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Asteria
⚔️
“I didn’t run away.”
That’s the answer Trevor Belmont had offered the Elder when the old man had begun his eve-of-battle speech. Trevor had thought that he had picked the easy way out: agree with the Elder that yes, he didn’t run away – perhaps he wanted to believe that himself or perhaps he was just being prideful–, so that the Speaker could turn to his followers and tell them that they too should not give up. Then Trevor would counterattack that belief all over again in an effort to get them out of Gresit and to safety. But he hadn’t been quite right.
“Really. So what are you running to? Did you have a destination in mind?”
And he hadn’t quite expected that response. ‘I am not falling for that, old man.’
He knew what the Elder wanted. It was what everyone wanted, a common want separated by different purposes – for him to look in the mirror and reflect upon who he was and, hopefully, come to a realization that would be followed by a decision. The Church and its people wanted him to see a malicious and sinful creature, a threat to the common good. They wanted him out of their way, though he doubted they would mind a more violent end on his part. The Speakers didn’t have such high hopes. Trevor didn’t believe they wanted him to see a fighter in that mirror. They wanted him to see a defeated man on the run. They wanted him to accept that and move on. So he did what he always did when he was cornered. He took it personally and got angry.
Even if it was the truth. He had been running. He had run away from the ruins of his home and the ashes of his family, from his tree and his boyhood, with no real destination or purpose in his mind. He had lived day by day. Well, not really lived, for he remembered little of most days. He had survived. And he thought that he was fighting that way. He thought that his existence as a whole, with him wearing his family’s crest, drinking and whoring as he pleased throughout the holy land was a big ‘fuck you’ to the Church. It was a rebellion of sorts. It was his own sort of battle. But the Church didn’t care. They didn’t care when they brought his family to ruin either. It was all in vain. He was only killing himself.
He might have killed himself further if he didn’t have so many pairs of eyes looking up at him, expectantly. They were innocent. And there were many others outside those walls. Stupid and ignorant, as humans always were, but innocent all the same.
It was his family’s duty to protect the innocent. He still bore their crest. It was his long-forgotten duty. Maybe he hadn’t had a choice back then, but he had one now.
He gave in. He looked in that mirror and he gave in.
And he found that it felt good – not that he had much time to contemplate that aspect. It felt good to scheme and prepare and wait, only to find that his ideas were working in the end. It felt good to be listened to. It was a reaffirmation of his skills, of what he had been taught. It was a reaffirmation that he wasn’t fully dead, not yet at least. So he enjoyed the feeling.
Until he fell down a hole for the second time that day. The air left his lungs at the impact and Trevor found himself coughing for air as he rose on his knees and hands. It did not hurt, not as much – his heart was beating, pumping hot blood through his body. He imagined it would hurt like a bitch later, but not as long as the effects of the adrenaline were present.
“It looks like we’re back in the catacombs,” someone spoke up then, voice a little breathless. “Only… deeper.”
‘No shit.’ Trevor needed a moment before recognizing the voice. Sypha. The sharp-tongued Speaker. She was already on her feet, shaking the dust off of her blue robe. When her gaze returned to her surroundings, she seemed to pay more attention to details – the weird machinery and the way every pieced connected, one’s movement influencing the other’s, the numerous pipes.
This time he had company at least. Not the most pleasant but she had proved to be a fierce little thing. She could wield magic. He wasn’t going to be complaining about that just then.
Trevor got up on his feet as well.
“You said that all of this resembles your great-grandfather’s description of Dracula’s castle,” Sypha began, curiosity unmasked.
The hunter sighed. “It does. Or it is one of his creations anyway.” That sort of machinery wasn’t man-made. Not at such a scale. “I didn’t think he’d leave it in this state though.” That part of the catacombs looked unstable. Rusty. He didn’t imagine that could have been the fate of Dracula’s castle. This was something different. But for what purpose?
“So it could be something else.”
“Yes, but not your Messiah still.”
Sypha didn’t seem pleased. With that, Trevor advanced, trying to assess the situation. They couldn’t really go up. Or down. He didn’t know how the length of this labyrinth. But they couldn’t remain still either. He took out his whip then and aimed for the scaffold. He looked at Sypha but she seemed to share his worry – it looked unstable. But they had nothing else. So she went down and he followed her.
There was an impact.
A creak.
And it all came crashing down around them. Again. And again.
And Trevor found himself without air again. His ears rung, eyes shutting from the dust. ‘If we fall one more time…’
They didn’t. Trevor managed to regain his balance through the dust and as it cleared out, he opened his eyes. Just as Sypha, he looked ahead. There was light and there was a hall and at the end of it… a coffin.
And others.
‘Fuck.’
So Trevor did what he did best. He masked his wariness with cockiness as his hand moved to the blade he carried at his hip. “Let’s play nice… I don’t like sharing, but I am sure we can reach an agreement."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
‘It is what it is.’
The stone hall stood tall and dark and mute before them – four guards flanked the pair of women, the same guards that had escorted them to the remote castle in the first place. Their tongues were silent, but their steps were not: the armor’s roars filled the silence of the hall, metal scraping against metal and stone. Eir paid them no mind – neither did they, after all – as she walked along her mistress, her hands dutifully placed at her back. They fascinated her really, her surroundings. It wasn’t the castle itself or its grandness, as she had seen it many times from the outside, but the way it brimmed with life on the inside. If she could say that about a vampire’s home. The halls were lit, but not by torches. It was another type of light, an unnatural one, not made by the sun, or by a flame. Was it a source of energy? And pipes that hung on the wall… most likely carrying and warming water or another liquid.
It wasn’t something accessible to humans. It was inspired by humans and their discoveries, for she could see the similarities, but this was something else. And the knowledge of it traveled among vampires exclusively. Of course. To the outside world, this was witchcraft. Any revolutionary idea had to be considered heresy in its crib.
Eir had heard of it but she hadn’t really seen… well, she had seen. But the context had been different,
‘It is what it is.’
It began with a warm sensation, like all visions. Her surroundings would be distorted. Then she would see a hall like this one, long and wide. An endless hall, with many turns and many doors and in the middle of it stood a young woman, her face covered by a mane of red hair.
Eir looked down at her mistress.
‘It is what it is.’
She thought of encouraging her – perhaps a smile or a touch or a kind word shared only between the two of them. For many years Eir had existed – for she had not truly lived, no longer – with only the memory of her emotions. What she felt were mere scraps of what had been. Living with her mistress was a rebirth and yet, it felt more like an awakening. She was not Yera, Mama Ocllo or the nothingness that had followed her sacrifice. Yet she was all three of them. She could feel pieces and pieces, pulling and scratching at what was left of her. Betrayal, hunger, desire, self-interest, all meddling with a constant need to nurture and protect and… grow. And they all swirled around Alina, her presence influencing all of them.
Looking down at her though, all could Eir do was to nod lightly. ‘It is what it is. Fate is inexorable.’ It may all seem unusual now, but it did fit, like pieces in a puzzle.
Eir imagined that is what Carmilla thought as well. The name was known, the face was not. There were stories – and what were humans if not creators and lovers of stories, as long as they fed their curiosity, their sense of happiness, sadness or fear –, but stories usually fell short of reality. And Eir didn’t believe this was mere curiosity on her part, the curiosity for the inhabitants of her land that chose to live solitarily. After all, the letter she had sent had resembled more of a summoning than an invitation, despite the sweetness of its tone. She could not be refused. The arrival of the guards had followed the letter.
They stopped. There was nothing to stop for but they did anyway, seemingly arriving at their destination. The guard that stood in front of them and the other two at their sides moved to their back. Eir too took a step back and away from her mistress.
“Wait,” one said simply.
So they waited.
Carmilla was first heard, not seen. Her heels clicked on the stone long before she came into the light. When she did, the room grew colder – her expression was blank, not pleased, nor displeased, her stance assertive: her back was as straight as the white hair that lingered on it. She was dressed in all red and gold, a regal appearance. Yet, she didn’t move for the intimidating chair placed in the middle of the room to complete the image. She moved toward the two women instead and with a simple gesture of one of the hands she had hidden carefully at her back, the four guards were dismissed.
The corners of her crimson lips turned up. Carmilla smiled and her eyes twinkled. In pleasure or mischief, Eir did not know.
She extended her hands then, to the redhead. “Welcome to my home,” she began. “I hope this whole affair had not been a trouble to you.”
Home. It did sound nice. Inviting.
Lucyfer
That’s the answer Trevor Belmont had offered the Elder when the old man had begun his eve-of-battle speech. Trevor had thought that he had picked the easy way out: agree with the Elder that yes, he didn’t run away – perhaps he wanted to believe that himself or perhaps he was just being prideful–, so that the Speaker could turn to his followers and tell them that they too should not give up. Then Trevor would counterattack that belief all over again in an effort to get them out of Gresit and to safety. But he hadn’t been quite right.
“Really. So what are you running to? Did you have a destination in mind?”
And he hadn’t quite expected that response. ‘I am not falling for that, old man.’
He knew what the Elder wanted. It was what everyone wanted, a common want separated by different purposes – for him to look in the mirror and reflect upon who he was and, hopefully, come to a realization that would be followed by a decision. The Church and its people wanted him to see a malicious and sinful creature, a threat to the common good. They wanted him out of their way, though he doubted they would mind a more violent end on his part. The Speakers didn’t have such high hopes. Trevor didn’t believe they wanted him to see a fighter in that mirror. They wanted him to see a defeated man on the run. They wanted him to accept that and move on. So he did what he always did when he was cornered. He took it personally and got angry.
Even if it was the truth. He had been running. He had run away from the ruins of his home and the ashes of his family, from his tree and his boyhood, with no real destination or purpose in his mind. He had lived day by day. Well, not really lived, for he remembered little of most days. He had survived. And he thought that he was fighting that way. He thought that his existence as a whole, with him wearing his family’s crest, drinking and whoring as he pleased throughout the holy land was a big ‘fuck you’ to the Church. It was a rebellion of sorts. It was his own sort of battle. But the Church didn’t care. They didn’t care when they brought his family to ruin either. It was all in vain. He was only killing himself.
He might have killed himself further if he didn’t have so many pairs of eyes looking up at him, expectantly. They were innocent. And there were many others outside those walls. Stupid and ignorant, as humans always were, but innocent all the same.
It was his family’s duty to protect the innocent. He still bore their crest. It was his long-forgotten duty. Maybe he hadn’t had a choice back then, but he had one now.
He gave in. He looked in that mirror and he gave in.
And he found that it felt good – not that he had much time to contemplate that aspect. It felt good to scheme and prepare and wait, only to find that his ideas were working in the end. It felt good to be listened to. It was a reaffirmation of his skills, of what he had been taught. It was a reaffirmation that he wasn’t fully dead, not yet at least. So he enjoyed the feeling.
Until he fell down a hole for the second time that day. The air left his lungs at the impact and Trevor found himself coughing for air as he rose on his knees and hands. It did not hurt, not as much – his heart was beating, pumping hot blood through his body. He imagined it would hurt like a bitch later, but not as long as the effects of the adrenaline were present.
“It looks like we’re back in the catacombs,” someone spoke up then, voice a little breathless. “Only… deeper.”
‘No shit.’ Trevor needed a moment before recognizing the voice. Sypha. The sharp-tongued Speaker. She was already on her feet, shaking the dust off of her blue robe. When her gaze returned to her surroundings, she seemed to pay more attention to details – the weird machinery and the way every pieced connected, one’s movement influencing the other’s, the numerous pipes.
This time he had company at least. Not the most pleasant but she had proved to be a fierce little thing. She could wield magic. He wasn’t going to be complaining about that just then.
Trevor got up on his feet as well.
“You said that all of this resembles your great-grandfather’s description of Dracula’s castle,” Sypha began, curiosity unmasked.
The hunter sighed. “It does. Or it is one of his creations anyway.” That sort of machinery wasn’t man-made. Not at such a scale. “I didn’t think he’d leave it in this state though.” That part of the catacombs looked unstable. Rusty. He didn’t imagine that could have been the fate of Dracula’s castle. This was something different. But for what purpose?
“So it could be something else.”
“Yes, but not your Messiah still.”
Sypha didn’t seem pleased. With that, Trevor advanced, trying to assess the situation. They couldn’t really go up. Or down. He didn’t know how the length of this labyrinth. But they couldn’t remain still either. He took out his whip then and aimed for the scaffold. He looked at Sypha but she seemed to share his worry – it looked unstable. But they had nothing else. So she went down and he followed her.
There was an impact.
A creak.
And it all came crashing down around them. Again. And again.
And Trevor found himself without air again. His ears rung, eyes shutting from the dust. ‘If we fall one more time…’
They didn’t. Trevor managed to regain his balance through the dust and as it cleared out, he opened his eyes. Just as Sypha, he looked ahead. There was light and there was a hall and at the end of it… a coffin.
And others.
‘Fuck.’
So Trevor did what he did best. He masked his wariness with cockiness as his hand moved to the blade he carried at his hip. “Let’s play nice… I don’t like sharing, but I am sure we can reach an agreement."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
‘It is what it is.’
The stone hall stood tall and dark and mute before them – four guards flanked the pair of women, the same guards that had escorted them to the remote castle in the first place. Their tongues were silent, but their steps were not: the armor’s roars filled the silence of the hall, metal scraping against metal and stone. Eir paid them no mind – neither did they, after all – as she walked along her mistress, her hands dutifully placed at her back. They fascinated her really, her surroundings. It wasn’t the castle itself or its grandness, as she had seen it many times from the outside, but the way it brimmed with life on the inside. If she could say that about a vampire’s home. The halls were lit, but not by torches. It was another type of light, an unnatural one, not made by the sun, or by a flame. Was it a source of energy? And pipes that hung on the wall… most likely carrying and warming water or another liquid.
It wasn’t something accessible to humans. It was inspired by humans and their discoveries, for she could see the similarities, but this was something else. And the knowledge of it traveled among vampires exclusively. Of course. To the outside world, this was witchcraft. Any revolutionary idea had to be considered heresy in its crib.
Eir had heard of it but she hadn’t really seen… well, she had seen. But the context had been different,
‘It is what it is.’
It began with a warm sensation, like all visions. Her surroundings would be distorted. Then she would see a hall like this one, long and wide. An endless hall, with many turns and many doors and in the middle of it stood a young woman, her face covered by a mane of red hair.
Eir looked down at her mistress.
‘It is what it is.’
She thought of encouraging her – perhaps a smile or a touch or a kind word shared only between the two of them. For many years Eir had existed – for she had not truly lived, no longer – with only the memory of her emotions. What she felt were mere scraps of what had been. Living with her mistress was a rebirth and yet, it felt more like an awakening. She was not Yera, Mama Ocllo or the nothingness that had followed her sacrifice. Yet she was all three of them. She could feel pieces and pieces, pulling and scratching at what was left of her. Betrayal, hunger, desire, self-interest, all meddling with a constant need to nurture and protect and… grow. And they all swirled around Alina, her presence influencing all of them.
Looking down at her though, all could Eir do was to nod lightly. ‘It is what it is. Fate is inexorable.’ It may all seem unusual now, but it did fit, like pieces in a puzzle.
Eir imagined that is what Carmilla thought as well. The name was known, the face was not. There were stories – and what were humans if not creators and lovers of stories, as long as they fed their curiosity, their sense of happiness, sadness or fear –, but stories usually fell short of reality. And Eir didn’t believe this was mere curiosity on her part, the curiosity for the inhabitants of her land that chose to live solitarily. After all, the letter she had sent had resembled more of a summoning than an invitation, despite the sweetness of its tone. She could not be refused. The arrival of the guards had followed the letter.
They stopped. There was nothing to stop for but they did anyway, seemingly arriving at their destination. The guard that stood in front of them and the other two at their sides moved to their back. Eir too took a step back and away from her mistress.
“Wait,” one said simply.
So they waited.
Carmilla was first heard, not seen. Her heels clicked on the stone long before she came into the light. When she did, the room grew colder – her expression was blank, not pleased, nor displeased, her stance assertive: her back was as straight as the white hair that lingered on it. She was dressed in all red and gold, a regal appearance. Yet, she didn’t move for the intimidating chair placed in the middle of the room to complete the image. She moved toward the two women instead and with a simple gesture of one of the hands she had hidden carefully at her back, the four guards were dismissed.
The corners of her crimson lips turned up. Carmilla smiled and her eyes twinkled. In pleasure or mischief, Eir did not know.
She extended her hands then, to the redhead. “Welcome to my home,” she began. “I hope this whole affair had not been a trouble to you.”
Home. It did sound nice. Inviting.
Lucyfer
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Lucyfer
Said you'd die for me, well -- there's the ground
The entire place was coming apart.
Lucia Belune was not terribly surprised as more dust and debris fell around her, scattering into her hair. She brushed a distracted hand through the short, black locks, and glanced over at her companions – a young woman who had come to her from Lisa, Ilene Moraru, and Johann Sterling, who kept his crossbow in hand.
They had all come to find Adrian Tepes, aware of enough legends that placed Adrian here – or rather, Alucard, as legends put it. Legends that Speakers passed down.
“We really need to hurry,” Johann murmured, speaking Romanian, albeit heavily accented. He much preferred German, or even Latin, but for the sake of Ilene, he had adapted to Romanian. Not to mention it would probably be appreciated by Adrian, too.
Lucia just gave a quiet nod as the entered a chamber lined with red and gold carpet, leading up to a black altar of sorts – and a coffin. “There he is,” Lucia said, sounding a bit sorrowful. The red tanks were full of blood, no doubt used in healing him. That he was wounded was not in question, though Lucia still found it hard to believe that Dracula would strike his own son.
Lisa’s son.
“Stay here a moment,” she said and walked up the steps.
Johann paused…on a trap-step. “Ah! Sorry!” He quickly lifted his foot off it, but the pressure had already been applied.
Thankfully, it seemed to be more of a warning than anything – unless another break in the building was inspired by it, as there was another crash, much closer this time. The casket moved, but Lucia turned from it as she heard steps entering the room, and saw, not at all to her pleasure, a man walking into the room – wearing the infamous Belmont crest.
Her lips curled in distaste, flashing a fang as she strode down the steps while the coffin started to open, “Keep him safe,” Lucia told Johann and Ilene both as she strode forward, grateful she’d chosen her armor over a dress right then, the red cape always having a nice billowing effect behind her. If a Belmont was here, she assumed that meant he was there to kill Alucard.
Or her.
But she didn’t think any hunter had followed her. Certainly not without her noticing.
Johann stepped back, took a knee, and aimed his crossbow but didn’t fire.
Lucia addressed the man, noting the Speaker coming up behind him, “Belmont.” Cocky, reeking of alcohol, “What a coincidence. I’m not one for sharing either.” She didn’t reach for her blade, though.
The Speaker gasped, and Lucia did not turn around. She knew what it would be – Adrian, arisen from his coffin, and she all but confirmed it, “It’s like the prophecies said….”
Only Alucard wasn’t yet in the best of state. He heard the voices around him, his senses slow to wake up with him. There were many who were present. Two seemed familiar by scent; his golden eyes weren’t yet ready to open, the wound on his chest still throbbed with an old ache, despite how long it had to heal.
His hand drew towards that wound, touched it, before it closed into a fist over it. “Why are you all here?” He asked the room, while he was trying to get his bearings.
~***~
Of all the things that Alina Meier had meant to do in life, drawing the attention of Carmilla was not on that list. She was aware – more aware – of what Carmilla was even before their paths crossed, though she was not certain of it until arriving on the outskirts of Styria. The red-head witch had contemplated meeting her before now, to let her know she meant no harm in her territory, but she had never done as much.
She had been left alone, tending to those of Styria, and elsewhere, for years. Until now – as the wind blew of rumors of demons far fouler than Eir rising up to the world, driven by a vampire named Dracula. So far, Alina had seen nothing of the sort, but she did not doubt it.
The world had changed. She could feel it – and she had spoken with Eir, just as well.
It was for these reasons, and others, that Alina went along with the guards and followed them to Carmilla’s castle. Curiosity of what was going on, curiosity about Carmilla herself, and curiosity of what Carmilla wanted – for it was no invitation. It was a demand, which meant, something was wanted.
Hopefully, it wasn’t her head.
Alina’s gaze trailed along the walls as they stepped in, leaving behind the night, to observe the structures within. Her mind worked to wrap around the technology that she observed, the pipes, the heights, the lights that no fire brightened. It was amazing to her, even with her knowledge of magicks in the world, and it was easy enough to see that Eir found much of it similarly fascinating.
Her familiar did not give much away, but Alina considered she had learned enough to read some aspects of her expression.
When they were told to halt, Alina did so abruptly, and blinked, looking around owlishly to determine why. She assumed she was much too tired when initially she spotted nothing. Carmilla had not given her much warning to prepare to be awake at this hour, and seeing nothing, she allowed herself a moment to yawn, and stretch.
It was mid-stretch of her arms up that she heard the clicks, and she quickly drew her arms down and crossed them behind her back, before giving herself a once-over.
The white attire was in rather stark contrast to the area, but even meeting a vampire, she thought it best. White made people look innocent, and the lace at the hems and sleeves. If Carmilla wanted to kill her, or accuse her, the look may help, despite the mane of fiery hair that seemed to contradict all innocence.
Nonetheless, she stood and waited, and let her eyes find the woman as she finally came into sight.
A woman who did not at all look holy, even with white hair. They were nearly a contrast.
The guards left without a word, and as they left, Alina’s gaze followed them, and in doing so, noticed another on the steps, coming into view. He was much quieter, dressed in darker hues, with darker skin, but similarly light hair – not white, but silver – and Alina wondered a moment if he was also a vampire. ‘No, not quite.’ But even from afar, she could tell there was something to the quiet man as he stepped more into sight.
He stayed behind Carmilla, lingered by the throne but did not sit.
Alina’s gaze returned to the woman who had summoned her, and she shook her head, “No trouble, my lady,” she didn’t actually know the proper address for her, “How is it I may help you?” Was that too direct? It was probably too direct. She needed to interact with people more often who weren’t just clients.
‘But that is what she is….’ A client. A vampire, but a client.
Hector observed the woman and the demon – for he could tell what that was with a glance, no matter how human it looked, all demons had an aura about them that he could see – that Carmilla thought could help Dracula. ‘A witch.’ That much was clear, for why else would the demon be there?
She wasn’t a Forgemaster. At least, Hector didn’t think so, though that may have also explained the presence of the demon.
He wouldn’t speak. He wasn’t there to speak, he was there to observe the situation for Dracula who didn’t quite trust Carmilla. She delayed in going to him – delayed an entire year – and only now spoke of a witch and some assistance? It was suspicious.
He also realized, after the woman spoke, he had no idea what she’d said. It was a language he was unfamiliar with. His brows knit together. This could make things…complicated. He forgot that Carmilla’s people probably didn’t speak Romanian…or any language he was familiar with.
Lucia Belune was not terribly surprised as more dust and debris fell around her, scattering into her hair. She brushed a distracted hand through the short, black locks, and glanced over at her companions – a young woman who had come to her from Lisa, Ilene Moraru, and Johann Sterling, who kept his crossbow in hand.
They had all come to find Adrian Tepes, aware of enough legends that placed Adrian here – or rather, Alucard, as legends put it. Legends that Speakers passed down.
“We really need to hurry,” Johann murmured, speaking Romanian, albeit heavily accented. He much preferred German, or even Latin, but for the sake of Ilene, he had adapted to Romanian. Not to mention it would probably be appreciated by Adrian, too.
Lucia just gave a quiet nod as the entered a chamber lined with red and gold carpet, leading up to a black altar of sorts – and a coffin. “There he is,” Lucia said, sounding a bit sorrowful. The red tanks were full of blood, no doubt used in healing him. That he was wounded was not in question, though Lucia still found it hard to believe that Dracula would strike his own son.
Lisa’s son.
“Stay here a moment,” she said and walked up the steps.
Johann paused…on a trap-step. “Ah! Sorry!” He quickly lifted his foot off it, but the pressure had already been applied.
Thankfully, it seemed to be more of a warning than anything – unless another break in the building was inspired by it, as there was another crash, much closer this time. The casket moved, but Lucia turned from it as she heard steps entering the room, and saw, not at all to her pleasure, a man walking into the room – wearing the infamous Belmont crest.
Her lips curled in distaste, flashing a fang as she strode down the steps while the coffin started to open, “Keep him safe,” Lucia told Johann and Ilene both as she strode forward, grateful she’d chosen her armor over a dress right then, the red cape always having a nice billowing effect behind her. If a Belmont was here, she assumed that meant he was there to kill Alucard.
Or her.
But she didn’t think any hunter had followed her. Certainly not without her noticing.
Johann stepped back, took a knee, and aimed his crossbow but didn’t fire.
Lucia addressed the man, noting the Speaker coming up behind him, “Belmont.” Cocky, reeking of alcohol, “What a coincidence. I’m not one for sharing either.” She didn’t reach for her blade, though.
The Speaker gasped, and Lucia did not turn around. She knew what it would be – Adrian, arisen from his coffin, and she all but confirmed it, “It’s like the prophecies said….”
Only Alucard wasn’t yet in the best of state. He heard the voices around him, his senses slow to wake up with him. There were many who were present. Two seemed familiar by scent; his golden eyes weren’t yet ready to open, the wound on his chest still throbbed with an old ache, despite how long it had to heal.
His hand drew towards that wound, touched it, before it closed into a fist over it. “Why are you all here?” He asked the room, while he was trying to get his bearings.
~***~
Of all the things that Alina Meier had meant to do in life, drawing the attention of Carmilla was not on that list. She was aware – more aware – of what Carmilla was even before their paths crossed, though she was not certain of it until arriving on the outskirts of Styria. The red-head witch had contemplated meeting her before now, to let her know she meant no harm in her territory, but she had never done as much.
She had been left alone, tending to those of Styria, and elsewhere, for years. Until now – as the wind blew of rumors of demons far fouler than Eir rising up to the world, driven by a vampire named Dracula. So far, Alina had seen nothing of the sort, but she did not doubt it.
The world had changed. She could feel it – and she had spoken with Eir, just as well.
It was for these reasons, and others, that Alina went along with the guards and followed them to Carmilla’s castle. Curiosity of what was going on, curiosity about Carmilla herself, and curiosity of what Carmilla wanted – for it was no invitation. It was a demand, which meant, something was wanted.
Hopefully, it wasn’t her head.
Alina’s gaze trailed along the walls as they stepped in, leaving behind the night, to observe the structures within. Her mind worked to wrap around the technology that she observed, the pipes, the heights, the lights that no fire brightened. It was amazing to her, even with her knowledge of magicks in the world, and it was easy enough to see that Eir found much of it similarly fascinating.
Her familiar did not give much away, but Alina considered she had learned enough to read some aspects of her expression.
When they were told to halt, Alina did so abruptly, and blinked, looking around owlishly to determine why. She assumed she was much too tired when initially she spotted nothing. Carmilla had not given her much warning to prepare to be awake at this hour, and seeing nothing, she allowed herself a moment to yawn, and stretch.
It was mid-stretch of her arms up that she heard the clicks, and she quickly drew her arms down and crossed them behind her back, before giving herself a once-over.
The white attire was in rather stark contrast to the area, but even meeting a vampire, she thought it best. White made people look innocent, and the lace at the hems and sleeves. If Carmilla wanted to kill her, or accuse her, the look may help, despite the mane of fiery hair that seemed to contradict all innocence.
Nonetheless, she stood and waited, and let her eyes find the woman as she finally came into sight.
