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Chapter Text

The bedroom door closed with a bang. As the woman entered with deliberate steps and a mocking smile on her face, the cicada song, which was audible through the open window, paused. The broad-shouldered man placed the wine goblet on the table and looked up with an indifferent expression.

"Is something the matter?"

The woman stroked her red lips with her long nails, her eyes bright with an obscure delight. Swaying her hips with grace, she crossed the room, velvety dress swooshing as she moved. She came to a halt in front of the bed and patted it. "Would you come to bed? I have missed you."

A loud howl sounded outside, dissonant in the prevailing tranquility. Undisturbed, the man stood up, slowly made his way towards the woman, and sat on the edge of the four-poster bed. Expectantly, he glanced up at her. Scratching one of the bed posters, the lady leaned down and caressed his face with the other hand. The woman stepped in front of the handsome, dark-haired man and, in one swift motion, pushed him down and straddled him.

He let out a surprised gasp. "My, aren't you in a hurry tonight?" he teased.

When she quickly and nimbly grabbed the man's wrists, locking him beneath her body, her eyes darkened, and a growl escaped her plump red lips.

"What on..." As he realized he was unable to move, his voice lost its richness and stiffened. Never had he realized the strength of the woman on top of him, and that made him deeply uneasy.

Lowering herself closer to the man's warm body, she presented him with an innocent smile, as one would a naïve child. The look of fear she saw on her prey's face only served to fuel her fury. When she felt the man's efforts to break free from her enticing, vicious grasp, she was unable to hold back the sincere laughter that erupted from deep within her being. Revenge was well within her reach, just a few moments away from being accomplished. It would be like plucking a thorn-free rose from a flower bed. Grazing his cheek, jawline, and neck with her nails, she licked her lips in anticipation. The stony growth made its presence noted on her chest, the incandescent blue veins pulsing rhythmically. It was her incentive, or mayhap more accurately, the consequence of her predatory instinct.

Her lips pressed against the man's in order to muffle the altered tone of voice that would soon evolve into screams of pleasure and something else. Something else that would in turn give her much delight, indeed. There was just one last sacrifice to be made, a final act of staged affection. The woman allowed herself to look into the deep blue eyes of the man who was finally at her mercy, his strong arms rendered powerless by a delicate feminine hand. Closing her eyes, she let her anger and revolt pool in the place where her beating heart should be. Desire overwhelmed her. Desire to kill, lust for blood, eagerness to satiate her thirst for vengeance and survival. Those were the substances that flowed in her veins.

As her eyelids fluttered open, they revealed a pair of dark, wide eyes, irises filled to the brim with craving. She kissed his neck. Protruding from the gums, her fangs finally showed as she mercilessly ripped the man's skin, causing blood to leak. Without wasting an instant, she slurped it. Not a drop should be squandered. Despite the brutality of the attack, the man kept struggling beneath her body, but soon the calm-inducing venom she had delivered with her bite spread through his bloodstream, numbing his mind and senses and eliciting a fleeting bliss. His squirming stopped, and his arms yielded as she released them from her clutches to cradle his head and suck his life juice, his throat pulsing as the hot coppery liquid poured from the incisions.

Not half a bell later, the body felt completely cold and limp under her. Though that had not been her initial intention, the lady was nevertheless pleased with the result of that hearty meal.

Elwin Rosfield's eyes stared lifelessly at the canopy of their bed. His once-strong body now devoid of even a single drop of blood.

As Anabella Rosfield turned to leave their chambers, the bright moonlight streaming through the window found an eerie company in the sound of terrified screams and monstrous snarls. Doors were slammed open, and the ruckus only grew in volume and frequency. It was finally happening. She left without sparing even a glance at her husband, striding down the torchlit stone corridors. Now all she had to do was find her children and turn them. One of them would be perfect as a lackey. While with the other, she would have fun playing power games and hunting.

On her way to the boys, she was forced to stop a few times when the other vampires got in the way, hurling their unwary prey and throwing them against walls or pinning them to the ground as they feasted on their bodies with greed. Displeased, Anabella huffed. That would not do. Her orders had been clear. Do not touch her boys, but she knew all too well how easy it was to lose control and get into a frenzy. Regardless, she ought to be quick, as she was sure there would soon be retaliation from Rosfield's surviving soldiers, and although the other vampires were merely cannon fodder, Anabella and the boys certainly were not.

Chapter Text

Anabella felt a certain sense of satisfaction as she proceeded over the cloister and up the stairs to her sons' chambers. The courtyard was illuminated by moonlight and provided a beautiful view, yet it was tinged with a poignant strangeness. The small patches of garden, which were cared for daily by the servants and which featured almost artistic arrangements of trees, colorful flowers, and small bushes, were now adorned by screaming human figures struggling to face the horde of vampires that was successfully taking over Rosalith. The duchess took a moment to appreciate the spectacle. Many of those people dared to mock her and condemn her ways when, in reality, they didn't even know her at all. They had the audacity to claim her husband, Elwin, didn't love her and that she wasn't a good mother or a just ruler. They even had the nerve to declare that Anabella had never been or could ever be loved. What did they know? They were clueless about the sacrifices she had made and the pain and loss she had endured for the sake of her family. But all of that didn't matter anymore. Now their screams of terror and despair shattered the silence of the night, and they sounded just like a sweet melody to the Duchess ears. A melody of divine retribution.

Unlike the gardens, the throne room was dead quiet and dark. Only a couple of torches were lit, plunging the space into gloom. The red carpet that preceded the empty stone throne was as dark as an old bloodstain. Anabella climbed the stairs as quickly as possible without losing her royal pose. When she turned left to ascend the second flight of stairs, she was surprised by one of her personal female servants, who barred her passage. Anabella glared at the woman. However, the petite brunette didn't move. She stood her ground, her fierce brown eyes focused on Anabella's.

"What do you think you're doing?" Anabella hissed while she massaged her temple. "Move out of the way, Josephine."

The handmaiden did a curtsy. "I do apologize, your Highness. I was merely on my way to check if the young lords needed anything when I heard noise, and suddenly you appeared. Is aught amiss?"

"Your presence here is what is amiss. It is not within the scope of your duties to serve my children." Without waiting for a response, the duchess slapped Josephine, the force of the blow causing the brunette to fall.

As the handmaiden attempted to regain balance and sat on the stairs, she noticed a cut on her cheekbone, right below her mole. A thin line of warm liquid poured from it, and she wiped it with the back of her hand, her chest heaving as she tried to crawl backwards on the stairs.

"I am truly sorry if I've offended you, your Highness. I was only intended to make sure they..."

Anabella stretched out her arm and gripped her servant's face, applying such pressure to her cheeks that Josephine remained immobile, a prisoner of those relentless clutches. The blonde woman forced the handmaiden's face to turn from side to side while she decided what to do. Josephine winced, her eyes finally betraying her fear. "Please. I have a daughter, a very young girl." Anabella raised her arm and hoisted her servant from the floor, making her feet dangle frantically. She pulled Josephine's face close to hers and sniffed the air around her. That woman always had a scent of chemicals on her, whose origin Anabella never figured out.

"Alas, it is a pity that I'm quite full at the moment, but we'll solve this minor inconvenience another way."

She stretched her arm outward and threw her down the stairs. Josephine's body rolled down the steps and came to a standstill, sprawled awry. A loud crack resonated as her head fell motionless on the cold marble pavement.

"It seems I forget my own strength sometimes." Anabella mumbled to herself.

She smoothed her lilac dress with her hands and advanced at a determined pace towards her children's chambers. While on her way, Anabella reflected on her last few years and deemed she had indeed been blessed. It was fate that led the sovereigns of both kingdoms of Rosaria and Sanbreque to join for a meeting in the context of the rememberance ceremony, an event that celebrated the past deeds of the involved nations. It commemorated occasions in which said nations cooperated to achieve a common goal or to make peace after times of war. These ceremonies were rare, and the last time such a reunion involved Rosaria and Sanbreque was many decades before Anabella was even born.

The decisive way Sylvestre Lesage spoke at that event impressed her, and they soon started exchanging correspondence. Mayhap the fact that her husband, Elwin, was always fussing about their new charge, the northerner girl, like she was his own child, also compelled her to consider those exchanges with the emperor as a high point in her routine. Even more so, when Sylvestre showed his concern about the lack of ambition the archduke of Rosaria had towards his legacy and his own wife. Indeed, the emperor was the very opposite of Elwin Rosfield. That made him very appealing in her eyes. Sylvestre was the embodiment of ambition and of devotion to the purity of the royal bloodline. The latter was of the utmost importance for Anabella, as she was aware of how untrustworthy and flimsy those born outside of nobility were.

Every action, or lack thereof, had a consequence or a cost. And unlike her husband, Anabella chose to act. Good fortune had led her to make the decision to forge an alliance with the emperor of Sanbreque and to produce another child out of wedlock, and that would secure her a proper status in the empire. The lovely baby boy, Olivier, who looked so much like both his parents and who incarnated many of her hopes and ambitions, even more than her two elder sons. It had all gone smoothly, as Elwin was more involved in unimportant border skirmishes than in defending his own family; her husband hadn't even spent enough time with them to realize Anabella had delayed her stay in Sanbreque on behalf of strengthening the ties between the nations. The pregnancy came to full term, and he didn't even suspect it. Anabella sighed. Someone in the family had to do what it takes to preserve the bloodline, and she appeared to be the only one willing to pay the price.

But, by the Founder, the stars and Metia aligned for Anabella yet again, as they must have known how much she deserved to see a little light at the end of the tunnel after all her dedication. Therefore, soon after her new sense of security had almost been handed to Anabella on a plate, allowing her to exact revenge on her traitor husband, the duchess was one of the chosen ones to carry Ultima's 'curse'.

Anabella had been in a carriage on one of her return trips from Sanbreque to be with her son Olivier when time literally stood still. All of a sudden, it was as if the air was sucked out of her lungs, her heart racing and her eyes closing at someone or something else's command. In all honesty, Anabella's blood had run cold when she felt herself being warped to another place through a veil of darkness. Somewhere beyond time and space.

Her head was whirling until she was finally able to open her eyes to a crumbling world. A deteriorating palace of enormous proportions was all she could see. Her senses could detect neither sound nor scent. There was only one way forward, barely visible, as the duchess of Rosaria advanced at a steady pace up the ever-changing stairs and corridors. She started to climb, her body shivering as the cold drafts were free to roam around, coming from the bottomless abyss that surrounded the remaining building. Suddenly, she heard an aetherial voice. She tripped on the steps and lost her footing. Anabella kneeled on the stairs, holding on to dear life. Her facade finally crumbled as her breathing became shallower and her light eyes welled up with tears. How on Valisthea would she be able to leave that hellish place? Would she ever be able to see her sons again? Her darling baby boys? A pang of pain gripped her heart, but she tried to still the panic that threatened to overtake her. She needed to be better than that. If she'd have to be cold in order to face this ordeal, by the Founder, she'd be so, like she had been many times before.

