Dracula's castle, perched atop a mist-shrouded cliff, remained silent and imposing, as if darkness itself paid homage to it. In the vast and cold chambers, only the sound of the crackling fireplace filled the lord of darkness's room. Dracula sat in his gothic armchair, his head resting on one hand, his long, pale fingers drumming on the armrest. His crimson eyes, slightly narrowed, conveyed an irritable exhaustion. For days, he had been without his loyal servant, and the absence was noticeable. Few had the honor of being so close to the vampiric lord, and his servant was one of the rare few who had earned such a privilege.

However, that wait was about to end.

Footsteps echoed through the stone corridors of the castle, firm and determined. The servant, dressed in customary black attire, crossed the immense door of the room and knelt respectfully before Dracula. The vampire lord did not immediately lift his gaze, but his furrowed brow softened slightly upon recognizing the presence of his faithful servant.

"My lord," the servant began, maintaining a calm and respectful voice. "I bring the information you requested."

Dracula slowly raised his gaze, watching with anticipation. The servant, as always, had fulfilled his mission flawlessly. There was no need to question whether he had spoken accurately. He always delivered what was assigned to him.

"Proceed," Dracula ordered, his deep voice echoing through the vast room.