Prologue
ARALETH, 1505
The legend began in the silence of a dusty study. A man stood amongst his collection, fingers tracing the spines of ancient books, searching for a single, forgotten volume. The architecture of the room was ancient , smelling of old books , history , and the slow decay of time.
Suddenly, the sound of glass shattering against the floor pierced the silence.
The man flinched, spinning around. His heart hammered, but he saw nothing, only the shadows cast by his candlelight.
He tried to settle his nerves and returned to his work until
THUD
the sound of heavy books hitting the floor echoed behind him.
He turned again, a flare of fatherly annoyance masking his fear. He assumed it was his daughter playing tricks. "I said no playing in Daddy's library," he scolded, his voice echoing in the hollow room.
But as he turned, the air grew cold enough to freeze him . The room didn't just get darker, it felt as if the sun itself had been extinguished.
Standing before him was a giant. At seven-foot-two, Alistair didn't just cast shadows, he was a vertical abyss, a hole in reality that swallowed the light.
The man broke into a cold sweat as Alistair effortlessly shoved him to the floor. Terrified, the man struggled to find his footing.
"Who… who are you?" he stammers.
Alistair looked down, "Some address me as Alistair , others know me merely as Drakovian" he whispered, "But I suppose you can call me the man who just murdered your family."
Before the man could scream, Alistair moved with the speed of a lightning strike. He was suddenly inches from the man's face. "And you are next."
The man scrambled to his feet, trying to flee, but he was instantly cornered by a woman with long hair like a fresh wound.
Lysandra's fangs were on display, and a single, taunting drop of blood dripped from her lip. She moved with the same predatory grace, blocking his only exit.
The man turned back to Alistair, hands trembling in a useless plea. "What… what are you? I have done nothing wrong! I have offended no one! Please, spare me!".
Alistair's expression remained carved from ice. "Oliver Maximus Sterling, for the crimes your ancestors committed against my family and I, I hereby sentence you to death."
In a blur of motion, Alistair claimed his prize.
He didn't just bite; he leaned in with a crimson kiss, his fangs sinking deep into the man's jugular.
The red-haired woman watched with a scary smile as Alistair drained the life from the room.
When the "kiss" was finished, Oliver's lifeless body hit the floor like a discarded rag.
"That was the last Sterling in Araleth,"
Lysandra noted, wiping her mouth. "Where do we go now?"
OROS, 1808
Three centuries later, the hunt led them to the industrial soot of Oros.
Valerius Sterling lay on a pile of corn straw in a darkened barn, his hat pulled low over his face. The sound of heavy, footsteps pulled him from his stupor.
He yanked the hat off to find two figures standing over him. Lysandra stood behind Alistair, her face half-veiled by a dark cloth, her hands folded with the patience of a grave-robber.
Valerius squinted up at them. "Who are you?"
Alistair replied with indifference. "I am merely a man with uncomplicated desires."
"And what might that 'desires' be, partner?" Valerius asked, unimpressed.
"I have devoted centuries to tracking down Sterlings across the face of the globe ," Alistair said, his tone as calm as a graveyard at midnight.
Valerius let out a dry, hacking laugh. "Centuries?" he scoffed. "You aren't even older than twenty-five, boy." He pulled his hat back over his eyes, settling in to sleep. "Now go back to whatever it was you were doing and stop bothering me."
Alistair didn't flinch. "Your wife was just as stubborn as you are," he remarked coolly, "right before Lysandra gave her a final, bloody kiss and drained the life out of her."
Lysandra smirked at the memory.
Infuriated, Valerius surged upward, pulling a gun and leveling it at Alistair's chest. "If you and your demonic-looking friend don't leave by the count of three, I will shoot!"
Alistair didn't retreat. Instead, he stepped forward, pressing the barrel of the gun directly over his own heart. A flash of pure, sadistic joy lit up his green eyes as he watched the man's hand begin to shiver.
"Either you shoot me," Alistair dared him, "or I kill you."
Valerius counted to three and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
A hole appeared in Alistair's chest, right where his heart should have been beating. But Alistair didn't fall.
Terrified, the man fired again. The hole widened. A third shot still nothing. Valerius was mortified, staring into Alistair's cold, emotionless eyes.
"There is one thing you should know, Mr. Sterling," Alistair whispered, leaning into the man's space. "You cannot kill what is already dead."
As Lysandra's laughter filled the barn, Valerius began to beg, but it was far too late.
"Valerius Sterling, for the crimes your ancestors committed against my family and I, I hereby sentence you to death."
Alistair sank his fangs into the man's neck, a drenching, scarlet kiss that stilled the man's heart forever. As the body slumped into the straw, Lysandra looked at her partner.
"Where do we go now?"
Alistair looked toward the horizon, his green eyes burning with an eternal hunger.
"Wherever there is a Sterling waiting for me."
