Ohwofasa_Emonena

They spilled his blood to protect their crown. Now he’ll drown their kingdom in it.

Once a devoted knight of the Silver Court, Kael Morvain was betrayed by the royals he served—offered as a living sacrifice to seal a cursed blood pact. But death was only the beginning. Reborn as a vampire in the ruins of forgotten gods, Kael awakens with no soul, no mercy, and one burning purpose: vengeance.

The kingdom of Solrath flourishes on lies, its golden heir worshiped like a savior. But Kael knows the truth: the blood on their throne belongs to him.

When he kidnaps the last surviving princess, a fierce woman marked by prophecy and hiding her own monstrous bloodline, Kael’s revenge spirals into a war between old gods, cursed blood, and forbidden desire.

In a land where power is written in veins and vengeance never dies, only one truth remains:

The dead don’t forgive.
They return.

veins of vengeance

The crypt beneath the ruined temple had once been sacred. Now, it was his sanctuary. His prison. His kingdom of silence.

Here, shadows whispered truths the world refused to remember.

Kael stood before the altar where once he had died. The runes were still there, etched into the stone with his blood, still pulsing faintly with forgotten power. Time had not eroded the curse—it had grown stronger in sleep.

The girl stirred in the cell across the chamber. Chains clinked, breaths rasped. She did not weep. Not like the others. That intrigued him.

Selene Ravaryn. He had studied her name before he ever saw her face. He had heard the stories—child of prophecy, born beneath an eclipse, destined to bring unity.

They said her blood was pure. That it burned with divine purpose.

Blood was never pure. Only potent. And hers pulsed with something old—something monstrous.

Not even she knew what lived inside her.

He would teach her. Piece by piece.

Just as he had been taught—by fire, by betrayal, by death.

Pain had dulled to pressure. Her wrists bled where the chains cut, but she had stopped caring. Her thoughts were louder than the pain.

She studied him when he approached—this monster cloaked in man's flesh. He never looked at her with lust or pity or pleasure. Only calculation. Rage coiled tightly beneath his control, but his movements were precise, patient. Like a general. Or a ghost.

"What do you want?" she asked again.

Instead, he lit a candle and held it out.

"Tell me," he said, voice low, "what do you know of your great-grandfather, King Alaric the First?"

She blinked. "He founded Solrath. Ended the blood wars. United the houses."

Kael smiled bitterly. "That's the lie."

He stepped back, and with a motion of his hand, flames leapt from the candle to the wall—spreading in controlled veins of fire until a mural appeared.

It showed a knight—Kael—kneeling before the throne. And above it, King Alaric, holding a blade over Kael's neck.

"A thousand years of peace," Kael said, voice shaking, "built on my blood. On a pact your line made with the god of silence. They sacrificed me for power. Bound me to shadow. Called it salvation."

She shook her head. "You expect me to believe that my ancestors made blood sacrifices? To gods that don't exist?"

Kael stepped closer, his voice a knife.

"Then tell me, princess—why do you dream of me every night?"

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

Far beyond the temple ruins, a council of priests burned black incense in the Tower of Light. The Oracle, blind and trembling, spoke in tongues.

"They've met," she rasped. "The cursed knight and the eclipse-born."

Blood remembers