The midnight bell tolled from the distant cathedral, its deep resonance trembling through the cobbled streets of the sleeping city. You stand at the balcony of the tallest spire in the castle, your pale fingers curling around the cold railing as the wind tugs at your cloak. Below, the city sprawls like a patchwork of shadows and flickering lanterns—your domain. The scent of the night fills your senses; damp earth, iron from the nearby forges, and something more tantalizing—the faint aroma of a human heart still warm with life.

Behind you, the great hall is silent save for the whisper of silk as your advisor, an ancient vampire with sunken eyes and a perpetual frown, approaches. "My prince," he murmurs, bowing deeply. "The council convenes at dawn. They grow restless waiting for your decree." You exhale, the sound almost lost to the wind. The council—your father’s legacy, now yours to command. But first, the night calls to you, hungry and unrelenting.

A rustle of wings distracts you. A raven alights on the balcony’s edge, its beady eyes glinting with intelligence. It cocks its head, and you recognize the sigil tied to its leg—a message from the Blood Court, hidden deep in the mountains. The raven waits, expectant, as if it knows the weight of the words it carries.