far from the clamor of power and ambition—a far more organized and secretive group—Damon's clan—has arrived, prepared in deadly silence. And in their midst, Eris, the legendary scout, has directed all his attention and focus to one crucial point—the home of a married couple on the outskirts of town.
Two days later, news of a baby girl's birth reaches his ears. But something feels off. The cry of the baby did indeed echo two days ago, but the nurse who assisted with the delivery left with a vacant look, as if something—or someone—had deliberately erased her memory.
Eris dislikes things that defy logic. That's why he remains here. He knows his instincts are never wrong. Once again, he will prove it. Because he knows Caius trusts him completely.
On the rooftop of a cracked old building, Eris stands silently, his figure blending with the darkness. The stillness around him is only broken by the faint rustling of the wind, yet his eyes—sharp and intuitive—remain fixed on the modest house below. A home that seems simple on the outside, but nothing about it feels simple inside.
From his high vantage point, he can clearly see the movements of the occupants within. The night wind brushes his silver hair tied low, while his sharp eyes never stray from the building.
Eris doesn't flinch, doesn't breathe, never stops observing every detail. Every movement, every sound, even the unspoken breaths. All his senses are alert, noticing even the slightest detail.
The front door opens slightly. A man, Alistair, the head of the household, steps out slowly. His posture is firm, but there is tension in his movements—something unusual. As if an inexplicable feeling seeps into him. For a moment, he pauses at the door, scanning the surroundings, searching for unseen presences. But only the night wind rustles the leaves around the house.
"Good," Eris thinks to himself, observing the man's every detail. "His instincts are sharp. Who is he really? Why does he seem so familiar? Is he human or one of our kind?"
Alistair lingers there for a while. His gaze sweeps the empty street before tilting upward, scanning the rooftops—including the one where Eris and his team are positioned.
In an instant, two of his members vanish. Eris crouches, hiding behind an old chimney. He can feel the man's gaze sweeping past his location. Seconds tick by, broken only by the sounds of night creatures.
"He knows something is here," he thinks, his lips curving slightly. "But not enough to know what it is."
When Alistair finally retreats inside, Eris remains still. His eyes stay fixed on the second-floor window—the room where the baby sleeps. But just as he thinks the situation is under control, his eyes catch something in the corner.
One of his team members standing guard below signals Eris that he will investigate something. It seems someone is trying to distract them this time, whether intentional or not. Either way, it won't hurt to check.
Two other members have now returned to Eris' side, allowing him to focus on his task.
"A lot of disturbances tonight! Could this be a sign?" he wonders.
"This night feels unusual, doesn't it?" his companion responds, using telepathy.
"Looks like we're not the only ones hunting tonight," he murmurs softly, his hand resting on the small dagger at his waist. A low chuckle escapes him, revealing sharp white fangs.
"Stay calm and alert! I hope it's not a newborn vampire! You know how troublesome they are!" he replies. On their way to this town, they were caught in a fierce, brutal battle with a group of newborn vampires.
Damon's clan is solid. They rarely engage with other clans, focusing solely on their own affairs and avoiding trouble when possible. But if someone stirs chaos, they won't hesitate to issue a harsh warning—by eliminating the threat. Especially newborn vampires.
"Just relax! Think of it as a warm-up!"
Hearing their conversation, Eris merely smiles at the corner of his lips and begins shifting into the form of a bat. He flies above, circling the house. This time, the battle isn't just about finding the baby—it's about who uncovers the secrets hidden within that small home first.
***