The mechanical voice echoed again, urging her to stand up and approach it. Anabella got up and straightened her hair and skirt, determined to continue. There was only one possible way out, and it was following that voice devoid of any emotion. Though every step she took brought a chilling shudder through her body, the duchess pressed on. Flight of stairs by flight of stairs, she hoped she was getting closer to her destination, and she was certain that if it weren't for the encompassing darkness, she would already be suffering from severe vertigo. But then it was there again; her unkown host made itself present as the incorporeal voice spoke again to reveal its name, Ultima, before telling about an unprecedented journey that his kind had been forced to take. It all began eons ago. As the small star around which their planet was orbiting started to expand, they discovered that their bodies were unable to adjust quickly enough to the rapid increase in sunlight. The new reality meant that the abundance of light was causing harm to their bodies, which had previously lived mostly in darkness. Their skin lacked any sort of natural protection from the nocivity of the light rays. Furthermore, there was another side effect that endangered their survival, as the cosmic alteration also accelerated the oxidation of the deposits of iron that constituted a major part of their diet. This caused even more of them to perish at an alarming rate.

The voice quieted down to a halt. Anabella found herself lacking a way forward when a set of stairs emerged in front of her. It led to a large square platform. She moved around, observing the uncanny space. The floor was as imposing as a royal dancefloor, and in lieu of a matching majestic ceiling, several arches of masonry were suspended in the air as if by magic. A sound of something heavy moving breached through the ominous silence, startling the duchess. A throne made of some kind of dark crystal materialized at one end of the platform. And there he sat. The owner of that uncanny voice, the sire of that ghostly palace. Her captor.

Everything about Ultima spelled alien and menace. He was exceptionally tall, with taut muscles noticeable underneath the pale purple-bluish skin that seemed to emit a faint glimmer like that of a crystal. His hair was white, straight, and long, in a way almost reminiscent of Elwin's and Sylvestre's. But then there were the creature's eyes that observed her like they were prying into her very soul—two incandescent irises surrounded by pools of darkness, inscrutable. She stepped back and covered her mouth in fear and disgust. The fight-or-flight instinct had kicked in, but Anabella knew better. There was one thing still left to determine: whether Ultima would be her executioner or her savior.

Steading her inner turmoil, she took small steps until she stood in front of the throne. Although the end was upon her, Anabella knew she had to make it. Ultima acknowledged her attitude with a nod of his head before he carried on with the story, his gaze fixated on her.

"Over time, our planet was depleted and cried tears of black. We were compelled to abandon our decrepit home in search of a new paradise in which we could survive and eventually thrive." He paused and conjured up an image of several lifeless planets in Anabella's mind. "As you can see, it was not an easy task. We became nomads, traveling from planet to planet every time the resources were depleted, our numbers dwindling each time. We decided to separate so we could find better luck on our own without completely draining the planets. And that is how I came to be in Valisthea. However, I shall leave soon and would like to leave this residence in the hands of capable fellow beings."

He glanced at her from above, assessing her mettle. "Others in this world have already heeded my call and accepted this gift."

"What will I get in return?" The duchess' voice sounded weird to her ears in that anechoic space, like it was someone else speaking in one of those horrible sweat-inducing nightmares.

"Nothing short of unlimited power and eternal life." Ultima pronounced each word in his mechanical voice, separating each one as if to allow Anabella time to grasp the true meaning behind each one. "Forfeit your meaningless life, and you can join the likes of me."

Anabella remembered the way her mind had raced, trying to figure out the best way to return to her sons and claim a position in the world that should be rightfully hers. There only seemed to be one way forward towards the exit, though the future would be as uncertain as never before. She accepted Ultima's offer and took that way. With the sheer power of his mind, the alien creature extended his arm and brought her body into his grasp. Anabella had a vague idea of imagining the face of a handsome, bearded blond man with blue eyes and a scar on the side of his forehead, drawing near her. She drank up on that image as Ultima's fangs pierced her neck and infused her with the substance that induced the most profound transformation of her life.

After the whole ritual had taken place, she awoke in her carriage, on her way back to Rosalith, without any proof that what had happened had been real if it wasn't for the way her parched throat ached to be soothed with warm coppery liquid and for the way her now colder body seemed to pulse with crackling aether. Anabella felt both frail and powerful as a whole world of possibilities opened before her.

Even though she first let despair control her, the duchess soon realized how she could use her new condition to her benefit. She had taken time to think about what would be better than being immortal. After all, she would have all the time in the world to achieve her goals and show her true worth. Worth that had been neglected and overlooked for far too long. Indeed, the supposed curse would turn into a blessing in the hands of someone like her, a spirit of royalty that, unlike common people, would not give up nor give in. Of course, the patch of stone and glowing blue veins in her chest that marked the few selected ones was something Anabella would rather not have to deal with. It was a mar on her beauty that would remain as hidden as her sins. Nonetheless, she wasn't too concerned, as she knew it was now within her power to overcome such an unimportant detail.

She remembered that after feeding off of Ultima and drinking blood from one man he had brought there to fulfill that very purpose, Anabella finally turned into a newborn vampire, and she was presented with a vision of her unique power. She stood in a meadow, looking as beautiful as she was in her early twenties. Not far in the distance, by a few verdant trees, a group of innocent-looking young girls sat in a circle. They were all dressed up in cute little white dresses and had ribbons and tiny flowers on their hair. Oblivious to the presence of the observer, the girls talked and giggled amongst themselves while petting a few puppies. Anabella felt thankful after thinking about it for a few days and noticing how her sense of smell detected certain girls. It seemed the new specific ability, or rather blessing, she was granted in her new existence as a vampire would enhance her natural beauty even more.

Anabella sighed, pleased with herself, as she finished her musings and stretched her arm to open the door to Joshua's chamber. Only one of the candelabras still had candles with the wick lit. Silence reigned in little Joshua's room. A gust of wind blew through a breach, bringing some sounds of the disturbance that was taking place outside. Anabella stomped her foot on the floor, frustrated. Even though it was past time for her middle child to be in dreamland, he wasn't even in his room. She moved around, looking for any clue to the whereabouts of her son. The wooden rocking chocobo was still slightly moving to and fro. His bedsheets were clearly untouched, indicating that the child had not gone to bed. Fearing for her son's safety, the duchess growled. How could she have let him escape? Her innocent baby boy wouldn't be able to wonder around and leave unscathed amidst a horde of thirsty vampires, who had been ordered to feed to their own desires and kill to their hearts' content, without regard to the pain inflicted or the rampage caused. Her eyes roamed the wooden shelves and the chests containing Joshua's favorite toys. Anabella would not give up until she deciphered her children's whereabouts. She would grant them the power of eternal life so that they would have a prominent place in the new empire she intended to establish with the help of Ultima's powers. It wouldn't be immediate, but they would have all the time in the world to build it. After sweeping through the various toys, balls of varying sizes, and even rattles, Anabella noticed Joshua's favorite pinwheel was missing. The pink pinwheel bore the Rosfields insignia, and Anabella had had it made on purpose because little Joshua had shown himself fascinated by the identical but inferior quality ones that he had seen on market stalls one of the times he went for a walk with Clive without Anabella's consent. The duchess had complained to Clive for taking his brother among ordinary people, but as soon as Joshua intervened, he apologized for his older brother and then went on and on about how magical he found the way the blades of the little pinwheels turned without slowing down each time that he blew on them or that a gust of wind passed through them. Anabella couldn't resist the way his chubby cheeks seemed to brigthen, his eyes widening in wonder, and she forgot her bad mood, promising Joshua that he would soon have a pinwheel fit for royalty. After getting his brand new toy, Joshua was almost inseparable from it. Even at mealtimes, he kept it on his lap. Therefore, Anabella concluded that if the toy wasn't in his room, that meant he must have taken it with him. And taking the next logical step, that meant that someone had taken her son away from his chambers and most likely told him that it would take some time before they returned. She knew her son would only leave if he trusted the person in question. However, he was still a child and susceptible to manipulation.

Anabella chastised herself for allowing herself to be distracted by her own thoughts and not realizing beforehand that her son wasn't there; he had most likely been taken away. If he had taken his favorite toy with him, it was likely that he hadn't been snatched by another vampire, which was probably for the best. But still. She sensed the air around her and detected Josephine's scent nearby. She wondered if her handmaiden might have known something about his whereabouts. Alas, she wouldn't be able to extract any information from her servant anymore. Anabella had taken a bad decision, but there was no use in lingering or thinking about it. She took one last glance at Joshua's empty room and rested her hand over her chest.

"My darling boy," she whispered before turning around to search for Clive, still hoping she might come across Joshua's odor along the way.

Considering the direction that night's events were taking, Anabella wasn't surprised when she didn't find Clive in his room either. An image took over the duchess's mind, almost causing her fangs to sprout. Was her foolish teenage son with that wild girl from the north? She would not allow her bloodline to become thus polluted. It seemed like that son was born just to cause her grievance, even when he apparently tried to please his mother. However, Anabella refused to give credence to that hypothesis, especially because the protection orders issued to the other vampires did not include that wild girl. With any luck, the horde would have already hunted the northerner or, at least, chased her far away.

Just as she had done in Joshua's room, Anabella gave it a quick inspection. The insignificant wooden sword that her son used to practice was not hanging from its usual rack on the wall. His bed showed signs of having been used, though, and his scent still lingered. He must have noticed the commotion and left to confront whatever enemy might be threatening their home. That was the foolhardy boy that she had given birth to 15 years ago.

Storming out of the room, Anabella tried to figure out where that fool of a boy might have gone. The bad mood was beginning to cloud her judgment when an animalistic scream of pain sounded at the end of the corridor that connected to the stairs leading to the battlements. Sensing danger to her own species, the duchess strode in that direction.

A pool of aether expanded across the steps as if the floodgates of its source had been broken open. One of her fellow vampires had sustained terrible injuries. Anabella gasped, a little startled. They were immortals, and there was only one known way to kill them, as Ultima had explained to her. Being impaled on the aether heart that occupied their chests was the only effective way to finish them off, and someone had done precisely that. As she circled around the puddle of vampiric life force oozing from the creature that barely clung to existence, the duchess covered her mouth as if to hide from the fact that even though she was now an immortal, she and her kind were not indestructible. She'd need to become smarter and, above all, more powerful. Fortunately, Valisthea was, up until now, utterly unaware of their existence, and that meant that she would be free to feed from whoever she might wish to in order to develop her strength and powers.

Climbing the stairs, Anabella came across Clive, who was in one of the guardhouses, gripping his training sword with both hands, his knuckles white. A blue trickle of aether ran down the blade, leaving an almost fluorescent stain on the wood. Upon seeing her, Clive's blue eyes lit up with relief. But that brief respite was short-lived as the boy bowed before his mother, catching his breath as he babbled to her.

"Mother, we're being invaded by monsters. Blood-sucking monsters. They are attacking everyone, including the chocobos."

He struggled to stifle a sob as his eyes widened in panic and he stared at his mother, his complexion pale as that of a ghost. For her part, Anabella posed herself to appear neutral and glanced at the sea beyond the castle walls, listening to the waves. She had to evaluate what would be the best moment to carry out her plan. As if sensing something was amiss, Clive checked his surroundings. Assuming a protective stance, he dared to draw his mother behind him. However, the guardhouse and the path that led to the battlements remained quiet, so the young shield continued in a low voice. "I tried to procure a real sword from the armory, but I didn't have time. When I heard the clamor, I thought it was an attempted invasion, so I ran to my brother's room to make sure he was safe, but he wasn't there. I assumed Joshua was with you or father, or even that he might have gone to see the animals. I decided to go to the stables. That's when I realized what was really happening. Vampires are decimating the castle's servants and other inhabitants. Real monsters, they hurled the people they caught at each other as if they were sacks of potatoes or bags of meat ready to eat. It was like they were playing a sick game. There were so many screams. I had never witnessed anything so horrible. Not even the Marlboro that I had killed with Sir Tyler and Sir Wade could compare to this hell."