A woman who did not at all look holy, even with white hair. They were nearly a contrast.
The guards left without a word, and as they left, Alina’s gaze followed them, and in doing so, noticed another on the steps, coming into view. He was much quieter, dressed in darker hues, with darker skin, but similarly light hair – not white, but silver – and Alina wondered a moment if he was also a vampire. ‘No, not quite.’ But even from afar, she could tell there was something to the quiet man as he stepped more into sight.
He stayed behind Carmilla, lingered by the throne but did not sit.
Alina’s gaze returned to the woman who had summoned her, and she shook her head, “No trouble, my lady,” she didn’t actually know the proper address for her, “How is it I may help you?” Was that too direct? It was probably too direct. She needed to interact with people more often who weren’t just clients.
‘But that is what she is….’ A client. A vampire, but a client.
Hector observed the woman and the demon – for he could tell what that was with a glance, no matter how human it looked, all demons had an aura about them that he could see – that Carmilla thought could help Dracula. ‘A witch.’ That much was clear, for why else would the demon be there?
She wasn’t a Forgemaster. At least, Hector didn’t think so, though that may have also explained the presence of the demon.
He wouldn’t speak. He wasn’t there to speak, he was there to observe the situation for Dracula who didn’t quite trust Carmilla. She delayed in going to him – delayed an entire year – and only now spoke of a witch and some assistance? It was suspicious.
He also realized, after the woman spoke, he had no idea what she’d said. It was a language he was unfamiliar with. His brows knit together. This could make things…complicated. He forgot that Carmilla’s people probably didn’t speak Romanian…or any language he was familiar with.
Asteria
⚔️
Trevor’s rash attempt at an introduction did not go unnoticed. His first thought regarding the intruders – even if he and Sypha were intruders themselves – was the simplest of possibilities: some other fools in the search of a legendary savior, treasure hunters at best.
He was proved otherwise. The armored woman turned and with her, Trevor’s expression changed from apparent cockiness to repulsion. Hers was no different, eyes of red boring into the darkness of his as she bared a fang at him. Trevor frowned, his lips becoming a thin line. The grip on the pommel of the sword tightened and his other hand slid to his whip.
Vampiress.
She did not move to strike yet and despite his body tensing underneath her gaze, he didn’t either. He remained still.
This was something else, something bigger than their momentary understanding. He had told Sypha, but she had not listened, she had not wanted to believe the existence of another possibility aside from her childish stories. The surprise at his earlier words was replaced by hope and faith. But to Trevor, it all fit – the strange machinery that was hidden beneath the ground, the coffin, and the tanks filled with… blood. The presence of a vampire was no little feat either, for they were not creatures that preoccupied themselves with the chase of trinkets.
He could understand her presence but not that of her companions. His body was aware of her and his eyes fixed little else than the vampiress, but his gaze traveled here and there in quick splits. There was a blond man with a crossbow aimed at him and not far from him, a dark-haired woman in a stance similar to Sypha’s. The ring finger connected to the thumb, her hand moving into a cross-motion. A silver cross hung from the chain at her hip. A woman of faith. A sister of the Light, even.
Both protecting whatever hid in the coffin. Trevor still didn’t think him to be a savior.
“Too bad,” he retorted to the vampiress as she responded. “You can’t say I haven’t tried to bargain, at least.” He hadn’t tried. He didn’t even want to try.
He would have unsheathed his sword right there and then. But he heard Sypha’s murmurs and Trevor saw it too, from the corner of his eye, the object of her surprise – the rising pale body. It did not settle on the ground but continued to float in the air. The light blond strands of air surrounded his inclined head and no features could be distinguished. Yet, they could not hide the mark on his chest.
And he spoke up. And he questioned.
Sypha was the first to speak up, her eyes shining, her lips curled upwards. “The prophecy,” she said, loud and clear, as she took two steps forward, leaving Trevor behind her. “I am here for the prophecy.” She wanted to be heard.
Trevor did not agree with that sudden move. “Sypha,” he whispered through gritted teeth. And Sypha did not listen.
“It is said that the man who will save us from Dracula sleeps under Gresit,” she continued. “It must be you – the Sleeping Soldier, the Savior that was promised. You are the answer to this plague. Dracula is aboard in the land. He has an army of monsters. He’s determined to wipe out all human life wherever finds it. Targoviste has fallen… and Gresit is in ruins. We had been up there, we fought them, but they are relentless.” They were gone just then. But they would come back. They always came back.
Trevor’s suppressed laugh was incredulous. Scornful. “He is not a Messiah, Sypha. I might have bought it if this one here came to kill him,” his gaze continued to rest upon the dark-haired woman in front of him, her piercing gaze. “But she is protecting him.”
The other two he was neutral about. If they had been there on their own, his might have thought differently.
“A vampiress protecting her kin, isn’t that it?”
Her kin, yes. But who?
There was a small voice in the back of his head that chanted a single name: Dracula. But it hardly made any sense. Had this construction been a sort of power source for the night hordes, with Dracula at the center of it all?
His thoughts were interrupted. Not by Sypha this time, but by the holy woman. Her hand no longer moved in the air even if the position of the fingers remained the same. She was looking at the floating figure then, her brows furrowed in worry rather than in anger. “Adrian,” she spoke up, loud enough to be heard, but soft enough to not perturb him. He was alive but… “Are you all right?”
She didn’t seem to care for mythical legends and titles or the Belmont trying to make sense of it all – as long as he didn’t strike directly.
Who was he?
“Why are you all here?”
‘For Lisa.’ The answer had rung in Ilene’s ears, loud and clear.
‘For Lisa. For her son. For you.’
Carmilla found some strange pleasure in the thought of making one wait – they would wonder and question, ponder their actions and reactions. If one’s situation implied some… special circumstances, much like Dracula’s, it was even more enjoyable. She didn’t have a reason to go to him just yet. She had ears and eyes all over the castle. Carmilla would let the other vampires spit and bite at each other until they enraged Dracula and when the realization would hit him – that his generals were all headless creatures with blood instead of brain, who served nothing and no one except their own interests – and he would find himself at a loss, she would appear. The heaven amid the storm. The solution.
Only if he knew…
But she had been well aware that her prolonged absence would raise questions. So she had found excuses: securing the region, uprisings, villagers and pitchforks and the occasional holy threats. The usual sort of trouble. How could she serve him if she lost her region, after all?
And with formal excuses had come the promise of a gift, an addition to his collection of skilled humans.
That landed her a pet to walk after her skirts. Carmilla had been slightly bothered by Hector’s arrival, but she had begun to see the advantages. He was a Devil Forgemaster. He was clever. Slow at times, perhaps, and a little childish, but she could make use of these undesirable traits. They made him impressionable. Her home was unknown territory to him – another land, another language, another culture. He would do no harm. But Carmilla intended to make use of him.
Just as she intended to make use of the witch that had just entered her castle.
Carmilla had known and somehow hadn’t known what to expect. Mortal gossip had reached her ears first: two women living in the woods, not far from her castle. While some spoke of mere ointments for simple ailments, others spoke of... more. Carmilla was not one to believe the loose tongues of the livestock that surrounded her, so she had sent her own spies soon after. And, at last, she had sent her guards to retrieve her.
She was small. That was the first detail that caught the vampiress' eyes. She was taller compared to most, but looking down at the red-head that stood in front of her made her aware of just how tall she could truly be. The white fabric and lace made her appearance pristine, holy even. The vampiress almost could call herself disappointed.
Almost. She was familiar with appearances and what they hid. She had worn a similar dress on the night she had killed the old fool that had tormented her for so long. She had been quiet that night, gentle and sweet and all smiles. And she had struck.
But she had been alone. The witch, on the other hand, was not. Not far behind stood another woman, darker in appearance. She was silent, as much as her Hector. Her familiar, she presumed. Carmilla was well aware of such a connection. The demon was a source of power in a sense. Shame she could not have one for herself.
The small red-head jumped right into the core of things. The vampiress heard the question, but she did not answer, her lips curving into an amused grin. Her tone seemed somewhat disappointed, however.
“You have been living with your friend on my land for a while now, so I have heard,” she begun. “It is a shame that I had to hear such news from others and not from you directly. It would have been a pleasure to have met you earlier.” A sigh parted her lips. “But I do not blame you. I know what can be said about me.”
The gossip surrounding her own persona was old news already.
“And even if Styria is far more,” there was a pause as Carmilla seemed to think of a proper word to use, “lenient than other places, people still whisper. But you must be aware of that, Alina Meier. Or used to it. Your choice to live in the woods is peculiar. Strategic, of course, but peculiar.” She was, after all, surrounded by everything one would need to survive. Water, food, wood. Yet, not many would make the same choice. “Especially for two women. The world can be cruel to our kind.” Monster or not. Immortal or not.
“So I wonder, how has Styria been of help to you? And how may I be?” Carmilla switched the tables easily. “You don’t seem to be scared of me.” For it was clear what she was. Yet, the red-head didn’t even flinch. Most did, despite the awareness.
A ghost of a smile danced atop Eir’s lips as Alina stretched in the middle of the dark hall. She quickly dismissed it however, considering the setting. But it was nice to see her somewhat relaxed. Tired, yes. But relaxed. She had grown. She was no longer the pleading and fearful and angry – or, well, not as angry – girl surrounded by steel bars. She was more confident. Even when faced with a vampire.
Eir wanted that for her. This was the first but it would not the last of her meetings. She needed to get used to it.
Yet, Eir’s gaze wavered for a moment as another silhouette came into sight.
Devil Forgemaster.
Eir did not need to be told. Forgemasters carried an energy that was irresistible to most demons due to its powerful nature. It was that energy and its addictive undertones that was the root of the bond between the Forgemaster and his creatures. The Forgemaster gave them the gift of life and his creations offered him their lives in return. Loyalty connected them to their master until the end.
It was something similar to the bond she shared with her mistress.
And oh, he appeared to be so lost.
Lucyfer
He was proved otherwise. The armored woman turned and with her, Trevor’s expression changed from apparent cockiness to repulsion. Hers was no different, eyes of red boring into the darkness of his as she bared a fang at him. Trevor frowned, his lips becoming a thin line. The grip on the pommel of the sword tightened and his other hand slid to his whip.
Vampiress.
She did not move to strike yet and despite his body tensing underneath her gaze, he didn’t either. He remained still.
This was something else, something bigger than their momentary understanding. He had told Sypha, but she had not listened, she had not wanted to believe the existence of another possibility aside from her childish stories. The surprise at his earlier words was replaced by hope and faith. But to Trevor, it all fit – the strange machinery that was hidden beneath the ground, the coffin, and the tanks filled with… blood. The presence of a vampire was no little feat either, for they were not creatures that preoccupied themselves with the chase of trinkets.
He could understand her presence but not that of her companions. His body was aware of her and his eyes fixed little else than the vampiress, but his gaze traveled here and there in quick splits. There was a blond man with a crossbow aimed at him and not far from him, a dark-haired woman in a stance similar to Sypha’s. The ring finger connected to the thumb, her hand moving into a cross-motion. A silver cross hung from the chain at her hip. A woman of faith. A sister of the Light, even.
Both protecting whatever hid in the coffin. Trevor still didn’t think him to be a savior.
“Too bad,” he retorted to the vampiress as she responded. “You can’t say I haven’t tried to bargain, at least.” He hadn’t tried. He didn’t even want to try.
He would have unsheathed his sword right there and then. But he heard Sypha’s murmurs and Trevor saw it too, from the corner of his eye, the object of her surprise – the rising pale body. It did not settle on the ground but continued to float in the air. The light blond strands of air surrounded his inclined head and no features could be distinguished. Yet, they could not hide the mark on his chest.
And he spoke up. And he questioned.
Sypha was the first to speak up, her eyes shining, her lips curled upwards. “The prophecy,” she said, loud and clear, as she took two steps forward, leaving Trevor behind her. “I am here for the prophecy.” She wanted to be heard.
Trevor did not agree with that sudden move. “Sypha,” he whispered through gritted teeth. And Sypha did not listen.
“It is said that the man who will save us from Dracula sleeps under Gresit,” she continued. “It must be you – the Sleeping Soldier, the Savior that was promised. You are the answer to this plague. Dracula is aboard in the land. He has an army of monsters. He’s determined to wipe out all human life wherever finds it. Targoviste has fallen… and Gresit is in ruins. We had been up there, we fought them, but they are relentless.” They were gone just then. But they would come back. They always came back.
Trevor’s suppressed laugh was incredulous. Scornful. “He is not a Messiah, Sypha. I might have bought it if this one here came to kill him,” his gaze continued to rest upon the dark-haired woman in front of him, her piercing gaze. “But she is protecting him.”
The other two he was neutral about. If they had been there on their own, his might have thought differently.
“A vampiress protecting her kin, isn’t that it?”
Her kin, yes. But who?
There was a small voice in the back of his head that chanted a single name: Dracula. But it hardly made any sense. Had this construction been a sort of power source for the night hordes, with Dracula at the center of it all?
His thoughts were interrupted. Not by Sypha this time, but by the holy woman. Her hand no longer moved in the air even if the position of the fingers remained the same. She was looking at the floating figure then, her brows furrowed in worry rather than in anger. “Adrian,” she spoke up, loud enough to be heard, but soft enough to not perturb him. He was alive but… “Are you all right?”
She didn’t seem to care for mythical legends and titles or the Belmont trying to make sense of it all – as long as he didn’t strike directly.
Who was he?
“Why are you all here?”
‘For Lisa.’ The answer had rung in Ilene’s ears, loud and clear.
‘For Lisa. For her son. For you.’
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Carmilla found some strange pleasure in the thought of making one wait – they would wonder and question, ponder their actions and reactions. If one’s situation implied some… special circumstances, much like Dracula’s, it was even more enjoyable. She didn’t have a reason to go to him just yet. She had ears and eyes all over the castle. Carmilla would let the other vampires spit and bite at each other until they enraged Dracula and when the realization would hit him – that his generals were all headless creatures with blood instead of brain, who served nothing and no one except their own interests – and he would find himself at a loss, she would appear. The heaven amid the storm. The solution.
Only if he knew…
But she had been well aware that her prolonged absence would raise questions. So she had found excuses: securing the region, uprisings, villagers and pitchforks and the occasional holy threats. The usual sort of trouble. How could she serve him if she lost her region, after all?
And with formal excuses had come the promise of a gift, an addition to his collection of skilled humans.
That landed her a pet to walk after her skirts. Carmilla had been slightly bothered by Hector’s arrival, but she had begun to see the advantages. He was a Devil Forgemaster. He was clever. Slow at times, perhaps, and a little childish, but she could make use of these undesirable traits. They made him impressionable. Her home was unknown territory to him – another land, another language, another culture. He would do no harm. But Carmilla intended to make use of him.
Just as she intended to make use of the witch that had just entered her castle.
Carmilla had known and somehow hadn’t known what to expect. Mortal gossip had reached her ears first: two women living in the woods, not far from her castle. While some spoke of mere ointments for simple ailments, others spoke of... more. Carmilla was not one to believe the loose tongues of the livestock that surrounded her, so she had sent her own spies soon after. And, at last, she had sent her guards to retrieve her.
She was small. That was the first detail that caught the vampiress' eyes. She was taller compared to most, but looking down at the red-head that stood in front of her made her aware of just how tall she could truly be. The white fabric and lace made her appearance pristine, holy even. The vampiress almost could call herself disappointed.
Almost. She was familiar with appearances and what they hid. She had worn a similar dress on the night she had killed the old fool that had tormented her for so long. She had been quiet that night, gentle and sweet and all smiles. And she had struck.
But she had been alone. The witch, on the other hand, was not. Not far behind stood another woman, darker in appearance. She was silent, as much as her Hector. Her familiar, she presumed. Carmilla was well aware of such a connection. The demon was a source of power in a sense. Shame she could not have one for herself.
The small red-head jumped right into the core of things. The vampiress heard the question, but she did not answer, her lips curving into an amused grin. Her tone seemed somewhat disappointed, however.
“You have been living with your friend on my land for a while now, so I have heard,” she begun. “It is a shame that I had to hear such news from others and not from you directly. It would have been a pleasure to have met you earlier.” A sigh parted her lips. “But I do not blame you. I know what can be said about me.”
The gossip surrounding her own persona was old news already.
“And even if Styria is far more,” there was a pause as Carmilla seemed to think of a proper word to use, “lenient than other places, people still whisper. But you must be aware of that, Alina Meier. Or used to it. Your choice to live in the woods is peculiar. Strategic, of course, but peculiar.” She was, after all, surrounded by everything one would need to survive. Water, food, wood. Yet, not many would make the same choice. “Especially for two women. The world can be cruel to our kind.” Monster or not. Immortal or not.
“So I wonder, how has Styria been of help to you? And how may I be?” Carmilla switched the tables easily. “You don’t seem to be scared of me.” For it was clear what she was. Yet, the red-head didn’t even flinch. Most did, despite the awareness.
A ghost of a smile danced atop Eir’s lips as Alina stretched in the middle of the dark hall. She quickly dismissed it however, considering the setting. But it was nice to see her somewhat relaxed. Tired, yes. But relaxed. She had grown. She was no longer the pleading and fearful and angry – or, well, not as angry – girl surrounded by steel bars. She was more confident. Even when faced with a vampire.
Eir wanted that for her. This was the first but it would not the last of her meetings. She needed to get used to it.
Yet, Eir’s gaze wavered for a moment as another silhouette came into sight.
Devil Forgemaster.
Eir did not need to be told. Forgemasters carried an energy that was irresistible to most demons due to its powerful nature. It was that energy and its addictive undertones that was the root of the bond between the Forgemaster and his creatures. The Forgemaster gave them the gift of life and his creations offered him their lives in return. Loyalty connected them to their master until the end.
It was something similar to the bond she shared with her mistress.
And oh, he appeared to be so lost.
Lucyfer
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Lucyfer
Said you'd die for me, well -- there's the ground
Distraction plagued action.
Stalled hands, but the Belmont remained ever aware of the situation, and Lucia herself did not drop her guard as the Speaker began to address the Savior. ‘Ah yes. The Savior.’ She believed in prophecy. Once. She crossed one leg behind the other and stepped slowly aside, letting the Speaker come forward, giving her room, and keeping every move slow.
Human-speed. Easy for the Hunter in front of her to follow, just as she kept her hands in sight, off the gladius.
Johann adjusted himself behind her, rising as she moved, and making sure he could still aim at the Belmont, as Sypha finished her little speech, and Trevor laughed, suggesting that the savior couldn’t be this blonde-haired man because a vampire was there to protect him.
“We’re not related,” Lucia stated, “though I watched him grow up.”
Sypha gave Lucia a confused look, before her gaze moved to the holy woman, and the man who’s eyes opened. They were a rather inhuman gold, and it did begin to set in for Sypha that the Messiah may not be human, but how did these people know him? The Messiah should have been asleep for a hundred years, and the one with the cross was definitely human.
Adrian looked down at the woman who spoke to him – asked him – if he was all right. A faint smile touched his lips. There remained a deep sorrow to it, and to his recognition of three of those present, and his recognition as one who was a Speaker, and one who was a Belmont.
Lucia remained between him and the Belmont, but not the Speaker.
“No,” it was the only honest answer, wasn’t it?
His feet touched the ground then, “I thought the name was Alucard?” Sypha had heard that name ascribed to the man.
“That is what they call me here,” he answered. “I was born Adrian Tepes,” the last name, certainly, would be recognizable to the Belmont. It was Dracula’s own surname, after all, “but my mother’s people have always called me Alucard.” And how she hated it, that they would call him that – a foil to Dracula, rather than his own person.
And yet it felt easier to be that, right then. “Ilene, Johann, Lucia,” he addressed them, hesitated, “You are not here at my father’s behest, are you?”
“No, I am here at Ilene’s behest,” Lucia answered, never once looking back to Adrian, “Here to make sure you are all right, before I go and see your father.”
Sypha was connecting things in her head fast enough, “So you are – you are Dracula’s son?”
Adrian’s gaze met hers, and he gave a calm nod, pulling his sword and his coat towards himself with his telekinesis. They hadn’t moved in his sleep. “Yes…but I do not agree with his course.” It was why he had such a mark on his chest, after all.
~***~
Carmilla did not address her own question, but spoke with disappointment of how they were not meeting until just then. Should Alina be angry? Embarrassed? Ashamed? She hardly knew what to make of Carmilla on arrival, and had not meant to be a problem to anyone. Perhaps she should have paid taxes better? No one ever came to collect….
Of course, all she took up was a bit of land that no one was using.
She tried not to need anything. To want anything.
She had all the time in the world, after all, to be self-sufficient and become good at that. Just as, she supposed, Carmilla did.
Her face heated all the same, a mixture of those confused emotions, the uncertainty of what she ought to feel, touching her features. No matter how poised or calm she remained, some things would always betray her. “Styria has been welcome, Lady Carmilla,” she answered, “as welcoming as we have allowed it to be.” Better said, for they, obviously, still remained apart from it.
Outside.
“I have no need of anything, but I appreciate your concern. We mean no harm in your land or to your people, and we are capable of managing on our own, but I know land is a commodity. If you require more from us, for the land, I will be happy to make arrangements with you, Lady Carmilla.” Should she be afraid of her? The thought crossed her mind to ask, and was dismissed.
Of course she should be. Carmilla had vampire guards, and was a vampire herself. Powerful. If she wanted Alina dead, though, she wouldn’t be wasting her time with this kind of chatter. She could have tried to kill her by now. “I would certainly like to remain on your lands a while longer. As you have said, and as I know, the world is not kind to women on their own. Styria is a…breath of fresh air. I’d see it thrive.” Perhaps see Carmilla thrive, by extension. Carmilla could rule eternally and maintain that safety for women.
Hector could understand all of nothing.
It was honestly frustrating, and it was starting to show on his expression, though he wouldn’t dare to interrupt. He tried to understand things of body-language, but the woman in white moved very little. Her hands remained clasped in front of her, a demure posture. Her tone seemed inoffensive, even if the language itself had a harsh note to it.
So much of it was hard, the syllables and consonants. So much of it also seemed long and breathless, like a single word was too many hard syllables.
He didn’t like it.
Tone was hard to detect in a different language, as well. He thought Carmilla sounded disappointed at first, before she seemed to be…curious? While the tone of Alina remained relatively neutral now, harder to read.
As she herself, seemed to be striving to be.
He bit his cheek to keep himself from interrupting, or asking if they could speak in a language he understood. It didn’t stop him from crossing his arms over his chest, unnecessarily tight, or from the agitated lean his own body took towards the chair.
Stalled hands, but the Belmont remained ever aware of the situation, and Lucia herself did not drop her guard as the Speaker began to address the Savior. ‘Ah yes. The Savior.’ She believed in prophecy. Once. She crossed one leg behind the other and stepped slowly aside, letting the Speaker come forward, giving her room, and keeping every move slow.
Human-speed. Easy for the Hunter in front of her to follow, just as she kept her hands in sight, off the gladius.
Johann adjusted himself behind her, rising as she moved, and making sure he could still aim at the Belmont, as Sypha finished her little speech, and Trevor laughed, suggesting that the savior couldn’t be this blonde-haired man because a vampire was there to protect him.
“We’re not related,” Lucia stated, “though I watched him grow up.”
Sypha gave Lucia a confused look, before her gaze moved to the holy woman, and the man who’s eyes opened. They were a rather inhuman gold, and it did begin to set in for Sypha that the Messiah may not be human, but how did these people know him? The Messiah should have been asleep for a hundred years, and the one with the cross was definitely human.
Adrian looked down at the woman who spoke to him – asked him – if he was all right. A faint smile touched his lips. There remained a deep sorrow to it, and to his recognition of three of those present, and his recognition as one who was a Speaker, and one who was a Belmont.
Lucia remained between him and the Belmont, but not the Speaker.
“No,” it was the only honest answer, wasn’t it?
His feet touched the ground then, “I thought the name was Alucard?” Sypha had heard that name ascribed to the man.
“That is what they call me here,” he answered. “I was born Adrian Tepes,” the last name, certainly, would be recognizable to the Belmont. It was Dracula’s own surname, after all, “but my mother’s people have always called me Alucard.” And how she hated it, that they would call him that – a foil to Dracula, rather than his own person.
And yet it felt easier to be that, right then. “Ilene, Johann, Lucia,” he addressed them, hesitated, “You are not here at my father’s behest, are you?”
“No, I am here at Ilene’s behest,” Lucia answered, never once looking back to Adrian, “Here to make sure you are all right, before I go and see your father.”
Sypha was connecting things in her head fast enough, “So you are – you are Dracula’s son?”
Adrian’s gaze met hers, and he gave a calm nod, pulling his sword and his coat towards himself with his telekinesis. They hadn’t moved in his sleep. “Yes…but I do not agree with his course.” It was why he had such a mark on his chest, after all.
~***~
Carmilla did not address her own question, but spoke with disappointment of how they were not meeting until just then. Should Alina be angry? Embarrassed? Ashamed? She hardly knew what to make of Carmilla on arrival, and had not meant to be a problem to anyone. Perhaps she should have paid taxes better? No one ever came to collect….
Of course, all she took up was a bit of land that no one was using.
She tried not to need anything. To want anything.
She had all the time in the world, after all, to be self-sufficient and become good at that. Just as, she supposed, Carmilla did.
Her face heated all the same, a mixture of those confused emotions, the uncertainty of what she ought to feel, touching her features. No matter how poised or calm she remained, some things would always betray her. “Styria has been welcome, Lady Carmilla,” she answered, “as welcoming as we have allowed it to be.” Better said, for they, obviously, still remained apart from it.
Outside.
“I have no need of anything, but I appreciate your concern. We mean no harm in your land or to your people, and we are capable of managing on our own, but I know land is a commodity. If you require more from us, for the land, I will be happy to make arrangements with you, Lady Carmilla.” Should she be afraid of her? The thought crossed her mind to ask, and was dismissed.
Of course she should be. Carmilla had vampire guards, and was a vampire herself. Powerful. If she wanted Alina dead, though, she wouldn’t be wasting her time with this kind of chatter. She could have tried to kill her by now. “I would certainly like to remain on your lands a while longer. As you have said, and as I know, the world is not kind to women on their own. Styria is a…breath of fresh air. I’d see it thrive.” Perhaps see Carmilla thrive, by extension. Carmilla could rule eternally and maintain that safety for women.
Hector could understand all of nothing.
It was honestly frustrating, and it was starting to show on his expression, though he wouldn’t dare to interrupt. He tried to understand things of body-language, but the woman in white moved very little. Her hands remained clasped in front of her, a demure posture. Her tone seemed inoffensive, even if the language itself had a harsh note to it.
So much of it was hard, the syllables and consonants. So much of it also seemed long and breathless, like a single word was too many hard syllables.
He didn’t like it.
Tone was hard to detect in a different language, as well. He thought Carmilla sounded disappointed at first, before she seemed to be…curious? While the tone of Alina remained relatively neutral now, harder to read.
As she herself, seemed to be striving to be.
He bit his cheek to keep himself from interrupting, or asking if they could speak in a language he understood. It didn’t stop him from crossing his arms over his chest, unnecessarily tight, or from the agitated lean his own body took towards the chair.
Asteria
⚔️
Adrian smiled but it was fleeting and Ilene’s shoulders slouched lightly in recognition as gold eyes met brown ones. No, he wasn’t alright. It was the truth. And he would not be for a while. There was the possibility of him never truly recovering from what was to come but Ilene did not want to think of it – eternity was a long while to imagine one unhappy and regretful.
