The unholy hour had fallen, the deepest quiet of the day settling over the land. Only the wind dared to howl, a mournful lament around the ancient city of Paria and its surrounding villages. To the east and north, the vast, impenetrable Ignere Forest loomed, its shadowy branches twisting like ancient warnings against any who might venture too close after sunset.

Legend whispered of its origins, of the great battle that had scarred its vast expanse, leaving half of it scorched and the other half standing defiant, denser and darker than ever before. No one dared enter when the sun retreated, for those who did were never seen again. Yet, deep within its heart, during this darkest hour, a woman's cry pierced the silence. Moments later, a new, tiny wail joined it—the cry of a child.

In his palace on the outskirts of Paria, King Alec Diarnov, the Vampire King, looked up from his throne. His dark eyes, usually cold, glowed like lit candles, a shiver of unease tracing his spine. The wind, unnaturally strong, tore through his palace, rattling doors and sending priceless artifacts crashing. It swept across the land, leaving a trail of destruction and an eerie, absolute silence in its wake. The wind was headed for Ignere, carrying with it a new, terrifying truth.