Clive lowered his head, eyes fixed on the ground, as if he carried the weight of what was happening on his inexperienced teenage shoulders. "There were few chocobos left when I managed to sneak into the stable. I freed Ambrosia and a couple more. The others were scattered on the floor, bloodless. The ones that were missing... I hope they were taken by people to provide a faster means of escape."

Finally waking up from the nightmarish scenes that were still unfolding in his mind, Clive stretched his free arm towards Anabella as if he were going to hug her, but stopped halfway. "Are you all right, mother? Where is Joshua? Was he with you? And Jill? Did you see her?"

Anabella grimaced and pursed her crimson lips. She felt contempt at the mere mention of that girl's name. Instead of answering, she collected herself and shook her head. Now that she was faced with the opportunity to take the action she had planned, she hesitated.

And all the while, Clive kept pestering her with questions. "What about father? Is Uncle Byron with him?"

"Quickly, come with Mother." Anabella interrupted him. "We mustn't waste any more time. I will take you to them."

She gently pushed Clive to get the boy to step in front of her, but he turned back to inquire further. "Where are they? Are they all together?"

The last question was asked with a tone of suspicion. She chose not to waste any more time. Catching him off guard, she threw a hand around his neck and, squeezing, forced him to kneel on the narrow stone path that ran along the battlements.

"Mother?!" His voice sounded soft, as if the young man couldn't truly grasp what was happening at that time. Perhaps for that reason, his body offered no resistance when Anabella's fangs pierced his soft teenage skin. A tear was the sole sign that her son was, in fact, aware of his imminent doom at the hands of his own mother.

As Anabella attempted to give him her blood to drink, Clive had one seizure after another and began vomiting blood. The poison had not had the desired effect of leaving him under her control, and she was taken aback as she witnessed the scene unfolding before her like it was unreal, or maybe real but happening to someone else. Her son's reaction was contrary to everything the duchess had experienced in her short life as a vampire. Clive continued to writhe on the floor, and suddenly, he stretched his hands towards his mother, as if he wanted to reach her and perhaps reassure her or call for her help. However, he was unable to carry out the gesture. His arms suddenly became stiff and fell to the floor with a thump. Anabella let out a scream, frustrated. She lowered herself just to confirm what she already knew to be true. Clive lay dead. His eyelids were closed, forever hiding the hue of blue that was the perfect combination of the colors of both his parents. His agile and strong body was now inert and defenseless. Her plans had completely failed. Why did he reject her vampire blood? That boy always had to find a way to thwart her goals. It would have been so simple if he had just accepted the blessing he was given. But even his body had to defy her will. Looking at her son's face, she cursed. Her firstborn was dead, and Joshua was missing or, perhaps, also lying lifeless in the midst of the carnage for which she was partly responsible.

The moonlight was now more timid. Anabella looked at it and noticed that the sky was showing the first hints of light. Unfortunately, the time for investigating and wandering about had run out. Even though the sun couldn't kill her, the truth remained that light hurt vampires, and Anabella didn't have adequate shielding. Hurriedly, she descended from the battlements and prepared to leave Rosalith behind. Fortunately, she still had baby Olivier waiting for her, and he would be happy for his mother's prompt return.

Chapter Text

The lucky ones were the few groups that managed to keep their wits about them. The night seemed to have no end, and like an hourglass whose sands had unexpectedly solidified, thus seeing its natural movement cease, so did the nightmare hold the inhabitants of Rosalith prisoner in its sharp claws. Though the eye of the bloody storm was in Rosalith Castle, its nefarious winds soon spread beyond its walls until they enveloped the market and surrounding houses in a whirlwind of panic, screams, and destruction. The stench of carnage that made the air thick was inescapable.

The rhythmic and strong sound of the hurried footsteps of a small group of terrified chocobos resounded through the cobbled and practically deserted streets.

"Oi Oi!" A man tried to get the birds' attention, but they kept their course, following a chocobo with white plumage that led them by trotting through several streets and alleys to the outside of the walls and, Founder willing, to a safer exterior.
Taking advantage of the birds passing by, the small group of people crossed one of the moonlit streets, hoping that at least the sound of their hurried footsteps would be muffled in this way. Little Jote shivered as the party huddled against the walls again, trying to stay under the cover of darkness as much as possible, even though they didn't really know if that would mean any kind of protection against those fearsome, thirsty creatures.

A snarl sounded a few streets behind them, freezing Jote's blood, and in a flash of clarity, she managed to choke back the scream that had almost escaped her throat, covering her mouth with her left hand while her right one was clenched around the toy she had brought with her. The young man with long hair and blue eyes who was in front of her seemed to notice her struggle and moved her to the front of him, placing his comforting hands on her petite shoulders, not only to help her not fall behind but also to protect her from any sudden attack that could occur behind their backs.

Jote didn't know most of the people who walked with her in single file through the desolate streets of Rosalith, with the exception of a lady who was a neighbor of Jote and her mother. Her name was Cybill, and she sold apples at one of the market stalls. She would often bring some sweet pieces of fruit that delighted Jote. Then there were a couple and the young man who was now following behind her, all three wearing worn-looking brown cloaks. At the beginning of her escape, Cybill grabbed her by the hand and introduced the cloaked man as a friend of Josephine's. Jote knew that should be true because, even though she had never seen him before, as he had the same scent that sometimes exuded from her mother's clothes. In addition to those already mentioned, the group included two more women and three men, one of whom resembled a soldier or even a commander. He was a tall, bearded blond man clad in red chainmail armor who issued orders like he was used to, albeit in a respectful manner. Jote decided she would have liked him if she had met him under different circumstances. Though, to be honest, she had the vague idea she had seen him around before, maybe in the market stall surrounding the Rosalith castle, a place where she used to spend a lot of time. In fact, wasn't he talking to her new friend's brother a few days ago?

Another corner, another dark alley with a flight of worn-out steps. Jote looked behind, the growing uproar distracting her. There was an unnatural brightness coming from inside the castle's inner walls, and she was pretty sure a fire must have broken out. She lost balance when she missed a step, but the young man behind her steadied her before she fell.

"Would you like me to carry you? It must be quite late for a little lady like yourself to be awake." The man offered, his voice clear and quiet.

"I am fine." She said, doing her best to give him a reassuring smile. Even though she was just six years old and the youngest of the group, she didn't want to be the cause of any delays, not when danger might be lurking at every corner of every street they traversed. And she didn't want to disappoint her mommy. She'd like to tell her how brave she had been as soon as they got reunited. Jote knew she had been a courageous, good girl ever since her father had died in some border skirmishes incited by the Iron Kingdom. She had been strong for the both of them, and she would continue to do so. Pinky promise.

As their group, led by the blond soldier, hurried through an open square, Jote couldn't help but shudder as she felt they were terribly exposed. Everything had suddenly gone quiet—too quiet—and Jote found herself missing the familiar, cozy bustle of the market. She used to spend much of her free time near the castle grounds. Her mother, Josephine, often left the castle and picked her up from home before starting her daily work. Josephine was in charge of some specific purchases, usually for the archduke or his eldest son, and took the opportunity to spend more time with little Jote, strolling with calm between the various stalls and becoming acquainted with the majority of the vendors.  After her mother returned to her duties, Jote wandered around the colorful stalls for a while before it was time for her neighbor to take her home. Jote had learned a lot about the routine and lifestyles of the castle's inhabitants and other visitors, even though she couldn't always distinguish one from the others. She was especially amused by the way the lords and ladies behaved in the market and among themselves. The differences were big but not as big as what happened with some servants who, like her mother, worked in the castle and perhaps, for that reason, but instead treated the sellers with even greater disdain. But taking note of those specificities was only part of the charm. The new products that regularly arrived at stands were more than enough reason to get Jote excited. Fabrics with different patterns, new types of bread and pastries brought from other kingdoms of Valisthea, and newer versions of the toys she knew were a guaranteed way to keep her entertained. Jote and other children enjoyed walking around the market and playing among the crowds of customers and the sales announcements that echoed over the generalized conversations of the numerous passers-by. In fact, a few days ago, Jote had just made friends with a kind boy a few years her senior.

An icy constriction tightened around Jote's chest. How was it possible that everything had changed so quickly? And without any kind of warning? How was something like this allowed to happen?

A streak darker than the shadows on the street seemed to pass quickly along the stone walls of the houses on the left. Jote stopped for a moment and looked in that direction, but was soon gently pushed back into the group. Despite trying hard to walk faster, Jote couldn't avoid casting brief glances at the shadows, just as she couldn't avoid the shadows that fell on her heart and, finally, filled her with fear. She let out a loud sob.

"Where is mommy?"

"She'll meet us at the appointed location as soon as she can." The young man behind her answered, urging her forward once again.

"What about my friend? Can someone please go get them? I'm worried..."

"They got their family to protect them and lead them to safety. We must do the same for ourselves. Let's go."

"Please, can someone go and save them?" Her eyes were now brimming with tears as she stomped her feet to show she wouldn't move. "I want my mommy." She pleaded. Suddenly, she felt so tired and sad; her young heart felt like a caged canary that wished to spread its wings but was prevented from doing so. It was a sensation far worse than anything a nightmare might cause. Before she could realize what was happening, little Jote began to cry inconsolably. Without wasting any more time, the young man who brought up the rear of their elusive march picked her up and ran a little to get closer to Cybill. Jote began flailing her arms, showing her displeasure, the little fingers squeezing the pinwheel even more tightly, as if this gesture ensured her and her mother's connection to the relatively happy and peaceful past that they had lived until then.

While Jote's neighbor did her best to console her and calm her sobs, stroking her arms and back, the group went around another corner, and after opening a rusty gate that opened the way through a narrow passage between two houses, the group paused in a small square. A small well covered by a black tiled roof marked the spot. The commander-looking soldier discreetly waved to one of the women, a blond lady with a gentle brown gaze, and whispered something in her ear. Nodding, the woman replied something quietly before approaching the last of the group. The soldier swept the space as he looked and, deeming it secure, advanced towards an abandoned-looking annex. Before entering, he signaled for the group to wait. Moments later, he returned, and, once again, without a sound, he led everyone inside.

Jote, who had calmed down a little while carefully observing everything that was going on around her, blinked her eyes to better adjust to the darkness. The space appeared to have been used as a modest storage room, with crates and boxes abound. And cobwebs too—lots of them.

"Cyril," the leader of the group, questioned the young man carrying her, tilting his head to the wall behind them. "Could you light that torch, please?"

Cyril put Jote back on the floor but held her hand while he retrieved the torch from a rusty iron hoop that was attached to the wall. "Is there aught else you require, Sir Murdoch?" Cyril asked after lighting up the torch, its light causing their shadows to dance on the empty wall of the annex. Startled, one spider moved out of its web to check on its sticky traps for any unaware prey.

