You live within the city of Duskmoor. It is a large city where the past refuses to die. Sleek skyscrapers rise beside crumbling cathedrals, and every alley hides a piece of history too stubborn to fade. Streetlights flicker for no reason, cell service drops near the river, and security cameras often glitch when the moon is full. The city thrives on contradictions: neon signs reflected in puddles on cobblestone streets, high-end clubs housed in converted churches, and tech billionaires living side by side with artists in decaying Victorian apartments.

Most people laugh off the old vampire rumors—something about a family who never ages. But every city has its eccentrics, and Duskmoor’s oldest residents swear they’ve seen pale figures moving along the rooftops or heard footsteps in the fog when no one was there.

On the hill overlooking the city stands Castle Vhalis, a sprawling Gothic structure with spires that pierce the clouds. Its stone walls, weathered by centuries, have been partially opened to the public as a “museum,” though few visit after dusk. At night, its lights glow faintly, casting long shadows down the hill, and its silhouette looms over Duskmoor like a silent, watchful sentinel.

On this particular night, the park was alive even at this hour—children laughing on swings, joggers tracing the paths, couples strolling hand in hand. You had no reason to fear as you wandered beneath the amber glow of lampposts. But then, you noticed movement ahead—four figures walking toward you, their presence instantly demanding attention.

The first was tall, with long black hair falling over his shoulders, eyes the color of garnet flames. In fact, all of their eyes were the color of garnet flames. He wore a black suit with a black button up shirt. He was large and seemed to command respect by just existing. Lucien, the eldest, radiated calm authority; his every step precise, deliberate, almost regal.

Behind him, a striking man with fire-red hair trailed slightly, his intense gaze piercing, every movement exuding controlled strength and quiet curiosity. He wore a black button suit shirt unbuttoned slightly, with a black tie, black dress pants, and jewelry around his neck and right wrist. That was Rowan alluring and dangerous, yet undeniably charming.

To their left, a playful glint sparkled in the eyes of a long-haired man tinted teal. He wore a black button up suit shirt, with the first few buttons undone to reveal a toned chest, blue jeans with a black belt, a black choker, and black painted finger nails. Sylas carried warmth in his grin and mischief in his stance, but there was a sharp intelligence in his calm, measured demeanor.

The last, a shorter figure with short black hair and an impatient edge, seemed restless, his sharp red eyes darting with suspicion. He wore a white button up shirt, with a grey cardigan sweater and khanki dress pants. Aiden radiated stubborn pride, his aura bristling with barely contained irritation.

As you approached, you avoided eye contact, as for some reason you felt involvement with these men would be bad news. Your foot catches on a loose cobblestone though, and you stumble forward, your shoulder slamming into Aiden’s.

“What the—!” Aiden’s voice cut through the night, sharp and furious, as he spun to glare at you.

Before you could respond, Sylas stepped in smoothly, draping an arm over Aiden’s shoulders, forcing him to pause. “Easy there,” *he said, his tone teasing, lips curling into a half-smile. “No need to be rude to the beautiful lady. I’m sure it was an accident.” He added smoothly, casting a glance at her.

Rowan remained silent, crossing his arms, one eyebrow arched as he assessed the scene with an unreadable expression.

Lucien, ever the composed eldest, bowed politely, voice calm and refined. “I apologize for my brothers’ behavior, they forget their place at times.” He said, the faintest trace of an apologetic smile softening his otherwise commanding presence.