‘I’m sorry,’ she wanted to say but refrained from doing so. It was not the place, nor the time. “I didn’t know where else to go,” she answered Adrian’s question truthfully. “You were gone; your father began his hunt soon after what happened between the two of you… all I had were Lucia and Johann. So I went to them.”
Going back home had not been a possibility for her – even if she had thought of it as the Vlad’s minions’ shrieks ripped through the night –, nor searching for what was left of the Brotherhood of Light. And while she had lived with Lisa and her family, she knew little of Vlad’s or Adrian’s doings for they were gone most of the time. She had needed Lucia and her insight.
“I needed to find you and see that you were all right.” For Lisa, not for some prophecy.
But the Speaker continued her questioning. And it all came into place for her and for the Belmont at her side.
He was Adrian Tepes, son of Vlad Tepes.
He was Alucard, son of Dracula, names Lisa had disliked for the contrast they represented. A contrast between father and son. There was no such thing in Lisa’s eyes. They were their own people, free beings. The difference between the two hadn’t mattered to her.
While Trevor found some peace in Sypha’s realization, he found no peace in Alucard’s statement. There was more to it – the witch burned by the Church had not only been Dracula’s wife but Alucard’s mother as well. So why was he against…? “What’s in it for you?” He voiced his worry, frown deepening. “You have as much as a reason as Dracula for the killing, so why be against it?” Even if his mother had been human, even if a part of he was human as well.
Sypha grew silent as she too connected the last pieces. The wife of the Devil they had called the woman they had burned in Targoviste. She had been Dracula’s wife – not much different from the Devil, she thought. But she dismissed that childish belief. She was also Adrian’s mother. And Dracula was a father.
“You could not possibly wish to spare them out of the kindness of your heart,” Trevor taunted. “You have a better plan? What would you do without food, after all…”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Carmilla noticed the change even in its subtlety. The young woman appeared to remain composed, her tone almost impersonal in a sense; she spoke plainly and the vampiress did not believe her to be untruthful as she praised Styria and wished for nothing more than the chosen piece of land and her peace. But there were slips – her freckled face had gotten slightly red in the meantime and her expression had seemed to be touched by doubt. Wariness. Uncertainty
And Carmilla could not help but think her meek as she stood before her, her hands clasped at the front, cheeks burning. The false appearance or not. Foul play or not.
It should please her if this was her true nature, she thought. The discovery of Hector’s childish and impressionable nature had pleased her. Yet, the vampiress found herself pleased, nor disappointed as in the moment she had first laid her eyes on her. There was a wave of fleeting anger, deep-rooted anger that had led to disappointment and sorrow many times over. Her expression did not betray her emotions as the young witch did for Carmilla had years of practice: one, two, three, tens and hundreds. Her light blue eyes – almost silvery in appearance – continued to stare her down just as before.
She let the bitter anger flow. And she let it go. ‘She is young. She has a potential that can be built on.’
Just like she had been. ‘And I will rip it out of her and shape it myself if I have to.’
She did not think that would be the case as long as the familiar was at her side. She was aware of the flow of power between the two.
“It pleases me to hear that,” Carmilla offered, nodding so. The girl was well-spoken after all. Polite. “This is what I want Styria to be. I want it to be different.” Good or bad, that depended on one’s view on the world. But sweet words did not interest her.
Alina interested her. “You lead a simple life,” she remarked with interest. “And you need nothing more.” Just as Alina herself had mentioned. Carmilla wasn’t a stranger to this belief – not wanting or seeking things outside of her capacity due to having to procure them from others led to not needing them at all. Simple independence was better than dependency when you had lived off of it for so long. “This is the fate of gifted people, I suppose. Seclusion.”
Carmilla couldn’t call her life simple. She wasn’t even that secluded – she liked to be amid things, to have influence.
But Hector… “You see the brooding man that stands behind me?” She didn’t refer to him by name. Even if she couldn’t see him – and she didn’t turn around to point him out either –, she was well-aware that he may have gotten irritated in the meantime. It almost pained her that she couldn’t see his expression right then. “Devil Forgemaster. He had lived much like yourself, in a small wooden cabin on the Rhodes Island in Greece, reviving dead animals. And now… general of the largest army. Dracula’s army. History is being written in another part of the world and one must pick his side.”
“You should want more.” Not from someone else but from herself.
Eir felt the uneasiness. The uncertainty.
And she heard the name: Dracula. Of course.
‘I’m sorry,’ she wanted to say but refrained from doing so. It was not the place, nor the time. “I didn’t know where else to go,” she answered Adrian’s question truthfully. “You were gone; your father began his hunt soon after what happened between the two of you… all I had were Lucia and Johann. So I went to them.”
Going back home had not been a possibility for her – even if she had thought of it as the Vlad’s minions’ shrieks ripped through the night –, nor searching for what was left of the Brotherhood of Light. And while she had lived with Lisa and her family, she knew little of Vlad’s or Adrian’s doings for they were gone most of the time. She had needed Lucia and her insight.
“I needed to find you and see that you were all right.” For Lisa, not for some prophecy.
But the Speaker continued her questioning. And it all came into place for her and for the Belmont at her side.
He was Adrian Tepes, son of Vlad Tepes.
He was Alucard, son of Dracula, names Lisa had disliked for the contrast they represented. A contrast between father and son. There was no such thing in Lisa’s eyes. They were their own people, free beings. The difference between the two hadn’t mattered to her.
While Trevor found some peace in Sypha’s realization, he found no peace in Alucard’s statement. There was more to it – the witch burned by the Church had not only been Dracula’s wife but Alucard’s mother as well. So why was he against…? “What’s in it for you?” He voiced his worry, frown deepening. “You have as much as a reason as Dracula for the killing, so why be against it?” Even if his mother had been human, even if a part of he was human as well.
Sypha grew silent as she too connected the last pieces. The wife of the Devil they had called the woman they had burned in Targoviste. She had been Dracula’s wife – not much different from the Devil, she thought. But she dismissed that childish belief. She was also Adrian’s mother. And Dracula was a father.
“You could not possibly wish to spare them out of the kindness of your heart,” Trevor taunted. “You have a better plan? What would you do without food, after all…”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Carmilla noticed the change even in its subtlety. The young woman appeared to remain composed, her tone almost impersonal in a sense; she spoke plainly and the vampiress did not believe her to be untruthful as she praised Styria and wished for nothing more than the chosen piece of land and her peace. But there were slips – her freckled face had gotten slightly red in the meantime and her expression had seemed to be touched by doubt. Wariness. Uncertainty
And Carmilla could not help but think her meek as she stood before her, her hands clasped at the front, cheeks burning. The false appearance or not. Foul play or not.
It should please her if this was her true nature, she thought. The discovery of Hector’s childish and impressionable nature had pleased her. Yet, the vampiress found herself pleased, nor disappointed as in the moment she had first laid her eyes on her. There was a wave of fleeting anger, deep-rooted anger that had led to disappointment and sorrow many times over. Her expression did not betray her emotions as the young witch did for Carmilla had years of practice: one, two, three, tens and hundreds. Her light blue eyes – almost silvery in appearance – continued to stare her down just as before.
She let the bitter anger flow. And she let it go. ‘She is young. She has a potential that can be built on.’
Just like she had been. ‘And I will rip it out of her and shape it myself if I have to.’
She did not think that would be the case as long as the familiar was at her side. She was aware of the flow of power between the two.
“It pleases me to hear that,” Carmilla offered, nodding so. The girl was well-spoken after all. Polite. “This is what I want Styria to be. I want it to be different.” Good or bad, that depended on one’s view on the world. But sweet words did not interest her.
Alina interested her. “You lead a simple life,” she remarked with interest. “And you need nothing more.” Just as Alina herself had mentioned. Carmilla wasn’t a stranger to this belief – not wanting or seeking things outside of her capacity due to having to procure them from others led to not needing them at all. Simple independence was better than dependency when you had lived off of it for so long. “This is the fate of gifted people, I suppose. Seclusion.”
Carmilla couldn’t call her life simple. She wasn’t even that secluded – she liked to be amid things, to have influence.
But Hector… “You see the brooding man that stands behind me?” She didn’t refer to him by name. Even if she couldn’t see him – and she didn’t turn around to point him out either –, she was well-aware that he may have gotten irritated in the meantime. It almost pained her that she couldn’t see his expression right then. “Devil Forgemaster. He had lived much like yourself, in a small wooden cabin on the Rhodes Island in Greece, reviving dead animals. And now… general of the largest army. Dracula’s army. History is being written in another part of the world and one must pick his side.”
“You should want more.” Not from someone else but from herself.
Eir felt the uneasiness. The uncertainty.
And she heard the name: Dracula. Of course.
Lucyfer
Said you'd die for me, well -- there's the ground
Alucard understood the confusion that must have occurred for Ilene. She was not there when Lisa was taken, and then she heard of what happened with him. He was grateful that Lucia was able to take Ilene in and help them all, in this way, even if it now brought them all before a Belmont Hunter and a Speaker.
The Speaker at least seemed tolerable. Questioning.
The Belmont just had assumptions, and Alucard’s golden eyes narrowed on him as he shrugged on his shirt, “I may have wished for some form of revenge on those directly responsible, as I am sure you have long wanted revenge for your own family, Belmont,” Alucard stated, “but to destroy all of humanity? No. Never.”
Not all were so bad as those who took his mother’s life. Not all who watched it, even wanted it. They were pressured to be there, so that they would not seem a sympathizer. He knew how many had cared for his mother. None stood up…but that was power dynamics at play.
He shrugged on his coat. “It is not what my mother would have wanted…and it is not what I want. It is not what my father would have wanted…if he still had his mind,” after all, for many years he had not harmed humanity in such a way. He only lashed out at those who did him wrong.
Sypha seemed to accept that. It made enough sense to her, and the last part, in particular, made her own heart hurt. Alucard had known a very different Dracula than she would ever know – than anyone, except perhaps Alucard himself, and Lisa, had known. And now that man had gone mad.
“Besides,” it was Lucia who spoke up now, a bored drawl, “We can live on animals. They just taste terrible. Maybe not to a dhampir,” Lucia tilted her head a bit, indication it was a question without looking back.
Alucard didn’t quite smile, but he understood, “Not as bad,” he said, “if my father’s complaints meant anything.” Animal blood was about as good for vampires as a diet of bread and water, but it was…possible to survive on it for a while. Or so Alucard heard.
~***~
Carmilla did not appear surprised that there was nothing Alina wanted, though as Carmilla spoke on, Alina felt alarms going off in her head. Not Eir, no, although Eir did not seem relaxed. She didn’t need to look over to ascertain that, though what it stemmed from, Alina could not say. Carmilla spoke on of the man present, and the war waging – the war that Alina heard of.
The man was a part of that, from Greece.
A pity she didn’t yet know Greek – Latin, yes, but not Greek. Still, she was certain that Eir could help translate things, should she wish it. ‘Devil Forgemaster.’ She knew the term. She knew what it meant, as well, and though it was hard at first glance to associate the man with such power, she could see it.
‘You should want more.’
There, Alina’s eyes shifted from Hector to Carmilla, and there was a flash of something not timid. Something that read those words, nice as they were, as a threat. Once upon a time, she had wanted more. Wanted love, wanted a family, wanted God’s blessing, wanted to be Good, wanted to be Right. Once she had wanted so much, and it had all seemed to be so little, in comparison to what others had.
Now, Alina did want more, but not from other people, and at her own pace. Her place allowed her that time, and that pace. “Forgive me, Lady Carmilla, but I am not going to have my life dictated to me once again. I know what I want and I know how to get it, thank you.” There was a brittleness to her tone then, “I am not sure that I have reason to support Dracula.”
Hector had started to tune in, hearing ‘Dracula’ through the two women. He wanted to interject, and may have, but there was a sudden, sharp bark, and a figure ran by his legs, “Cezar!” He was startled by it – he had locked Cezar in a room to prevent just this – but Hector ran headlong down to meet the two new people, and Hector internally cringed, afraid one of the two women might kick him away.
He was surprised when instead, the woman in white bent to her knees and held out her hand for him to sniff, which he did eagerly, tail wagging excitedly. He relaxed when she reached her hand to pet the dog behind his good ear.
Alina looked up to him, and pointed at the dog, “Cezar?”
Hesitantly, Hector nodded, understanding that much. Alina didn’t rise back up, but Hector took a few steps forward, “Why should I pick Dracula’s side?” Alina asked, but added, “Eir, I want to know the man’s answer, as well, please.” A request to translate her words, and the man’s, as well. She wouldn’t just join Dracula because Carmilla thought she should. She wanted to know why they did.
The Speaker at least seemed tolerable. Questioning.
The Belmont just had assumptions, and Alucard’s golden eyes narrowed on him as he shrugged on his shirt, “I may have wished for some form of revenge on those directly responsible, as I am sure you have long wanted revenge for your own family, Belmont,” Alucard stated, “but to destroy all of humanity? No. Never.”
Not all were so bad as those who took his mother’s life. Not all who watched it, even wanted it. They were pressured to be there, so that they would not seem a sympathizer. He knew how many had cared for his mother. None stood up…but that was power dynamics at play.
He shrugged on his coat. “It is not what my mother would have wanted…and it is not what I want. It is not what my father would have wanted…if he still had his mind,” after all, for many years he had not harmed humanity in such a way. He only lashed out at those who did him wrong.
Sypha seemed to accept that. It made enough sense to her, and the last part, in particular, made her own heart hurt. Alucard had known a very different Dracula than she would ever know – than anyone, except perhaps Alucard himself, and Lisa, had known. And now that man had gone mad.
“Besides,” it was Lucia who spoke up now, a bored drawl, “We can live on animals. They just taste terrible. Maybe not to a dhampir,” Lucia tilted her head a bit, indication it was a question without looking back.
Alucard didn’t quite smile, but he understood, “Not as bad,” he said, “if my father’s complaints meant anything.” Animal blood was about as good for vampires as a diet of bread and water, but it was…possible to survive on it for a while. Or so Alucard heard.
~***~
Carmilla did not appear surprised that there was nothing Alina wanted, though as Carmilla spoke on, Alina felt alarms going off in her head. Not Eir, no, although Eir did not seem relaxed. She didn’t need to look over to ascertain that, though what it stemmed from, Alina could not say. Carmilla spoke on of the man present, and the war waging – the war that Alina heard of.
The man was a part of that, from Greece.
A pity she didn’t yet know Greek – Latin, yes, but not Greek. Still, she was certain that Eir could help translate things, should she wish it. ‘Devil Forgemaster.’ She knew the term. She knew what it meant, as well, and though it was hard at first glance to associate the man with such power, she could see it.
‘You should want more.’
There, Alina’s eyes shifted from Hector to Carmilla, and there was a flash of something not timid. Something that read those words, nice as they were, as a threat. Once upon a time, she had wanted more. Wanted love, wanted a family, wanted God’s blessing, wanted to be Good, wanted to be Right. Once she had wanted so much, and it had all seemed to be so little, in comparison to what others had.
Now, Alina did want more, but not from other people, and at her own pace. Her place allowed her that time, and that pace. “Forgive me, Lady Carmilla, but I am not going to have my life dictated to me once again. I know what I want and I know how to get it, thank you.” There was a brittleness to her tone then, “I am not sure that I have reason to support Dracula.”
Hector had started to tune in, hearing ‘Dracula’ through the two women. He wanted to interject, and may have, but there was a sudden, sharp bark, and a figure ran by his legs, “Cezar!” He was startled by it – he had locked Cezar in a room to prevent just this – but Hector ran headlong down to meet the two new people, and Hector internally cringed, afraid one of the two women might kick him away.
He was surprised when instead, the woman in white bent to her knees and held out her hand for him to sniff, which he did eagerly, tail wagging excitedly. He relaxed when she reached her hand to pet the dog behind his good ear.
Alina looked up to him, and pointed at the dog, “Cezar?”
Hesitantly, Hector nodded, understanding that much. Alina didn’t rise back up, but Hector took a few steps forward, “Why should I pick Dracula’s side?” Alina asked, but added, “Eir, I want to know the man’s answer, as well, please.” A request to translate her words, and the man’s, as well. She wouldn’t just join Dracula because Carmilla thought she should. She wanted to know why they did.
Asteria
⚔️
“I may have wished for some form of revenge on those directly responsible, as I am sure you have long wanted revenge for your own family, Belmont.”
Trevor’s shoulders tensed. And untensed. There it was again, the want to get angry and defensive – it might have actually become a need over the years. His eyes betrayed such thought, and while the anger was in some part directed toward Alucard, it all fell on the vampiress in front of him as his burning gaze did not leave her.
He had wanted revenge. As a young man, his want for revenge had resembled Dracula’s: total, unforgiving and impartial. In his bitter pain, he could not distinguish the good from the bad, intent from complacency. He had wanted the Church gone, the people that hadn’t spoken in his family’s defense, and the ones that had benefited from their disappearance. He had wanted the world to just stop. But it hadn’t stopped. And he hadn’t stopped either. He grew and the pain subdued under the weight of his incapability. That incapability led to resentment and anger.
It was that incapability that separated him from Dracula. He hadn't had the means. But Dracula did.
And in the end, it wouldn’t have mattered. There may have been fewer people in the world if had had his revenge, but his family would have still been gone. And he would have still been here.
Had he truly been incapable? Or had he been just self-sufficient? Was he still self-sufficient?
‘It doesn’t matter. Nothing does.’
Trevor thought of Alucard’s words then, piecing them together as he had done up to that point.
‘Would you honor your mother by killing your father?’
The Sleeping Soldier or not, Dracula’s son seemed to have the same purpose. “Would your mother have wanted you to kill your own father, madman or not?” Trevor hadn’t really been good with words in his life, after all. There was hardly any sensible bone in his body.
While Sypha turned her head sharply toward Trevor, eyebrows furrowed, Ilene simply watched him. It was a shared thought, that question. A haunting thought – the killing, as well as the consequences.
“That is the purpose of the Saviour in your prophecies, is it not?” Ilene intervened, her tone neutral. Whether she did not want to hear the answer or leave Adrian in a vulnerable position, she did not know.
“But he doesn’t have to do it – he won’t do it alone. The prophecy speaks of aides, a hunter and–“
“Speaks of what?” Trevor’s gaze left the vampiress and fell on the Speaker. Her eyes met his, but she hardly was as baffled as he was.
“The Sleeping Soldiers’ aides. Did I forget to mention that?”
She almost seemed innocent. She almost seemed forgetful. But Speakers never forgot, no…
“Yes, yes you did!”
“Oh. My bad.”
It had been on purpose. The Speakers had sought a hunter. It had been on purpose.
Silvery eyes darkened as they stared back at her. Carmilla noticed the sudden change, brief as it was. She found it familiar, not the sight itself, no, but the feeling behind it – it had a form in the witch’s eyes, in her expression.
It was clear to Carmilla, its meaning, so clear, that she briefly wondered how he could have been blind to the frequent flashes of defiance in her own eyes… how he had not guessed, had not seen… that all it took to create fire was a spark, a spark of fear, anger or resentment. He had thought her acts of defiance mere childish tantrums. He had laughed when he should have feared.
Carmilla did not laugh, nor did she fear.
She felt pleased and, perhaps, a little prideful instead.
The straight line of her lips twitched, threatening to curve into a smile as the witch spoke up. Her words were formal, but her tone carried a harshness that could not go unnoticed. She seemed to deny her and yet, there were questions and there was curiosity. The door may not be fully open, but there was a creak. It was enough for Carmilla. Her eyes were half-lidded, her gaze soft for a passing moment.
“Good,” the vampiress praised. Whether the witch took it as such or not, she could not tell as they were interrupted – there was a bark, followed by the sound of nails scratching against stone. And there was a shout.
Cezar. Hector’s pet. Carmilla had first been amused by its presence – it was a reminder of Hector’s childish nature, after all –, but it irritated her right then. However, as her witch bent down to pet the undead creature, all the vampiress could do was to turn a blind eye to the interruption. That was what Lenore had always advised her anyway, to let them have their small pleasures. To let them feel safe and cradled in her spider’s web.
The question came. And with the request, the familiar moved forward, passing by her mistress and Carmilla, but not without giving the last a glance. The vampiress followed the movement with her own gaze until she reached Hector.
“What is she doing?” Carmilla questioned. Such closeness did not seem a necessity when it came to translation.
It was Eir who answered, even if the question wasn’t directly addressed to her. “It is something I do…” Her voice seemed distant then, entranced.
It was something she could do to the Forgemaster. For then, at least, as she could not get near Carmilla. It was a reading, as humans called it. It did not need one’s palm or cards, bones, and symbols or the remains of the tea they had just drunk. It needed will, one’s eyes, a look, and a touch. Then it would all be clear: fears and hopes, dreams and nightmares. Their words would carry another meaning then. She could discern the truth from the lie.
It was easier on humans, as everything else was. With their lives so short in comparison to her own, everything was still so fresh, so raw. So easy to read, so easy to see. Forgemasters were humans but the power they were bound to was not humane in nature – it was a wall, tall and thick. She was not his; she could not read him as his creatures did. But as any wall, his own had cracks. Forgemasters were not unbreakable.
Unlike undead creatures. Unlike vampires. Unlike Carmilla. Everything was buried deep, but with time… and power…
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Eir said, in Romanian this time, as she imagined Carmilla would not appreciate the Greek. It was what she always said. And she raised her hand. It hovered over his cheek, yet she would not touch unless she was allowed. She could sense him no matter.
And she looked in.
It stood out, his sense of loyalty, of devotion – it was a loud word and it rung in her ears, yet there were many faces and many whispers encircling it. It shone and then it did not and then it shone brighter than the last time. It flickered.
Until it turned into a spark. A flame. A fire.
She heard the screams, the pleas.
Hector.
Eir dropped her hand and took a step back. Cezar barked before it whined and she looked back to Alina then, a flittering glance before she turned to the man. Matters of loyalty would not be questioned, not for now.
“My mistress wants to know why she should pick Dracula’s side and why did Lady Carmilla, as well as you.” The memory of the moment from before seemed to be forgotten. Eir’s tone was no longer soft or reassuring. It was nothing.
Carmilla had been watching the exchange between the two with interest. The familiar had broken from Hector too soon, too fast in her eyes. It was a curious little thing… “Now that that is over,” she spoke, making a reference to the strange interruption, “we can return to the matter at hand.” And Carmilla’s eyes lingered on Alina.
“You won’t have your life dictated to you. This is an opportunity. It is your choice whether you take it or not. But I meant what I said – you should want more, be it this opportunity or another. You should always want more. For you and through you. Immortality is a long time to be restful.” Carmilla thought the witch’s lifestyle comfortable. Too comfortable. Boundaries had to be pushed so one could grow.
“You may as well translate my own words to General Hector,” Carmilla added for the familiar. She could easily speak Romanian for him, but she wanted to make an appeal to the witch in her own language, as well as speak well of Dracula in front of his pet.
She did not wait for the familiar’s approval. “For the future.” The answer was simple. Or it had been, once. “All you see around yourself,” the pipes and the warmth they produced, the light, “is witchcraft to humans. But they created this long ago, so long ago that they forgot. Dracula revived their knowledge. He is the past, the present, and the future. Being with him is a step closer to a dream.”
After what she had recently heard of his state, her words felt like a lie. “My opinion may seem biased to you, of course.” Her eyes moved to Hector then.
Eir translated and would continue to translate.
Lucyfer
Trevor’s shoulders tensed. And untensed. There it was again, the want to get angry and defensive – it might have actually become a need over the years. His eyes betrayed such thought, and while the anger was in some part directed toward Alucard, it all fell on the vampiress in front of him as his burning gaze did not leave her.
He had wanted revenge. As a young man, his want for revenge had resembled Dracula’s: total, unforgiving and impartial. In his bitter pain, he could not distinguish the good from the bad, intent from complacency. He had wanted the Church gone, the people that hadn’t spoken in his family’s defense, and the ones that had benefited from their disappearance. He had wanted the world to just stop. But it hadn’t stopped. And he hadn’t stopped either. He grew and the pain subdued under the weight of his incapability. That incapability led to resentment and anger.
It was that incapability that separated him from Dracula. He hadn't had the means. But Dracula did.
And in the end, it wouldn’t have mattered. There may have been fewer people in the world if had had his revenge, but his family would have still been gone. And he would have still been here.
Had he truly been incapable? Or had he been just self-sufficient? Was he still self-sufficient?
‘It doesn’t matter. Nothing does.’
Trevor thought of Alucard’s words then, piecing them together as he had done up to that point.
‘Would you honor your mother by killing your father?’
The Sleeping Soldier or not, Dracula’s son seemed to have the same purpose. “Would your mother have wanted you to kill your own father, madman or not?” Trevor hadn’t really been good with words in his life, after all. There was hardly any sensible bone in his body.
While Sypha turned her head sharply toward Trevor, eyebrows furrowed, Ilene simply watched him. It was a shared thought, that question. A haunting thought – the killing, as well as the consequences.
“That is the purpose of the Saviour in your prophecies, is it not?” Ilene intervened, her tone neutral. Whether she did not want to hear the answer or leave Adrian in a vulnerable position, she did not know.
“But he doesn’t have to do it – he won’t do it alone. The prophecy speaks of aides, a hunter and–“
“Speaks of what?” Trevor’s gaze left the vampiress and fell on the Speaker. Her eyes met his, but she hardly was as baffled as he was.
“The Sleeping Soldiers’ aides. Did I forget to mention that?”
She almost seemed innocent. She almost seemed forgetful. But Speakers never forgot, no…
“Yes, yes you did!”
“Oh. My bad.”
It had been on purpose. The Speakers had sought a hunter. It had been on purpose.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Silvery eyes darkened as they stared back at her. Carmilla noticed the sudden change, brief as it was. She found it familiar, not the sight itself, no, but the feeling behind it – it had a form in the witch’s eyes, in her expression.
It was clear to Carmilla, its meaning, so clear, that she briefly wondered how he could have been blind to the frequent flashes of defiance in her own eyes… how he had not guessed, had not seen… that all it took to create fire was a spark, a spark of fear, anger or resentment. He had thought her acts of defiance mere childish tantrums. He had laughed when he should have feared.
Carmilla did not laugh, nor did she fear.
She felt pleased and, perhaps, a little prideful instead.
The straight line of her lips twitched, threatening to curve into a smile as the witch spoke up. Her words were formal, but her tone carried a harshness that could not go unnoticed. She seemed to deny her and yet, there were questions and there was curiosity. The door may not be fully open, but there was a creak. It was enough for Carmilla. Her eyes were half-lidded, her gaze soft for a passing moment.
“Good,” the vampiress praised. Whether the witch took it as such or not, she could not tell as they were interrupted – there was a bark, followed by the sound of nails scratching against stone. And there was a shout.
Cezar. Hector’s pet. Carmilla had first been amused by its presence – it was a reminder of Hector’s childish nature, after all –, but it irritated her right then. However, as her witch bent down to pet the undead creature, all the vampiress could do was to turn a blind eye to the interruption. That was what Lenore had always advised her anyway, to let them have their small pleasures. To let them feel safe and cradled in her spider’s web.
The question came. And with the request, the familiar moved forward, passing by her mistress and Carmilla, but not without giving the last a glance. The vampiress followed the movement with her own gaze until she reached Hector.
“What is she doing?” Carmilla questioned. Such closeness did not seem a necessity when it came to translation.
It was Eir who answered, even if the question wasn’t directly addressed to her. “It is something I do…” Her voice seemed distant then, entranced.