Jote turned her attention back to the man that she now knew to be Sir Murdoch. Or the lord commander of the Rosarian Army, as her mother had mentioned before. Sir Rodney Murdoch spoke with a kind voice, but the scar he sported on the side of his forehead and his alert eyes denoted his spirit as both a warrior and a defender of the people. Without further ado, the lord commander took advantage of the flickering light from the torch to, with Hanna's help, lift some wooden boards that hid a trap door.

"Will it just be us, or will more people join, like mommy?" Jote risked asking in a low tone, as perceptible as the rapid beating of the wings in his heart allowed.

Hanna approached her and bent down, stroking her hair. "Many people have already managed to escape, and even more are going to get out. But we can't all go together, my dear. It would be very dangerous. Stay close to us, and everything will be fine. Don't be afraid, all right?"

"But what are those creatures? Where did they come from? And why did they have to come to Rosalith?"

"There will be time to find that out." Cyril took it up on himself to answer. "But right now, we must go, young lady. Your mother is counting on you too."

Jote nodded. She would not disappoint her mother or the people she was with at that moment. Cyril approached the trapdoor entrance, illuminating the set of stairs that were lost in the darkness beyond. "We shall return another day, if it is safe enough, to inspect the site and see if we can recover some goods. It may also be possible to discover some more survivors or animals that managed to escape." The man added.

"Do you think it will be possible to find anyone?" Jote asked, a little hope giving her heart a little bit more room to spread its wings.

"Of course." Cyril replied with a confident smile. He held her tiny hand as they began descending the stairs.

With caution, the small group began to descend the stairs. Cyril went ahead with Jote and Cybill. The others, whose names Jote didn't know, proceeded in the middle. Hanna and Rodney Murdoch brought up the rear. They advanced slowly through the damp passage, lit only by the torch. The smell of earth and old things was intense, as if the tunnel was rarely used. They had been walking for some time without any indication that the route was coming to an end. Jote started to get a little nervous as she thought about everything that had happened in such a short period of time. Who were those people? Where were they going? How had they discovered Jote so quickly and rescued her from that carnage? However, the question that left her lips was different.

"Does my mommy know of this passage?"

"Indeed, she does. As a matter of fact, it was Josephine who made us aware of this secret passage a few years ago." Cyril explained quietly.

"You know mommy?!"

"That's a story for another day." The young man said and gave a light squeeze to Jote's hand. The information was enough to give encouragement to the girl, who continued with a fresh spring in her steps. From then on, the party continued in silence, with Lord Commander Murdoch moving between the various elements to make sure everything was fine, which ended up resulting in greater tranquility among everyone.

At one point, Jote had a strange feeling, as if a draft had appeared out of nowhere, as if someone had left a door open on a freezing winter day. In fact, she felt an involuntary shiver, as the temperature in that obscure passage had dropped several degrees. The next thing she knew, a shadow flashed past the group. With the noise of the footsteps of that group of people, no one noticed the presence of another being until the vampire was in their midst. A scream of dread reverberated through the tunnel walls. Some people tried to flee only to run into others who, like Jote, were frozen in place from fear and shock.

"Just where do you think you are going, my lady?"

A voice hissed before a strong hand grabbed Hanna by the arm as if she were a mere rag doll. The vampire took a step forward, the flickering light uncovering him. The man was of medium height but robust, and if the armor was not deceptive, he would have been part of the soldiers of the Empire of Sanbreque. The creature smiled, making a point of showing its sharp fangs, which seemed to gleam under the torchlight. That light began to quiver more when Jote sensed the panic that Cyril was trying to contain by her side.

With the agility that only an experienced soldier can muster in such a situation, Lord Commander Murdoch advanced on the vampire and attacked him right away with his sword. The unexpected assault caused the creature, in a survival instinct, to move to the side and release Hanna, who fell to her knees on the ground. The former imperial soldier tried to advance towards his prey, but Murdoch blocked him with his own body.

"All of you. Proceed without me." The commander ordered, in a clear and proud voice. "No one will chase after you because I swear, by the Founder, I will end this creature's existence even if it costs my own."

Rodney Murdoch turned his head a bit to the side so he could also look at Lady Hanna. "Never forget that I love you, Hanna Murdoch." He declared, solemnly. The vampire scoffed at this statement and tried to seize Hanna again, but the commander took advantage of this moment of distraction to deliver a deep blow to his shoulder, stopping him. Wasting no time, Rodney Murdoch twisted his body so that he hit the back of the vampire's knee.

"Move, people. Now!" The lord commander of the Rosarian army demanded in a tone that did not allow for any disobedience.

Jote swallowed hard as she observed the distraught expression on Hanna Murdoch's face, who, regardless of the circumstances, was the first to motivate the group to continue. The image of Hanna's tears streaming down her determined face would remain etched in little Jote's mind for a long time. Just as would the noises of the fight between the Lord Commander and the vampire, which, as the group advanced along the progressively narrower and more humid path, faded until they became completely silent. With a lump in her throat, Jote squeezed Cyril's hand tighter, wondering if she'd ever see her mom, her friend, or any of those left behind ever again.

----------

The docks at Rosalith Harbor were blessedly quiet. The gentle lapping of the waters and the absence of the usual ferrymen gave rise to the illusion that they were in a foreign land, in a protected realm where no one would ever dream of an invasion of bloodthirsty vampires. Joshua Rosfield sighed. It had all happened so quickly that his ten years had barely given him the opportunity to grasp what had happened or, to be more precise, what was still happening and would carry on for who knew how long. He was sitting on the inconspicuous boat with his uncle Byron and two of his servants, who were awaiting his order to leave the port. Although his uncle's arm was wrapped around his shoulders, keeping his body close to him for comfort, Joshua was trembling. Even though he wasn't quite sure if his shudders were caused by the night's sudden chill or fear. He couldn't stop replaying in his mind what had happened, nor could he shake off the concern he felt for the well-being of those who were important to him.

Who could have predicted that when one of his mother's ladies-in-waiting entered his room, he would be robbed of what he had always taken for granted: the presence of his loved ones? With the exception of his uncle, he didn't know the whereabouts of either his parents, his brother, Jill, the castle servants, or even that girl with expressive brown eyes who he had recently met at the market. She was even younger than him. How could she be safe in the middle of that insane carnage? How could Jill be okay? Even Clive, with his prowess as a swordsman, how could he face such a vortex of blind violence? After just a few bells, Joshua felt like he had aged. Only a while ago, he was in his chambers, quietly defying his mother by staying awake, steady on the back of his brave mount—his wooden rocking chocobo—and galloping so fast that enemies were blown away by their mere passage. Then came that soft knock on the door. Thinking that it might be his mother, he made for the bed, but the door was open before he had the chance to do so. Joshua prepared himself to be scolded when he saw the handmaiden kneeling by his side, her long dress brushing the floor with her movements.

"Your Grace, Rosalith Castle is being overrun..." She paused, raising her hands to his shoulders so he could look her in the eyes. "By monsters". She concluded. "We must come with me at once. I have to make sure you and your brother are safe before aught else."

He remembered thinking that it must have been some sort of prank, but her hushed tone, the way the handmaiden's eyes moved incessantly, and the noise that began to pour from the outside made him realize that he had not been given such luck. So he put on a brave face, his lips drawn in a thin line, and he nodded. From then on, Joshua followed Josephine without a word of complaint. They descended the stairs to the throne room, always stopping in each dark corner to make sure they were not being followed, keeping their steps as light as possible while making haste. Josephine led him to one of the red banners adorning the walls, only to reveal a door behind it, to his utter surprise. She closed it immediately following Joshua's entrance, and after a few steps in complete darkness, the handmaiden ignited a torch and held his hand all the way through. They twisted and turned through several passageways until they got out at last. Joshua could sense a maritime breeze, so he figured they were close to the harbor, but even so, he noticed how heavy the air felt. Moreover, instead of the usual hooting of nocturnal birds or even the squeaking of rats, the silence of the night was perverted by human screams of horror and the growling and hissing of monstrous beings.

Josephine had always kept him close to her as they walked away from the walls towards the docks, looking from time to time at the young boy, who remained silent the entire way. As soon as the first boats became visible, the handmaiden headed towards a set of wooden huts, which normally contained fishing supplies. After passing the fence that enclosed the small buildings, Josephine stopped and placed her hands on his shoulders.

"If everything went well, Lord Byron Rosfield should be inside. He will keep you safe."

She moved to the cabin in the middle and knocked on the door five times. At once, Uncle Byron opened it, pulling Joshua into a tight hug and leading him inside. Joshua had finally found the courage to speak up about what worried him the most.
"What about Clive?"

After acknowledging his question with a gentle smile, Josephine turned to Byron Rosfield. "My Lord, young Lord Clive wasn't in his chambers when I went to get Joshua. I think I have an idea of where he might be. Barracks, Chocobo's stables, or wherever Jill is."

"That sounds about right." His uncle acquiesced.

"I shall return to the castle and bring him here through the secret passage. It should still be safe, my Lord, so it won't take long."

"Very well. We will wait as long as we can, Josephine. Be careful," advised Uncle Byron.

"Be safe! And please bring my brother." Joshua's voice was soft as he made the request and joined his hands together over his heart as if praying.

However, much time had passed since his mother's handmaiden had left them in the hut, and still there were no signs of her return. Or Clive's. Perhaps as a result of his thoughts, Joshua felt a strong tightness in his chest, which made it difficult for him to breathe. Without having anticipated it, an irresistible urge to cough overcame him until silent tears cascaded down his face. Uncle Byron tried to hold him to muffle the noise, fearful that they might be discovered, but this only resulted in a more violent coughing fit. Moving away from him a little, his uncle realized that that seemed to relieve him. When Joshua's breathing finally calmed, Byron looked him in the eyes.

"We can't wait any longer for Clive, my boy. We must leave for Port Isolde."

"But..." Joshua couldn't even consider leaving his brother behind. He couldn't do that to Clive, a brother who was always there for him, who loved him more than anything in the world, who went out of his way to make him happy in any possible way. He couldn't betray his big brother. He simply could not.

"Joshua, we have already risked too much by staying put for so long. I am confident that Josephine is doing her best to lead him to safety. There are other ways of leaving Rosalith that you are not aware of." His uncle's voice was calm and gentle, his eyes clear as he spoke to him. "I'm sure Clive will be all right. That boy is a fighter, and he never gives up."

"I don't give up either, Uncle. That's why I think we should wait." Joshua said, the stubbornness of the Rosfields shining through.

Byron couldn't help but smile before he continued his reasoning. "I have an obligation towards your parents and your brother as well, to keep you safe until they can meet us again. I believe you must be aware of it."

"Yes, Uncle." Joshua said, turning his blue gaze to his boots.

Byron motioned to the servants so they could depart.

"Stop," he said immediately after. Byron had just seen a cloaked figure moving in the direction of the harbor, his stride steady and secure. That ought to be a person. A thirsty vampire would not move that way, for sure. The cloak was most likely a way to keep the person as inconspicuous as possible. They couldn't simply leave a lone soul at the mercy of monsters when they had a means of escape. Making a decision, Byron Rosfield called out to the unknown stranger.

"Hello there! If you're looking to leave this city, join us, friend!"

