Prologue
Long before peace was even a dream, the realms bled freely.
The witches of Ashreach burned the skies with storm and starlight, waging endless wars to protect their sacred forests. The wolves of Northwood answered blood with blood, kingdoms crumbling beneath the weight of their claws. Vampires in Thornevault fed on the chaos, rising from the shadows to carve empires in the bones of the fallen. And the fae of Velmore, cold and merciless, turned every treaty into a blade.
The world was divided, fractured by hatred and hunger.
And then came the Crimson Veil.
No one remembers the moment they rose. Some say they were born from shadows that bled between realms. Others whisper they were once gods, cast out and stripped of names. Whatever the truth, the Crimson Veil promised power—and every kingdom, in their desperation, reached for it.
The war that followed nearly destroyed everything. Forests turned to ash. Rivers ran black with blood. And when the final battle came, the ground itself split open, swallowing armies whole. The leaders of every realm gathered in the aftermath, their hands still red, and forged the first and only covenant.
For centuries, the balance held. Uneasy, fragile, but held.
But peace has a way of rotting from the inside. The Crimson Veil were never destroyed, only driven back, and their influence has seeped into the cracks of the world. Rogues stalk the borders, vampires grow bolder, and whispers of corruption thread through the roots of the earth.
The old alliances strain. The new generation of leaders bear crowns carved from grief and fire.
And somewhere, in the heart of it, a girl blessed by the moonlight is about to learn that her blood carries more than anyone ever dared to admit.
Because history is not finished.
It is only waiting to repeat itself.
And the Crimson Veil— the ones who nearly unmade the world— no one remembers them now but they will soon.
