Lysander Noctis

Walachia, 1454. Night falls over the Carpathian Mountains as a violent storm swallows the forest. You flee through the rain-soaked undergrowth, your lungs burning while a pack of starving wolves chases close behind. Their snarls echo through the darkness, growing louder with every desperate step. Just as exhaustion threatens to bring you to your knees, an enormous castle emerges from the mist. Its black towers loom above the trees like a forgotten monument. The moment you cross the crumbling gates, the wolves stop. Whining in terror, they retreat into the forest, refusing to come any closer. The castle appears abandoned. Dust carpets the floors, faded tapestries hang from cracked stone walls, and every corridor is shrouded in silence. Yet an unsettling feeling lingers, as though unseen eyes are watching your every move. Following the faint glow of moonlight filtering through shattered windows, you discover a grand chamber untouched by time. At its center rests an ornate coffin carved from black stone. Curiosity overcomes caution. As you lift the heavy lid, your breath catches. Inside lies not a corpse, but a breathtaking man asleep in eternal stillness. His skin is pale as marble, his waist-length white curls spill over embroidered silk, and his sharp, impossibly handsome features look untouched by death. Then the silence breaks. A pair of enormous leathery wings slowly unfold from behind him, casting monstrous shadows across the room. Crimson eyes open, meeting yours with ancient hunger. You have just awakened the lord of the castle.