Joshua was left speechless as he saw his uncle cry out loud and beckon towards them. However, he was even more surprised when the person in question came to a halt without even glancing at them and then kept going in the opposite direction, disappearing amidst the nearby wooden cabins and trees.

Sitting down, Byron urged the servants to set sail at once. Joshua was next to him, recovering from his coughing episode. With his blue eyes locked on the sandy banks of Rosalith, which kept growing further and further away like a mirage, Uncle Byron sighed.

"As I pray for Clive, I also hope she and her child find a safe haven amidst this bloody chaos." Byron declared solemnly.

"Are you talking about my mother's lady-in-waiting? Does she have a son?" Joshua asked, raising his gaze to his uncle's. He was also concerned about Josephine, who had been a familiar face in the castle for quite some time.

"As a matter of fact, she has a daughter. Just a little younger than you. According to what her mother says, she's an adorable little thing, kind and feisty." Byron said, his voice tender, making Joshua wonder why his uncle had never gotten married and become a father.

Regardless, Joshua decided to also offer a prayer for Josephine and her family. While praying for his family and everyone he knew, Clive kept returning to his thoughts over and over again. Joshua was so worried about his brother. Although he had the utmost trust in his brother's capabilities, the truth was that Clive wasn't an adult, and even if he were, would that be enough to face such enemies? How could that be when so many other adults, some of them skilled soldiers, had succumbed? As the vessel drifted away from his homeland, Joshua found himself gazing up at the sky. Metia blazed red as the pale moon gave way to a timid sunrise. In fact, Joshua's hope seemed to fade as the sun rose in the sky. A new day was about to wake up, bringing with it a new reality. At last, the sounds of nature finally began to be heard, namely the seagulls that squawked and called their welcome to Port Isolde. Joshua knew he would have to answer the call of those unknown shores and start his life in a new home without his parents, his brother, or other familiar faces. He wouldn't be completely alone, though. Uncle Byron would be with him.

----------

A few weeks later, Jote was finally getting used to her new life. All the surviving members of her group decided to stay in the same village, located not far from the desert. Well, all of them with the exception of Hanna Murdoch. After the demise of her husband, the Lord Commander, was confirmed, she decided to move to their old home in Eastpool. She promised to stay in touch, however, much to Jote's delight, as she had immediately sympathized with Lady Hanna. The place was inhospitable, which meant that they had to travel frequently to gather and acquire various goods, but on the other hand, this meant that they would be further away from the most bustling villages, which certainly were more susceptible to attracting the creatures. At least, that was the theory behind their reasoning.

After that fateful night, the tension in Rosalith seemed to have subsided enough for some of the town's most resourceful inhabitants to venture inside the walls of the capital of the Duchy of Rosaria to carry out the promised search for survivors. Jote's mother hadn't returned or sent any message, so Jote was very nervous about the search party's departure, as their return would, for sure, confirm what had actually happened to her mommy. Cyril even offered to join the group. Jote believed that it was partly an attempt to bring her some peace of mind.

When the search party returned, no one saw them for several hours. There were rumors that they had actually found a few survivors, some of whom were in dire need of medical attention. Some people even swore they heard cries of pain coming out of the infirmary and the basement. Cyril confirmed this information when he spoke to Jote two days after their return. Unfortunately, that was the only good news he was able to convey to her. Josephine had been found dead at the bottom of a stairway, with her neck broken. Jote hadn't even had the opportunity to say goodbye to her mommy, and the only memory of her that she would have access to would be that familiar smell of chemicals, paint, and herbs that Cyril seemed to share on an almost daily basis. To finish his informal report, he had revealed to her that there must be even more people in Rosalith who were in hiding, and therefore they planned to return to the castle grounds soon.

Although Jote knew she needed to be brave, upon hearing the news, she couldn't stop herself from crying. Somewhat awkwardly, Cyril put his arm over her shoulders and scooted her a little closer to him. The gesture didn't soothe her, however.

"Mommy... I can't believe it. How could that happen? She was such a good person. And my friend, he was kind to me. He gave me a carrot, and a few days later, he offered me the pinwheel. So it's all my fault." She blurted amidst her sobs.

"What?" The young man tried to make sense of her words, but he couldn't.

Only Jote knew what had happened at the market that day. She thought she was to blame for the misfortune that had unfolded because when the boy named Joshua had given her the pinwheel, he had said that it had the blessing of the Rosfields. Therefore, that meant that from the moment she received it, the Rosfields and Rosalith were no longer under its protection, and that must have been what drew in calamity. Jote removed the toy from her belt and looked at it, her gaze intense and sorrowful.

"This one?" Cyril asked as his hand reached for the pinwheel to make its blades spin. "Well, I believe that it helped to keep you and Rosalith a bit safer. Otherwise, we wouldn't have found any remaining survivors. Think about it."

"You think so?" Jote asked, her mind trying to determine if such hypothesis would make sense.

Cyril nodded in agreement, his lips forming a soft and encouraging smile.

It was a quiet and warm night. The cicadas' song set the rhythm for the river waters, which gently glided along their usual path like a dancer who was so familiar with his dance routine that he didn't even need to open his eyes to direct his steps. It was a stunning but sad spectacle, which in a way marked the return to normality. Or to the normality possible within the current circumstances. It seemed as if a sea of stars had exchanged the heavens for earth, bestowing the river with its brilliance and guidance. Several former Rosalith residents gathered on the bank of that very same river. Small groups were conversing quietly among themselves, evoking memories of moments spent with loved ones that had been taken from them. Hanna Murdoch was there as well, as she had agreed to participate in the ceremony, and at that moment she was next to Jote, both of them walking slowly down the hill while holding their lanterns.

The warm glow of the ones already floating on the water was mesmerizing, and although the anguish of those who were present was still fresh, the gentle way the lanterns flowed downstream was somehow comforting, contributing to creating an environment of mutual support. Jote observed how delicately Hanna placed her own lantern on the river, her lips barely moving as she probably said a prayer for her late husband. As Lady Hanna stood up, Jote kneeled, lighting both lanterns and setting one on the water. She closed her eyes and felt Hanna's hand stroking her back with care, soothing her, if only slightly.

Evoking her mother's image through her memories, Jote said her farewell. Fluttering her eyelids open, she focused on the light that was strong enough to pierce the fallen darkness. After thinking about it for quite some time, Jote was starting to accept that she actually wasn't responsible for what happened, but that just meant that what happened was completely unfair. But what could she do now? Jote picked up the other lantern from the grass and released it. That one was meant to honor all the people she had known in Rosalith, her friends included; some of them had been killed, others were still missing. As her teary gaze followed the two lanterns joining the others in their slow dance, Jote knew without a doubt that the light of those that had been lost would shine within her heart forevermore. She prayed that the lights would guide all those spirits to a safe haven, where they wouldn't feel lost but instead protected and loved.

Slowly, she rose to her feet and balled her fists. Looking up at the sky, she promised herself that she would avenge her mother and everyone else. She would eradicate that curse from the face of Valisthea. At that precise moment, Metia seemed to sparkle even more brightly.

Chapter Text

The bright moonlight poured in through the open window and illuminated the spacious chambers. All the white cloths, congratulatory banners, and brand new dresses seemed to sparkle under that light as if they were under the effect of a magic spell. Anabella could hardly believe that after having suffered such a loss with the presumed death of her middle son, she would be able to feel so fulfilled just a few months later. Now, she was the empress of Sanbreque, and she only lamented that her so-called late husband and her good-for-nothing older son weren't alive to witness her glory.

In the meantime, her new husband, Sylvestre, was enjoying a profound, dreamless sleep as Anabella observed his royal features.

"All in its right place," she murmured, an honest smile on her crimson lips and her eyes squinting in delight. At last, she had achieved what was rightfully hers. After her plans to take both of her older sons from Rosalith had failed, Anabella returned to Sanbreque to be with her son, Olivier, and her lover, Sylvestre Lesage. Anabella Lesage glanced at her husband and sighed before sitting on the bed by his side. Gently, she caressed Sylvestre's peaceful face. He was now under the effect of her blood and it was delightful to see. Fondly, she remembered when she bit him and made him drink her blood for the first time, or more precisely, the aether-based liquid that ran through her veins, turning him into her personal lackey. After Anabella's return from Rosaria, she reported to him what happened in the castle—that is, that Rosalith had been invaded by unknown monsters. Sylvestre, in his incomparable nobility, immediately showed understanding. As soon as the emperor heard Anabella's sorrowful voice explaining that Elwin Rosfield and his two sons had perished, he immediately asked her to marry him, thus legitimizing Olivier, who now truly was the noblest child in all creation.

The emperor had been so obeisant. After their betrothal, she wanted to show her love, respect, and care for her future husband. And what better way to do it than to integrate him into his new world? At least, to a certain degree. Anabella's lips were a little cooler than they had been before her transformation, but that only made Sylvestre sigh with delight, the difference in temperature causing him goosebumps when she got closer to him and kissed his neck gently, lovingly, slowly. Until she pulled away for an instant, her sharp teeth elongating. Another soft kiss, and she sipped the emperor's blood. She smiled at how easy and smooth it was. As she had more experience as a vampire than on the night of Rosaltith's invasion, Anabella was now able to better control her urges to keep drinking, and, therefore, she stopped before her betrothed was fully aware of what was happening.

In a quick, precise gesture, her elegant finger scraped the thin skin of his neck, opening a hole the width of a sewing needle. "My noble emperor, would you do me the honor of kissing me in return?" Anabella asked, studying the glazed expression in his doting eyes. He tilted his head towards her, and Anabella eased her neck to his lips, her aether-laden vampiric blood seeping into her lover's mouth. Her hands had slipped around his shoulders, fanning the flames of his passion and urging his kisses to become wilder so he could become drunk on her blood. And drunk he became. Every now and then, the emperor would crave another fix of her blood, which Anabella would gladly fulfill.

After several doses of her blood, Sylvestre became her factual lackey. Ultima hadn't disclosed the exact procedure to achieve such a feat, so Anabella had to experiment with unimportant people. It didn't take too long for her to find out that the trick was to keep the victims fed through her blood instead of allowing the lackeys to fall into the temptation of drinking human blood, as that would turn them into vampires. Anabella had inadvertently almost turned a few servants of House Lesage into vampires, but she swiftly erased the mistake by sucking them completely dry. If she were to become a proper empress and the one directing the fates of the nations of Valisthea, she would have to be decisive. Even if that meant people would call her ruthless. Those were merely the voices of people who didn't have what it took, nor did they possess the blood to befit such a station. Anabella, on the other hand, did, and she was prepared to prove it whenever it might be required. She was now the empress, and she had Sylvestre by her side, as compliant as ever, just like it was supposed to be, and unlike what she had experienced in her 'previous' life. She smiled and rose from the bed, her eyes set on the desk lit up by candles. The warm candlelight blended with the cold moonlight, both touching the beautiful face of the new empress of Sanbreque, reflecting the thoughts that invaded her mind as she sat down on the padded wooden chair in front of the desk. Clive. What a failure he had been. He hadn't even served the purpose she had intended for him on the night of the invasion. However, as much as she wanted to, there was no denying that her son had been a strong boy, and for this exact reason, Anabella had thought about how useful he would be as her lackey, protecting her and going in search of prey she selected. However...

