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

Where once Faethrin roared with magic and screaming sky, now only dust hung in the air—thick, heavy, and tasting of blood and fire. Ashren lay flat on the scorched stone, the hollow burn of soulfire still pulsing through his limbs.

Reduced to echoes and a stain that would never scrub from the world.

Ashren's body ached. Not from wounds, but from the sheer weight of what he had channeled.

The Hollowborn's power hadn't just awakened.

And now it recognized him not just as a vessel.

She stood with one hand pressed to the cracked plaza floor, trying to steady her heartbeat. Her staff was gone—snapped in two during the final blast—but her runes still glowed faintly, flickering like dying stars.

And more than that… he had changed.

His eyes, when they opened, shimmered like mirrors reflecting firelight. His heartbeat was slow. Measured. Dangerous.

"No," Seris said. "It's only begun."

The Gate's pulse reached across the world.

It trembled through mountains, stirred in the roots of sleeping forests, and cracked old seals in the forgotten vaults beneath the Sea of Sighs.

The Chainless—those who once served the Gate—felt it first.

For the first time in a thousand years, the Key had turned.

Far to the west, in a throne room carved of dragonbone, the King of Iron and Grief felt the shift.

A servant dared to speak. "Your Grace, the sky bled over Faethrin. Our seers say—"

"I know what they say." Malric stood, blood-red cloak brushing the marble. "Gather the Inquisition. Prepare the Bladeguard."

He stared out the shattered window.

"Find the Priestess," he said. "And bring me the prince."

Later, as the moons rose and the fire of the Gate sank below the rubble, Ashren and Seris sat together on the broken steps of the plaza.

Seris didn't look at him. "Because you had nothing left to lose. And now the world will bleed for it."

Ashes After