It was something she could do to the Forgemaster. For then, at least, as she could not get near Carmilla. It was a reading, as humans called it. It did not need one’s palm or cards, bones, and symbols or the remains of the tea they had just drunk. It needed will, one’s eyes, a look, and a touch. Then it would all be clear: fears and hopes, dreams and nightmares. Their words would carry another meaning then. She could discern the truth from the lie.
It was easier on humans, as everything else was. With their lives so short in comparison to her own, everything was still so fresh, so raw. So easy to read, so easy to see. Forgemasters were humans but the power they were bound to was not humane in nature – it was a wall, tall and thick. She was not his; she could not read him as his creatures did. But as any wall, his own had cracks. Forgemasters were not unbreakable.
Unlike undead creatures. Unlike vampires. Unlike Carmilla. Everything was buried deep, but with time… and power…
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Eir said, in Romanian this time, as she imagined Carmilla would not appreciate the Greek. It was what she always said. And she raised her hand. It hovered over his cheek, yet she would not touch unless she was allowed. She could sense him no matter.
And she looked in.
It stood out, his sense of loyalty, of devotion – it was a loud word and it rung in her ears, yet there were many faces and many whispers encircling it. It shone and then it did not and then it shone brighter than the last time. It flickered.
Until it turned into a spark. A flame. A fire.
She heard the screams, the pleas.
Hector.
Eir dropped her hand and took a step back. Cezar barked before it whined and she looked back to Alina then, a flittering glance before she turned to the man. Matters of loyalty would not be questioned, not for now.
“My mistress wants to know why she should pick Dracula’s side and why did Lady Carmilla, as well as you.” The memory of the moment from before seemed to be forgotten. Eir’s tone was no longer soft or reassuring. It was nothing.
Carmilla had been watching the exchange between the two with interest. The familiar had broken from Hector too soon, too fast in her eyes. It was a curious little thing… “Now that that is over,” she spoke, making a reference to the strange interruption, “we can return to the matter at hand.” And Carmilla’s eyes lingered on Alina.
“You won’t have your life dictated to you. This is an opportunity. It is your choice whether you take it or not. But I meant what I said – you should want more, be it this opportunity or another. You should always want more. For you and through you. Immortality is a long time to be restful.” Carmilla thought the witch’s lifestyle comfortable. Too comfortable. Boundaries had to be pushed so one could grow.
“You may as well translate my own words to General Hector,” Carmilla added for the familiar. She could easily speak Romanian for him, but she wanted to make an appeal to the witch in her own language, as well as speak well of Dracula in front of his pet.
She did not wait for the familiar’s approval. “For the future.” The answer was simple. Or it had been, once. “All you see around yourself,” the pipes and the warmth they produced, the light, “is witchcraft to humans. But they created this long ago, so long ago that they forgot. Dracula revived their knowledge. He is the past, the present, and the future. Being with him is a step closer to a dream.”
After what she had recently heard of his state, her words felt like a lie. “My opinion may seem biased to you, of course.” Her eyes moved to Hector then.
Eir translated and would continue to translate.
Lucyfer
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Lucyfer
Said you'd die for me, well -- there's the ground
Alucard’s gaze was impassive as he looked at the man wearing Belmont crest, who asked that question so bluntly. Would Lisa wish him to kill his father for his crimes? “I know my mother would want him dead if he could not be reasoned with, Belmont,” he answered it quietly. He wasn’t certain of it. He wasn’t certain of the prophecy, of being The Alucard, but he had come here anyways because it had already been made. “And we are all, in the end, slaves to our family’s wishes,” even Belmont, who followed his family’s practice long after his family was gone.
“I have just chosen my mother, over my father. A decision I never wanted to make.” And yet, he had to.
The conversation lightened, a little, with mention of the prophecy, and Trevor’s possible role in it. Alucard did agree with that – it was likely the Belmont before him who had his place in this story.
“The Hunter and the Scholar,” he clarified, “although I suppose Johann may also count for Hunter, and Ilene for Scholar,” nothing placed Lucia there, and he recognized that. He wondered if her coming along would mean death for her, given she had no part of the prophecy.
Sypha considered the pair of them, a light blush touching her cheeks as she realized it may indeed not mean herself and Belmont – but who if not a Belmont to hunt Dracula?
“I really don’t think it’s me,” Johann said with a light smile, “But thank you.” Despite that smile, his attention, much like Lucia’s, stayed trained on the other hunter. “I’m not really one for prophecy.”
‘They’re never quite that clear.’ She’d heard a prophecy from the lips of the Oracle of Delphi herself. If she had but known…she never would have become a Vestal.
Sypha hesitated. The mention of the prophecy and Alucard knowing of it, meant he wouldn’t want to fight them, right? And perhaps Trevor would get on board…, “So…what happens now?” There was still a significant amount of tension in the room, no help from Trevor or the vampiress who remained prepared to rip the other’s throat out.
Alucard spoke into that, “I need a hunter and a scholar…perhaps two each,” he allowed with a small smile, “I need help to save Wallachia, perhaps the world, and defeat my father.”
Lucia’s posture didn’t quite relax, but she slid a foot back and opened it a bit, “I hope you don’t think I’ll be leaving just because I am not a part of your prophecy, do you?”
“No…the prophecy isn’t quite clear on who deals with Dracula’s allies,” Alucard allowed with a slight laugh, “Although I should thank you for bringing another scholar and a hunter. I know your own opinion on prophecy isn’t…good.”
“Oh, I trust prophecy. I just don’t trust it if it makes sense. Thankfully three against Dracula doesn’t make sense.” She spoke to the Hunter, then, “So, Belmont, are you convinced that none of us want to do you and humanity any further harm, or do you need more proof? I’d like to get back to my horses before they cause a stir.”
Alucard paused. “…did you bring Marius and Sulla?”
“Who else is going to survive the night hordes?”
He let out a deep sigh. Marius and Sulla would, indeed, survive the hordes. And eat them. And be seen eating them by humans. “Yes, I suppose they could cause a stir….”
~***~
Hector tensed as he was approached by the demon. He straightened up, and though his gaze hardened, he wasn’t afraid. The demon seemed to have no ill intent, but he was never completely certain – not with humans, not with demons, not with vampires. So many had already hurt him in his life that it was hard to trust anyone.
Still, demons had proven more honest than not.
He gave a single nod as Eir said that she would not hurt him, but his posture did not relax as she brought her hand closer. His eyes followed it as best they could without turning his head, the light on her hand strange. He wasn’t certain what it was for. She spoke Romanian.
He felt his thoughts pulled, and he realized.
Yet, he did not fight against it. He wanted to be honest. And he had nothing to hide. He felt the thoughts as they came forward.
And felt the one that ended it, the fire that had engulfed his parents, and still he kept his eyes on the demon without a flinch as she did step back. Did it frighten her? Concern her? He wasn’t certain. She could read him, but he found it difficult to be certain of her. The human mask she wore didn’t help matters.
Her voice was just as unreadable, though his gaze flickered to Cezar as the pup seemed disturbed. “Here, Cezar,” he called first to the dog, who left Alina and returned to him, crouching at his leg, terrified, but better to be at his side all the same.
He returned his pale eyes to the demon, “Well, I’m assuming she’s been hurt by humanity,” that was, perhaps, obvious for being a witch. “Even if she hadn’t been, she seems to be willing to work with a demon, which would suggest a certain step away from humanity at the least. What Dracula is trying to do, is to quell humanity’s growth. Humans are acting like wolf packs, all bunched up against one another, without enough territory to share. They’re killing each other, harming each other, needlessly, terribly. They need to be quelled, for their own good, and the good of every other species out there.”
Although his gaze dropped, it was not because he was lying. He was thinking. “It must sound strange coming from a human, but that is what I believe, too. I believe in Dracula’s goal. I believe it’s for the good, all around – for animals, vampires, demons – everyone.” A short shrug. “If nothing else, it’ll help slow the damage they’re—well, we’re,” he admitted with a slight smile, begrudgingly adding himself to the humans, “doing.”
As Hector answered Eir, Alina kept her attention focused on Carmilla. Cezar left her, Alina rose back to her feet and listened.
Carmilla was saying nothing.
Pretty words. Pretty promises. She had heard such before.
‘This is your future.’
No one told her much what marriage involved. Not the details. Carmilla was not telling her much of what joining her involved, either, and it seemed an alliance was a marriage of sorts. Promises bound allies.
Alina was yet too young to truly grasp how boring immortality was, how restful could be bad. Wanting more than what she had was still not much of a thought, even as she considered the castle, glancing around at it. Its comforts were yet a mystery to her. She didn’t know all it had to offer, besides a peculiar warmth that permeated it, which was not outside.
Carmilla suggested this as part of the future. Something to want. “This isn’t witchcraft,” she said, more to herself than Carmilla. Witchcraft, she knew. While she didn’t understand this, she knew it wasn’t witchcraft.
Alina cut her eyes away from the examination of the castle. Her smile was faint. Somewhat forced, “Lady Carmilla, I…do not have the right words, but this castle is not a future. This is an advancement to humanity, perhaps, but…,” a shake of her head, a shrug, “I do not understand.” Carmilla’s words had twisted around enough, “I do not know what Dracula wants. I do not think he wants to give warm homes and this technology to all. This may be the future to those that join him, but I don’t know what he wants. I don’t know what joining him means, Lady Carmilla. If it means only a warm home, certainly, but I doubt he needs me for that, or hordes of demons, as I hear rumor of.”
They had not reached Styria, perhaps because of Carmilla, perhaps other reasons, but Alina still did not understand why the demons were about and what Dracula intended.
“I have just chosen my mother, over my father. A decision I never wanted to make.” And yet, he had to.
The conversation lightened, a little, with mention of the prophecy, and Trevor’s possible role in it. Alucard did agree with that – it was likely the Belmont before him who had his place in this story.
“The Hunter and the Scholar,” he clarified, “although I suppose Johann may also count for Hunter, and Ilene for Scholar,” nothing placed Lucia there, and he recognized that. He wondered if her coming along would mean death for her, given she had no part of the prophecy.
Sypha considered the pair of them, a light blush touching her cheeks as she realized it may indeed not mean herself and Belmont – but who if not a Belmont to hunt Dracula?
“I really don’t think it’s me,” Johann said with a light smile, “But thank you.” Despite that smile, his attention, much like Lucia’s, stayed trained on the other hunter. “I’m not really one for prophecy.”
‘They’re never quite that clear.’ She’d heard a prophecy from the lips of the Oracle of Delphi herself. If she had but known…she never would have become a Vestal.
Sypha hesitated. The mention of the prophecy and Alucard knowing of it, meant he wouldn’t want to fight them, right? And perhaps Trevor would get on board…, “So…what happens now?” There was still a significant amount of tension in the room, no help from Trevor or the vampiress who remained prepared to rip the other’s throat out.
Alucard spoke into that, “I need a hunter and a scholar…perhaps two each,” he allowed with a small smile, “I need help to save Wallachia, perhaps the world, and defeat my father.”
Lucia’s posture didn’t quite relax, but she slid a foot back and opened it a bit, “I hope you don’t think I’ll be leaving just because I am not a part of your prophecy, do you?”
“No…the prophecy isn’t quite clear on who deals with Dracula’s allies,” Alucard allowed with a slight laugh, “Although I should thank you for bringing another scholar and a hunter. I know your own opinion on prophecy isn’t…good.”
“Oh, I trust prophecy. I just don’t trust it if it makes sense. Thankfully three against Dracula doesn’t make sense.” She spoke to the Hunter, then, “So, Belmont, are you convinced that none of us want to do you and humanity any further harm, or do you need more proof? I’d like to get back to my horses before they cause a stir.”
Alucard paused. “…did you bring Marius and Sulla?”
“Who else is going to survive the night hordes?”
He let out a deep sigh. Marius and Sulla would, indeed, survive the hordes. And eat them. And be seen eating them by humans. “Yes, I suppose they could cause a stir….”
~***~
Hector tensed as he was approached by the demon. He straightened up, and though his gaze hardened, he wasn’t afraid. The demon seemed to have no ill intent, but he was never completely certain – not with humans, not with demons, not with vampires. So many had already hurt him in his life that it was hard to trust anyone.
Still, demons had proven more honest than not.
He gave a single nod as Eir said that she would not hurt him, but his posture did not relax as she brought her hand closer. His eyes followed it as best they could without turning his head, the light on her hand strange. He wasn’t certain what it was for. She spoke Romanian.
He felt his thoughts pulled, and he realized.
Yet, he did not fight against it. He wanted to be honest. And he had nothing to hide. He felt the thoughts as they came forward.
And felt the one that ended it, the fire that had engulfed his parents, and still he kept his eyes on the demon without a flinch as she did step back. Did it frighten her? Concern her? He wasn’t certain. She could read him, but he found it difficult to be certain of her. The human mask she wore didn’t help matters.
Her voice was just as unreadable, though his gaze flickered to Cezar as the pup seemed disturbed. “Here, Cezar,” he called first to the dog, who left Alina and returned to him, crouching at his leg, terrified, but better to be at his side all the same.
He returned his pale eyes to the demon, “Well, I’m assuming she’s been hurt by humanity,” that was, perhaps, obvious for being a witch. “Even if she hadn’t been, she seems to be willing to work with a demon, which would suggest a certain step away from humanity at the least. What Dracula is trying to do, is to quell humanity’s growth. Humans are acting like wolf packs, all bunched up against one another, without enough territory to share. They’re killing each other, harming each other, needlessly, terribly. They need to be quelled, for their own good, and the good of every other species out there.”
Although his gaze dropped, it was not because he was lying. He was thinking. “It must sound strange coming from a human, but that is what I believe, too. I believe in Dracula’s goal. I believe it’s for the good, all around – for animals, vampires, demons – everyone.” A short shrug. “If nothing else, it’ll help slow the damage they’re—well, we’re,” he admitted with a slight smile, begrudgingly adding himself to the humans, “doing.”
As Hector answered Eir, Alina kept her attention focused on Carmilla. Cezar left her, Alina rose back to her feet and listened.
Carmilla was saying nothing.
Pretty words. Pretty promises. She had heard such before.
‘This is your future.’
No one told her much what marriage involved. Not the details. Carmilla was not telling her much of what joining her involved, either, and it seemed an alliance was a marriage of sorts. Promises bound allies.
Alina was yet too young to truly grasp how boring immortality was, how restful could be bad. Wanting more than what she had was still not much of a thought, even as she considered the castle, glancing around at it. Its comforts were yet a mystery to her. She didn’t know all it had to offer, besides a peculiar warmth that permeated it, which was not outside.
Carmilla suggested this as part of the future. Something to want. “This isn’t witchcraft,” she said, more to herself than Carmilla. Witchcraft, she knew. While she didn’t understand this, she knew it wasn’t witchcraft.
Alina cut her eyes away from the examination of the castle. Her smile was faint. Somewhat forced, “Lady Carmilla, I…do not have the right words, but this castle is not a future. This is an advancement to humanity, perhaps, but…,” a shake of her head, a shrug, “I do not understand.” Carmilla’s words had twisted around enough, “I do not know what Dracula wants. I do not think he wants to give warm homes and this technology to all. This may be the future to those that join him, but I don’t know what he wants. I don’t know what joining him means, Lady Carmilla. If it means only a warm home, certainly, but I doubt he needs me for that, or hordes of demons, as I hear rumor of.”
They had not reached Styria, perhaps because of Carmilla, perhaps other reasons, but Alina still did not understand why the demons were about and what Dracula intended.
Asteria
⚔️
‘Would she? Would she really want Dracula dead by his – their – son’s hand?’
Ilene did not know if it was right of her to harbor doubts about Adrian’s decision or the reasons that backed it up. She had been, after all, an intruder in their lives and that intrusion itself had been short-lived. She couldn’t claim to know Lisa as Vlad or Adrian had. Vlad was a stranger to her. So was Adrian, more than not anyway. Yet, she was here for him, for what she thought Lisa would have wanted. There was no knowing, no certainty. There was only what one thought and what one guessed. And much like her, Adrian did not know and he was not certain.
It was not right, Ilene thought. It was not right to burden the dead with the doings of the living. But nothing seemed right anymore. Father going against son, son going against father, all in the wake of the death of a wife and a mother. The Church punishing innocents and depriving people of the truth. Death and suffering would soon plague every road and town in Wallachia.
It was not right but it was all they had. And all they could do was to pick the right wrong from all the wrongs.
While Ilene could not fully understand the implications of a family’s wishes, a family’s legacy, Trevor did. It was all he had left, after all. It was all that he had ever known – it was his identity, his purpose. Maybe it would’ve been easier if he had given it up. Whether he hadn’t done it out of self-sufficiency or duty, he didn’t know.
What he was presented with felt like duty though.
His gaze returned to the creature in front of him as her question rose into the air. He remained silent for a moment too long, hesitant, mind wandering despite the tension that he felt in his bones and in his flesh. Did he have a role in all of this?
Did he care enough to have a role in all of this?
“Perhaps you have a point,” he stated, at last. “But I am not one for prophecy either.” That had been quite clear, right from the beginning. The Speakers had been smart – and fucking sly – to not mention that part. “I have no care for it.”
“Belmont!” He could feel Sypha’s eyes on him – she was willing and curious and she believed. He was neither of those things, nor did he believe, and that made her watchful. It was not her voice that he heard next though. It was the holy woman who spoke up.
“What do you want?” She was not curious. She was anything but curious. She was firm.
Trevor chuckled. “I do wonder – what is a woman of faith doing with two vampires? What would the Church say?”
She simply shrugged. “I do not serve the Church. I serve God.”
“Is God supportive of your choice then?”
“He should be or else he won’t have any more worshippers.” This was not the conversation she wanted to have, however. “You did not answer my question. What do you want, Belmont? I imagine someone of your name and reputation would at least seek glory if nothing else.”
“I don’t want glory.”
“Nor do you care,” she returned, too fast for his liking.
Trevor’s jaw tensed. He wanted to care. He had to care. He cared. But if he cared, why was he so silent?
The construction hummed with life around them – bits and pieces broke from the walls and the ceiling and their fall was followed by lines of dust. It must not have taken lightly, all the noise and destruction they had caused – he and Sypha had caused.
Trevor contemplated. And he spoke up, but not for the holy woman. It was the vampiress that he addressed. “Where are your horses?”
It seemed a silent approval, that question.
Hector’s answer reached Carmilla’s ears before the witch could put her worry and lack of understanding into words – it reminded her once more of the reason why she thought Hector easy to control, easy to lie to. ‘Years of torment at the humans’ hands and you haven’t learned a thing…’
Hector’s gullible nature was excusable, however. He was human.
It was the vampires that she condemned. Thirst ruled them. It fooled them. It blinded them. How could they claim to be above humans when they presented such behavior? They could not see that Dracula’s definition of quelling was not the same as theirs. In his eyes quelling did not mean controlling or depriving humans of their liberty. That was not Dracula’s purpose. It was hers.
His was death. Total and final. He did not even want them to suffer. He just wanted them to be gone.
The witch’s confusion wasn’t without basis – Carmilla was saying little to nothing. The promise of that secure and prosperous future had been the reason why she had looked up to Dracula’s rule in the first place, but that seemed to be so long ago. The thought of that future was not the reason she followed him now. She did not follow him. She could not recognize him anymore. He was selfish and hurt and angry for reasons that the vampiress thought little of.
‘Madman,’ but Carmilla would not dare make that assumption unless she saw him for herself.
She blamed his pet. She blamed him. It saddened her. It angered her, all of it. All the lost potential…
But it was good. For her, it was good. It will be good. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for, after all.
“He wants to put an end to humanity as we know it,” Eir answered as Carmilla remained silent, her eyes not leaving the Forgemaster. It would be in that moment that she would translate his words to Alina, one by one: the evil things humans were capable of, they want for death, for harm, the need to quell their growth, the goodness in that decision. It did not sound like a lie to Eir, none of it, but there was a taste, a heaviness to her tongue as she recalled them. And it lingered even after she was done.
“Dracula had little care for humans and their doings,” Carmilla continued as the familiar turned silent. “Unless they provoked him, of course.” The staked armies and enemies outside his castle were proof of that. “And I imagine he could not quite comprehend their evil nature, not completely, until he had seen it in the works against another human, someone he cared for.”
It was strange, that thought. Dracula caring for a human. Carmilla did not think of it at such – his pain over the death of his wife was interpreted as anger over a broken toy. But humans liked such terms, care, and love and protection and so, she would use them.
“There was a woman – a doctor. He married her. He got a better understanding of the human world through her, they say. Dracula had treasured human knowledge until then no matter, as he was a collectionneur, but that’s all there was to humans for him – knowledge. Well, through her, he must have seen… more.” And look where that got him. A pity, really.
Carmilla did not hesitate with her next words. “She was burned on a pyre by the Church under the accusation of witchcraft. As many others, after all. But this would be no surprise to you.” She must be well-aware of the persecutions of her profession. But Dracula’s pet had not been a witch. She had been a doctor. She had been innocent, as many others had been in her place.
“I haven’t answered his call yet,” she offered. This might be reason enough for the lack of answers she could offer. “You could come with me, if you would like, and decide for yourself.”
It would be good, Carmilla thought, if Dracula saw the witch as her own being and not as an extension of Carmilla and her wishes.
And it would be good, if she saw him. Saw him losing himself.
Lucyfer
Ilene did not know if it was right of her to harbor doubts about Adrian’s decision or the reasons that backed it up. She had been, after all, an intruder in their lives and that intrusion itself had been short-lived. She couldn’t claim to know Lisa as Vlad or Adrian had. Vlad was a stranger to her. So was Adrian, more than not anyway. Yet, she was here for him, for what she thought Lisa would have wanted. There was no knowing, no certainty. There was only what one thought and what one guessed. And much like her, Adrian did not know and he was not certain.
It was not right, Ilene thought. It was not right to burden the dead with the doings of the living. But nothing seemed right anymore. Father going against son, son going against father, all in the wake of the death of a wife and a mother. The Church punishing innocents and depriving people of the truth. Death and suffering would soon plague every road and town in Wallachia.
It was not right but it was all they had. And all they could do was to pick the right wrong from all the wrongs.
While Ilene could not fully understand the implications of a family’s wishes, a family’s legacy, Trevor did. It was all he had left, after all. It was all that he had ever known – it was his identity, his purpose. Maybe it would’ve been easier if he had given it up. Whether he hadn’t done it out of self-sufficiency or duty, he didn’t know.
What he was presented with felt like duty though.
His gaze returned to the creature in front of him as her question rose into the air. He remained silent for a moment too long, hesitant, mind wandering despite the tension that he felt in his bones and in his flesh. Did he have a role in all of this?
Did he care enough to have a role in all of this?
“Perhaps you have a point,” he stated, at last. “But I am not one for prophecy either.” That had been quite clear, right from the beginning. The Speakers had been smart – and fucking sly – to not mention that part. “I have no care for it.”
“Belmont!” He could feel Sypha’s eyes on him – she was willing and curious and she believed. He was neither of those things, nor did he believe, and that made her watchful. It was not her voice that he heard next though. It was the holy woman who spoke up.
“What do you want?” She was not curious. She was anything but curious. She was firm.
Trevor chuckled. “I do wonder – what is a woman of faith doing with two vampires? What would the Church say?”
She simply shrugged. “I do not serve the Church. I serve God.”
“Is God supportive of your choice then?”
“He should be or else he won’t have any more worshippers.” This was not the conversation she wanted to have, however. “You did not answer my question. What do you want, Belmont? I imagine someone of your name and reputation would at least seek glory if nothing else.”
“I don’t want glory.”
“Nor do you care,” she returned, too fast for his liking.
Trevor’s jaw tensed. He wanted to care. He had to care. He cared. But if he cared, why was he so silent?
The construction hummed with life around them – bits and pieces broke from the walls and the ceiling and their fall was followed by lines of dust. It must not have taken lightly, all the noise and destruction they had caused – he and Sypha had caused.
Trevor contemplated. And he spoke up, but not for the holy woman. It was the vampiress that he addressed. “Where are your horses?”
It seemed a silent approval, that question.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
‘Foolish little creature. Foolish.’
Hector’s answer reached Carmilla’s ears before the witch could put her worry and lack of understanding into words – it reminded her once more of the reason why she thought Hector easy to control, easy to lie to. ‘Years of torment at the humans’ hands and you haven’t learned a thing…’
Hector’s gullible nature was excusable, however. He was human.
It was the vampires that she condemned. Thirst ruled them. It fooled them. It blinded them. How could they claim to be above humans when they presented such behavior? They could not see that Dracula’s definition of quelling was not the same as theirs. In his eyes quelling did not mean controlling or depriving humans of their liberty. That was not Dracula’s purpose. It was hers.
His was death. Total and final. He did not even want them to suffer. He just wanted them to be gone.
The witch’s confusion wasn’t without basis – Carmilla was saying little to nothing. The promise of that secure and prosperous future had been the reason why she had looked up to Dracula’s rule in the first place, but that seemed to be so long ago. The thought of that future was not the reason she followed him now. She did not follow him. She could not recognize him anymore. He was selfish and hurt and angry for reasons that the vampiress thought little of.
‘Madman,’ but Carmilla would not dare make that assumption unless she saw him for herself.
She blamed his pet. She blamed him. It saddened her. It angered her, all of it. All the lost potential…
But it was good. For her, it was good. It will be good. This was the opportunity she had been waiting for, after all.
“He wants to put an end to humanity as we know it,” Eir answered as Carmilla remained silent, her eyes not leaving the Forgemaster. It would be in that moment that she would translate his words to Alina, one by one: the evil things humans were capable of, they want for death, for harm, the need to quell their growth, the goodness in that decision. It did not sound like a lie to Eir, none of it, but there was a taste, a heaviness to her tongue as she recalled them. And it lingered even after she was done.
“Dracula had little care for humans and their doings,” Carmilla continued as the familiar turned silent. “Unless they provoked him, of course.” The staked armies and enemies outside his castle were proof of that. “And I imagine he could not quite comprehend their evil nature, not completely, until he had seen it in the works against another human, someone he cared for.”
It was strange, that thought. Dracula caring for a human. Carmilla did not think of it at such – his pain over the death of his wife was interpreted as anger over a broken toy. But humans liked such terms, care, and love and protection and so, she would use them.
“There was a woman – a doctor. He married her. He got a better understanding of the human world through her, they say. Dracula had treasured human knowledge until then no matter, as he was a collectionneur, but that’s all there was to humans for him – knowledge. Well, through her, he must have seen… more.” And look where that got him. A pity, really.
Carmilla did not hesitate with her next words. “She was burned on a pyre by the Church under the accusation of witchcraft. As many others, after all. But this would be no surprise to you.” She must be well-aware of the persecutions of her profession. But Dracula’s pet had not been a witch. She had been a doctor. She had been innocent, as many others had been in her place.
“I haven’t answered his call yet,” she offered. This might be reason enough for the lack of answers she could offer. “You could come with me, if you would like, and decide for yourself.”
It would be good, Carmilla thought, if Dracula saw the witch as her own being and not as an extension of Carmilla and her wishes.
And it would be good, if she saw him. Saw him losing himself.
Lucyfer
Lucyfer
Said you'd die for me, well -- there's the ground
The gears were still turning, their progress starting to eat away at the structure, due to the damage Sypha and Trevor had done. It was only a matter of time before the area came crashing down around them, although Lucia wasn’t that concerned as she noticed some debris fall.