Anabella contemplated her slender hands, made paler by the flickering light. Her darling Joshua. She had planned to fully welcome him as a vampire so he would rule alongside her, but, alas, she had to admit she had failed as a mother. She had failed him. And as a result, he had most certainly been snatched away by an unworthy commoner who could not keep him safe or even grasp the importance of what was happening at the moment. Any mistake made is always paid dearly. Anabella knew this, and she had paid the price by being deprived of the apple of her eye. However, Greagor and the fates had been kind enough to bless her with Olivier, the most perfect being from his very own conception, and she would do her best to ensure that they would occupy their proper place in the world. Indeed, Olivier was the most worthy to be by her side, and he would be in due time. Anabella had to face some difficult decisions in regards to her son upon her return to Sanbreque. Her instinct told her to turn him straight away into a powerful being, to make him a part of the family not only in blood ties but also in aether. But she would not be impetuous ever again. No, she would think through and analyze every possible outcome her actions might produce; no more faults would be committed. Being so, Anabella Lesage considered that it would be for the benefit of all involved to wait a few more years before Olivier would be granted the blessing of immortality. Her beautiful baby boy would have the opportunity to grow like any other child, allowing him some protection, and when the time was right, he would be able to help his mother and assert the dominance of his lineage. It was a simple and sound plan, and it would work for certain. She needed only to find a wet nurse, as she would no longer be able to feed the child, and that proved no trouble for the empress of Sanbreque.

After a long time in Anabella's life, everything was finally going according to plan. Mayhap Greagor and the air of Sanbreque suit her better, or mayhap she was finally coming into her own as a vampire. She smirked as she looked at the flowers that adorned the chambers. A transparent vase with delicate filigree-like golden paintwork stood on the table, right in front of her face, with three white wyvern tails, the symbol of the Holy Empire of Sanbreque. Anabella inhaled the air around the floral arrangement. Unlike other flowers, wyvern tails had a wild and somewhat zesty perfume, which helped to create a fresh atmosphere in the rooms or fields where they were found. With care, she removed one of the flowers from the vase and slowly twirled it between her fingers; her gaze focused only on the white of the petals, while images of the young women she had fed on swirled in her mind. They were all innocent girls in heart and body. There was nothing like pure ingredients for your skincare routine. Anabella's visions had revealed that, although all vampires experienced greatly delayed aging, she had even gained the ability to rejuvenate herself. To accomplish this, it was enough to consume virgin blood. Placing her fingers around the petals in the shape of a cocoon, Anabella squeezed more and more until her fingers touched the palm of her hand, grinding the flower into small pieces that fell to the wooden desk like unexpected snow. Anabella stood up and paced back and forth in the room. A decision would have to be made soon because, if she were sincere, she had already harvested many innocent lives in the area. Thus, she feared that such a number of disappearances could become notorious because she was not the only one feeding; some vampires had gathered in Sanbreque to help cement their hold on the empire. However, since Sylvestre was now under her complete control, mayhap it was time for her to step away from the vampiric conglomeration and strengthen herself alone with Olivier.

"Your Highnesses."

One of the servants of the House Lesage was at the door. Anabella, however, was not in the mood to be disturbed or to allow the emperor's rest to be interrupted.

"If it's not urgent, do return to your post."

"Your highness, his highness Dion seeks an audience with his father and the empress."

Displeased, Anabella sighed and opened the door. "His Highness? He shouldn't even be called a lord. I shall answer his request," she replied in an icy tone as she watched the servant hurry down the corridor to inform Dion Lesage that the empress would meet his request.

Making her way slowly, she couldn't help but feel contempt for her stepson. Her heels clicked the floorboard harder. How such a creature had made his way into the royal family was something that still befuddled her. Regardless, the sooner she dealt with him, the better. She would, however, require quite a dose of fresh blood to replenish her aether and good spirits after such a displeasant activity. When she entered the throne room, the skinny boy was standing in the middle of the room, his lanky limbs rigid, and his gaze, that of someone wandering in hidden thoughts, was fixed on his father's and Anabella's thrones. The empress made her entrance without sparing the tiniest glance at the boy's face. With no hesitation, she gracefully walked to her throne and sat down.

Silence.

Silence.

Anabella looked at Dion Lesage and scrunched her nose before she decided to speak.
"You were seeking an audience, were you not? Well, it seems I am kind enough to aquiesce to your request. So tell me what you want, without delays."

"Where is my father?" Dion seemed to remember himself and then added, "Your Highness."

"The noble emperor is resting at the moment; hence, you should not disturb him. Regardless, I was told you were seeking to speak to me as well. What do you require? Speak your mind, boorish child."

The youth took a few steps closer to her, his honey-colored eyes shining like pools of churning waters, brimming with a torrent of barely contained emotions. "The emperor is my father, and I barely see him nowadays. As for talking to him, that is even rarer. I believe..."

Anabella interrupted Dion in a voice as soft as velvet. "Emperor Sylvestre has more important matters to attend to these days. I am sure even someone like you can understand." A sneer took over her face as she fixed her pearly new dress.

The boy straightened up even more and puffed out his chest before speaking in a slow and clear way. "Father has changed since you started to attend House Lesage. He has changed more since Olivier's birth. And after your wedding, the change has been radical."

"Non sense." She waved her hand dismissively. "Those are the words of a jealous child who doesn't know his place. But one that will soon learn as his father will teach him."

Dion balled his fists as he took one more step in the direction of the empress' throne. "Why is Father always apathetic and willing to satisfy every last one of your wishes?"

"Because I am his wife and the mother of his child!"

"I may not yet be a grownup, but I'm no longer a child, and I know there is something strange happening. My Father wouldn't simply start acting like a puppet, as if he lacks his own will, only appearing to flicker the light of the living when attending to your wants... Empress."

Anabella gripped the edges of the throne with her hands, her mind racing with ideas on how to murder Dion. Her chest began heaving. Should she snap that scrawny little neck, hurl him into an abyss, crush his skull in front of his father, or have another vampire kill him in whichever way they might see fit? Before she had the opportunity to shatter her throne, the empress stood up with an abrupt motion.

"Insolent child. You are dismissed. Leave now before I change my mind and decide to have you punished for your disrespect. Your blood has been sullied since the moment you were conceived, and that clearly shows. Leave. Now!"

"I will, but be certain that I will keep an eye on you... Your Highness."

Anabella got up and watched how the boy bowed and left, strutting away like the pretencious, confident commoner that he was. Without a second thought, the empress grabbed one of the innumerous vases with wyvern tails that decorated the throne room and threw it in his direction, smashing it into the ground.

Lifting the tip of her brand new dress in order not to trip, she stormed out of the chamber. That stepson disgusted her. He was like a small shadow, always intent on obscuring the wonderful existence she could have with His Radiance. To her chagrin, Dion also reminded her of Clive, another useless person with an air of importance that she had to live with. Furthermore, she had the misfortune of losing her beloved Joshu... No, she couldn't focus on it. And mayhap she wouldn't have to suffer another crude boy this time. Now she had little Olivier, and she would ensure he had his rightful place in the world.

Anabella advanced through the corridors decorated with tapestries embroidered in azure and golden, ignoring the greetings of the servants she encountered along the way until she returned to the wing of the castle where little Olivier's chambers were located. The wet nurse was playing with the Lesage heir with a little cloth doll in the shape of a cactuar.

"Emilie, has Olivier had a good day so far?

"Yes, Your Highness." The servant took a deep bow. "The young lord has taken a long rest after I fed him, and when he woke, he wanted to play. It actually took some time until he picked his toy because Lord Olivier kept discarding them. He seems to have now settled for this one."

Olivier tossed the doll at Emilie, who returned it to him with a patient smile.

"Very well. Emilie, I'd like to be alone with my son. In the mean time, I want you to prepare a trunk with his clothes and favorite toys. And be quick about it."

"Of course, Your Highness. Consider it done. If you will excuse me."

Anabella nodded and turned her attention to Olivier. The infant didn't show any interest in the conversation that was established next to him, instead concentrating on flinging the cactuar doll into the air, only to catch him again and force it with energy against the mattress in what appeared to be an energetic dance routine.

The now-immortal Sanbrequoise empress sat on the bed next to her son and tenderly smiled at him. She extended her hand, and Olivier willingly gave her the cloth doll. Snuggling Olivier, she kissed his chubby cheek and marveled at how warm he felt nestled in her arms. His scent was truly magnificent. Like an aethereal purity that would not be found anywhere in this world. It was unique and celestial. Her precious little blond angel. Her renewed reason for existing. She kissed him again and brushed his light bangs to the side so that she could look him in the eye, her smile still graciously illuminating her face.

"My special boy. Mother wants you to know that this world is yours. And you deserve it. Never forget this. And Mother vows to help you achieve that in due time. But before that, we will have to move away for some time."

Anabella Lesage tried to release Olivier and lay him back on the bed, but he threw his small hands around her neck, refusing to be parted from his mother. The moment was reminiscent of the months in which Anabella had carried him in her womb, when she was still a frail human at the mercy of other people and other unforeseen variables. Anabella remained next to Olivier, craddling him, as an aether-filled tear streamed down her pale cheek. The boy's rapid pulse sounded more and more enticing to her ears. But no. It was not the right time. Not yet.

The next dawn, before any sunlight dared to show, three people gathered in the back courtyard of the Sanbrequois palace. Anabella wore a heavy, opaque cloak with a hood, while Emilie, the wet nurse, carried Olivier and tried to keep him asleep while they were waiting for the carriage to be ready. The early hour meant that the air was still chilly, but the darkness was perfect for concealing their departure from prying eyes and keeping the empress safe from pain. The carriage that was to transport them to the Northern Territories was devoid of any Lesage house insignia, but the two chocobos that would draw it were among the imperial stable's fastest and most resilient.

The night before, Anabella had made love to Sylvestre Lesage and given him one last dose of her vampire blood. She hoped that would be enough to keep him calm and under her spell for a little while. But, in truth, she had no idea what could happen to a lackey if he lost access to the blood of the vampire who had bitten him and fed him regularly. Would her husband succumb to the pull of thirst and drink another human's blood, consummating his transformation into a vampire? Would he go back to normal? Or would something altogether different occur? Well, this would serve as an enriching experience, and it would certainly be useful if anything similar happened in the future. 'Practicality above all', Anabella reasoned.

They boarded the coach and drew the curtains of the small windows close. Light would soon come outside, but darkness would shelter them inside until they arrived safely at the empress' new hunting grounds. They took off at full speed, the chocobos' claws the only sound piercing through the encompassing silence.

----------

Byron Rosfield strode back and forth in the living room, his broad and imposing stature dwarfed by the enormous wooden-paneled walls. Approaching the side of the chamber, the lord of the mansion removed one of his axes from its rack on the wall. He weighed it, clutched it, then quickly shifted his body towards the center of the space and simulated striking an enemy. Satisfied with the result of the imaginary attack, Byron ventured to show a brief smile. A sudden knock on the door made him straighten up and put the weapon's blade on the floor.

"Lord Bryon." Sebastian Rutherford, Byron's seneschal, entered with a solemn expression on his face. "I have just seen the physicker out."

