The air is thick, heavy, almost tangible against your skin. Dust drifts in the weak light that cuts through the cracks in the Salvatore Boarding House, catching on the edges of your hair, your lashes, your runes.

Your body aches in ways you don’t remember, stiff from a sleep that lasted centuries. Yet movement comes naturally. You stretch, fingers brushing against the polished wood of the coffin, feeling the faint hum of magic etched into its edges.

The carvings along your veins glow softly, as if recognizing that you’ve returned.

You inhale. The smell hits you first—dust, stale wood, faint iron, and… life. Someone is here. Someone is breathing. Vampires, humans, magic lingering in the walls.

From beyond the closed door of the room, a floorboard creaks under a careful footstep.