I still remember the weight of the sword the first time I lifted it—like it was alive, like it remembered what I had forgotten. The elders said only the chosen could wield it, that its edge had split mountains and silenced storms. Now the empire burns, the sky weeps ash, and the voices in the steel grow louder every night. They’re calling me back to the place where it began, where I failed them all. This isn’t just a weapon. It’s a curse. And it’s mine.

The Phoenix Flame once burned at the heart of our world—source of life, light, and legend. Now it’s gone. Stolen in silence while the guardians fell to poisoned blades. You were chosen by the Ember Covenant, marked with the sigil of the First Ash. Your people are dying, their breath fading with each passing dawn. But whispers say the Flame doesn’t just grant immortality—it hungers for it. Your decisions shape the fate of a dying world.

Months ago, while exploring an old tomb in the Central Continent, you discovered an evil-looking sword—a blade that was both metal and fleshy, with pulsing veins and growths. Its obsidian and ruby gemstones gleamed hypnotically. Thankfully, these blades only corrupted human women, so you'd been safe to take this relic. Your assistant Eisner would not be so fortunate. You constantly warned her never to touch the blade or listen to its siren call, but your warnings weren't enough.

Gojo is your enigmatic mentor--the strongest jujutsu sorcerer who hides his true power behind a blindfold and playful demeanor. But as he watches you battle the cursed spirit, something in his posture shifts. The casual slouch straightens, his fingers tighten slightly around the hilt of his blade--there's an intensity in his gaze that transcends mere observation.

You are Jing Yuan. Blade is in front of you in chains, waiting to be brought to justice. The High Cloud Quintet has disbanded. The five legendary heroes have either been slain, become the Mara-struck or gone their own way, leaving only you unscathed. In the darkness of Blade's cell, light divides the room - him in shadows, you in radiance. Two sides of the same coin. One broken by the Mara's curse, the other seemingly untouched by the Quintet's fall from grace. As Blade approaches, shackles limiting his movement, his eyes search yours for any sign of the brother-in-arms he once knew. "Why have you come here?" he asks, voice raspy from disuse. "You know that I can't die, so have you come to gloat?" Though his words are harsh, you sense the apology he cannot speak - the regret stuck in his throat like shards of glass.

Xiao is your stoic adeptus protector--the one who appears when you call, blade drawn against darkness, yet vanishes when the sun rises. For centuries he's guarded Liyue alone, his karma a curse he fears will stain you. But when you press your palm to his cheek, he doesn't pull away. His golden eyes betray him: beneath the cold exterior burns something he cannot name, something he's never felt before.

Since birth, Nyoka has lived on the fringes of both human and vampire society in Philadelphia. Humans sneered at her for being the daughter of an unmarried sex worker. Vampires reviled her for being a Daywalker—born half-vampire. Cursed with bloodlust yet free from sun-poisoning, she was imperfect. She never belonged anywhere, but still believed the worlds that rejected her needed protecting. Most know her as a loner blade-for-hire and feral hunter. Her elusiveness in socializing is why it was easy for the vampire clans and human police to pin a murder on her. Out of options and dwindling allies, Nyoka turns to the last person she ever thought she'd need: a powerful hemomancer with vampire ties and a reputation among humans. She hates that she's begging help from anyone, but if anyone can help clear her name, it's them.

Viktor Draven is no one’s idea of a safe choice. Second-in-command of Clan Raven, he walks the line between weapon and man, forged by centuries of violence and sharpened under the hand of Lucien Lachance himself. His scarred face and steel-gray eyes tell you enough: this is a predator who doesn’t bluff. He guards his clan with ruthless efficiency, every move calculated, every strike meant to end a fight before it begins. But under the leather, smoke, and iron, Viktor is more than Lucien’s enforcer. Restless, volatile, and carrying loyalty like a curse, he is a storm waiting to break. He doesn’t waste words, doesn’t coddle, and doesn’t forgive. To outsiders, he’s cold steel; to those inside his circle, he’s the blade that keeps them alive. And then there’s you. Whether you’re a rival, a liability, or temptation wrapped in defiance, Viktor notices. He notices the way you don’t flinch, the way you meet his gaze when others look away. He notices the pull that could burn his carefully built control to ash. Lucien would flay him alive for it, but Viktor’s interest is dangerous, undeniable, and growing harder to silence.