After a brief hesitation, Byron turned away from his servant and returned his weapon to its proper place. "How is my dear boy faring?"

Joshua had been living in Port Isolde with his uncle for three years now. Even though they had remained safe from the cullings perpetrated by the vampires, life had not been kind to either Rosfield. According to the missives that circulated all over Valisthea, the slaughters were particularly prevalent in Rosaria and the Northern Territories. In Port Isolde, however, another fear had struck. Even inside their own home. The young Rosfield was ill, much to his uncle's dismay. The disease that now plagued his lungs had manifested shortly after they arrived in that port town, and so far it had shown no signs of recovery. Rather the opposite. No matter how many physickers they had consulted, none of them was able to prescribe a medicine that produced notable improvements.

"He left several phials of medicine to soothe the coughing fit. However, he's confident his colleagues will be able to at least create a stronger concoction," the steward explained.

"That is good news. I will take anything I can get to help that boy. In that regard, where did you find this man, Rutherford?"

"As a matter of fact, he used to live in Rosalith but moved a few years ago to join a community of like-minded people. They combine nature and innovative methods to develop all sorts of enhanced medicine and diverse potions."

"Are their methods safe? I don't want to put my nephew's health at greater risk." Byron stroked his beard as he evaluated what his servant revealed about the man in question.

"I honestly believe so. He used to work for the castle, and he assured me they thoroughly tested their medication to make certain they were safe."

"Very well then, Rutherford. We will await news from that good man. I shall go now and do my best to convince Joshua to take his medicine."

Without delaying, Uncle Bryon crossed the mansion halls. In an instant, he was outside his nephew's bedroom. He knocked on the sturdy wooden door and waited for a response. As none came, he opened the door, expecting to see the frail blond Rosfield resting after the medical examination. The rumpled bed linens, however, told him a different tale.

"Where could that stubborn boy have gone? I suppose the apple does not fall far from the tree." Byron said with a proud smile. "But where might he be? Oh!" As soon as the idea crossed his mind, Lord Rosfield didn't waste any time and strode his way to the garden that stood in the back of the mansion, completely surrounded by high walls with thick moss growing between its ancient but solid stonework. And there he was. Sitting on one of the benches, a heavy book closed on his lap, and his gaze focused on the rose garden, although his expression seemed to wander through some unknown location.

Despite the chill in the air, Uncle Byron stood and observed his unaware nephew. If it weren't for Byron's strong personality, the situation could be considered almost tragic. Aside from his sickness, Joshua was sad most of the time, immersed in memories of the past, captive to recollections of happier times and dreams of what could have, should have, and would have been. That was too heavy a burden for someone so young. And so was what happened to his family: the father killed, his mother and brother were presumed dead. Not forgetting Jill and everyone else in Rosalith Joshua was acquainted with: all gone, one way or another. As far as he was concerned, Byron was terribly sorry for his late brother and Clive. And even if he knew that none of it was his fault, Byron couldn't help but feel like he was a lesser version of Elwin, like he was someone who couldn't even take proper care of his own nephew.

"Joshua, my boy." He decided to approach him.

Joshua slowly looked away from the flowers and toward his uncle, as if he were gradually waking up from a daze. Before addressing his relative, the boy cleared his throat discreetly. "Uncle! What can I do for you?"

"Well, my boy, I was hoping you could do something for yourself, as a matter of fact."

Joshua's eyebrows shot up in a questioning way.

"You can avoid worsening your condition by not staying here on the cold. Besides, the physicker who just exited must have advised you to rest rather than venture outside into the chilly evening air."

With a sigh, Joshua picked up the book and stood up from the bench. "Very well, uncle. Let us go inside."

"So why were you reading outside instead of in the library or your chambers?"

"The fragrance of the flowers reminds me of home and soothes me. I believe it even alleviates my cough."

"Truly?" Byron placed a hand on his nephew's shoulder and led the way to the small room where the household's medicines, ointments, and bandages were kept. "You actually look a little better, to be honest."

"It's only because the memories warmed my heart."

Uncle Byron opened one of the thin phials that the Rosarian physicker had left. He handed it to Joshua, who, after smelling it and closing his eyes, swallowed it down with a subtle grimace.

Uncle Byron was stunned. "Might I be so frank as to ask what memories were those that even helped you to take your medicine... gracefully?"

A tentative tinge of pink was actually bold enough to show up on Joshua's pale cheeks.

"Well, I was remembering something that happened a few days before everything... you know?"

Byron nodded with a smile, urging him to continue.

Joshua remembered the young girl with brown hair and sweet eyes that he had met in the Rosalith Castle market one of the times he had escaped from his mother's supervision in the company of his brother. Clive had promised to take him for a walk among the stalls on one condition: that he would eat the raw carrot that he had stolen from the kitchens for that very purpose. Wanting to have a little more freedom and to spend time with people different from the few he normally would spend time with, Joshua agreed. However, when the time came to fulfill his end of the bargain, Joshua wavered. After a single bite of the crunchy root crop, he felt agony. Taking advantage of the arrival of Lord Commander Rodney Murdoch, who had been discussing Clive's sword skills with him, Joshua feigned interest in a fresh and candy apple stand and took the opportunity to escape his older brother's gaze. The warm, sweet aroma from the stall was whetting his appetite, and Joshua cast a forlorn look at the carrot in his palm. He desperately wanted to get rid of it, but he didn't want to squander it when he knew that not everyone was fortunate enough to always have a full table available for them. It was at that moment that the girl emerged from behind the stall, one hand waving a pinwheel with multicolored paper curls. She glanced at him with lively, curious eyes, albeit her expression was too serious for a child. The brown gaze shifted to Joshua's hand, which was squeezing the carrot tightly as if said gesture could make it disappear.

As he noticed her stare, he opened his hand and extended the carrot toward her. "Here. Would you like to have it? It has just come straight from the garden."

She stretched out her arm as if to accept, but then backed away behind the stand to ask a question to the saleswoman, who nodded. Returning to Joshua, the girl accepted the carrot with a brief smile. Joshua couldn't contain himself with joy and immediately placed it in her small hand; only then did he remember to make sure she wouldn't mind. "Do you truly want it? I promise, it is very fresh and crunchy. It's just that I dislike carrots."

"I do." She answered quietly and immediately took a bite, to Joshua's delight.

"Thank you very much. You have saved me." He heard her giggle. "I meant it. What is your name?"

"I'm Jote."

"Well, Jote, I promise I will make it up to you." To emphasize his solemn pledge, he placed his hands on his chest.

"Joshuaa!"

The loud call startled both Joshua and Jote, the former straightening his back and skidding next to his brother and Lord Murdoch, while the latter stepped aside to the road at the same time a cart carrying crystals passed by on its way to the castle.

"I see you ate the carrot. Very well. Father will be pleased. Now come. I must take you back home before Mother notices."

"Yes, Clive". He grasped his big brother's hand and peered back to see that Jote's toy had been run over by the cart and lay destroyed on the dirt before Jote's tear-brimmed gaze.

On the way to the castle, Joshua nodded to Rodney Murdoch's queries without paying too much attention to them. Seeing the grief on that girl's face had left him disturbed. Resolved to make amends with her, he planned to show his mother his new-found interest so that she could buy him a beautiful pinwheel. He did so, and Anabella offered him a custom-made pink one that even had the Rosfields' family insignia. With the toy in his possession, all he needed was the chance to meet Jote again. As he didn't know when that opportunity would come, he opted to bring it with him whenever possible, which seemed to please his mother.

After repeated trips to the market in the company of some trusted servants and Clive, Joshua eventually found her on a day when his uncle, who was in Rosalith visiting his family at the time, was tasked with watching over him during the short stroll. When his uncle became distracted by a new shipment of axes that had just arrived at one of the armorers, Joshua took the opportunity to once again go to the apples' vendor. Jote was standing next to it, eyes fixed on a small cage in which a few furry rabbits were being carried. With his arms behind his back, Joshua tiptoed closer. "Hello, Jote. I hope you are doing well."

He still remembered the surprised look on her face so well.

"Good morning to you. Joshua? Am I right?"

Yes, I am Joshua. I'm sorry your toy got broken the other day."

"Oh, did you see that?"

He nodded and presented the pink pinwheel to her. "Here. This is for you. I hope you like it."

"It's so pretty." She declared, a smile spreading across her face.

"It has the blessing of the Rosfields." He pointed with the other hand at the insignia. "And it's proof that now we're friends," he added.

Gently, he held onto her arm and passed the pinwheel to Jote's hand, waiting for her to grasp it. She didn't hesitate more than a moment before wrapping her small fingers around the toy.

"I will never forget this." She said, her brown eyes so bright they might rival the moonlight on a clear-skied night.

His uncle's voice brought him back to the present.

"So you were not interested in the fresh fruit or the candy apples?" Byron Rosfield chuckled while he patted the seat of the cushioned chaise longue, inviting his nephew to sit beside him. "If Anabella had known, she would not have liked it one bit. Who knew you would turn out to be such an adventurous boy?"

"I am not, Uncle, truly. I just had to do it because she aided me despite not even knowing me, and her toy got ruined because of me." Joshua paused. "Do you believe that if she survived, she would still be kind and have a pure heart? After everything that's been happening, I find myself wondering about situations like that."

"Well, you are still the same boy, are you not? Therefore, I believe she and others might still not have lost themselves to darkness and despair. We must all remain strong and hopeful about the future."

Joshua crossed his legs, leaned back in the seat, and closed his eyes, deciding to get some rest. "By the way, uncle, I was wondering if I could ask something of you."

"Speak, my boy."

"Could I have a flower bed by the window in my room? That way, I will be able to tend to the flowers even on days when I can't go outside. And breathing in their scent always helps to soothe me while also reminding me of Rosalith. If you allow it, I promise I'll take my medicine without complaining... much." He kept his eyes close while he made his plea, his voice becoming quiet as he drifted into sleep.

"What a haggler we have here. Nephew, you are unquestionably part of the right household. I will see what I can do."

Joshua's lips curled into a soft smile.

----------

Years flew by as Jote became acquainted with the community that she was now a part of. Tabor was distinct from Rosalith in every manner Jote could think of, including the weather, topography, main work activities, and even the names of the individuals. But what Jote missed the most was the general commotion that was always present in Rosalith. Maybe because she used to live near the castle and her mommy worked there, Jote felt that difference even more. Rosalith Castle was the heart of the Grand Duchy of Rosaria, and it had been hit mercilessly until it stopped beating in a swift coup, and it was still painful.

After another session of writing and arithmetic lessons, Jote returned to Cybill at the end of the afternoon to see what her neighbor was doing. Climbing the stone stairs with light steps, she quickly walked along the circular street, which was lined with various houses and shops. A sweet aroma wafted through the half-open door like enticing wisps, making it impossible to leave without making your mouth water. Without ceremony, Jote entered and went straight to the kitchen, where Cybill was busy cooking.

A large wicker basket full of apples sat on the wooden counter. Jote awaited for Cybill to acknowledge her presence before gazing at the fruit with pleading eyes. As the woman nodded with a smile, Jote retrieved an apple, sat down on a nearby crate, and nibbled it. The Rosarian apples were still the best in Valisthea, despite, or maybe even more so, because of the risk involved in growing and transporting them. After she finished eating, Jote stood up and approached Cybill.

