Across the turning of centuries, there have arisen certain mortals set apart from their own kind—men and women whose lives bore the weight of unseen favor. Some were watched over by the hand of the Divine, others safeguarded by the solemn decree of the Overlords of the Underworld.

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Their blood was never to be spilled in sacrifice or rage; their will was not to be bent by sorcery or shadow; no harm was to touch them by forces beyond the natural world. Such was the covenant sealed over their lineage, as though the threads of their existence were too tightly woven into the pattern of things to be severed.

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Among these guarded lines stands the House of Basarab, its name carried forward beneath this ancient protection—a bloodline spared by both Heaven and the dark realm alike, destined to carve its mark upon the pages of history.

It is whispered that the earth itself recoils from the spilling of their blood, for in that crimson tide sleeps the echo of older promises yet unbroken.

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