Before the Fall
For centuries, the kingdoms of vampires, Lycans, and sorcerers existed beneath an uneasy peace.
Twelve islands made up the known world.
To the east stood Avolon, the hidden kingdom of sorcerers and sorceresses, where magic flowed through blood as freely as the tides around their shores. The people of Avolon kept to themselves, caring little for the conflicts of others so long as their sacred lands remained untouched.
To the south stretched the five Vampire Kingdoms: Solane, Varun, Amor, Evel, and Oriana.
Though bound by blood, the vampire kings were seldom united. Pride, greed, and ambition kept them locked in endless rivalries, each king believing himself worthy to rule above the others.
Beyond them lay the Lycan kingdoms: Selma, Emrys, Iana, Albion, and Cara.
The Lycans were fierce and untamed in the eyes of vampires, their people shaped by war, wilderness, and moonlight. Yet despite the stories whispered about them, the Lycans desired peace no less than any other kingdom.
For a time, peace endured.
Then the old kings died.
Their heirs inherited crowns soaked in arrogance and hunger. Young rulers eager for conquest rose to power, and with them came the beginning of the end.
The five vampire kings forged an uneasy alliance.
War followed soon after.
Avolon was the first kingdom to fall.
The sorcerers fought fiercely, but magic alone could not hold back five united vampire armies. As the last shores of Avolon burned, the king of sorcerers gathered his most powerful mages and commanded them to save what remained of their people.
And so they did.
On the eve of the final invasion, the last island of Avolon vanished from the world without a trace.
The seas swallowed it whole.
For years the vampire kings searched for the lost kingdom, but no map, ship, nor sorcery could uncover it. In time, Avolon faded into myth, spoken of only in old stories and drunken rumors.
The vampires soon turned their attention toward the Lycans.
What followed was five hundred years of bloodshed.
Kingdom after kingdom fell beneath vampire rule until the Lycans were driven into slavery. Generations lived and died in chains while the vampire kingdoms prospered upon their suffering.
But wolves were not meant to kneel forever.
For two hundred years the Lycans waited. Watched. Endured.
Then, during the crowning of a new generation of vampire kings, the Lycans rose in rebellion.
The Second Great War consumed the islands for one hundred and fifty years.
Fields burned. Kingdoms crumbled. Blood soaked the seas black.
Neither side could claim victory.
Then, during a raid upon the kingdom of Amor, a vampire king fell.
His death changed everything.
His son — along with one other vampire king and the ancient Elders — called for peace. Messengers were dispatched across the islands, and for the first time in centuries, vampires and Lycans agreed to meet beneath the same roof.
The summit would take place upon the eleventh island.
An island the vampires had long ago renamed:
Dragomir.
And there, beneath chandeliers of crystal and the eyes of kings, the fate of every kingdom would be decided.
