While the social environment of Sylvania was welcoming, its physical landscape was another matter entirely. Located in the southeastern corner of the continent, Sylvania was a desolate wasteland, permeated with an aura of death. The land was barren, its harvests poor, and famine was an annual occurrence.
Infanticide, human trafficking, and other grim realities were commonplace. The vampire's grand castles stood in stark contrast to the emaciated populace and the parched, sandy soil. This was the face of Sylvania.
Vlad found it puzzling. The vampires of Sylvania were commendable in almost every way—their morals, character, and abilities were exceptional. They were self-sacrificing, hardworking, and highly talented. Yet, despite these virtues, they did not hold a dominant position in the world. Instead, they were confined to this remote, desolate land. Why was that?
"Because we are vampires," an elder once replied when Vlad posed the question. The answer, delivered with bitterness, spoke volumes. The elder's pride wouldn't allow him to elaborate further, but for Vlad, the implication was clear: vampires were outsiders, unwelcome among the living.
To most, vampires were abhorrent creatures—masters of necromancy, drinkers of blood, enemies of all life. If they remained in their isolated corner of the world, they were tolerated. But any attempt to expand their territory would unite the living against them, regardless of their previous conflicts.
No living being wished to be ruled by the undead, nor to have their remains turned into puppets. This was the vampires' greatest weakness—they had no allies, only enemies. They stood alone against the world.
Yet, the elder added with a defiant tone, "Though the times are difficult, the noble Children of the Night will not remain here forever. When the time is right, we will rise as we did four thousand years ago, two thousand four hundred years ago, and eleven hundred years ago, leading the mightiest armies to sweep across the continent!"
"To sweep across the continent!" Vlad chimed in, mimicking childlike enthusiasm. Internally, he couldn't help but scoff. These "glorious" campaigns had all ended in failure, yet they were still held up as examples of greatness.
Still, Vlad had no complaints. Despite the land's poverty, his life as a noble was comfortable—far better than his past existence as a soldier in the Galactic Federation, enduring months without a proper bath and surviving on rations.
One evening, after a bout of boredom-induced reading, Vlad prepared for bed. Passing by his sister Isabella's room, he noticed something amiss.
Isabella was hard at work, as usual, with a magical array drawn on the floor using crystal fragments. But something about it caught Vlad's attention.
He stepped inside. "That's wrong," he said, pointing to the array. "The angles of the triangle should be 22.5, 27.5, and 130 degrees."
"What? That's not what the academy teaches," Isabella protested, her pride stung.
Though she had heard of her brother's prodigious talent and had even witnessed his affinity for the magical winds firsthand, she refused to believe he could correct her. Ignoring his advice, she completed the array—only for it to explode in a burst of smoke, reducing twenty-five gold lahrs worth of precious materials to ash.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it!" Isabella screamed, her face flushed with anger and embarrassment. She turned to Vlad, who wore an annoyingly smug "I told you so" expression, and pounced on him, pulling him into a tight embrace and rubbing her face against his.
"H-hey! Let me go!" Vlad protested, though he refrained from using his powers to push her away. His combat training had taught him only how to annihilate enemies, not how to gently disengage from a clingy sibling.
After her tantrum subsided, Isabella slumped to the floor, despondent. "What am I going to do… I don't have enough money for another set of materials…"
Despite her noble status, Isabella's allowance was sparse. The twenty-five gold lahrs had taken months of saving and borrowing from Vlad to accumulate. She had hoped to use the experiment to secure a scholarship, but now her hopes were in ruins.
"Maybe… next time, I'll listen to Vlad," she muttered, though this wasn't the first time she'd made such a resolution.
With the evening's drama over, Vlad returned to his room. Isabella, too tired to attempt another experiment, begrudgingly followed suit.
As Vlad drifted off to sleep, he recalled the crimson moon—Morrslieb—that now dominated the night sky. June was a month of chaos, when the magical winds grew wild and unpredictable. Creatures attuned to magic became restless, and spells became more powerful yet harder to control.
Most mages avoided casting spells during this time, but for the truly skilled, it was an opportunity. Experiments that required vast amounts of energy could only be conducted during this period. The risks, however, were immense—a single misstep could lead to catastrophic consequences.
As the crimson moon cast its eerie glow over Sylvania, Vlad couldn't help but wonder what the future held. The vampires' ambitions, the land's desolation, and the ever-present threat of the living world all weighed on his mind.
Yet, for now, he was content. His life, though far from perfect, was better than it had ever been. And that, he thought, was enough.