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 Southern Wilds – Three Days Later

Nestled between two crescent cliffs and shadowed by ancient trees, the Vale of Banners was hidden in plain sight. What once served as an abandoned war camp had been reborn into a rebel sanctuary—its name drawn from the hundred torn flags that lined its border, relics of fallen kingdoms, forgotten wars, and the broken oaths of history.

Ashren entered with Seris at his side, the Frostblade Nyssir strapped across his back, and fire flickering subtly beneath his skin. His presence stirred the gathered.

The rebels—mercenaries, outlaws, oathbreakers, and exiled nobles—had heard rumors.

At the center of the Vale stood a figure nearly as feared as Ashren himself—General Caelis Taron, once commander of the Silver Host, now branded a traitor for refusing to kneel to King Malric.

He was tall, lean, his face lined with scars and his eyes shadowed by loss. But his voice still carried the weight of command.

"So you're the Flameborn," he said, circling Ashren like a hawk. "They say you burned your own house to the ground. That you killed a god in the Gate War."

Ashren met his gaze. "I've done worse."

Caelis gave a sharp nod. "Good. We'll need that."

He extended a gauntlet. "Welcome to the last army of the free."

Inside the war tent, maps sprawled across bloodstained tables. The Hollowborn were on the march, their trajectory veiled but moving swiftly from the north and east. Dozens of border towns had already gone silent.

"They'll come through the Narrow Vale," he said. "It's the weakest point."

"Too predictable," Caelis replied. "If the Hollow Queen is half as cunning as the legends say, she'll bend her army around us and strike from below—through the forgotten tunnels beneath the Iron Hills."

Seris frowned. "Then we won't see them until they're in our bones."

Ashren turned to the others. "Then we bury the tunnels before they arrive."

But they all knew it was just a delay.

That night, a child wandered into Ashren's tent. Barefoot, dirt-streaked, no older than ten.

"I brought you something," the boy said, holding out a broken locket.

Inside was a faded sketch of a woman with his eyes.

"My mother had it," the boy said. "Before the Hollowborn took her."

Ashren's voice was soft. "What's your name?"

The boy looked down. "They took it too."

Ashren's fire flared—not in anger, but in resolve.

The next morning, a new flag was hoisted beside the others in the Vale—a banner of black and emberred crimson, marked only with a burning sword wrapped in frost thorns.

The Vale of Banners