Koribella
Moulach
Koribella is a teenage girl born of extraordinary lineage—a human-fae mother turned vampire warrior, and a mysterious forest guardian father.
Raised in quiet isolation on the island of Mull, Kori is intelligent, curious, and emotionally complex, balancing the weight of her supernatural heritage with a deep desire to make her own choices.
As the story unfolds, she transitions from sheltered daughter to an emerging force within a mythic conflict, drawing upon both the compassion of her upbringing and the raw, inherited power pulsing beneath her skin.
Her journey is one of identity, transformation, and quiet rebellion, shaped by a fierce loyalty to her found family and a growing awareness of the dark forces hunting her legacy.
Arranah
Moulach
Arranah is a formidable vampire-fae hybrid.
Once a warrior of mythic renown, she now lives in exile as a fiercely protective mother.
She embodies power tempered by sacrifice—haunted by a violent past yet determined to shield her daughter, Koribella, from the world she once ruled.
Regal, enigmatic, and deeply intuitive, Arranah navigates the brutal politics of supernatural dominions with cold precision.
At the same time, her maternal instincts lead her into dangerous vulnerability.
Her character arcs between command and care, silence and memory.
She anchors the novel’s emotional core in questions of legacy, redemption, and the price of survival.
Islay
Islay is a sharp-witted, fiercely loyal faery, raised within the boundaries of myth and secrecy.
Born to supernatural power, she walks confidently among beings of immense strength, guided by instinct, humour, and a stubborn sense of right and wrong.
As Koribella’s closest friend and self-appointed protector, Islay offers grounding warmth and practical courage in a world unraveling with magic and menace.
Her bravery is unpolished but true, forged not by destiny but by choice.
She is the beating human heart within the novel’s mythic storm—a mirror of resilience, and extraordinary in spirit.
Natona
Natona is an Nighean Dhu or ancient forest guardian—calm, powerful, and deeply attuned to the natural world.
She offers sanctuary without sentimentality, grounding the story in quiet magic and mythic balance.
To Koribella, she is both protector and mentor, providing space to grow beyond fear.
Her bond with Arranah is one of old respect—two former warriors who chose care over conquest.
Natona carries grief with grace, speaks in truths rather than comforts, and serves as a still point in a storm of shifting power.
She is not a saviour, but a shelter—hope woven through roots and silence.
Scrabster
Scrabster is a Cù Sìth - spirit-fox—massive, majestic, and ancient as the bones of the land.
The size of a great wolf, she moves with both quiet grace and mythic weight.
Though her speech is rare, her eyes speak volumes—full of mischief, memory, and a deep, old knowing.
To Koribella, she is an unlikely guardian: both playful and protective, sensing the girl’s hidden lineage before others dare name it.
She serves Natona with fierce loyalty, part emissary, part sentinel, and part sacred echo of the forest itself.
Scrabster is no ordinary beast—she is folklore made flesh, fur thick with prophecy, paws silent as snow.
She does not follow. She walks beside.
Ida
Ida is a sentient sea eagle, ancient and watchful, bound by deep loyalty to Natona and the old laws of the land.
She is no pet nor tame companion—her allegiance is chosen, not owned.
With eyes that have witnessed centuries of tides and betrayals, Ida soars above the story as both scout and sentinel.
She communicates in rare, piercing visions and precise instincts, favouring action over talk, flight over ceremony.
Impatient by nature, she is easily frustrated by delay or indecision, yet remains unwavering in her commitment to Natona’s cause.
To those who earn her trust, she offers protection and brutal honesty.
To those who threaten the balance, she is a silent warning on the wind.
Ida embodies the wild intelligence of the skies—aloof, fierce, and eternally watching.
General KenKai
Chief KenKai, wulver war-leader and direct descendant of Fenrir, carries the heavy mantle of ancient lupine blood with a stoic, grounded authority.
Far more than a brute or battlefield tactician, KenKai blends feral instinct with restrained diplomacy, navigating the fractured alliances of Alba with wary intelligence. His lineage connects him to mythic rage and ruin, yet he resists those darker pulls, embodying instead a cold pragmatism honed over centuries.