At least it put an end to the stupidity down here. “This way,” Lucia turned from them, and began down the path that had taken her down there in the first place. “By the way, I’m Lucia Belune, of Chernihiv. Your family never bothered me, but they may have known of me.” She was old enough to be well-known among hunters and vampires alike. “This is Johann Sterling – werewolf hunters.”
“Hi,” Johann said awkwardly to the others.
Sypha smiled, “I’ve heard of your family,” she agreed, but looked a little sad as she said, “I don’t know of you, Miss Belune.” Was it appropriate to call a vampiress ‘miss’? She didn’t know.
It seemed to earn a bit of a smirk from the Savior as they started on a new path out of the area.
“And Ilene Moraru, formerly with the Church, a bit more…freelance now.” She wouldn’t note her connection to Lisa or Dracula more directly, that was for her to indicate.
“Oh, ho, do I have questions for you,” Sypha said to Ilene, before asking something a bit off-topic, “How far away is Chernihiv from here?”
“Far,” Johann complained, “Thankfully Marius and Sulla don’t tire easily, but still,” he sighed, his complaining obvious.
“Those names don’t sound very…Slavic. Nor does your name.”
“Well, I’m not – it’s a long story,” Johann laughed.
“Roman.” Lucia answered, “The Consul in Rome and I have a rather…tense relationship, though. Smart vampire. Has plenty of allies in the Church.”
“What?” Sypha was startled by that, but Lucia just kept an impish grin on her lips.
She didn’t answer, but said, “I believe that’s quite enough from me right now – tell me of yourselves.”
“Oh! Right. Of course. I’m Sypha Belnades, Speaker Magician, and this is Trevor Belmont.” She nudged her elbow into his side. “He takes a bit to get used to.”
“Hm.” Alucard sounded doubtful.
“Oh – which – what do you want us to call you?”
Alucard looked momentarily surprised, but Lucia also glanced back. It was a question she had, given the odd situation they found themselves in, and how he had spoken within his tomb. “Well, you said your mother’s people called you Alucard, but you were born Adrian Tepes, I was wondering….”
“Ah,” Alucard realized, and glanced down a moment, considering, “I will go by the name of my mother’s people. It is…fitting.”
“I don’t like it.” Lucia stated.
“You are one to talk, Doll.”
It was very much the wrong name to use, but Alucard knew it served his purpose, though it was only furthered by a sudden clap of Sypha’s hands. “Oh! The Doll of Chernihiv, I have—oh.” Though Lucia did not seem angry, there was a certain shift in her body language that clued Sypha in on the fact that although she suddenly knew a bit of who the woman in front of her was, this wasn’t something to be repeated. Which, as Alucard’s words set in, she realized was the intent of them.
“You know, Alucard, you should be careful. I know all of your embarrassing baby stories.”
He flushed red, “I—you wouldn’t!”
She just kept a grin on her face as they came into the building where the cyclops had been, several dead bodies in the area. Sypha immediately covered her mouth and nose with her sleeve, but noticed the flickering of blue flames outside in the windows. “What’s that?” A muffled question.
Lucia didn’t answer – Lucia saw torches of normal fire approaching and she was at the double-doors swiftly, both flinging open with what seemed to be just a press of her palms to them.
The villagers that had cleared the demons attacking the town elsewhere had noticed the unnatural horses and had approached them. They weren’t hooked to the rather imposing carriage any longer, they could defend themselves – and there was evidence of that in the dead demons around them – but Lucia didn’t want them to have to do so.
The light put off by the nightmare’s flames, as well as the torches, suddenly flared, and shadow seemed to swirl at the edges of that light, all but rising up from the ground – an unnatural effect created by Lucia to scare them off, and indeed, a couple turned and fled rather than stay and figure out what was going on with the demon-eating demon-horses.
Marius had already dropped his head and bared fangs at the remaining ones while Sulla seemed utterly bored and continued to crack the bones of his current meal.
~***~
Alina put her attention towards Eir as the demon spoke and began to translate what Hector had said, word by word. Dracula wasn’t promising prosperity – not for all. He wanted to purge humanity, because it had done him wrong, as elaborated on further by Carmilla. It had killed his wife, and he was besides himself in pain.
Alina understood that, but something felt…off.
She had lost her own love. Admittedly, she had wanted to burn the world for it – her anger had been terrible, and given the power at that time, she may have done so much worse than what she had done. As it was, she had time to settle, and to endure. Her pain remained – it would always remain.
‘But now it is possible.’
There was a temptation in the thought of a purge. She could not deny that. The anger was still there, towards humanity in general who would still, not accept what it was she wanted. A thing she could no longer have. Carmilla likely would not understand that such a thing had, in a way, made her so passive – the knowledge that she would not have what she wanted, no matter how hard she wanted it.
But she could have a hand in reshaping the world. “It is always the innocent that suffer.” Alina didn’t think witches deserved to burn, either, but a doctor – no, a doctor certainly didn’t. Not one who could love Dracula, and open him up to more. “And it is always the Church behind it.”
To destroy the Church…oh, what she would do to help with that. But she had been one. Even with a demon, she had been one. Demons hadn’t taken it down…but with Dracula, with his army, perhaps it was truly possible to put an end to that.
“You do not think he would want me dead for being a true witch, the thing his wife was accused of? You do not believe he may have some misplaced grudge against my kind?” Alina asked Carmilla.
She’d seen enough of that before. Misplaced grudges and anger were a frequent part of her old life. Her husband always had a new grief he could blame on her.
Hector could still not understand what was being said by Alina and Carmilla. He knew that Eir had translated his words. He noticed a shift in Alina’s posture, and in her own tone. There was understanding there. There was sorrow.
So she, too, had witnessed humanity’s cruelty. No surprise, being a witch, though that wasn’t something anyone was born being.
Why had she chosen it?
He didn’t know if he’d get much from Eir, but hesitantly, he asked, “Would you tell me what they’re saying?” And, an addition, “And, perhaps, how long you have been on Earth, or with her?” He gestured out, “It’s uncommon to find a demon such as yourself above ground.”
Most of those he made into demons were, well, humans put into a body, not actual demons from hell. He could already tell Eir wasn’t that sort. At least, she didn’t seem to be.
At least it put an end to the stupidity down here. “This way,” Lucia turned from them, and began down the path that had taken her down there in the first place. “By the way, I’m Lucia Belune, of Chernihiv. Your family never bothered me, but they may have known of me.” She was old enough to be well-known among hunters and vampires alike. “This is Johann Sterling – werewolf hunters.”
“Hi,” Johann said awkwardly to the others.
Sypha smiled, “I’ve heard of your family,” she agreed, but looked a little sad as she said, “I don’t know of you, Miss Belune.” Was it appropriate to call a vampiress ‘miss’? She didn’t know.
It seemed to earn a bit of a smirk from the Savior as they started on a new path out of the area.
“And Ilene Moraru, formerly with the Church, a bit more…freelance now.” She wouldn’t note her connection to Lisa or Dracula more directly, that was for her to indicate.
“Oh, ho, do I have questions for you,” Sypha said to Ilene, before asking something a bit off-topic, “How far away is Chernihiv from here?”
“Far,” Johann complained, “Thankfully Marius and Sulla don’t tire easily, but still,” he sighed, his complaining obvious.
“Those names don’t sound very…Slavic. Nor does your name.”
“Well, I’m not – it’s a long story,” Johann laughed.
“Roman.” Lucia answered, “The Consul in Rome and I have a rather…tense relationship, though. Smart vampire. Has plenty of allies in the Church.”
“What?” Sypha was startled by that, but Lucia just kept an impish grin on her lips.
She didn’t answer, but said, “I believe that’s quite enough from me right now – tell me of yourselves.”
“Oh! Right. Of course. I’m Sypha Belnades, Speaker Magician, and this is Trevor Belmont.” She nudged her elbow into his side. “He takes a bit to get used to.”
“Hm.” Alucard sounded doubtful.
“Oh – which – what do you want us to call you?”
Alucard looked momentarily surprised, but Lucia also glanced back. It was a question she had, given the odd situation they found themselves in, and how he had spoken within his tomb. “Well, you said your mother’s people called you Alucard, but you were born Adrian Tepes, I was wondering….”
“Ah,” Alucard realized, and glanced down a moment, considering, “I will go by the name of my mother’s people. It is…fitting.”
“I don’t like it.” Lucia stated.
“You are one to talk, Doll.”
It was very much the wrong name to use, but Alucard knew it served his purpose, though it was only furthered by a sudden clap of Sypha’s hands. “Oh! The Doll of Chernihiv, I have—oh.” Though Lucia did not seem angry, there was a certain shift in her body language that clued Sypha in on the fact that although she suddenly knew a bit of who the woman in front of her was, this wasn’t something to be repeated. Which, as Alucard’s words set in, she realized was the intent of them.
“You know, Alucard, you should be careful. I know all of your embarrassing baby stories.”
He flushed red, “I—you wouldn’t!”
She just kept a grin on her face as they came into the building where the cyclops had been, several dead bodies in the area. Sypha immediately covered her mouth and nose with her sleeve, but noticed the flickering of blue flames outside in the windows. “What’s that?” A muffled question.
Lucia didn’t answer – Lucia saw torches of normal fire approaching and she was at the double-doors swiftly, both flinging open with what seemed to be just a press of her palms to them.
The villagers that had cleared the demons attacking the town elsewhere had noticed the unnatural horses and had approached them. They weren’t hooked to the rather imposing carriage any longer, they could defend themselves – and there was evidence of that in the dead demons around them – but Lucia didn’t want them to have to do so.
The light put off by the nightmare’s flames, as well as the torches, suddenly flared, and shadow seemed to swirl at the edges of that light, all but rising up from the ground – an unnatural effect created by Lucia to scare them off, and indeed, a couple turned and fled rather than stay and figure out what was going on with the demon-eating demon-horses.
Marius had already dropped his head and bared fangs at the remaining ones while Sulla seemed utterly bored and continued to crack the bones of his current meal.
~***~
Alina put her attention towards Eir as the demon spoke and began to translate what Hector had said, word by word. Dracula wasn’t promising prosperity – not for all. He wanted to purge humanity, because it had done him wrong, as elaborated on further by Carmilla. It had killed his wife, and he was besides himself in pain.
Alina understood that, but something felt…off.
She had lost her own love. Admittedly, she had wanted to burn the world for it – her anger had been terrible, and given the power at that time, she may have done so much worse than what she had done. As it was, she had time to settle, and to endure. Her pain remained – it would always remain.
‘But now it is possible.’
There was a temptation in the thought of a purge. She could not deny that. The anger was still there, towards humanity in general who would still, not accept what it was she wanted. A thing she could no longer have. Carmilla likely would not understand that such a thing had, in a way, made her so passive – the knowledge that she would not have what she wanted, no matter how hard she wanted it.
But she could have a hand in reshaping the world. “It is always the innocent that suffer.” Alina didn’t think witches deserved to burn, either, but a doctor – no, a doctor certainly didn’t. Not one who could love Dracula, and open him up to more. “And it is always the Church behind it.”
To destroy the Church…oh, what she would do to help with that. But she had been one. Even with a demon, she had been one. Demons hadn’t taken it down…but with Dracula, with his army, perhaps it was truly possible to put an end to that.
“You do not think he would want me dead for being a true witch, the thing his wife was accused of? You do not believe he may have some misplaced grudge against my kind?” Alina asked Carmilla.
She’d seen enough of that before. Misplaced grudges and anger were a frequent part of her old life. Her husband always had a new grief he could blame on her.
Hector could still not understand what was being said by Alina and Carmilla. He knew that Eir had translated his words. He noticed a shift in Alina’s posture, and in her own tone. There was understanding there. There was sorrow.
So she, too, had witnessed humanity’s cruelty. No surprise, being a witch, though that wasn’t something anyone was born being.
Why had she chosen it?
He didn’t know if he’d get much from Eir, but hesitantly, he asked, “Would you tell me what they’re saying?” And, an addition, “And, perhaps, how long you have been on Earth, or with her?” He gestured out, “It’s uncommon to find a demon such as yourself above ground.”
Most of those he made into demons were, well, humans put into a body, not actual demons from hell. He could already tell Eir wasn’t that sort. At least, she didn’t seem to be.
Asteria
⚔️
While Sypha seemed eager at the thought of adventure and getting to know their new… companions, Trevor found himself lingering close behind her with a frown on his face. He was cooperative or seemed to be, at least. That was enough for Sypha.
He took note of the names: Lucia Belune, Johann Sterling, and Ilene Moraru. He knew Johann’s family name. His and Trevor’s family shared the same profession, just not the same target. While he recognized the vampiress’ name as well, there had been conflicting reports regarding Chernihiv as a whole – there had been mentions of a Doll of Chernihiv along Dimas Belun, and after that, there was no Doll and no Dimas Belun. Just Lucia Belune. His family had easily started to believe that Doll and Lucia were one and the same vampires.
But he did not know Ilene Moraru and she did not give too much away either, as she only nodded and smiled towards Sypha.
“You were a little bit too far for us,” Trevor responded to Lucia’s mention of never being bothered by his family. “And the climate of your region is not the kindest either.”
‘And Dracula was enough trouble for us,’ he wanted to add. ‘And continues to be.’
That was a thought for later.
Introductions moved to them then and his hand reached to his side as Sypha nudged him. His stern gaze moved from Sypha to Alucard though, as he heard his quiet sound of disbelief. “Not to mention, vampire hunter. Just something to keep in mind.”
“Last time I heard your name, you were a drunk sleeping in ditches and picking fights when he was awake,” the holy woman mentioned plainly.
Trevor could only sigh. “They never did me any justice…”
The conversation easily moved to Alucard and his choice of name as they advanced. While the vampiress disagreed with his reasoning, Trevor found it fitting. For the moment, at least. He needed to dissociate from Adrian, Vlad Tepes’ son, and become Alucard, the opposite of Dracula. His enemy. It would be easier for him, Trevor thought.
But then came another name – Doll, a name that Sypha herself recognized. While Sypha’s realization equalled excitement, Lucia’s stance easily quieted it in a mere moment.
Trevor had been right. Lucia Belune was the Doll of Chernihiv, but there seemed to be more to the story.
However, his questions did not stop a grin from spreading upon his lips as the vampiress easily threatened Alucard with something as simple as his baby stories. But it did not last. It faded as they entered what Trevor presumed to be the main hall of this cursed structure and he caught sight of what was outside – unnatural flames, soon accompanied by those of torches. The smell of death that surrounded them seemed to be the least of their problems as Lucia opened the grand doors.
There was much to take in. Trevor’s conflicted gaze moved from Lucia’s horses and the demons they feasted on to the crowd that had gathered around the unnatural view.
Then all the surrounding flames flared, giving birth to a nightmarish spectacle of shadows.
“Are these your… horses?” Sypha was the one to ask, even if she knew the answer. The nearby flames reflected in her eyes. Despite her curiosity, her body tensed. The people were angry and hurt and disorganized. And afraid. That made them dangerous, all of them. She understood that the situation could turn unpleasant quite fast, unless…
“Did you believe that they would go unnoticed in a land that dreads everything that appears unnatural in the night?” Trevor questioned Lucia. He was just as tense and just so done.
They were Nightmares or, at least, something of the sort. Demon-horses. While he could see the appeal of them in such times, due to their resilience, it was still a bold move to bring them out and about. Humans would not look at them and see demon-horses. They would only see demons and they would want to strike.
And Trevor’s attention was caught as one of the men at the front dropped his torch to the ground. Both of his hands grabbed at the bloodied sword that he carried and he raised it. While his gaze was wild and unflinching, his grip betrayed him – the sword lightly trembled in the light.
He wanted to advance and that was the moment in which Trevor shouted: “DON’T!” There was determination in his tone and while the young man did not directly turn toward him, he didn't advance either. Trevor would move forward then, but not before turning back to Alucard and Lucia. “Stay back for now.” They didn't need complications. It would be enough for one of the men to find something curious about the two of them and it will all go to Hell.
The man didn't look at him even as he approached. Those behind him backed him up, torches, swords, and lances tightly gripped. Not many were left – fifteen or twenty at most and some more in the nearby distance. And all it took for them to be unleashed was one bold move.
“How do we kill them?” One asked, seemingly recognizing Trevor from the recent events. He had helped them, after all. He was a Belmont. He had to know how to kill such creatures.
Trevor watched the two horses then. “We don’t,” he sighed, and these words alone were enough to earn him some doubtful looks.
“They’re not… right,” the one with the sword spoke up then, his voice ragged.
“No, they’re not.” Trevor easily agreed. But they’re feasting on the bones of the demons that attacked your village and not your own.”
“They’re not right!” The man accentuated the last word, shouting this time. “You know what to do! Kill them!”
“Nothing is right,” Sypha’s voice echoed behind Trevor, “not anymore. But they are the least wrong right now. We will take care of them. They will be gone from your village by sunrise, I promise you.”
Yet, he didn't relent.
“Have you got a family? All of you, have you got someone waiting for you, even if they are alive or dead? Someone to see again, someone to protect, someone to mourn and bury?” Trevor's voice rose above their heads. While some answered positively, others sat in silence. Even the young man with hot blood. There was a loss in that silence, he knew. He had been silent too, long ago. “Then see them again. You strike, they strike. There will be bloodshed again. There will be no revenge in that.”
“We know how to deal with them. They will be gone. There will be no more loss for you.” Sypha assured. “Go tend to your wounded, mourn and bury your dead.”
It was an older man that reached out to the bold one, his hand settling on his shoulder. He moved away from the touch, but he let the sword drop before making his way through the mob.
Everything settled. People began to leave, whispering aloud among them, throwing glances at the demon-horses and the imposing carriage behind them. Their fear was still present.
And a long-held breath parted Trevor’s lips. He looked back at those he had left behind then, pointing to the horses with his head and gaze. Someone should see to them, calm them. Take them further away from that place, at least.
Sypha came to join his side then, but she was not the only one. There was the older man again, hunched over the no longer burning torch that he now used as a cane.
“His grandparents died tonight. They were all he had. Poor boy. They had been looking after him since he was a babe.” He looked behind them though, back to the demon-horses. “Do demons need horses?”
Sypha cleared her throat. “Indeed, that is unfortunate.” While her words were meant to serve as a distraction, she felt for the young man’s loss. Any loss. “If you would be kind enough…” she began to trail her words.
“Yes?”
“Do you know where we could find some food or water for the road? We can pay.” What she had was little, but she knew that Trevor had some coin. Hopefully, so did the others.
“And maybe something bigger than… that,” Trevor eyed Lucia’s carriage. He did not know if it could hold six people or if it was even comfortable to sleep in. Not like he could complain. He had slept in ditches, after all. Ilene had been right. “Maybe something to drink...”
“I mentioned water,” Sypha told him.
“I don’t mean water.” Trevor almost sounded disgusted.
“It is always the innocent that suffer.”
“And it is always the Church behind it.”
She understood. She understood too well, that much was clear to Carmilla. Hector’s words and her own story of Dracula’s grief seemed to have the desired effect – it made her think of reasons of her own, reasons that could easily align with Dracula’s. Perhaps those reasons were the ones that had led to her decision of becoming a witch in the first place.
Alina Meier did not seem power-hungry by nature. Carmilla recognized no greed, no dream of glory and power, in her silence. There was sorrow. A deep-rooted sorrow.
While she could not understand loss as humans did, not anymore, she understood pain.
Anger.
The insatiable thirst that those emotions could impose on a creature.
While the witch did not question her place in the grander image of things any longer, she questioned Dracula’s reaction to her presence alongside him. Carmilla read a silent approval in her words, no matter. “Dracula is in need of allies, not enemies. An entire world of enemies is rather enough. If anything, he would only be reminded that humans are a threat to your kind.” Which meant that she had reason enough to despise them.
“It is not the misplaced accusation that angers him. It is the stupidity of humans and their childish beliefs that he had assisted to for hundreds of years. Doctor, witch, they know no better. Dracula would not be as stupid to make the same mistake.”
Carmilla looked at her more intently then. “If I am proven wrong, you are free to return to Styria. I stand by my word – I want Styria to be different. I won’t assist to the misplaced grudges of old men, even if they are Dracula.” That was something personal to her. “I am the one that must serve him.” In theory, at least. “You have no duty towards him.”
“So?” She asked then. “Will you assist me on this journey?”
Eir felt them, the flickering emotions. There was the memory of the anger and pain she had felt after her own loss, the sorrow that was left behind. But there was an awakening of sorts, a desire to turn these negative emotions against those who had led to their birth in the first place.
‘It is what it is,’ Eir thought again and again. ‘It is what it is.’
She heard the Forgemaster’s questions. While her eyes had not left him as she had translated his words, her gaze took him in once more, from head to toe. Forgemaster or not, Dracula’s General or not, he appeared to be as harmless as his obedient pup. And yet, there was that fire...
It proved to her, once more, that just like animals, mistreated humans could be dangerous. Alina had poisoned her husband after all.
And now look at the both of them…
“It is rare, indeed. I and your demons have different origins,” Eir answered. Much like Carmilla, he should be entertained. “I was a creation of God before being a creation of Hell. It was walking your Earth that had led to my rebirth in the first place.” Her origins were no secret, not anymore. But they were vague enough.
“I have been with my mistress for a while now,” but she did not consider it long enough. There was still much to learn, much to teach and serving Dracula would prove to be a trial. “But it is not my first time here.” Even if it seemed to be. Mama Ocllo seemed too far away…
She looked back to Lady Carmilla and Alina then, still deep in conversation. “As for what they are saying…” she would tell him, but not as she did for Alina. “Lady Carmilla told my mistress about the cruel ending of your master’s marriage.” He must be well aware of it. It was the reason for his actions, after all. “But my mistress is not certain that, by joining Dracula, he would not hold her profession against her. She is a witch. Dracula’s wife was thought to be a witch and that had brought her end.”
“Lady Carmilla doesn’t seem to believe that he would. But what do you believe?”
He was easier to read than the vampiress, after all.
The meeting room was silent except for the light clink of Lenore’s nail against her empty glass and the sound of shuffling cards – Striga and Morana were starting a new game. Again. It was no surprise, considering that most of their card games ended in a tie. Put the family’s military leader and strategist together and you would get endless ties and rematches. Unless, of course, Striga gave in and let Morana win for the sake of romance.
Lenore sighed. Her two sisters paid her no mind as they split the cards between the two of them. So she sighed again.
“If you expect us to ask you what’s wrong, you are mistaken, Lenore,” Morana was the one to speak up, her eyes not leaving new cards. There was something motherly to her tone, but the right corner of her lips rose – she was pleased with her hand.
“Do you think she’s ashamed of us? She did not let us meet this little witch just yet.”
It was a jest, of course. But Lenore had nothing better to do.
“Ashamed of you?” Striga turned her words around. “Most likely.”
“Rude,” Lenore returned easily.
“Play nice, you two,” Morana warned her sisters. “She’s not our little witch yet. That’s why we didn’t meet her. But there’s time.” She had always trusted Carmilla. Blind trust or not, Morana didn't care.
There was a shadow of a frown upon Striga’s features. “It was a bold move from her to promise Dracula a gift before actually getting that gift.”
Morana simply shrugged. “That’s how dreamers are. Bold.”
It was Striga’s turn to sigh. One could not argue with Morana on that matter. “At least we didn’t send Lenore to handle her.” Even if she was the diplomat in this context. “She likes playing with her food, it’s such a loss of time…”
“Rude!”
But she laughed. And so did the other two.
Lucyfer
He took note of the names: Lucia Belune, Johann Sterling, and Ilene Moraru. He knew Johann’s family name. His and Trevor’s family shared the same profession, just not the same target. While he recognized the vampiress’ name as well, there had been conflicting reports regarding Chernihiv as a whole – there had been mentions of a Doll of Chernihiv along Dimas Belun, and after that, there was no Doll and no Dimas Belun. Just Lucia Belune. His family had easily started to believe that Doll and Lucia were one and the same vampires.
But he did not know Ilene Moraru and she did not give too much away either, as she only nodded and smiled towards Sypha.
“You were a little bit too far for us,” Trevor responded to Lucia’s mention of never being bothered by his family. “And the climate of your region is not the kindest either.”
‘And Dracula was enough trouble for us,’ he wanted to add. ‘And continues to be.’
That was a thought for later.
Introductions moved to them then and his hand reached to his side as Sypha nudged him. His stern gaze moved from Sypha to Alucard though, as he heard his quiet sound of disbelief. “Not to mention, vampire hunter. Just something to keep in mind.”
“Last time I heard your name, you were a drunk sleeping in ditches and picking fights when he was awake,” the holy woman mentioned plainly.
Trevor could only sigh. “They never did me any justice…”
The conversation easily moved to Alucard and his choice of name as they advanced. While the vampiress disagreed with his reasoning, Trevor found it fitting. For the moment, at least. He needed to dissociate from Adrian, Vlad Tepes’ son, and become Alucard, the opposite of Dracula. His enemy. It would be easier for him, Trevor thought.
But then came another name – Doll, a name that Sypha herself recognized. While Sypha’s realization equalled excitement, Lucia’s stance easily quieted it in a mere moment.
Trevor had been right. Lucia Belune was the Doll of Chernihiv, but there seemed to be more to the story.
However, his questions did not stop a grin from spreading upon his lips as the vampiress easily threatened Alucard with something as simple as his baby stories. But it did not last. It faded as they entered what Trevor presumed to be the main hall of this cursed structure and he caught sight of what was outside – unnatural flames, soon accompanied by those of torches. The smell of death that surrounded them seemed to be the least of their problems as Lucia opened the grand doors.
There was much to take in. Trevor’s conflicted gaze moved from Lucia’s horses and the demons they feasted on to the crowd that had gathered around the unnatural view.
Then all the surrounding flames flared, giving birth to a nightmarish spectacle of shadows.
“Are these your… horses?” Sypha was the one to ask, even if she knew the answer. The nearby flames reflected in her eyes. Despite her curiosity, her body tensed. The people were angry and hurt and disorganized. And afraid. That made them dangerous, all of them. She understood that the situation could turn unpleasant quite fast, unless…
“Did you believe that they would go unnoticed in a land that dreads everything that appears unnatural in the night?” Trevor questioned Lucia. He was just as tense and just so done.
They were Nightmares or, at least, something of the sort. Demon-horses. While he could see the appeal of them in such times, due to their resilience, it was still a bold move to bring them out and about. Humans would not look at them and see demon-horses. They would only see demons and they would want to strike.
And Trevor’s attention was caught as one of the men at the front dropped his torch to the ground. Both of his hands grabbed at the bloodied sword that he carried and he raised it. While his gaze was wild and unflinching, his grip betrayed him – the sword lightly trembled in the light.
He wanted to advance and that was the moment in which Trevor shouted: “DON’T!” There was determination in his tone and while the young man did not directly turn toward him, he didn't advance either. Trevor would move forward then, but not before turning back to Alucard and Lucia. “Stay back for now.” They didn't need complications. It would be enough for one of the men to find something curious about the two of them and it will all go to Hell.
The man didn't look at him even as he approached. Those behind him backed him up, torches, swords, and lances tightly gripped. Not many were left – fifteen or twenty at most and some more in the nearby distance. And all it took for them to be unleashed was one bold move.
“How do we kill them?” One asked, seemingly recognizing Trevor from the recent events. He had helped them, after all. He was a Belmont. He had to know how to kill such creatures.
Trevor watched the two horses then. “We don’t,” he sighed, and these words alone were enough to earn him some doubtful looks.
“They’re not… right,” the one with the sword spoke up then, his voice ragged.
“No, they’re not.” Trevor easily agreed. But they’re feasting on the bones of the demons that attacked your village and not your own.”
