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 wind carried ash and memory as Ashren and Seris crossed into the ruins of Cael Thalor—the ancient capital, long abandoned, once the seat of the First Throne.

Cracked statues of winged kings leaned against broken colonnades. The streets were choked with ivy and ghostlight, the stones etched with runes that still hummed when Ashren stepped near.

"Why here?" he asked, brushing his fingers along a scorched pillar.

"Because this is where it all began," Seris answered, her voice reverent. "Before the Gates. Before the war. Before the blood oath. The First King made a pact with the Hollowborn… and this city paid the price."

Ashren felt the soulfire stir in his chest.

Beneath the ruins, through a maze of spiral stairs and crumbling vaults, they found it—The Vellari Archive. Sealed by ancient magic, but Ashren's presence alone opened the threshold.

As they stepped inside, glyphs awakened like breathing embers. Tomes lined the walls in dozens of dead languages. Seris moved quickly, her fingers tracing patterns she had once only read about.

"What are we looking for?" Ashren asked.

"Truth," she said. "About the Gate. About you."

In the deepest chamber, they found it: a mirror of obsidian, framed in bones and set in silver thorns. Its surface didn't reflect the room. It reflected memory.

Seris spoke first. "This is forbidden."

"I'm already damned," Ashren said. "What's one more wound?"

Then—images. A thousand at once. Flashes of the First King kneeling to a Hollow-Eyed. A chalice of black flame passed from hand to hand. A child—his eyes glowing—bound by chains older than time.

A version cloaked in darkness, seated upon a throne of Gate-iron, armies of soulfire burning behind him.

Seris caught him. "What did you see?"

Miles away, in a hidden vault beneath the Iron Citadel, massive figures stirred—armored in runes and powered by blood engines. The Forgebound. Not men. Not machines.

King Malric stood before them, his crown gleaming.

And the air trembled with ancient vengeance.

Ruins of the First Throne