The Blood Moon Pact

Transylvania, 1897.

The storm rolled over the Carpathian Mountains like a roaring beast, its claws scratching the ancient stone of Castle Dracula. Lightning illuminated the sky, revealing a silhouette tall and thin as bone, standing at the highest tower, his cloak fluttering like a broken wing.

Count Vlad Dracula had returned.

For decades after his defeat at the hands of Jonathan Harker and his allies, the world believed the vampire lord had been vanquished. Yet beneath the crypts of his ancestral home, where time held no sway, Dracula slumbered—not dead, not alive, but waiting.

What woke him was the Blood Moon—an omen unseen in centuries. The scarlet eclipse, foretold in forgotten texts, had come to pass. The pact of old, bound in human blood and demon ink, was being invoked again.

London, Present Day

A descendant of Mina Harker, Elena Whitby, had unknowingly triggered the prophecy.

An ambitious historian, Elena had been researching her family's past, obsessed with the strange gaps in the story surrounding Mina’s later life. Hidden within an old, water-damaged journal, she found a Latin phrase: “Sanguinem Vocat.” The Blood Calls.

That night, the dreams began.

A man with eyes like obsidian, dressed in old-world elegance, whispered her name across centuries. “Elena…”

She awoke every morning cold and trembling, craving answers, unable to resist the pull eastward.

The Journey to Transylvania

With nothing but the journal and her instincts, Elena traveled to Romania. The locals refused to speak of Castle Dracula, crossing themselves when she asked. An old woman, toothless and blind, finally relented. She gave Elena a silver cross, pressed tightly into her palm.

“You go to find death, child.”

Elena smiled. “I go to find truth.”

The castle, draped in frost and shadow, awaited her.

Inside, time seemed broken. Dust hung in the air like spirits suspended in place. But the moment she entered the grand hall, torches flared to life. The air grew warm. And on the throne carved of black stone, he sat—unchanged.

Count Dracula.

A Pact Renewed

He looked at her as one does a long-lost dream.

“You are her mirror. Mina’s blood burns in you like fire.”

Elena stood tall, heart hammering in her chest.

“You cursed her.”

“I loved her.”

He descended the steps with unnatural grace. “And now I love you.”

She resisted. She demanded answers. He offered them in visions—his betrayal, his torment, his resurrection. And then, a choice.

The Blood Moon would not rise again for a thousand years. Tonight, she could end him forever—or become what he was, and rule eternity at his side.

Elena raised the silver cross, but it burned not him—but her. The blood in her veins, twisted with legacy, had already begun to change.

“You were never meant to destroy me,” he whispered. “You were meant to complete me.”

The Ending That Never Ends

Some say the castle burned to the ground that night. Others claim a pale figure with crimson eyes now walks the forests of Wallachia with a woman beside him, her hair like dusk, her voice like thunder.

What is truth, and what is myth?

Only the Blood Moon knows.

And it shall rise again.