“They’re not right!” The man accentuated the last word, shouting this time. “You know what to do! Kill them!”
“Nothing is right,” Sypha’s voice echoed behind Trevor, “not anymore. But they are the least wrong right now. We will take care of them. They will be gone from your village by sunrise, I promise you.”
Yet, he didn't relent.
“Have you got a family? All of you, have you got someone waiting for you, even if they are alive or dead? Someone to see again, someone to protect, someone to mourn and bury?” Trevor's voice rose above their heads. While some answered positively, others sat in silence. Even the young man with hot blood. There was a loss in that silence, he knew. He had been silent too, long ago. “Then see them again. You strike, they strike. There will be bloodshed again. There will be no revenge in that.”
“We know how to deal with them. They will be gone. There will be no more loss for you.” Sypha assured. “Go tend to your wounded, mourn and bury your dead.”
It was an older man that reached out to the bold one, his hand settling on his shoulder. He moved away from the touch, but he let the sword drop before making his way through the mob.
Everything settled. People began to leave, whispering aloud among them, throwing glances at the demon-horses and the imposing carriage behind them. Their fear was still present.
And a long-held breath parted Trevor’s lips. He looked back at those he had left behind then, pointing to the horses with his head and gaze. Someone should see to them, calm them. Take them further away from that place, at least.
Sypha came to join his side then, but she was not the only one. There was the older man again, hunched over the no longer burning torch that he now used as a cane.
“His grandparents died tonight. They were all he had. Poor boy. They had been looking after him since he was a babe.” He looked behind them though, back to the demon-horses. “Do demons need horses?”
Sypha cleared her throat. “Indeed, that is unfortunate.” While her words were meant to serve as a distraction, she felt for the young man’s loss. Any loss. “If you would be kind enough…” she began to trail her words.
“Yes?”
“Do you know where we could find some food or water for the road? We can pay.” What she had was little, but she knew that Trevor had some coin. Hopefully, so did the others.
“And maybe something bigger than… that,” Trevor eyed Lucia’s carriage. He did not know if it could hold six people or if it was even comfortable to sleep in. Not like he could complain. He had slept in ditches, after all. Ilene had been right. “Maybe something to drink...”
“I mentioned water,” Sypha told him.
“I don’t mean water.” Trevor almost sounded disgusted.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“It is always the innocent that suffer.”
“And it is always the Church behind it.”
She understood. She understood too well, that much was clear to Carmilla. Hector’s words and her own story of Dracula’s grief seemed to have the desired effect – it made her think of reasons of her own, reasons that could easily align with Dracula’s. Perhaps those reasons were the ones that had led to her decision of becoming a witch in the first place.
Alina Meier did not seem power-hungry by nature. Carmilla recognized no greed, no dream of glory and power, in her silence. There was sorrow. A deep-rooted sorrow.
While she could not understand loss as humans did, not anymore, she understood pain.
Anger.
The insatiable thirst that those emotions could impose on a creature.
While the witch did not question her place in the grander image of things any longer, she questioned Dracula’s reaction to her presence alongside him. Carmilla read a silent approval in her words, no matter. “Dracula is in need of allies, not enemies. An entire world of enemies is rather enough. If anything, he would only be reminded that humans are a threat to your kind.” Which meant that she had reason enough to despise them.
“It is not the misplaced accusation that angers him. It is the stupidity of humans and their childish beliefs that he had assisted to for hundreds of years. Doctor, witch, they know no better. Dracula would not be as stupid to make the same mistake.”
Carmilla looked at her more intently then. “If I am proven wrong, you are free to return to Styria. I stand by my word – I want Styria to be different. I won’t assist to the misplaced grudges of old men, even if they are Dracula.” That was something personal to her. “I am the one that must serve him.” In theory, at least. “You have no duty towards him.”
“So?” She asked then. “Will you assist me on this journey?”
Eir felt them, the flickering emotions. There was the memory of the anger and pain she had felt after her own loss, the sorrow that was left behind. But there was an awakening of sorts, a desire to turn these negative emotions against those who had led to their birth in the first place.
‘It is what it is,’ Eir thought again and again. ‘It is what it is.’
She heard the Forgemaster’s questions. While her eyes had not left him as she had translated his words, her gaze took him in once more, from head to toe. Forgemaster or not, Dracula’s General or not, he appeared to be as harmless as his obedient pup. And yet, there was that fire...
It proved to her, once more, that just like animals, mistreated humans could be dangerous. Alina had poisoned her husband after all.
And now look at the both of them…
“It is rare, indeed. I and your demons have different origins,” Eir answered. Much like Carmilla, he should be entertained. “I was a creation of God before being a creation of Hell. It was walking your Earth that had led to my rebirth in the first place.” Her origins were no secret, not anymore. But they were vague enough.
“I have been with my mistress for a while now,” but she did not consider it long enough. There was still much to learn, much to teach and serving Dracula would prove to be a trial. “But it is not my first time here.” Even if it seemed to be. Mama Ocllo seemed too far away…
She looked back to Lady Carmilla and Alina then, still deep in conversation. “As for what they are saying…” she would tell him, but not as she did for Alina. “Lady Carmilla told my mistress about the cruel ending of your master’s marriage.” He must be well aware of it. It was the reason for his actions, after all. “But my mistress is not certain that, by joining Dracula, he would not hold her profession against her. She is a witch. Dracula’s wife was thought to be a witch and that had brought her end.”
“Lady Carmilla doesn’t seem to believe that he would. But what do you believe?”
He was easier to read than the vampiress, after all.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The meeting room was silent except for the light clink of Lenore’s nail against her empty glass and the sound of shuffling cards – Striga and Morana were starting a new game. Again. It was no surprise, considering that most of their card games ended in a tie. Put the family’s military leader and strategist together and you would get endless ties and rematches. Unless, of course, Striga gave in and let Morana win for the sake of romance.
Lenore sighed. Her two sisters paid her no mind as they split the cards between the two of them. So she sighed again.
“If you expect us to ask you what’s wrong, you are mistaken, Lenore,” Morana was the one to speak up, her eyes not leaving new cards. There was something motherly to her tone, but the right corner of her lips rose – she was pleased with her hand.
“Do you think she’s ashamed of us? She did not let us meet this little witch just yet.”
It was a jest, of course. But Lenore had nothing better to do.
“Ashamed of you?” Striga turned her words around. “Most likely.”
“Rude,” Lenore returned easily.
“Play nice, you two,” Morana warned her sisters. “She’s not our little witch yet. That’s why we didn’t meet her. But there’s time.” She had always trusted Carmilla. Blind trust or not, Morana didn't care.
There was a shadow of a frown upon Striga’s features. “It was a bold move from her to promise Dracula a gift before actually getting that gift.”
Morana simply shrugged. “That’s how dreamers are. Bold.”
It was Striga’s turn to sigh. One could not argue with Morana on that matter. “At least we didn’t send Lenore to handle her.” Even if she was the diplomat in this context. “She likes playing with her food, it’s such a loss of time…”
“Rude!”
But she laughed. And so did the other two.
Lucyfer
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Lucyfer
Said you'd die for me, well -- there's the ground
Johann was the one to answer Sypha with a nod, “Regular ones wouldn’t cut it,” for the type of journey they were making, they just couldn’t be relied on. Marius and Sulla were good for this – they didn’t require the same amount of rest, or sustenance, that a regular horse did. They usually didn’t even need to eat physical food unless they were deprived of dreams.
Which, of late, they were.
It helped them to stay stable in the material plane.
Lucia shot Trevor a glance for his question. She hadn’t expected it, but didn’t say as much, because she also hadn’t planned to bring them into towns all that much. Trevor was quick to act before she could consider phrasing an answer – stepping forward, and addressing the crowd.
Lucia stepped back in line with Alucard and let him and Sypha make sure nothing bad happened here, calming the tempers, and promising to deal with the horses. Still, both Lucia and Alucard remained tense, both poised to protect the horses if it came to it – even if, in truth, Marius and Sulla likely would not need their help.
“Do you think he knows how to kill them?” Alucard ventured, leaning a bit into Lucia as the tempers started to die down.
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Lucia responded in a similar whisper.
But Trevor didn’t. And Trevor hadn’t lashed out at her, or Alucard. Perhaps this Belmont had some sense, even if his only rational for not hunting her down before was due to proximity. Certainly, believable enough – the Belmonts had enough trouble here.
Lucia caught Trevor’s gesture, and didn’t speak out in question of it. She clucked her tongue as she moved away from Alucard, Marius and Sulla’s heads turning with the sound, and she spoke in fluent Latin – albeit, not the ecclesiastical sound most were familiar with, but the far older variant of the language.
“Sulla, Mari, come along with me.”
Marius tossed his head, a clear complaint about the order in his whinny, but Sulla pulled on the band that bound them both, and Marius lowered his head, grunted, and followed along, pulling the carriage after Lucia as she led the way, cooing soft words in Latin about how good they were being, with the promise of more to eat once they were no longer bothering the townsfolk.
Johann considered following, as did Alucard, but the conversation taking place with Sypha and Trevor drew him in.
Besides, Johann knew when he was frivolous.
Alucard, however, recognized where he may be seen as more of a threat. “I’ll follow Lucia,” Alucard spoke so that Johann and Ilene would hear him, not loud enough to disturb the others, and gave a short inclination of his head to move on.
Johann approached Trevor, Sypha, and the man, as they asked about supplies, “Sorry to interrupt,” Johann said, “I just wanted to say, um, I can help purchase anything,” Lucia was stupidly rich. Most of her funds were, naturally, back in Chernihiv, but she had packed for the occasion for the regions they’d travel through; he had Romanian currency. He didn’t understand it very well, but he had it, so he and Ilene could buy food and such as they moved through.
“Though I’m not buying alcohol.” He knew what Trevor meant.
Sypha’s lips curled into a little victorious grin at that, before her eyes returned to the older man, dimming again, smile subduing itself quick enough.
The older man answered, “Well, I don’t know how much help I can be, but I can help show you to some of the merchants who are still alive. They may have goods they’re willing to sell, although….”
He gave something of a half-hearted shrug.
“Anything would help,” Sypha encouraged.
~***~
A cull of humanity, an elimination of the Church, with so many powerful people behind it. Vampires, demons, and forgemasters united against humanity. It seemed possible. It seemed, indeed, like the world could change, and Alina could have a hand it. That it could be kinder, albeit after some cruelty.
There would be innocents that died – as innocents as humans could be.
Was that worth it?
She didn’t know the true shape of the world after this, but she was certain the Church wouldn’t rise, and humanity would continue – vampires needed humanity. They had that rather unfortunate disadvantage.
“I am certain it would be terribly easy to walk away and return to Styria if Dracula disliked me,” Alina answered dryly when Carmilla said she could leave if she was wrong about Dracula. Nonetheless, Alina saw her point. Though Alina had once been human – in so many ways, still was – so had vampires. So were the Forgemasters. Dracula wasn’t killing them for their histories, and he may not lash out at her. “I would like to consult with my familiar for a moment, before I provide an answer, Lady Carmilla.”
Hector was not surprised to hear that Eir was not akin to his own demons. He knew she was different, although how different he was not certain until she said it. His brows lifted. ‘Forged by God?’ Did she know God? Had she spoken to God? He was immensely curious of what she knew of God, although that seemed like a conversation better saved for when his attention didn’t need to be pulled in so many directions.
Like watching Carmilla, and determining something about the Witch. Who he couldn’t understand.
That remained frustrating, although Eir offered a translation. It didn’t take a genius to know it wasn’t word-for-word, as her translation of his own words had been. It was too short to be word-for-word.
The gist was enough, and Hector didn’t quite contain a short laugh at the question of Alina being a witch, “Sorry, I don’t mean to offend,” Hector cleared up quickly, trying to dismiss that lingering desire to chuckle, “It’s only that Dracula would hardly blame Alina for being a witch, or consider her offensive just for that. If anything, it shows she’s already turned against humanity, which, to him, would be a good thing.”
Whether or not Dracula personally liked her for it was debatable, but irrelevant, for the most part. Dracula didn’t like most of the others he was working with. Hector was convinced he actually hated everyone except for himself, and Isaac.
He wouldn’t go so far as to declare that. “I don’t think he’ll have any problem with her. Well. No more than he has with the vampires. Probably less.” It would be only too obvious for them to see the issues with the other vampire generals and Dracula’s absolute disdain for them. Not that Hector truly blamed him.
As much as he liked Dracula, and wanted to like the other vampires, his short time around them had shown them they were…well, really not that much better than animals, either. They didn’t think much outside of their primal needs.
Carmilla was a stark difference.
Which, of late, they were.
It helped them to stay stable in the material plane.
Lucia shot Trevor a glance for his question. She hadn’t expected it, but didn’t say as much, because she also hadn’t planned to bring them into towns all that much. Trevor was quick to act before she could consider phrasing an answer – stepping forward, and addressing the crowd.
Lucia stepped back in line with Alucard and let him and Sypha make sure nothing bad happened here, calming the tempers, and promising to deal with the horses. Still, both Lucia and Alucard remained tense, both poised to protect the horses if it came to it – even if, in truth, Marius and Sulla likely would not need their help.
“Do you think he knows how to kill them?” Alucard ventured, leaning a bit into Lucia as the tempers started to die down.
“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Lucia responded in a similar whisper.
But Trevor didn’t. And Trevor hadn’t lashed out at her, or Alucard. Perhaps this Belmont had some sense, even if his only rational for not hunting her down before was due to proximity. Certainly, believable enough – the Belmonts had enough trouble here.
Lucia caught Trevor’s gesture, and didn’t speak out in question of it. She clucked her tongue as she moved away from Alucard, Marius and Sulla’s heads turning with the sound, and she spoke in fluent Latin – albeit, not the ecclesiastical sound most were familiar with, but the far older variant of the language.
“Sulla, Mari, come along with me.”
Marius tossed his head, a clear complaint about the order in his whinny, but Sulla pulled on the band that bound them both, and Marius lowered his head, grunted, and followed along, pulling the carriage after Lucia as she led the way, cooing soft words in Latin about how good they were being, with the promise of more to eat once they were no longer bothering the townsfolk.
Johann considered following, as did Alucard, but the conversation taking place with Sypha and Trevor drew him in.
Besides, Johann knew when he was frivolous.
Alucard, however, recognized where he may be seen as more of a threat. “I’ll follow Lucia,” Alucard spoke so that Johann and Ilene would hear him, not loud enough to disturb the others, and gave a short inclination of his head to move on.
Johann approached Trevor, Sypha, and the man, as they asked about supplies, “Sorry to interrupt,” Johann said, “I just wanted to say, um, I can help purchase anything,” Lucia was stupidly rich. Most of her funds were, naturally, back in Chernihiv, but she had packed for the occasion for the regions they’d travel through; he had Romanian currency. He didn’t understand it very well, but he had it, so he and Ilene could buy food and such as they moved through.
“Though I’m not buying alcohol.” He knew what Trevor meant.
Sypha’s lips curled into a little victorious grin at that, before her eyes returned to the older man, dimming again, smile subduing itself quick enough.
The older man answered, “Well, I don’t know how much help I can be, but I can help show you to some of the merchants who are still alive. They may have goods they’re willing to sell, although….”
He gave something of a half-hearted shrug.
“Anything would help,” Sypha encouraged.
~***~
A cull of humanity, an elimination of the Church, with so many powerful people behind it. Vampires, demons, and forgemasters united against humanity. It seemed possible. It seemed, indeed, like the world could change, and Alina could have a hand it. That it could be kinder, albeit after some cruelty.
There would be innocents that died – as innocents as humans could be.
Was that worth it?
She didn’t know the true shape of the world after this, but she was certain the Church wouldn’t rise, and humanity would continue – vampires needed humanity. They had that rather unfortunate disadvantage.
“I am certain it would be terribly easy to walk away and return to Styria if Dracula disliked me,” Alina answered dryly when Carmilla said she could leave if she was wrong about Dracula. Nonetheless, Alina saw her point. Though Alina had once been human – in so many ways, still was – so had vampires. So were the Forgemasters. Dracula wasn’t killing them for their histories, and he may not lash out at her. “I would like to consult with my familiar for a moment, before I provide an answer, Lady Carmilla.”
Hector was not surprised to hear that Eir was not akin to his own demons. He knew she was different, although how different he was not certain until she said it. His brows lifted. ‘Forged by God?’ Did she know God? Had she spoken to God? He was immensely curious of what she knew of God, although that seemed like a conversation better saved for when his attention didn’t need to be pulled in so many directions.
Like watching Carmilla, and determining something about the Witch. Who he couldn’t understand.
That remained frustrating, although Eir offered a translation. It didn’t take a genius to know it wasn’t word-for-word, as her translation of his own words had been. It was too short to be word-for-word.
The gist was enough, and Hector didn’t quite contain a short laugh at the question of Alina being a witch, “Sorry, I don’t mean to offend,” Hector cleared up quickly, trying to dismiss that lingering desire to chuckle, “It’s only that Dracula would hardly blame Alina for being a witch, or consider her offensive just for that. If anything, it shows she’s already turned against humanity, which, to him, would be a good thing.”
Whether or not Dracula personally liked her for it was debatable, but irrelevant, for the most part. Dracula didn’t like most of the others he was working with. Hector was convinced he actually hated everyone except for himself, and Isaac.
He wouldn’t go so far as to declare that. “I don’t think he’ll have any problem with her. Well. No more than he has with the vampires. Probably less.” It would be only too obvious for them to see the issues with the other vampire generals and Dracula’s absolute disdain for them. Not that Hector truly blamed him.
As much as he liked Dracula, and wanted to like the other vampires, his short time around them had shown them they were…well, really not that much better than animals, either. They didn’t think much outside of their primal needs.
Carmilla was a stark difference.
Asteria
⚔️
It was hard not to notice the stark difference between Sypha Belnades and Trevor Belmont when they were side by side: the ever-smiling Speaker and the brooding vampire hunter. Ilene found herself pleasantly surprised by Sypha’s radiant energy, at least – it would be refreshing to have someone like her along the way, someone so eager, curious, and hopeful.
Ilene felt none of these things. She was just a little tired and deeply worried. But there had been hope. She had hoped to find Adrian, for Lisa. And now she could only hope to not lose him to Alucard.
‘You have given me this gift.’ Her thoughts ran free, but there was no face behind them. There hadn’t been one for a while now. ‘You made me believe. It is not your duty to keep my belief alive. That is mine and mine alone, I know. But don’t leave me. Don’t leave me so I won’t leave them.’
As she blinked, she held her eyes closed for a moment longer before opening them again. She gave Adrian a sidelong glance then.
His burden was a heavy one, she knew, but he didn’t have to carry it alone, whether he acknowledged that or not. He had Lucia and Johann. They were the ones that had kept her sane during all this time too, after all. There was something comforting to their presence. The Speaker also seemed to be a breath of fresh air.
It was the Belmont that she was uncertain of. He was rather displeased, but not ignorant. As they all tensed at the sight of fire and steel, he was the one to go ahead to try and reach out to the mob. Sypha followed him shortly afterwards. And they both managed to disperse the avenging crowd, much to all’s benefit.
Lucia was the first to break away from them then, reaching for Sulla and Marius with the intent to lead them away from the villagers’ prying eyes. Adrian chose to follow her and Ilene offered him a nod as he turned around and left. Johann moved straight for Sypha and Trevor, and their new acquaintance.
And Ilene lingered behind. She considered following Adrian, but then thought against it. Perhaps it would do him good to be alone with Lucia.
So she did what she had always done when she didn’t know any better. She followed Johann, reaching him and the others just as the old man began listing their options. Her hand lightly gripped his shoulder to announce her presence.
This was something she was used to. They had needed to get supplies of their own on their way to Gresit and someone had needed to make sure that Johann’s pockets would not be emptied just because he was foreign.
Now though, she didn’t feel like bargaining. This was hardly the right time.
“Maria was around here, somewhere,” the old man spoke up and pointed the torch somewhere near. It was that way he began to walk. “Best cheese and meat, I promise you. Hopefully she will have some to spare.” Considering the attack, well… these were hard times. He wasn’t certain that Maria’s animals were even alive. She had suffered enough losses along the way.
“Anything would do,” Ilene reiterated Sypha’s words. “We have some of our own left,” she informed Trevor and Sypha. But it would not be enough for all of them at this point. “The little we get now should be enough until we reach the next village or town.”
“Hopefully, someone would be allowed some respite then,” Trevor spoke up. He seemed bothered, but Ilene couldn’t quite say if he ever was unbothered by something.
Sypha was the one to sigh. She knew what he meant. Someone was him and respite meant alcohol. Preferably, beer. He had not taken Johann’s own refusal lightly. “No, Trevor.”
“After all I've done, I think I deser-“
“Our thanks?” Sypha asked, smiling brightly in his direction. No, that wasn’t what he meant and she knew it. “You already have it. We are very thankful. Most thankful.”
The old man chuckled then, lightly shaking his head. “You – well, young people in general, are so witty nowadays. It’s hard to keep up with you.” He looked towards Sypha then. “You and your people are not from around here, are you? What were you called again?” He easily recognized her attire, but…
“My people are called Speakers.” She wasn’t that surprised by his lack of knowledge. Most had paid them no mind. Well, that was until the Church had decided they were the root of all evil on Earth. “And no, we’re not from Wallachia. We’re from everywhere. But we’d like to think that Wallachia could be our home, for a little while.”
“Quite a bad home you’ve chosen, child.”
Sypha shrugged. “A home is the place that needs you most.” And Wallachia seemed to fit that description for now. She did wonder, briefly, if her people were alright…
But the older man easily agreed with her, nodding lightly. “Indeed.” It was Johann he eyed down next. He seemed intent on discovering bits of them all. “And you have quite a heavy accent yourself.”
He was distracted though, as once soft and muffled voices became louder and clearer. Men and women came and went. While most were alright, just shaken, there were others on the ground, wailing as they bled out. ‘This is why you need doctors. This is why you don’t call doctors witches and burn them on pyres,’ Ilene thought bitterly. At least some seemed to have the vague idea of what they should do.
“Here she is,” the guide remarked. “Maria!” He called out, loud enough to attract the attention of a blonde woman, carrying an empty bucked. She seemed startled by the shout but when her gaze met the familiar face, she was relieved.
Until her eyes fell on the others. There was wariness then, a light tension. She did not approach them. “What is it?”
“Customers.”
“I have no need for customers.”
The older man seemed to understand her reaction. “They helped us, Maria.” At least the Belmont and the Speaker magician did. “It could’ve been worse.”
“I could help you further, if you would allow me,” Ilene offered.
Maria’s eyes narrowed. “Are you a nun?” Her silver cross and the size of it caught her eye. She didn’t necessarily look the part, but during these times she had seen some nuns dressed in normal attire. They seemed to prefer grey, much like the colour of her kirtle. Their hair was tightly bound, hidden beneath their kerchiefs. And well, there was something… rigorous about them. Much like her.
“No.” That was the truth. “I am a sister.” A half-lie. Not many knew the difference between nuns and sisters, even less the difference between these two and the sisters of the Brotherhood of Light. Without different attires, they were one and the same.
“Very well,” she replied. “Suit yourself.” She looked at the others then. “What do you need?”
“Whatever you can spare,” Sypha was the one to speak. “Whatever you see fit for the road.”
Maria nodded. It did not mean that she trusted them however. She approached them though, throwing the empty bucket in Trevor’s arms. He was quick enough to catch it. “There’s a well there. Fill your flasks, take how much you need. I’ll see to the food."
She inspected them. "You might also need some blankets or something warmer. The nights are not what they used to be."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The Forgemaster laughed at her question. Eir’s eyes narrowed slightly at the unexpected gesture – it was the thought of Alina’s reasons for her wariness that led to this reaction. She had had enough of misplaced grudges. So had Eir, in truth.
But she let it go. There was no malice in his laugh or in the words that followed it. If anything, it only showed her that their shared worry was rather unfounded. Alina’s profession wasn’t a death sentence. It was proof of her animosity towards humanity. That seemed to be all that Dracula needed in the grander scheme of things. He didn’t have to like his allies, as long as they were tied by the same purpose and they served their part well.
And she heard Alina’s request.
“Very well then,” Eir offered to the Forgemaster. “We shall see if your truth is also your master’s.” Much like Carmilla, she knew what needed to done if the situation proved otherwise. “If you’ll excuse me, my mistress requires my assistance.”
She took a step back and inclined her head. “General.” And with that, she left him.
Carmilla, instead, seemed to linger a moment longer in her position, even if the witch’s wish was heard and understood. Her tone was dry; that dryness did the vampiress read as disbelief. She didn’t trust her or her pretty words and promises. She saw little truth in them.
Perhaps Carmilla should have let Lenore handle it. She was better at inspiring trust, sweet and gentle as she was – in appearance, at least.
Or perhaps it was better this way.
“Of course,” Carmilla said in response. “I will leave you to it.”
And she would, passing by the familiar as she offered them space, but with no intent to leave the grand hall itself. She passed even by Hector, settling a bit farther from him and closer to the throne itself. She wasn’t prepared for his whining, even if she knew that it would come, sooner or later. That, and the fact that she desired to mask her impatience. She could not get rid of that human trait despite the hundreds of years that had passed over her.
Eir did not look at Carmilla as she passed by her, not directly at least. There had been sidelong glances, but the vampiress gave little away, much like herself. Learning and discerning her reactions as time went by would prove to be a journey in itself.
She focused on Alina though, as she came to a stop in front of her. She knew that she may be rather unprepared for this. She knew that it was overwhelming.
But a choice had to be made no matter. It all came down to a choice.
It was Enochian that Eir chose to speak in then. Alina knew it well enough, and while humans, in general, regarded it as something special, powerful, in most contexts it was rather… usual to Eir. It was the language of her people, after all. “He seemed rather amused by your question.” Eir would refrain from using names or titles, however. “Much like her, he doesn’t believe that the vampire king would wish to do you any harm. He is truthful. But also loyal. What binds him to his master could easily reflect into his beliefs.” So they could not know for certain, the truth of the matter. Her reading was meant to show the truth of the person in question – his truth may as well be another’s lie. “As for her… I am not certain.”
Eir didn’t like uncertainty. It tasted like defeat. But so did fate. Uncertainty and fate, such close sisters they were.
“I have seen you here, Nanaeel.” 'Nanaeel' was an affectionate term that Eir used for Alina. It was an Enochian word and it meant ‘my power’. And that’s what Alina was to her, after all. Her source of power. “Between these walls, behind these doors. In the middle of this hall. You are meant to be here. It is what it is,” as she had often said.
“But the purpose of your presence here is yours and yours alone. What do you want, Nanaeel?”
Lucyfer
Ilene felt none of these things. She was just a little tired and deeply worried. But there had been hope. She had hoped to find Adrian, for Lisa. And now she could only hope to not lose him to Alucard.
‘You have given me this gift.’ Her thoughts ran free, but there was no face behind them. There hadn’t been one for a while now. ‘You made me believe. It is not your duty to keep my belief alive. That is mine and mine alone, I know. But don’t leave me. Don’t leave me so I won’t leave them.’
As she blinked, she held her eyes closed for a moment longer before opening them again. She gave Adrian a sidelong glance then.
His burden was a heavy one, she knew, but he didn’t have to carry it alone, whether he acknowledged that or not. He had Lucia and Johann. They were the ones that had kept her sane during all this time too, after all. There was something comforting to their presence. The Speaker also seemed to be a breath of fresh air.
