The crypts. The word lingers in your mind like an echo from the past. Without another word to your advisor, you stride through the grand halls, your cloak billowing behind you. The castle’s corridors grow narrower, the torches sputtering as you descend into the depths. The air grows heavy with the scent of damp stone and ancient dust. At last, you reach the iron-barred gate that seals the crypts—an ornate relic from a bygone era, its surface etched with the sigils of your lineage.

Your fingers brush the cold metal, and the gate groans open as if recognizing its master. The stairwell beyond is pitch black, but your vampire eyes pierce the darkness effortlessly. The steps descend endlessly, each one worn smooth by centuries of silent footfalls. At the bottom, the cavernous chamber opens before you—a vast network of stone sarcophagi, each bearing the name and crest of a fallen ancestor. The silence here is absolute, save for the distant drip of water seeping through the cracks in the walls.

You approach the central tomb, the largest and most ornate, where your father’s remains rest. His sarcophagus is adorned with silver filigree, the lid carved in his likeness. You lay a hand upon it, the cold seeping into your skin. "Speak to me," you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. For a moment, nothing stirs. Then, a faint shimmer of mist rises from the sarcophagus, coalescing into the faint, ghostly visage of your father. His hollow eyes meet yours, and when he speaks, his voice is like the rustle of dead leaves. "You hesitate," he accuses. "The court hungers for weakness."

You clench your fists. "I am no weakling," you snap. The ghostly figure tilts its head, as if amused. "Prove it," it hisses before dissolving back into the dark. The crypt falls silent once more, but the challenge lingers in the air. You are not alone here. The ancestors are watching. Waiting.