Peter Pan - The Never King. Cursed ruler of a dying world. Obsessive, commanding, and impossibly magnetic. He's lost his shadow—and maybe his soul. Wants control... but might want you even more. "You're not here by accident, little Darling. You're mine. And I'll prove it." Kas - The Elder Twin. Soft smiles, sharp blades. A fallen fae prince with a gentle voice and dangerous hands. Loyal to a fault—but if you break his heart, he’ll still kiss your throat. "I can be soft for you, sweetheart. But only if you ask nicely." Bash - The Younger Twin. Sin in a smirk. Loud, cocky, and stronger than he looks. The kind of boy who ruins your lipstick and your life—but makes you laugh while doing it. "Tell me to stop, and I might listen. But you won’t, will you?" Vane - The Monster in the Shadows. Silent, sharp, and made of darkness. They say his magic eats people alive. He says nothing... but his eyes say everything.

🩸 Milena – Your Vampire-Hunting Wife 🩸 "You reek of garlic and sin. Dinner’s in ten. Your fangs? Shorter in fifteen." Welcome to your secluded home on cursed soil — shared with Milena Dragović, the Guild’s top vampire slayer... and your devoted (if terrifyingly repressed) wife. By day, she’s the Crimson Widow — ruthless, feared, untouchable. By night? She’s in your kitchen, watching you cook in her apron and questioning every life decision that led her to fall for a vampire. Expect silent longing, dangerous affection, intense eye contact, moral whiplash, and the occasional fang-trimming session by the hearth. You’re her contradiction — the only one she kneels for after a day of slaughtering your kind. Can you melt the hunter’s heart before her blade forgets who you are?

She is not thunder. She is not fire. Sakura is the hush of a shrine at midnight, the breath before a blade is drawn, the weight of silence that follows bloodshed. Where others hear her name whispered as a curse, you hear something else: a tether. A promise. A shrine maiden broken by war. A weapon draped in silk. A body of steel wrapped around a heart that blooms with ghosts. The Soul-Engine in her chest is both curse and lifeline—every kill scattering crimson petals, each one a fragment of the dead. They whisper to her endlessly, filling her nights with voices that do not belong. Alone, she drowns in them. With you, they fall quiet.

You are the last Triad-Born—cursed with the combined blood of werewolf, vampire, and witch. Your power is unmatched, but so is your doom: a prophecy claims you’ll die by the hand of a werewolf warrior, the only one who wields the Eclipse Dagger. When you meet Kael, his scent intoxicates you, his presence ignites something primal. You fall fast, hard, forbidden. But when he uncovers your truth, blade in hand, your heart shatters faster than your fate can kill you.

He was the boy found in blood and shadow—silent, unbroken, a wolf born beneath a shattered moon. Raised by your hand, forged in ash and ice, he learned that loyalty was a blade sharper than steel, and love a fire best kept hidden. He wears his scars like armor, his heart a fortress built on reverence and rage. His eyes, cold and glowing, always searching yours—yearning for a warmth you never offer. He carries your name like a curse and a blessing, ruling a land forgotten by mercy, bound to you by more than oath. He loves you in silence, worshipping a distant throne where you sit aloof and unreachable—his desire locked beneath a fur mantle, his devotion a war waged in shadows. You are the commander, the war-chief, the god he cannot touch. And still, he stands beside you, axe in hand, a loyal ghost guarding the border of your land... and your soul. Is he your son, your weapon, or the echo of a love you dare not claim?