It was the Belmont that she was uncertain of. He was rather displeased, but not ignorant. As they all tensed at the sight of fire and steel, he was the one to go ahead to try and reach out to the mob. Sypha followed him shortly afterwards. And they both managed to disperse the avenging crowd, much to all’s benefit.
Lucia was the first to break away from them then, reaching for Sulla and Marius with the intent to lead them away from the villagers’ prying eyes. Adrian chose to follow her and Ilene offered him a nod as he turned around and left. Johann moved straight for Sypha and Trevor, and their new acquaintance.
And Ilene lingered behind. She considered following Adrian, but then thought against it. Perhaps it would do him good to be alone with Lucia.
So she did what she had always done when she didn’t know any better. She followed Johann, reaching him and the others just as the old man began listing their options. Her hand lightly gripped his shoulder to announce her presence.
This was something she was used to. They had needed to get supplies of their own on their way to Gresit and someone had needed to make sure that Johann’s pockets would not be emptied just because he was foreign.
Now though, she didn’t feel like bargaining. This was hardly the right time.
“Maria was around here, somewhere,” the old man spoke up and pointed the torch somewhere near. It was that way he began to walk. “Best cheese and meat, I promise you. Hopefully she will have some to spare.” Considering the attack, well… these were hard times. He wasn’t certain that Maria’s animals were even alive. She had suffered enough losses along the way.
“Anything would do,” Ilene reiterated Sypha’s words. “We have some of our own left,” she informed Trevor and Sypha. But it would not be enough for all of them at this point. “The little we get now should be enough until we reach the next village or town.”
“Hopefully, someone would be allowed some respite then,” Trevor spoke up. He seemed bothered, but Ilene couldn’t quite say if he ever was unbothered by something.
Sypha was the one to sigh. She knew what he meant. Someone was him and respite meant alcohol. Preferably, beer. He had not taken Johann’s own refusal lightly. “No, Trevor.”
“After all I've done, I think I deser-“
“Our thanks?” Sypha asked, smiling brightly in his direction. No, that wasn’t what he meant and she knew it. “You already have it. We are very thankful. Most thankful.”
The old man chuckled then, lightly shaking his head. “You – well, young people in general, are so witty nowadays. It’s hard to keep up with you.” He looked towards Sypha then. “You and your people are not from around here, are you? What were you called again?” He easily recognized her attire, but…
“My people are called Speakers.” She wasn’t that surprised by his lack of knowledge. Most had paid them no mind. Well, that was until the Church had decided they were the root of all evil on Earth. “And no, we’re not from Wallachia. We’re from everywhere. But we’d like to think that Wallachia could be our home, for a little while.”
“Quite a bad home you’ve chosen, child.”
Sypha shrugged. “A home is the place that needs you most.” And Wallachia seemed to fit that description for now. She did wonder, briefly, if her people were alright…
But the older man easily agreed with her, nodding lightly. “Indeed.” It was Johann he eyed down next. He seemed intent on discovering bits of them all. “And you have quite a heavy accent yourself.”
He was distracted though, as once soft and muffled voices became louder and clearer. Men and women came and went. While most were alright, just shaken, there were others on the ground, wailing as they bled out. ‘This is why you need doctors. This is why you don’t call doctors witches and burn them on pyres,’ Ilene thought bitterly. At least some seemed to have the vague idea of what they should do.
“Here she is,” the guide remarked. “Maria!” He called out, loud enough to attract the attention of a blonde woman, carrying an empty bucked. She seemed startled by the shout but when her gaze met the familiar face, she was relieved.
Until her eyes fell on the others. There was wariness then, a light tension. She did not approach them. “What is it?”
“Customers.”
“I have no need for customers.”
The older man seemed to understand her reaction. “They helped us, Maria.” At least the Belmont and the Speaker magician did. “It could’ve been worse.”
“I could help you further, if you would allow me,” Ilene offered.
Maria’s eyes narrowed. “Are you a nun?” Her silver cross and the size of it caught her eye. She didn’t necessarily look the part, but during these times she had seen some nuns dressed in normal attire. They seemed to prefer grey, much like the colour of her kirtle. Their hair was tightly bound, hidden beneath their kerchiefs. And well, there was something… rigorous about them. Much like her.
“No.” That was the truth. “I am a sister.” A half-lie. Not many knew the difference between nuns and sisters, even less the difference between these two and the sisters of the Brotherhood of Light. Without different attires, they were one and the same.
“Very well,” she replied. “Suit yourself.” She looked at the others then. “What do you need?”
“Whatever you can spare,” Sypha was the one to speak. “Whatever you see fit for the road.”
Maria nodded. It did not mean that she trusted them however. She approached them though, throwing the empty bucket in Trevor’s arms. He was quick enough to catch it. “There’s a well there. Fill your flasks, take how much you need. I’ll see to the food."
She inspected them. "You might also need some blankets or something warmer. The nights are not what they used to be."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
The Forgemaster laughed at her question. Eir’s eyes narrowed slightly at the unexpected gesture – it was the thought of Alina’s reasons for her wariness that led to this reaction. She had had enough of misplaced grudges. So had Eir, in truth.
But she let it go. There was no malice in his laugh or in the words that followed it. If anything, it only showed her that their shared worry was rather unfounded. Alina’s profession wasn’t a death sentence. It was proof of her animosity towards humanity. That seemed to be all that Dracula needed in the grander scheme of things. He didn’t have to like his allies, as long as they were tied by the same purpose and they served their part well.
And she heard Alina’s request.
“Very well then,” Eir offered to the Forgemaster. “We shall see if your truth is also your master’s.” Much like Carmilla, she knew what needed to done if the situation proved otherwise. “If you’ll excuse me, my mistress requires my assistance.”
She took a step back and inclined her head. “General.” And with that, she left him.
Carmilla, instead, seemed to linger a moment longer in her position, even if the witch’s wish was heard and understood. Her tone was dry; that dryness did the vampiress read as disbelief. She didn’t trust her or her pretty words and promises. She saw little truth in them.
Perhaps Carmilla should have let Lenore handle it. She was better at inspiring trust, sweet and gentle as she was – in appearance, at least.
Or perhaps it was better this way.
“Of course,” Carmilla said in response. “I will leave you to it.”
And she would, passing by the familiar as she offered them space, but with no intent to leave the grand hall itself. She passed even by Hector, settling a bit farther from him and closer to the throne itself. She wasn’t prepared for his whining, even if she knew that it would come, sooner or later. That, and the fact that she desired to mask her impatience. She could not get rid of that human trait despite the hundreds of years that had passed over her.
Eir did not look at Carmilla as she passed by her, not directly at least. There had been sidelong glances, but the vampiress gave little away, much like herself. Learning and discerning her reactions as time went by would prove to be a journey in itself.
She focused on Alina though, as she came to a stop in front of her. She knew that she may be rather unprepared for this. She knew that it was overwhelming.
But a choice had to be made no matter. It all came down to a choice.
It was Enochian that Eir chose to speak in then. Alina knew it well enough, and while humans, in general, regarded it as something special, powerful, in most contexts it was rather… usual to Eir. It was the language of her people, after all. “He seemed rather amused by your question.” Eir would refrain from using names or titles, however. “Much like her, he doesn’t believe that the vampire king would wish to do you any harm. He is truthful. But also loyal. What binds him to his master could easily reflect into his beliefs.” So they could not know for certain, the truth of the matter. Her reading was meant to show the truth of the person in question – his truth may as well be another’s lie. “As for her… I am not certain.”
Eir didn’t like uncertainty. It tasted like defeat. But so did fate. Uncertainty and fate, such close sisters they were.
“I have seen you here, Nanaeel.” 'Nanaeel' was an affectionate term that Eir used for Alina. It was an Enochian word and it meant ‘my power’. And that’s what Alina was to her, after all. Her source of power. “Between these walls, behind these doors. In the middle of this hall. You are meant to be here. It is what it is,” as she had often said.
“But the purpose of your presence here is yours and yours alone. What do you want, Nanaeel?”
Lucyfer
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Lucyfer
Said you'd die for me, well -- there's the ground
Johann looked to Ilene as she came to join them, allowing a light smile to touch his face as he welcomed her into the current conversation, where the man was trying to figure out how he might be able to help them. Johann let his attention shift back, pointedly ignoring Trevor’s talk of alcohol.
He was pretty sure that was a bad idea. He would figure it out better, later, but the last thing they needed was a drunk Belmont picking a fight with a vampiress, or a dhampir, because he was, well, drunk.
Or picking a fight with Ilene because she was with the church, at one point.
He flushed under the man’s comment about his accent. “Ah, well I’m—I’m from pretty far. Mainz,” he offered, doubting the man had even heard of it. There were distractions soon enough, and the man thankfully didn’t ask for any clarifications, but called to a Maria.
She was, naturally, not enthused to help, but she did – thankfully. Trevor caught the bucket, and Johann had a moment to wish he’d brought more with him, or thought to bring the flasks or anything from the carriage, but it slipped his mind.
Well, he knew where he’d find it, so he nodded.
‘We have plenty of warm clothes and blankets.’ Johann thought, then considered their numbers. They might need more. He certainly didn’t have clothes in Trevor’s size. “If you’re able to gather a couple, I will make sure you’re compensated for it, more than it is worth,” so she could easily buy it again, and have money for what she needed in these times.
If money went very far after this.
“Ilene, could you go get our flasks from the carriage?” He asked, thinking it might be better if he stuck with Trevor and the bucket. For all they knew, Trevor wouldn’t be able to pull it up from the well on his own. He looked strong, but…well, Johann would rather play it safe. He was also, apparently, a drunk, after all.
~***~
For a while, Lucia and Alucard walked in silence, seeing to it that Marius and Sulla were taken outside the city. The one good thing the night hordes had done was knock down some walls, which let the horses pass through an area without any trouble, or any need of further magic. Eventually, they settled just off the main road, though Lucia remained fairly alert.
She didn’t believe they weren’t being watched.
However, she wouldn’t let that tension interfere with other, important, concerns. “Physically, how are you, Alucard?” Lucia asked, not batting an eye at using the new name now. He’d made his preference clear.
She would respect it.
Just as she knew asking a general ‘how he was’, was a stupid question.
“I am healed,” Alucard answered, “Rested. Fed. I should be asking you that,” he cut his gaze to her, lifting from the horses, “How long have you been on the road?”
“A week,” not so long as it could be. The nightmares helped with that, but it wasn’t comfortable. She had to be in the carriage during the day or she would perish in the sun, and at night was when the creatures came out. There was little rest to be had, “I’ve fed,” Johann. She had fed before leaving, and three days ago.
She took from animals in the meantime, but she was safe…well, safe enough. “You need not worry of me, I have done longer journeys with far less. From Rome to Chernihiv, remember?” He dared call her Doll, after all.
He glanced down a moment, “I am sorry,” he said. It had slipped his mind that Doll was never a name she wanted, when she had joked so easily of it in times before. Better times. “You…have not gone to see my father?”
“I wanted to,” she confessed, “I may have, were it not for Ilene. I wanted to try and talk him down from this, but I heard what happened to you,” there was a deep sorrow in her gaze that both touched and worried Alucard – an understanding of sorts he didn’t wish to see. He averted his gaze back to Sulla, and reached a hand out to him. Sulla pressed his muzzle to Alucard’s hand, so he took that as a good sign to begin petting the steed.
“He has lost his mind,” Alucard said. “He wants to kill all of humanity, and then….” And then die himself.
It didn’t need to be said. Even if Dracula could live on animals, he wouldn’t.
There weren’t words for his grief. Lucia knew that only too well, but he looked like he might break if she reached out to him. If she tried to hug him, she thought he might shatter. Perhaps it was what he needed, in truth, but it might be something that could wait. He needed his resolve. “It is a tragedy,” Lucia agreed, “He was an…interesting man.” She couldn’t quite call him great, but…well, interesting fit.
A faint smile traced Alucard’s lips at that, but faded suddenly as he felt a hand fall over his, on the horse. He looked down to see Lucia’s hand, long nails, over his own hand. The chill was there, but not uncomfortable. Not to him.
“I’ll mourn with you, when it is all over.” When no one else would mourn Dracula.
~***~
Neither Carmilla nor Hector left the area. It did not surprise Alina, nor did Eir’s shift to Enochian. That was the smart choice, after all. Few spoke Enochian fluently, and though it was always possible, Alina doubted her current audience knew the language.
She did not let her gaze flicker to either as she listened to Eir explain what she had picked up on while speaking with Hector. Hector did not believe that Dracula would harm her – but he was loyal. What he believed may not be true. What Carmilla believed, as well, may not be true – and Eir could not yet read Carmilla.
Nor would Alina claim to have that capability yet. Generally speaking, she preferred to avoid people and the hassle of reading them. Children were fine. Children were more often than not, honest.
‘And plenty will die.’
Yes.
Plenty would die.
Her features softened at the term of endearment that was passed to her. “In truth I have little qualms with what the vampire king wants,” she took the unspoken cue not to use names, “some will hurt my heart, but longterm…it seems it may be better,” she did not know what opinion Eir may have on such things. She had lived centuries longer than Alina, had seen much in her time.
She was not speaking against it.
She spoke to where she’d seen Alina, and she spoke of Alina’s safety.
“It is what it is,” she echoed, a light tease, “Right or wrong, good or bad, there is no changing what is, hm?” Though she only smiled a little, and it faltered soon enough, “I would be content walking out and preparing for what is to come.” The spotlight did not appeal to her so much. She had nothing to prove.
But she had much to learn.
Alongside Dracula, Carmilla, and a Forgemaster, she could learn, and she could have a hand in reshaping society. “But…I have lived much of my time being sidelined or in shadows. If I could aid in an active fashion, perhaps…perhaps it would be better. I want to pursue this further.”
It was true, Hector did not understand Enochian. He heard bits and pieces from where he was, but couldn’t make it out. His gaze briefly followed Carmilla as she moved away. The consideration of approaching her, or confronting her, on using German here crossed his mind, but it was followed soon enough by the thought that all of the may not have a language in common.
He knew not what they were speaking.
He didn’t know German.
He only knew Romanian because of Dracula – what reason would this witch have to know it? The only other language he knew was Greek, and he doubted that she knew that, though it was somehow more likely than plenty of other languages.
He felt a brief pang at the consideration that she may not share a common language with him – but also, with most of Dracula’s court.
Dracula, certainly. He used much of his time to know plenty languages. Maybe even all. Hector wasn’t certain.
Cezar let out a small whine, perhaps sensing the tension in the uncertainty. Another soft chuckle left Hector, and he crouched down. “Come here,” Cezar put his hands on his leg, and Hector offered him head scratches. At least he had Cezar in all of this, and Cezar was easy to understand.
He was pretty sure that was a bad idea. He would figure it out better, later, but the last thing they needed was a drunk Belmont picking a fight with a vampiress, or a dhampir, because he was, well, drunk.
Or picking a fight with Ilene because she was with the church, at one point.
He flushed under the man’s comment about his accent. “Ah, well I’m—I’m from pretty far. Mainz,” he offered, doubting the man had even heard of it. There were distractions soon enough, and the man thankfully didn’t ask for any clarifications, but called to a Maria.
She was, naturally, not enthused to help, but she did – thankfully. Trevor caught the bucket, and Johann had a moment to wish he’d brought more with him, or thought to bring the flasks or anything from the carriage, but it slipped his mind.
Well, he knew where he’d find it, so he nodded.
‘We have plenty of warm clothes and blankets.’ Johann thought, then considered their numbers. They might need more. He certainly didn’t have clothes in Trevor’s size. “If you’re able to gather a couple, I will make sure you’re compensated for it, more than it is worth,” so she could easily buy it again, and have money for what she needed in these times.
If money went very far after this.
“Ilene, could you go get our flasks from the carriage?” He asked, thinking it might be better if he stuck with Trevor and the bucket. For all they knew, Trevor wouldn’t be able to pull it up from the well on his own. He looked strong, but…well, Johann would rather play it safe. He was also, apparently, a drunk, after all.
~***~
For a while, Lucia and Alucard walked in silence, seeing to it that Marius and Sulla were taken outside the city. The one good thing the night hordes had done was knock down some walls, which let the horses pass through an area without any trouble, or any need of further magic. Eventually, they settled just off the main road, though Lucia remained fairly alert.
She didn’t believe they weren’t being watched.
However, she wouldn’t let that tension interfere with other, important, concerns. “Physically, how are you, Alucard?” Lucia asked, not batting an eye at using the new name now. He’d made his preference clear.
She would respect it.
Just as she knew asking a general ‘how he was’, was a stupid question.
“I am healed,” Alucard answered, “Rested. Fed. I should be asking you that,” he cut his gaze to her, lifting from the horses, “How long have you been on the road?”
“A week,” not so long as it could be. The nightmares helped with that, but it wasn’t comfortable. She had to be in the carriage during the day or she would perish in the sun, and at night was when the creatures came out. There was little rest to be had, “I’ve fed,” Johann. She had fed before leaving, and three days ago.
She took from animals in the meantime, but she was safe…well, safe enough. “You need not worry of me, I have done longer journeys with far less. From Rome to Chernihiv, remember?” He dared call her Doll, after all.
He glanced down a moment, “I am sorry,” he said. It had slipped his mind that Doll was never a name she wanted, when she had joked so easily of it in times before. Better times. “You…have not gone to see my father?”
“I wanted to,” she confessed, “I may have, were it not for Ilene. I wanted to try and talk him down from this, but I heard what happened to you,” there was a deep sorrow in her gaze that both touched and worried Alucard – an understanding of sorts he didn’t wish to see. He averted his gaze back to Sulla, and reached a hand out to him. Sulla pressed his muzzle to Alucard’s hand, so he took that as a good sign to begin petting the steed.
“He has lost his mind,” Alucard said. “He wants to kill all of humanity, and then….” And then die himself.
It didn’t need to be said. Even if Dracula could live on animals, he wouldn’t.
There weren’t words for his grief. Lucia knew that only too well, but he looked like he might break if she reached out to him. If she tried to hug him, she thought he might shatter. Perhaps it was what he needed, in truth, but it might be something that could wait. He needed his resolve. “It is a tragedy,” Lucia agreed, “He was an…interesting man.” She couldn’t quite call him great, but…well, interesting fit.
A faint smile traced Alucard’s lips at that, but faded suddenly as he felt a hand fall over his, on the horse. He looked down to see Lucia’s hand, long nails, over his own hand. The chill was there, but not uncomfortable. Not to him.
“I’ll mourn with you, when it is all over.” When no one else would mourn Dracula.
~***~
Neither Carmilla nor Hector left the area. It did not surprise Alina, nor did Eir’s shift to Enochian. That was the smart choice, after all. Few spoke Enochian fluently, and though it was always possible, Alina doubted her current audience knew the language.
She did not let her gaze flicker to either as she listened to Eir explain what she had picked up on while speaking with Hector. Hector did not believe that Dracula would harm her – but he was loyal. What he believed may not be true. What Carmilla believed, as well, may not be true – and Eir could not yet read Carmilla.
Nor would Alina claim to have that capability yet. Generally speaking, she preferred to avoid people and the hassle of reading them. Children were fine. Children were more often than not, honest.
‘And plenty will die.’
Yes.
Plenty would die.
Her features softened at the term of endearment that was passed to her. “In truth I have little qualms with what the vampire king wants,” she took the unspoken cue not to use names, “some will hurt my heart, but longterm…it seems it may be better,” she did not know what opinion Eir may have on such things. She had lived centuries longer than Alina, had seen much in her time.
She was not speaking against it.
She spoke to where she’d seen Alina, and she spoke of Alina’s safety.
“It is what it is,” she echoed, a light tease, “Right or wrong, good or bad, there is no changing what is, hm?” Though she only smiled a little, and it faltered soon enough, “I would be content walking out and preparing for what is to come.” The spotlight did not appeal to her so much. She had nothing to prove.
But she had much to learn.
Alongside Dracula, Carmilla, and a Forgemaster, she could learn, and she could have a hand in reshaping society. “But…I have lived much of my time being sidelined or in shadows. If I could aid in an active fashion, perhaps…perhaps it would be better. I want to pursue this further.”
It was true, Hector did not understand Enochian. He heard bits and pieces from where he was, but couldn’t make it out. His gaze briefly followed Carmilla as she moved away. The consideration of approaching her, or confronting her, on using German here crossed his mind, but it was followed soon enough by the thought that all of the may not have a language in common.
He knew not what they were speaking.
He didn’t know German.
He only knew Romanian because of Dracula – what reason would this witch have to know it? The only other language he knew was Greek, and he doubted that she knew that, though it was somehow more likely than plenty of other languages.
He felt a brief pang at the consideration that she may not share a common language with him – but also, with most of Dracula’s court.
Dracula, certainly. He used much of his time to know plenty languages. Maybe even all. Hector wasn’t certain.
Cezar let out a small whine, perhaps sensing the tension in the uncertainty. Another soft chuckle left Hector, and he crouched down. “Come here,” Cezar put his hands on his leg, and Hector offered him head scratches. At least he had Cezar in all of this, and Cezar was easy to understand.
Asteria
⚔️
Maria’s right eyebrow rose as she heard the young blond’s offer. At least the thought of any future compensation would keep her focused on the task at hand. “You’d better,” she warned. Only half-jokingly. It wasn’t fair to abuse of the innocence and the desperation of passing travellers but these were hard times. They would only become harder as time went by. Whatever coin Maria could gather, she knew it would come in handy at one point – not when it came to dealing with the spawns of the Devil, no, but it made the aftermath of their attacks easier to handle at least.
No matter what it had gone through, humankind would continue to focus on its petty life and petty interests. It was the way of things. The want return to your life from before overcame everything else. It overcame one’s common sense or fear. You would simply want to go back.
“I’ll see what I can do for you,” Maria reiterated her words. She would see to the food and something… warmer for the road.
With that, she turned around and left them behind. Her departure was followed by an apologetic look from the old man. “You know how people can be during such times… they can be a little harsh around the edges. The unfortunate thing is that Maria has always been like this,” he said, trying to remove some of the tension. He appeared to be amused, as amused as one could be after all that had happened. “I’ll go lighten her mood. We can see what else you need when we return.” There would hopefully be sufficient food for them by then and some sheepskins to keep them warm at night.
He too broke from them – from the two men, at least, as the short-haired girl had followed the other woman shortly after blond’s promise and Maria’s acceptance.
By the time he reached Maria, even from a distance, it became quite apparent that her worry and dissatisfaction with the situation were voiced out loud.
All the while, Ilene too distanced herself from the others as she approached the bodies that laid along the path. There weren’t many here, only seven – or at least seven seemed to still be breathing –, though she imagined there were many others across the village. They would soon start to gather them in piles. She knelt by one of the bodies; he bled from his gut and his leg, but seemingly someone had seen to tending these wounds. His lips were stained by blood and when Ilene’s hand moved to caress his pulsing neck, he choked slightly at the touch. He was aware one moment and the next he wasn't. For the moment though, he seemed to be.
And Ilene too became aware of a presence at her side. When her eyes moved up, they were met with Sypha’s. There was a touch of sadness to them, but there also seemed to be something else. She was easy to read. She was holding back from something.
“You have a question for me?” Ilene asked on her own. She had been, after all, curious about many things.
Sypha seemed to calculate her response for a moment. She knelt by her too, her tone softer this time as her gaze looked over those around her. Many were grieving though. It didn’t seem like they were interested or even willing to listen to her. “If you have been with the Church… and you too can wield magic,” Sypha had recognized her stance back in the catacombs, “were you part of the Brotherhood of Light?”
“Yes.” It was an easy answer, that. The story behind it wasn’t as easy though.
“Can you help them? The knights are said to be healers.” Not doctors, but healers. As far as she knew. Much to the Speakers’ annoyance, the Church was quite secretive about its doings. Unless you met someone that had been part of its circles, you would be left with many questions. But there were stories, stories about what the Knighthood of Light truly represented. There would always be stories, stories about anything and everything.
The answer to this question, however, wasn’t an easy one. “Not all.” Ilene looked back at the man, his eyes rolling back into his head as he began to shiver.
“How many here, then?”
“Only one.”
Sypha’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, much like a child’s. She did not understand. Others too were breathing, fighting for their lives as their shirts were soaked with blood and their families’ tears. Why could she save only one? Why only this man?
As in on a cue, Ilene responded to the question that remained unasked. “It is God’s will.”
It dawned on Sypha then. God’s will. Who shall live and who shall die… all tied to one’s fate. The brothers and sisters of the Brotherhood were not allowed to intervene in His will. But could they, if they wanted? “You feel it? You know… or feel who is meant to live or die?”
How did that even feel like?
“Only when a choice must be made. And always in the presence of Death. We don’t heal to save, we heal to preserve.” It was a harsh truth but there had to be a balance of sorts. A balance between Life and Death. The knights were not God. They were not his son either, to make miracles and bring people back from the dead. They were simply some gifted mortals bound by their vows. But there were legends, of course. Legends and stories about knights that had broken such vows and used their powers for more. Their endings, however, had never been pleasant. “Life feels like a hand at times, a warm and soothing hand. Sometimes it tightens its hold on you. Sometimes it lets go and when it lets go, you too have to do so.”
She didn’t want to let go. This was the reason why she had turned to medicine in the first place. While a holy healer had to let go, a doctor had to fight for his patient’s life until their last breath. Even when they knew the outcome.
Ilene leaned over the man, planting a light kiss to his forehead. ‘Gigipah’. ‘Breathe.’ A sigh parted his lips as he closed his eyes, his breathing becoming more even now.
There wasn’t much that she could do here. Most of her supplies were still in Dracula’s castle and whatever she had with herself was hardly enough for the number of people they would meet along the way.
Johann’s request was heard then. Ilene easily rose to her feet.
“It doesn’t seem right,” Sypha spoke.
Considering the problematic relationship that the Speakers had with God, Sypha’s words didn’t surprise Ilene. “No. But nothing is right, not anymore. Remember?”
Sypha easily recognized her own words as Ilene smiled towards her. Yes. It was the truth.
“You can stay and see if you can help until I return,” Ilene offered.
“But you said–“
“It doesn’t matter. Any life is worth fighting for.”
And Sypha found some consolation in that as she, too, smiled.
As everyone around him disappeared one by one, Trevor found himself alone with Johann – the more agreeable blond of the group, if Trevor overlooked his refusal to spend any of his precious coins on alcohol. Whether he had remained behind on purpose or not, the vampire hunter couldn’t tell. Not as it would be a surprise; Sypha had made it rather clear right from their first meeting that he couldn’t be left on his own for long. That was quite amusing, really, considering that he had spent most of his life solitarily.
Well, Sypha may have a point. Her reasoning could explain his alcohol addiction, the numerous bar fights, the sleeping in ditches… the occasional jealous husband…
His line of thought was interrupted as Ilene passed by them, nodding towards Johann. She would get the flasks from the carriage.
“While you’re at it,” Trevor began to speak up even though Ilene did not stop to hear him out, “you could ask about the cart. I don’t know how well we are going to fit in that carriage of yours.”
She heard him clear enough, but she made no gesture to show him as much as she continued her walk.
And Trevor sighed. He began to be aware of the tiredness that was seeping into his bones. While he had felt quite invigorated throughout the night, now that he found himself standing still, his body rebelled against him – his lower back hurt and he had winced slightly when the bucket had made contact with his chest. This day’s events had been more than he had experienced in a while, physically and mentally. His body could take it easily, he knew, but he couldn’t confidently say that he would get used to his inhuman companions.
But they had the same goal for now. That would have to do.
