The word "vampire" stirs a primal unease, its echoes tangled in superstition and fear. We imagine pale creatures lurking in moonlight, with eyes sharp enough to pierce the soul. But few pause to ask the most important question: where do they come from? How did such beings, so entwined with death yet untouched by time, come to walk among mortals?
These were the questions that haunted me on quiet nights, though I dared not speak them aloud. My father, King Derek Drale, was a man of logic and faith, and the unknown was not a realm he cared to explore. Yet it was he who first planted the seed of my curiosity.
Thalia Drale ran through the stone halls of the castle, her tiny boots echoing against the cold floor. Her long red hair, wild and unkempt, bounced behind her as she weaved past servants and knights, ignoring their scolding looks.
"Thalia, slow down!" William Kluzxe shouted behind her, panting as he struggled to keep up.
"You're too slow, Will!" she called back, grinning.
William groaned. "I wouldn't be if you hadn't stolen my apple!"
Thalia laughed and held up the half-eaten fruit in her hand. "Finders, keepers!"
The two darted around a corner, nearly knocking over a maid carrying a tray of goblets. Thalia barely noticed—she was too focused on her escape. But then, just as she turned her head to tease William again—
SMACK.
She crashed into something—or rather, someone—and stumbled backward, landing on her bottom with a thud. The apple rolled out of her hand and across the floor.
When she looked up, she froze.
Standing before her was Lord Alric Kluzxe, William's father and one of the king's most trusted councilmen. He was a tall, stern man with a sharp beard and even sharper eyes, dressed in his usual long black robes. Behind him, seated around a massive wooden table, were the other council members, all dressed in their formal garments, their faces a mix of amusement and irritation.
And at the head of the table, King Derek Drale—her father—stared at her with an unreadable expression.
Thalia swallowed hard.
William skidded to a stop behind her and let out a low whistle. "Ooooh, you're in trouble," he muttered under his breath.
Thalia scrambled to her feet, brushing the dust off her tunic. She tried to think of something clever to say, something that would make her father laugh and let her off the hook. But before she could speak, William made it worse.
"She pushed me in here!" he blurted, pointing at her.
Thalia's mouth dropped open. "What?"
Lord Kluzxe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Your Majesty, I believe we've had enough interruptions for one day."
Thalia winced and quickly bowed her head. "I'm sorry, Father. I didn't mean to—"
The king raised a hand, cutting her off. His voice was calm, but firm. "Have seat down, Thalia."
She hesitated. "But—"
"Now."
Thalia sighed, then hurried to sit on an empty bench against the wall, pulling William down with her. He grumbled under his breath but followed, rubbing his arm where she had pinched him.
The council resumed their discussion, talking about taxes, border disputes, and something about the Eastern Territories. Thalia wasn't listening.
Instead, her eyes wandered to the massive war map that hung on the far wall.
It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
The map wasn't drawn on parchment like the ones she had seen in books. It was carved into stone, with tiny mountains that rose from the surface, rivers that twisted like veins, and cities that stood like miniature castles.
Thalia made her way to the wall map, as her father eyes followed her.
Her eyes traced the roads and valleys, following them all the way north—to a place that barely had anything at all.
The Welch Lands.
It looked so... empty. No towns, no roads, just dark mountains and ruins. Unlike the other places on the map, this land felt forgotten, almost as if it didn't belong.
A chill ran through her.
"Why is there nothing there?" she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
But someone heard.
"Because no man has ever returned to tell the tale," a voice answered.
Thalia spun around and found her father standing beside her, watching the map with the same distant look he always had when speaking of war.
She hesitated before asking, "What happened there?"
Her father was silent for a long time. Then, in a voice quieter than usual, he said:
"The Welch Lands are said to be cursed."
Thalia's heart skipped. "Cursed?"
The king's gaze darkened. "Many have tried to explore those lands. Some disappear. Some return, but had passed onto the next after."
Thalia's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Her father's jaw tightened. "Because those who come back... never live long enough to speak of it."
A strange feeling settled in Thalia's stomach. She didn't know what it was, but it was the same feeling she had when standing at the edge of something dangerous—like the cliffs near the sea, when the waves roared below, daring her to step closer.
Something about the Welch Lands called to her.
She didn't know why.
The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as my father finished tucking the heavy wool blanket around my small frame. The shadows of his broad figure danced on the walls, making him appear larger than life. Outside, the wind howled, carrying the faint scent of snow—a harbinger of the first frost."Father," I began, my voice soft, "what lies beyond the borders of Yainna? What are the Welch Lands?"My father hesitated, his hand lingering on my shoulder. "The Welch Lands are a place of legend, Thalia," he said, settling into the chair beside my bed. His expression grew distant, and his voice dipped into a conspiratorial whisper. "A realm where the sun does not rise, where frost clings to every breath, and rivers turn to ice the moment they surface. A place no man should tread lightly."
"But are there people there?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.He nodded, his brow furrowing as if considering how much to tell me. "Aye, though they are not like us. Their skin is as dark as the richest soil, their eyes sharp and watchful. They are said to possess great power—some call it magic, others a curse."
I leaned closer, hanging on his every word. "Have you seen them?""No," he admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "But my father spoke of them. He said they were a proud and ancient people, older than Yainna itself. Some called them saviors, others devils."
A chill ran through me, though the fire burned brightly. "Are they dangerous?"My father's gaze softened, and he brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Dangerous? Perhaps. But so is the world, my little warrior. It is not the danger that should frighten you, but the unknown."