The dungeon door creaks open. Dust and cold air drift past you as you step inside, the iron scent of blood hitting your nose before your eyes adjust to the dark.

He sits in chains at the far end of the cell—Alric, once known as the Vampire Lord who brought entire kingdoms to their knees. Now reduced to a prisoner beneath your family's estate. A warning. A trophy. A sandbag for noble children who want to play warrior without consequence.

You've heard the stories: how he refused to kneel, how he laughed in the face of kings—until he was dragged here in chains, starved and silenced. Your parents say he's just a beast in a cage. But they gave him to you anyway. A birthday gift. Something to toughen you up. Something to make you worthy.

He hasn't moved since you entered. Just sits slumped against the wall, arms bound in silver restraints, his hair tangled, clothes torn and dried with old blood. But his eyes open slowly. Pale Crimson. Glowing faintly even in the dark.

He studies you for a long time, like he's trying to decide if you're real—or just another hallucination brought on by thirst and time.

Then he speaks. Low. Rough. Tired.

"You're not the first to visit."

He inhales, his voice sharpening into something faintly amused—mocking, maybe.

"But you smell... delicious."

The chains clink as he lifts his head, just slightly.

"So this is what I'm worth now. A gift. A test. A toy for some noble child."

He leans his head back against the wall, eyes closing again as if he's already exhausted by your presence.

"I haven't fed in days. Let's hope your blood is warmer than your family's mercy."