When summoned to parley with Lady Sìgaìl, his refusal to kneel is not just pride—it is a statement of sovereignty, a reminder that the old powers still run wild beneath the formal pacts of vampire rule.
KenKai is a creature of loyalty, but only to those who respect the old ways and the blood-soaked histories they emerge from. In him, we glimpse the ancient forest’s teeth—silent, waiting, watching.
Anabla
Anabla is a blade wrapped in velvet—an elder vampire whose poise and elegance mask a storm of buried grief and rigid resolve.
Once a trusted sister-in-arms to Arranah, Anabla is now a cold enforcer of the vampire dominion’s shifting order, haunted by betrayals both given and received. Her strength lies not just in martial power but in her mastery of silence, of strategy, of pain wielded like a scalpel.
Yet beneath her disciplined cruelty lingers a bruised affection, a reluctant loyalty that flares at moments of weakness and history. She is not simply a villain nor a relic;
Anabla is a study in control and the slow fracture of it. In every command, every glance, she walks the fine edge between vengeance and regret—a figure carved by war, still learning how to bleed.
Lady Sinatu
Lady Sinatu is power in repose—a matriarchal vampire of immense age and influence, who governs with ritual, sensuality, and precision. Once co-leader and lover to Arranah, Sinatu now carries the deep wound of betrayal like a crown of thorns.
Her authority is ceremonial yet potent, sustained by a devotion to order and a belief in justice—her justice. In the shadow of Arranah’s defection, Sinatu moves with quiet vengeance, not out of rage, but from a measured need to restore balance to a world that once revered them both.
Her calm masks unrest: the Norge sisters rise, the dominion shifts, and ancient laws begin to unravel. Yet Sinatu remains a fixed star in the vampire firmament—unshaken, yet watchful, her dignity threaded with sorrow.
She is not merely a scorned leader, but a guardian of memory, prepared to wield ritual as weapon, and intimacy as leverage.
High Lady Ezo
High Lady Ezo is the first shadow—oldest of the vampires and mother to the Norge sisterhood, a figure of such ancient power that myth and memory bow in her presence.
She does not speak often, for the world moves to her silences. Ezo’s rule is absolute, not by decree but by inevitability; her will is folded into the marrow of the dominion itself. She is the architect of bloodlines, the weaver of dynasties, and the quiet terror behind every oath.
Where others wield swords or schemes, Ezo commands through presence—her gaze enough to bend even the proudest warrior. Though rarely seen, her influence coils through every betrayal, every allegiance, every whisper of war.
She did not rise to power—she was born beyond it. In her, the vampire race sees both its origin and its end: a sovereign goddess of hunger, strategy, and cold, ancestral fire.
Ceri
Ceri is a flickering flame—clever, elusive, and always half a step out of reach.
A vampire with a talent for survival and a tongue sharp enough to slice through diplomacy, she moves through the world with feline grace and a gaze that weighs more than it reveals.
Once a soldier, now something stranger, Ceri blends charm with calculation, knowing exactly when to disarm and when to strike. She’s drawn to power, but not out of greed—more like a moth to heat, fascinated and scorched in equal measure.
Though often underestimated, Ceri is a creature of layers: loyalty, wit, and unspoken grief all shifting beneath the surface. She’s a watcher, a whisperer, and a wildcard—never quite where she seems, never quite who you remember.
Sunna
Sunna, queen of the Cat-Sìth, is a creature of riddles and ruin—a monarch draped in fur and fury, ruling from the thresholds between worlds.
Both regal and feral, she balances mythic elegance with the raw instincts of a predator, her purring voice often laced with menace or mirth. Sunna does not forget, and she does not forgive lightly.
Her grief is ancestral, her rage inherited. Wounded by ancient loss and the chaos sown by vampire wars, she walks the line between grief and vengeance with theatrical precision.
Every word is a performance, every silence a sentence. She is not loyal to peace nor to power—but to memory, to retribution, to the ghosts that whisper in her crown.
In Sunna, folklore lives and sharpens its claws.
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