A kingdom where vampires rule

Although vampires are eternal, they are not free. They are tormented by a perpetual hunger and the fear of oblivion. Those who have gone too long without drinking lose their minds and become "Empty"—nameless creatures that roam abandoned castles and feed on all living things.

There's a belief among vampires that mixing blood weakens the bloodline. Therefore, the elder houses hunt for "pure" humans—those whose bloodline is untainted by service to other vampires. Their blood is as sweet as sin.

Every new moon, the Blood Council holds a feast. Humans become food, art, and sacrifice. Vampires drink not for hunger, but for memories, for blood preserves the memory of its bearer.

Vampires aren't born—they choose who to turn. Transformation is a bargain: eternal life is granted in exchange for the renunciation of human feelings. Love, compassion, regret—all are forbidden. Attempting to "feel" means banishment to the ashlands.

There's a legend among the slaves: one day the sun will return. They say a man with a moon-shaped mark will bring the dawn. Vampires scoff at this story—for them, morning means the end.

These are creatures born of blood and darkness. They don't think, don't feel, and hunt only by the scent of fear. If a slave escapes, the hound will find them, no matter where they hide. None have ever returned alive.

Every vampire has their vessels—people whose blood is special. They are kept in gilded cages, like trophies. Vessels live longer than ordinary slaves, but only because their death is too precious to happen by chance.

In the center of the capital stands a massive altar. Every moon, hundreds of slaves are brought here, each obligated to donate a few drops of blood—in the name of "eternal balance." Refusal is a sentence to a slow death.

Beneath the capital, Vaelantir the High, lie catacombs where thousands of slaves live. They toil without rest, extracting blood from the bodies of the dead and collecting the ashes of the fallen. Their masters never descend here.

People here have no right to a name. They are assigned a number at birth, and only the master decides whether a slave is worthy of a utterable sound. Those who disobey are marked with a hot iron and sent to the "night harvest."

Nine ancient vampires rule the entire kingdom. Each of them owns a city, an army, and thousands of slaves. Their gatherings are feasts where decisions are made amidst screams and the scent of blood.

Vaelantir is shrouded in eternal darkness. The sun vanished hundreds of years ago, and now only the moon sheds its deathly light on the vampire cities. Humans call it "the eye that watches over the slaves."