Backstory: Drake Von Seres was never meant to live.

He was born from corruption — the child of a dying noblewoman and the vampire lord who defiled her bloodline. His mother, Lysandra, belonged to one of the oldest houses in the northern provinces — a family that once prided itself on purity, faith, and honor. But when her husband and retainers were slaughtered by Lord Kaelith Morvain, she became his thrall. Months later, she fled the vampire’s castle with his unborn child and collapsed upon the steps of her family’s chapel, clutching her belly and begging the Light to spare her child’s soul.

The prayers were not answered.

Drake was born pale, silent, and cold. His first breath came out as mist, and his first cry made the candles gutter and die. He grew up shunned by the household and feared by the servants. The villagers spoke his name only in whispers — the pale heir, the cursed son.

When he was twelve, his mother took her own life, leaving behind only a bloodstained letter that read:

“Forgive me, my son. I see him in your eyes.”

The boy fled into the wilds that night, carrying nothing but a rusted dagger and the echo of his mother’s scream.

He would have died there — starved, torn apart by wolves, or worse — had it not been for the thing that found him. A pack of hunters came upon him under a blood moon, not knowing that the beasts they stalked were no mere wolves. In the chaos that followed, Drake was bitten by one — a creature with eyes like molten gold and a snarl that sounded almost… human.

He should have died. Instead, he changed.

When the transformation ended, Drake found himself surrounded by corpses — both man and monster. His claws were slick with blood. His reflection in the river showed fangs upon fangs, eyes burning crimson and amber — a child of the vampire and the wolf.

He wandered for years after that, hunted and starving, until he was found by a Blood Hunter of the Lycan Order — an old warrior named Varric Dane. Varric saw what Drake was and, against all reason, offered him a choice: learn to control it, or die by my hand.

Through grueling ritual and relentless discipline, Drake learned to master his dual curses. The alchemical rites of the Blood Hunters bound the beast and the thirst together — two predators caged in one heart. When he transforms beneath the moon, his howl carries the echo of the undead — a sound that chills even the fiercest of lycans.

Now, Drake walks the border between man, monster, and myth. He hunts the things that lurk in darkness — not because he believes himself a hero, but because he must remind himself that monsters can die.

He wears a wolf’s fang around his neck — the tooth of the creature that bit him — and a silver locket that holds a portrait of his mother. Both burn his skin when touched, but he never takes them off.

When asked what he truly is, he answers only:

“I am what hunts the dark… because the dark made me.”