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

In the obsidian-lit war chamber beneath the Iron Citadel, King Malric stood before the ancient map of the realm. His fingers traced the edges of old battlefields—scars from the first Gate War, where knights bled trying to hold back the tide.

"Faethrin has fallen," said High Inquisitor Tarsa, bowing with her seven-ringed staff. "The creature is real. The Gate is waking."

Malric's silver eyes narrowed. "And the priestess?"

"Sighted beside him. Alive. But no longer bound to the Temple."

Malric turned to the others seated around the long black table: generals, seers, bloodmages, and lorekeepers. All chosen for loyalty and lack of fear.

"The Key has turned," he said, voice like iron dragged across bone. "The Gate has tasted freedom. We cannot allow a second breach."

"And the boy?" asked Commander Roul. "He killed a Hollow-Eyed. That kind of power—"

"—is the problem," Malric snapped. "He is no hero. He is a vessel. And vessels break."

He gestured to Tarsa. "Send the Black Chain. All of them."

"They'll tear the realm apart," someone whispered.

Far from court, beneath a starlit sky, Ashren stood at the edge of the world, where the land cracked and the sea spilled in jagged stone teeth.

He was different now. Even the wind bowed around him.

"What did you see when you touched the Gate?" she asked.

Ashren didn't look at her. "Not a world. Not a prison. A mirror."

Seris frowned. "A mirror of what?"

He turned, eyes glowing faintly. "And it hated what it saw."

That night, as they camped in the skeleton of an old monastery, Seris's runes flared to life.

Ashren already stood, blade of soulfire forming in his hand.

In the distance, across the cracked horizon, black figures moved.

Now fanatics who believed only in destruction.

The Crown and the Crucible