At least his hands weren’t shaking. At least he wasn’t nauseous. But it would come as more time passed after his last drink…
He silently moved for the well then, settling the bucket down at its base. He removed the wooden planks that covered its opening before reaching for the bucket again.
“You come from a good family,” Trevor noted. Good and lucky. If he was stuck with him, the least he could do was to learn more about him. He could imagine Sypha’s smirk as she saw him being… interested in something. “Esteemed werewolf hunters. My family had come in contact with yours a few times, to expand our knowledge on werewolves.” While they specialized in vampires, there were many more creatures that plagued the lands of Wallachia. And his grand-grandfather had had a lot of free time on his hands.
Trevor attached the chain to the handle of the bucket. “It was a surprise to see one of your kind with one of her kind. I didn’t believe that vampires would be looked upon favourably by your family. But Mainz is not Chernihiv, is it? That must be quite the story.”
He wasn’t good at hiding his intention. Even his tone appeared to be accusatory.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was relatively easy to find Lucia and Adrian. Ilene followed the main road that led in and out of the village and soon enough she caught sight of Lucia’s imposing carriage right outside of it. While this part of the village seemed abandoned, there were two silhouettes lurking in the shadows. Ilene took note of them with a sidelong glance, but she didn’t face them directly. Their presence wasn’t surprising. The villagers would make sure that they left their home, one way or another. For now, Ilene preferred the way that didn’t involve an angry mob.
She stopped once she caught sight of the nightmares, as well as Lucia and Adrian. They were sharing a moment, close as they were, and while she hadn’t meant to interrupt, she couldn’t turn back now. They could easily notice her from where she stood if they hadn’t done so already.
Ilene found herself happy at the sight, at least. It was good, the closeness. Adrian needed someone that could understand him in the way that others could not. And while Lucia may not understand him completely either, they shared a past and most importantly, they shared the memory of Lisa and Vlad.
She would approach once she saw that it was appropriate to do so. Her expression easily softened around them. “We have found someone willing to help us – we will have some fresh water and food for the road and, hopefully, something warmer for our new companions,” Ilene informed them. Not as if such things mattered to a vampire and dhampir. They could easily do without. Johann, however, needed such things in order to produce more blood for Lucia. And probably Adrian needed to feed himself as well.
“I’m sorry for interrupting.” She had debated if she should apologize or not, but she did anyway. It was for the better, even if her interruption had been necessary. “Johann asked me to get our flasks.”
Her gaze fell upon the carriage then. She didn’t move to retrieve the flasks just yet. “Trevor also mentioned something about a cart.” But they could make the carriage do if Lucia was unwilling to let it go. It was bigger than Trevor believed it to be.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Alina’s attitude shifted around Eir. Her stance was more open, her expression softer. And so was Eir’s. While they both fulfilled their selfish interests through their bond, they also needed to take care of one another for it to be effective. Much of Eir’s protective and nurturing nature came with the bond – defending her mistress meant defending herself –, but, at times, she believed that there was more truth to her emotions than she let on.
Alina was still human in many ways. She needed more time and there still was the possibility that she would never fully let go of her humanity. Even now, as she mentioned that she little trouble with Dracula’s desires, there was the thought of future heartache. It did not stop her, no, but it was there.
Eir didn’t imagine that such worries existed for Dracula or Carmilla. Perhaps not even for the Forgemaster, who was human.
And they hardly existed for Eir herself. She was well-aware of the atrocities that humans were capable of. If the vampires didn’t harm them, they would harm themselves no matter.
But they existed for Alina. So, in a way, they existed for Eir too.
The left corner of her mouth rose in amusement at Alina’s tease, but her smirk did not die out unlike Alina’s smile. It lingered on her lips, but her tone was serious as she spoke. “No, Nanaeel.” It was the truth – there was no changing what it was. Eir’s hand reached forward then, moving a strand of red hair behind Alina’s ear. It was a small, comforting gesture. “There is a path for everyone and everything. Sometimes we leave our path and there are, of course, repercussions. But we always return, guided by little things – signs and voices that tell us that it is for the better.”
Her hand dropped to her chin then, raising it lightly. “And, sometimes, our fate challenges us.” Much like it did now, with Alina. “It requires us to prove that we are true to it.” Even when it wasn’t easy to do so.
“Embrace it.”
She let Alina go.
And she did just that – she embraced it. She wanted to pursue this further.
With Hector choosing to keep his distance and play with his pup, the vampiress could focus on the conversation Alina carried with her familiar. She crossed her arms, letting her fingers tease at her chin or lips from time to time. Carmilla was familiar enough with Enochian to be able to recognize it when it was spoken. Her sharp hearing did help, though the pronunciation itself made it difficult at first – it was different from Morana’s.
The perks of having a native speaker as your teacher, she presumed. Alina had that going for herself.
Morana had, too, tried to be a teacher to Carmilla. And she had been, in many ways, once it had become clear to her that Carmilla wasn’t as knowledgeable as she should be. When she had first met Morana, Carmilla could hardly read or write.
He had liked that about her. He had liked her childlike innocence. He had wanted her to be in stupid because she was easier to impress so, easier to control. When she had finally made it out, the world had seemed to be too big and too small all at once.
Now, it only appeared to be…. conquerable.
Though she could hear Morana fondly chastising her even now as much of what was being said remained unknown to Carmilla. She recognized simple and frequently used words, but not much else. While Morana had been a good teacher, she had been a horrible student – impatient and rash, and loud-mouthed. Once she had been able to have everything, she had just wanted everything. All at once. A vice she hadn’t been able to let go of, not truly.
And, well, she hadn’t really been interested in learning such a language. She lacked the necessary curiosity. She found no use to it, unlike Morana. But she had learned Latin under Lucia’s guidance so it could be easier for her to learn the other languages: Romanian, French, Italian.
Lucia was gone, however. She wasn’t home and she wasn’t with Dracula. She was nowhere to be found.
And Carmilla did wonder…
Her attention was distracted though, as the familiar broke from Alina. By the softness between the two of them and their tone, Carmilla didn’t imagine that the outcome would be unfavourable. And as the familiar took a step back, Carmilla took one forward, her hands now brought to her back.
Lucyfer
No matter what it had gone through, humankind would continue to focus on its petty life and petty interests. It was the way of things. The want return to your life from before overcame everything else. It overcame one’s common sense or fear. You would simply want to go back.
“I’ll see what I can do for you,” Maria reiterated her words. She would see to the food and something… warmer for the road.
With that, she turned around and left them behind. Her departure was followed by an apologetic look from the old man. “You know how people can be during such times… they can be a little harsh around the edges. The unfortunate thing is that Maria has always been like this,” he said, trying to remove some of the tension. He appeared to be amused, as amused as one could be after all that had happened. “I’ll go lighten her mood. We can see what else you need when we return.” There would hopefully be sufficient food for them by then and some sheepskins to keep them warm at night.
He too broke from them – from the two men, at least, as the short-haired girl had followed the other woman shortly after blond’s promise and Maria’s acceptance.
By the time he reached Maria, even from a distance, it became quite apparent that her worry and dissatisfaction with the situation were voiced out loud.
All the while, Ilene too distanced herself from the others as she approached the bodies that laid along the path. There weren’t many here, only seven – or at least seven seemed to still be breathing –, though she imagined there were many others across the village. They would soon start to gather them in piles. She knelt by one of the bodies; he bled from his gut and his leg, but seemingly someone had seen to tending these wounds. His lips were stained by blood and when Ilene’s hand moved to caress his pulsing neck, he choked slightly at the touch. He was aware one moment and the next he wasn't. For the moment though, he seemed to be.
And Ilene too became aware of a presence at her side. When her eyes moved up, they were met with Sypha’s. There was a touch of sadness to them, but there also seemed to be something else. She was easy to read. She was holding back from something.
“You have a question for me?” Ilene asked on her own. She had been, after all, curious about many things.
Sypha seemed to calculate her response for a moment. She knelt by her too, her tone softer this time as her gaze looked over those around her. Many were grieving though. It didn’t seem like they were interested or even willing to listen to her. “If you have been with the Church… and you too can wield magic,” Sypha had recognized her stance back in the catacombs, “were you part of the Brotherhood of Light?”
“Yes.” It was an easy answer, that. The story behind it wasn’t as easy though.
“Can you help them? The knights are said to be healers.” Not doctors, but healers. As far as she knew. Much to the Speakers’ annoyance, the Church was quite secretive about its doings. Unless you met someone that had been part of its circles, you would be left with many questions. But there were stories, stories about what the Knighthood of Light truly represented. There would always be stories, stories about anything and everything.
The answer to this question, however, wasn’t an easy one. “Not all.” Ilene looked back at the man, his eyes rolling back into his head as he began to shiver.
“How many here, then?”
“Only one.”
Sypha’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, much like a child’s. She did not understand. Others too were breathing, fighting for their lives as their shirts were soaked with blood and their families’ tears. Why could she save only one? Why only this man?
As in on a cue, Ilene responded to the question that remained unasked. “It is God’s will.”
It dawned on Sypha then. God’s will. Who shall live and who shall die… all tied to one’s fate. The brothers and sisters of the Brotherhood were not allowed to intervene in His will. But could they, if they wanted? “You feel it? You know… or feel who is meant to live or die?”
How did that even feel like?
“Only when a choice must be made. And always in the presence of Death. We don’t heal to save, we heal to preserve.” It was a harsh truth but there had to be a balance of sorts. A balance between Life and Death. The knights were not God. They were not his son either, to make miracles and bring people back from the dead. They were simply some gifted mortals bound by their vows. But there were legends, of course. Legends and stories about knights that had broken such vows and used their powers for more. Their endings, however, had never been pleasant. “Life feels like a hand at times, a warm and soothing hand. Sometimes it tightens its hold on you. Sometimes it lets go and when it lets go, you too have to do so.”
She didn’t want to let go. This was the reason why she had turned to medicine in the first place. While a holy healer had to let go, a doctor had to fight for his patient’s life until their last breath. Even when they knew the outcome.
Ilene leaned over the man, planting a light kiss to his forehead. ‘Gigipah’. ‘Breathe.’ A sigh parted his lips as he closed his eyes, his breathing becoming more even now.
There wasn’t much that she could do here. Most of her supplies were still in Dracula’s castle and whatever she had with herself was hardly enough for the number of people they would meet along the way.
Johann’s request was heard then. Ilene easily rose to her feet.
“It doesn’t seem right,” Sypha spoke.
Considering the problematic relationship that the Speakers had with God, Sypha’s words didn’t surprise Ilene. “No. But nothing is right, not anymore. Remember?”
Sypha easily recognized her own words as Ilene smiled towards her. Yes. It was the truth.
“You can stay and see if you can help until I return,” Ilene offered.
“But you said–“
“It doesn’t matter. Any life is worth fighting for.”
And Sypha found some consolation in that as she, too, smiled.
As everyone around him disappeared one by one, Trevor found himself alone with Johann – the more agreeable blond of the group, if Trevor overlooked his refusal to spend any of his precious coins on alcohol. Whether he had remained behind on purpose or not, the vampire hunter couldn’t tell. Not as it would be a surprise; Sypha had made it rather clear right from their first meeting that he couldn’t be left on his own for long. That was quite amusing, really, considering that he had spent most of his life solitarily.
Well, Sypha may have a point. Her reasoning could explain his alcohol addiction, the numerous bar fights, the sleeping in ditches… the occasional jealous husband…
His line of thought was interrupted as Ilene passed by them, nodding towards Johann. She would get the flasks from the carriage.
“While you’re at it,” Trevor began to speak up even though Ilene did not stop to hear him out, “you could ask about the cart. I don’t know how well we are going to fit in that carriage of yours.”
She heard him clear enough, but she made no gesture to show him as much as she continued her walk.
And Trevor sighed. He began to be aware of the tiredness that was seeping into his bones. While he had felt quite invigorated throughout the night, now that he found himself standing still, his body rebelled against him – his lower back hurt and he had winced slightly when the bucket had made contact with his chest. This day’s events had been more than he had experienced in a while, physically and mentally. His body could take it easily, he knew, but he couldn’t confidently say that he would get used to his inhuman companions.
But they had the same goal for now. That would have to do.
At least his hands weren’t shaking. At least he wasn’t nauseous. But it would come as more time passed after his last drink…
He silently moved for the well then, settling the bucket down at its base. He removed the wooden planks that covered its opening before reaching for the bucket again.
“You come from a good family,” Trevor noted. Good and lucky. If he was stuck with him, the least he could do was to learn more about him. He could imagine Sypha’s smirk as she saw him being… interested in something. “Esteemed werewolf hunters. My family had come in contact with yours a few times, to expand our knowledge on werewolves.” While they specialized in vampires, there were many more creatures that plagued the lands of Wallachia. And his grand-grandfather had had a lot of free time on his hands.
Trevor attached the chain to the handle of the bucket. “It was a surprise to see one of your kind with one of her kind. I didn’t believe that vampires would be looked upon favourably by your family. But Mainz is not Chernihiv, is it? That must be quite the story.”
He wasn’t good at hiding his intention. Even his tone appeared to be accusatory.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was relatively easy to find Lucia and Adrian. Ilene followed the main road that led in and out of the village and soon enough she caught sight of Lucia’s imposing carriage right outside of it. While this part of the village seemed abandoned, there were two silhouettes lurking in the shadows. Ilene took note of them with a sidelong glance, but she didn’t face them directly. Their presence wasn’t surprising. The villagers would make sure that they left their home, one way or another. For now, Ilene preferred the way that didn’t involve an angry mob.
She stopped once she caught sight of the nightmares, as well as Lucia and Adrian. They were sharing a moment, close as they were, and while she hadn’t meant to interrupt, she couldn’t turn back now. They could easily notice her from where she stood if they hadn’t done so already.
Ilene found herself happy at the sight, at least. It was good, the closeness. Adrian needed someone that could understand him in the way that others could not. And while Lucia may not understand him completely either, they shared a past and most importantly, they shared the memory of Lisa and Vlad.
She would approach once she saw that it was appropriate to do so. Her expression easily softened around them. “We have found someone willing to help us – we will have some fresh water and food for the road and, hopefully, something warmer for our new companions,” Ilene informed them. Not as if such things mattered to a vampire and dhampir. They could easily do without. Johann, however, needed such things in order to produce more blood for Lucia. And probably Adrian needed to feed himself as well.
“I’m sorry for interrupting.” She had debated if she should apologize or not, but she did anyway. It was for the better, even if her interruption had been necessary. “Johann asked me to get our flasks.”
Her gaze fell upon the carriage then. She didn’t move to retrieve the flasks just yet. “Trevor also mentioned something about a cart.” But they could make the carriage do if Lucia was unwilling to let it go. It was bigger than Trevor believed it to be.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Alina’s attitude shifted around Eir. Her stance was more open, her expression softer. And so was Eir’s. While they both fulfilled their selfish interests through their bond, they also needed to take care of one another for it to be effective. Much of Eir’s protective and nurturing nature came with the bond – defending her mistress meant defending herself –, but, at times, she believed that there was more truth to her emotions than she let on.
Alina was still human in many ways. She needed more time and there still was the possibility that she would never fully let go of her humanity. Even now, as she mentioned that she little trouble with Dracula’s desires, there was the thought of future heartache. It did not stop her, no, but it was there.
Eir didn’t imagine that such worries existed for Dracula or Carmilla. Perhaps not even for the Forgemaster, who was human.
And they hardly existed for Eir herself. She was well-aware of the atrocities that humans were capable of. If the vampires didn’t harm them, they would harm themselves no matter.
But they existed for Alina. So, in a way, they existed for Eir too.
The left corner of her mouth rose in amusement at Alina’s tease, but her smirk did not die out unlike Alina’s smile. It lingered on her lips, but her tone was serious as she spoke. “No, Nanaeel.” It was the truth – there was no changing what it was. Eir’s hand reached forward then, moving a strand of red hair behind Alina’s ear. It was a small, comforting gesture. “There is a path for everyone and everything. Sometimes we leave our path and there are, of course, repercussions. But we always return, guided by little things – signs and voices that tell us that it is for the better.”
Her hand dropped to her chin then, raising it lightly. “And, sometimes, our fate challenges us.” Much like it did now, with Alina. “It requires us to prove that we are true to it.” Even when it wasn’t easy to do so.
“Embrace it.”
She let Alina go.
And she did just that – she embraced it. She wanted to pursue this further.
With Hector choosing to keep his distance and play with his pup, the vampiress could focus on the conversation Alina carried with her familiar. She crossed her arms, letting her fingers tease at her chin or lips from time to time. Carmilla was familiar enough with Enochian to be able to recognize it when it was spoken. Her sharp hearing did help, though the pronunciation itself made it difficult at first – it was different from Morana’s.
The perks of having a native speaker as your teacher, she presumed. Alina had that going for herself.
Morana had, too, tried to be a teacher to Carmilla. And she had been, in many ways, once it had become clear to her that Carmilla wasn’t as knowledgeable as she should be. When she had first met Morana, Carmilla could hardly read or write.
He had liked that about her. He had liked her childlike innocence. He had wanted her to be in stupid because she was easier to impress so, easier to control. When she had finally made it out, the world had seemed to be too big and too small all at once.
Now, it only appeared to be…. conquerable.
Though she could hear Morana fondly chastising her even now as much of what was being said remained unknown to Carmilla. She recognized simple and frequently used words, but not much else. While Morana had been a good teacher, she had been a horrible student – impatient and rash, and loud-mouthed. Once she had been able to have everything, she had just wanted everything. All at once. A vice she hadn’t been able to let go of, not truly.
And, well, she hadn’t really been interested in learning such a language. She lacked the necessary curiosity. She found no use to it, unlike Morana. But she had learned Latin under Lucia’s guidance so it could be easier for her to learn the other languages: Romanian, French, Italian.
Lucia was gone, however. She wasn’t home and she wasn’t with Dracula. She was nowhere to be found.
And Carmilla did wonder…
Her attention was distracted though, as the familiar broke from Alina. By the softness between the two of them and their tone, Carmilla didn’t imagine that the outcome would be unfavourable. And as the familiar took a step back, Carmilla took one forward, her hands now brought to her back.
Lucyfer
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Lucyfer
Said you'd die for me, well -- there's the ground
Ilene left them.
Sypha left them.
And Trevor looked tired, all of a sudden. Johann could see that only too well, and he was tempted to just take the bucket from Trevor as he followed him to the well, but he allowed the man to work. He leaned against the stone of the well, and looked down into it, hoping the water was clean, and not tainted.
He didn’t see any demon bodies around it, at least. That was hopeful.
“Mm,” he agreed with that – he did come from a good family. He had an idea of what Trevor was getting at. It was strange that someone like him, would be with someone like Lucia. Sure, he hunted werewolves – but his family wasn’t exclusive. If it was a monster, it needed to die, and Lucia was by their definition, a monster. “I know. We learned much of vampires and other creatures from your own family, and others.”
He couldn’t deny what his history was. “My family hates Lucia,” he said it bluntly. “If Mainz were closer to Chernihiv, I’m sure they would be planning to kill her, and me, and my brother.” He said with a shrug.
Quite the story indeed. “My brother, Axel, was turned into a werewolf. One of our enemies came to us, tricked us, for killing one of his own relatives. He sought to get revenge by turning us to werewolves…he only changed Axel, and Axel fled before he could be killed. I was sent to go after him. I followed his trail all the way to Chernihiv. Lucia caught him.”
He hadn’t expected it of anyone, let alone a vampire. “She invited me in – to see a new way. There’s a pack of werewolves just outside of Chernihiv. They live peacefully. They’ve learned how to deal with what they are, without harming others. They only turn on the full moon…other than that, they’re lucid. Human. I was given a lot to think of.”
That some creatures tried to live in peace with humanity. Did that mean they deserved destruction? He didn’t think so.
Particularly not after Lucia put it in historical terms and called to mind atrocities humans committed against each other, particularly what was done to Jewish individuals.
He wanted to be better. “That’s the long and short of. My family in Mainz no longer talks to me.” He still sent the occasional letter.
He still hoped.
~***~
Lucia made no promises to stop this. She offered no hope. None of those things which others may have given to a grieving son – but she offered her grief. She offered her pain, and Alucard felt that. He accepted that, as her hand chilled his, and his gaze dropped to the ground, uncertain of how to even respond to such a gift.
He did not need to think on it.
There was an interruption, and Lucia drew her hand away as she turned to Ilene. Alucard, too, allowed his attention to drift to her. “That is good,” Lucia said. She would not hinder Ilene in grabbing the necessary flasks. Humans needed water. She didn’t.
Alucard was the one to shake his head at the comment about interrupting. It was necessary. They were moving forward. Moments would be stolen, now and then – he had to accept they would also be interrupted. He could not truly grieve, or truly feel, until this was over. There was no time for him.
‘There is no place for you….’
Lucia spoke on, about the cart, “You know we have enough room,” there was a glint of mischief in her eyes as she said it, “though I imagine the hunter would feel safer with a cart. I’m certainly not against it, though I don’t know how normal horses are going to keep up.” She shrugged. That was their problem, she supposed. And maybe hers. But not yet. “The carriage is coming, no matter.”
She needed the shelter from the sun.
~***~
Alina’s head tilted forward, just a bit, with that comforting gesture. She shut her eyes, and allowed the moment to slide over her. Like fate – as if she wouldn’t do everything to fight fate. This was not a matter she was going to fight, though. She did not know enough, to be certain if she wanted to fight it.
There would be tragedy, but an impersonal tragedy.
It was selfish, and it was cruel, to condemn people to death for a greater good. Alina knew that, she was still, terribly, human – but she had gone through enough not to care as much. The pain would go over her, as the small gesture of her hair being pushed back, would.
She had an eternity to reflect, to reconsider, and change. If this proved to be something she did not like – she could challenge it.
She lifted her head, opened her eyes. ‘Yes.’ Maybe she was meant to be here. Maybe it led to something much more – off this current path, or on it – but she had to take the step first, to determine it. She gave a nod, and turned back to Carmilla, who stepped forward, reading them well enough to know that they’d determined something.
Hector, too, sensed the change.
He wouldn’t understand, but he paused in his affections for Cezar to pay attention, all the same, as the woman again spoke German.
“I will join Dracula’s cause, Lady Carmilla.” Which meant that Eir would join Dracula’s cause, but she did not use the ‘we’. In the end, it was her decision, no matter Eir’s opinion. It sounded favorable, but it still did not feel joint. There were aspects of the contract that made her wonder if anything they did could ever, truly, be joint.
No matter.
And, she tilted her head a bit, “Tell him, Eir.” For Hector still, obviously, didn’t understand. His eyes were wide. He almost looked like the puppy near him, wide-eyed. She could imagine him with a tail, wagging cautiously in restrained joy – hoping he had a reason for the joy. She probably shouldn’t think of him that way, but she couldn’t quite help it, when they didn’t have a language in common. The best she had to go on was, well, expression.
Sypha left them.
And Trevor looked tired, all of a sudden. Johann could see that only too well, and he was tempted to just take the bucket from Trevor as he followed him to the well, but he allowed the man to work. He leaned against the stone of the well, and looked down into it, hoping the water was clean, and not tainted.
He didn’t see any demon bodies around it, at least. That was hopeful.
“Mm,” he agreed with that – he did come from a good family. He had an idea of what Trevor was getting at. It was strange that someone like him, would be with someone like Lucia. Sure, he hunted werewolves – but his family wasn’t exclusive. If it was a monster, it needed to die, and Lucia was by their definition, a monster. “I know. We learned much of vampires and other creatures from your own family, and others.”
He couldn’t deny what his history was. “My family hates Lucia,” he said it bluntly. “If Mainz were closer to Chernihiv, I’m sure they would be planning to kill her, and me, and my brother.” He said with a shrug.
Quite the story indeed. “My brother, Axel, was turned into a werewolf. One of our enemies came to us, tricked us, for killing one of his own relatives. He sought to get revenge by turning us to werewolves…he only changed Axel, and Axel fled before he could be killed. I was sent to go after him. I followed his trail all the way to Chernihiv. Lucia caught him.”
He hadn’t expected it of anyone, let alone a vampire. “She invited me in – to see a new way. There’s a pack of werewolves just outside of Chernihiv. They live peacefully. They’ve learned how to deal with what they are, without harming others. They only turn on the full moon…other than that, they’re lucid. Human. I was given a lot to think of.”
That some creatures tried to live in peace with humanity. Did that mean they deserved destruction? He didn’t think so.
Particularly not after Lucia put it in historical terms and called to mind atrocities humans committed against each other, particularly what was done to Jewish individuals.
He wanted to be better. “That’s the long and short of. My family in Mainz no longer talks to me.” He still sent the occasional letter.
He still hoped.
~***~
Lucia made no promises to stop this. She offered no hope. None of those things which others may have given to a grieving son – but she offered her grief. She offered her pain, and Alucard felt that. He accepted that, as her hand chilled his, and his gaze dropped to the ground, uncertain of how to even respond to such a gift.
He did not need to think on it.
There was an interruption, and Lucia drew her hand away as she turned to Ilene. Alucard, too, allowed his attention to drift to her. “That is good,” Lucia said. She would not hinder Ilene in grabbing the necessary flasks. Humans needed water. She didn’t.
Alucard was the one to shake his head at the comment about interrupting. It was necessary. They were moving forward. Moments would be stolen, now and then – he had to accept they would also be interrupted. He could not truly grieve, or truly feel, until this was over. There was no time for him.
‘There is no place for you….’
Lucia spoke on, about the cart, “You know we have enough room,” there was a glint of mischief in her eyes as she said it, “though I imagine the hunter would feel safer with a cart. I’m certainly not against it, though I don’t know how normal horses are going to keep up.” She shrugged. That was their problem, she supposed. And maybe hers. But not yet. “The carriage is coming, no matter.”
She needed the shelter from the sun.
~***~
Alina’s head tilted forward, just a bit, with that comforting gesture. She shut her eyes, and allowed the moment to slide over her. Like fate – as if she wouldn’t do everything to fight fate. This was not a matter she was going to fight, though. She did not know enough, to be certain if she wanted to fight it.
There would be tragedy, but an impersonal tragedy.
It was selfish, and it was cruel, to condemn people to death for a greater good. Alina knew that, she was still, terribly, human – but she had gone through enough not to care as much. The pain would go over her, as the small gesture of her hair being pushed back, would.
She had an eternity to reflect, to reconsider, and change. If this proved to be something she did not like – she could challenge it.
She lifted her head, opened her eyes. ‘Yes.’ Maybe she was meant to be here. Maybe it led to something much more – off this current path, or on it – but she had to take the step first, to determine it. She gave a nod, and turned back to Carmilla, who stepped forward, reading them well enough to know that they’d determined something.
Hector, too, sensed the change.
He wouldn’t understand, but he paused in his affections for Cezar to pay attention, all the same, as the woman again spoke German.
“I will join Dracula’s cause, Lady Carmilla.” Which meant that Eir would join Dracula’s cause, but she did not use the ‘we’. In the end, it was her decision, no matter Eir’s opinion. It sounded favorable, but it still did not feel joint. There were aspects of the contract that made her wonder if anything they did could ever, truly, be joint.
No matter.
And, she tilted her head a bit, “Tell him, Eir.” For Hector still, obviously, didn’t understand. His eyes were wide. He almost looked like the puppy near him, wide-eyed. She could imagine him with a tail, wagging cautiously in restrained joy – hoping he had a reason for the joy. She probably shouldn’t think of him that way, but she couldn’t quite help it, when they didn’t have a language in common. The best she had to go on was, well, expression.
