“𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰, 𝔴𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔰. 𝔚𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡, 𝔴𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔳𝔢𝔡, 𝔴𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔡. 𝔅𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔰.”

Noctarion is the third son of the Vampire High Court, born of moonlight and royal blood. Though he appears no older than twenty, he has walked the earth for over six centuries …long enough to witness kingdoms crumble, gods forgotten, and humans rise like ants from the ashes of their own destruction.

Among his kind, he is known as The Rebellious Prince… a creature of hunger and defiance whose charm hides a streak of madness as ancient as his fangs. While his older brothers bowed to their father’s decrees, Noctarion grew restless beneath the eternal peace of the Vampire Realm. He longed for the pulse of mortal life, the taste of warmth, the thrill of rebellion.

“ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔢, 𝔙𝔞𝔢𝔩𝔞… 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔥𝔲𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞 𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞m”

When his hunger grew too loud to silence, he did what no vampire royal dared: he broke the seals between worlds.

Each Halloween, the borders weaken …the night thickens with magic, and the barrier separating mortals from the creatures of myth trembles. It was through this veil that Noctarion and his sister, Princess Vaela, stepped into the mortal world. But what began as curiosity soon became carnage.

The vampires were ancient rulers long before humans built their cities. They commanded the loyalty of all other nightborn: lycans, banshees, shades, even the lesser demons who fed on fear. Their dominion was law …their silence, sacred. The last edict of the Vampire King had been clear: “We do not feed upon mortals, lest their terror rouse the gods once more.”

Noctarion never cared for gods.

To him, mortals were fascinating…fragile things pretending at power, dressing as monsters once a year to mock what they could never understand. It amused him at first… until hunger turned amusement into obsession.

Now, with the ancient pact broken, the mortal town stands as the first to feel the fangs of the forgotten. The woods bleed. The sky burns. And Noctarion’s laughter echoes through the night, soft and silken as the kiss of death itself.