"Mmm. It's wonderful that you still make candy apples after all this time, and these smell delicious. Could I help you?"

"You know I like to prepare them as often as I can. And a helping hand is always appreciated. But only if you have finished your tutors' assignments." Cybill had just removed a saucepan from medium heat after mixing water, sugar, and corn syrup. Quickly, she poured the contents into another container. "You can insert those nearby sticks into the apples and then dip them into the toffee. Be as quick as you can so that the mixture stays at the right point."

Jote nodded and set to work. With quick and agile movements, she stuck each of the sticks into the apples and immersed them in the hot liquid. The aroma it gave off was wonderful, especially when coupled with the fresh scent of the apples resting in the basket. It was just like when Jote waited for her mother when she was going through the market at the request of her masters in the castle or when she was about to return home. Such sweet memories.

Seeing how quick Jote was, Cybill started a conversation with her. "How was your day? Did you learn anything new?"

"Not really. We simply continued reading 'The Saint and the Sectary'."

"Still?"

"Yes. I don't mind, but I'd rather read something other than a play. As for tomorrow morning, they suggested we spend some time with the tanners and the lapidaries. However, I don't think I will do it. The Tabor ornaments are quite beautiful, but spending so many bells cleaning, cutting, and polishing them in that dark room just makes me sleepy."

"Oh, Jote." Cybill shook her head and smiled. "That would actually be a fairly decent and safe job. You should perhaps dedicate a little more time to it."

"Even more?" Jote finished the last apple and placed it neatly next to the others that were already lined up on the metal tray. "There. All done."

"Thank you! If you're not to join the artisans tomorrow, then what will you do?" Cybill checked the girl's work and nodded her approval.

"I think I might see if the hunters manage to bring some interesting prey. I know they have a party scheduled to leave at dawn. I had Melvin promise to show me how to properly skin a beast." Jote said with a glint in her eye. "If not, I can always see if the physickers need my assistance. I'll have you know that they told me I'm quite skilled at preparing and measuring the herbs for their various uses."

Cybill brushed her auburn hair out of her eyes with her forearm before picking up the tray of candy apples to move them away from the heat of the kitchen. "My, my. Aren't you well-informed and busy? Have you discussed it with Hanna or with Cyril?"

Jote pouted as she followed the older woman to the living room. "Hanna won't be here for another few weeks. And as for Cyril... Wait, didn't he just pass by the door?" Jote peeked outside and saw him stepping away with long strides, accompanied by one of the physickers. She hurried to the table with the candy apples and picked one. "I'll take this one for Cyril, all right?"

With light steps, Jote followed the two men. Having spent some time in the Tabor infirmary, she recognized the older man's face. Although Jote had never exchanged words with the man in question, she knew that he was one of Tabor's senior physickers who had previously spent extended periods in Rosalith, caring for the main houses in the Duchy.

Keeping a safe distance so as not to be detected but to be able to hear bits of the conversation between the two men, Jote resumed her pursuit, blending in with the shadows of the houses and awnings of the stores they passed. A smile of satisfaction crossed her face at being successful. It was exhilarating. Mayhap becoming a scout would be a suitable job for her when the right time came.

"Yes. I hope that with the resources we have here, it will be possible to create a more effective lung-soothing syrup... Yes. Those that we have used to date on other patients have not yielded the desired results."

Cyril asked a question that Jote could not discern.

"It's really a shame because we're talking about a young boy."

"Who is the boy?"

"All I know is that he must be part of a wealthy family in Port Isolde, but I am clueless as to which one. The steward of the house was the one who approached and requested that I check on the boy. I saw no one else apart from him and the youth."

With the candy apple in hand, Jote continued to follow them until they reached the ground floor of Tabor and spun around in the opposite direction to the infirmary. Turning around a corner full of barrels of wine, the two entered a narrow alley immersed in shadows. Two huge rugs of heavy crimson fabric were hanging from a rope that was stretched between the two stone walls. Cyril and the physicker pushed them aside to pass, and then they disappeared.

Afraid of losing sight of them, Jote ran. Behind the long fabrics, a door was closing. With a jump, she managed to put her foot forward, stopping it before it shut. As her curiosity got the better of her, Jote sneaked in. After all, she wanted to give the apple to Cyril. Reaching behind her back, she lightly pressed the pinwheel she had attached to her belt. A small ritual that she carried out ever since she realized that, after all, that object could change her luck like the wind changes direction.

As soon as the door closed, Jote was enveloped in darkness. Slowly, she advanced down a narrow corridor without any decorations or doors. A flickering light shone a little further ahead, so she assumed that the path would soon lead to a room. However, when she got close to the torch hanging on the wall, she found that the passage continued downward through several flights of spiral steps. As she continued, Jote became aware of the odor that Cyril, and previously her mother, as well as other people she had met in Tabor, sometimes exhuded. That meant that the two men should not be much farther away, though their voices grew fainter.

After two flights of stairs, the passageway straightened out, and doors began to appear on both sides. Jote didn't notice anything unusual behind the doors she passed, other than a buzz of low voices and some tinkling. Several torches were now lit on both sides of the hall. The male voices that had become quieter completely faded in the meantime, leaving her unsure whether she should return to the surface, back into the sunlight. She decided to proceed, if only a little further.

When passing through a half-open door, however, Jote stopped, shocked. Grunts of anguish echoed across the hall. Their author was hidden behind opaque curtains that seemed to serve as partitions. The voice sounded like it belonged to a young man. Curious and apprehensive, she moved closer, trying to find out what could cause such suffering and why such a situation was being hidden in an underground facility. Even if someone was extremely sick, Tabor had a ward with the required staff and conditions to handle such occurrences.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps and saw a door opening. Without thinking, Jote dashed to the opposite side and pushed the door, which fortunately opened without resistance. She leaned her back against the door as she tried to calm her rapid breathing. The footsteps continued outside for some time, and Jote thought she heard a woman's laughter, a light and unexpected sound in the odd, dark, and uninviting environment that otherwise seemed to reign in those facilities. When the noise subsided, she allowed herself to carefully inspect the chamber where she had sought refuge.

The first thing she realized was how bright the space was, lit up with many candles and candelabra. Then there were the walls, covered with drawings with weird-looking symbols that Jote had never seen before, as well as an abundance of normal, upside-down, and crossed triangles. There was also a large tapestry that appeared to depict the several phases of the moon. A big wooden table took center stage in the room. Jote's eyes grew wide as she tried to make sense of all the utensils on display. There were several phials and glass tubes containing fluids of various bright colors, and if her eyes were not deceiving her, a thin wisp floated over one of the open tubes. One of the biggest flasks had a dark liquid inside that Jote thought looked too much like blood. She shivered and examined the other objects.

Closer to the center of the table, there was an earthen pot covered with a small glass bulb. No sooner had she taken a step back, startled, then she detected that familiar odor of chemicals. It was the exact same aroma her mommy had sometimes—the one she sensed in Cyril moments ago. She got closer to the set of strange-looking equipment and perused all the objects on the table once again. On the edge of the table, a large tome, whose cover emitted a vague glow, caught her attention. Jote picked it up. The cover felt smooth under her fingers, and it was quite heavy. She put it back on the table and sniffed it. Was that the scent of lemon she detected? Eager to discover some of the secrets that the strange set-up might enclose, she opened it and flipped through its pages. The first pages were blank, though she felt some roughness when she brushed the palm of her free hand across them. It was just like someone had written, but the words were not visible to the eyes and barely discernible to the touch. Unfortunately, she could not make out any of its possible content. As she progressed through the tome, she discovered more unknown symbols and mentions of the planets and of Metia. Reading some of the passages that made some sense to her, Jote learned that the triangles in the various positions were supposed to refer to the four elements of air, earth, fire, and water. What she read afterward left her completely surprised. The page seemed to include several complicated arithmetical formulas that included portions of the planets, like they could be liquified or ground into powder. Not forgetting the odd drawing of a snake eating its own tail at the very bottom.

Without a doubt, that proved to be far more interesting than the play the tutors forced her and the other pupils to read. Captivated by all the incomprehensible symbols, Jote continued to leaf through the tome with an avid gaze, oblivious to everything else around her.

"Hello, Jote."

Like a flash, she turned around to face her interlocutor.

Cyril looked at her with a neutral expression. "What is that you are holding?"

Jote displayed a half smile and pushed the stick with the caramelized apple towards him. "It's for you," she said, an intense blush spreading across her cheeks.

"Is that so?" The man folded his arms loosely over his chest, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Yes, yes. That's why I am here. I saw you when I was at Cybill's, and because I wanted to offer you one of her apples, I followed you... Sorry?" Her words came out in a flood, almost jumbling together.

"Mmm. I see."

Jote waited for Cyril to say something else, to reprimand her, but he kept quiet, simply observing her with tranquility.

"What is this place? It's secretive and dark. And why are sick people here instead of in the infirmary?" Jote's words filled the previous silence.

"If it's secretive, then why are you here? And what makes you think we keep sick people here in The Basement?" A small smile now appeared on Cyril's face, as he seemed to be enjoying her embarrassment.

"I heard grunting. And it sounded like a young person was in excruciating pain." She fixed her expressive, umber eyes on Cyril. "What is this paraphernalia in this room? It reminds me of a kitchen, but all these strange symbols and words... And where has that physicker gone? Are you conducting some sort of evil experiment? We have enough terror in this Valisthea as it is."

"Those are wise words, Jote. Very well. Let us speak, but not here. You're not authorized to be here, after all."

"But..."

"Outside. Where the air is cool and the sun still shines. Trust me. It will be better."

Cyril opened the door and inspected the corridor before signaling for Jote to follow him. They moved across the now-silent passageway, remaining silent as they climbed the spiral stairs and finally reached the street. Cyril pushed aside the crimson rugs, and they were both greeted by the orange light of the vesper.

They moved across the central square of Tabor and turned a few corners until they arrived at Cyril's house. He invited Jote to have a seat while he brewed some herbal tea. The girl, however, couldn't wait to get some answers and was behind him even before he had finished his task. Still, Cyril kept quiet until he brewed the tea and led the both of them to the small terrace of his house.

"I did say outside, and I like to keep my word." Cyril explained as they both sat on the round carpet on the floor. Jote observed as the sun was starting to set and the young man in front of her finally took his first bite of the candy apple she had brought from her neighbor's kitchen.

He breathed in the scented vapor that hovered over his mug, took a sip of the steaming beverage, and cleared his throat. "So to answer one of your previous questions, we are not conducting evil experiments in The Basement."

"Oh, so you have a name for the place?"

Cyril chuckled. "It's an informal designation some of us use."

"And what is it that you and the others do there? Why is it sort of hidden?"

"It's not exactly hidden. It's just a little more secluded, so we can conduct our work with more ease. Many people in Tabor know all about it and work there. Even some people who don't live here assist in our efforts."

"Like that physicker that usually works at the infirmary?" Jote asked and then took a sip of her tea. It tasted of mint and spices, being both refreshing and heartwarming.

"Precisely. Like him and..." The man paused for a moment. "Many others, as a matter of fact. That underground facility has existed for a long time. It's the place where some people practice alchemy."

"Alchemy?!" Jote was taken by surprise. That hypothesis had definitely not crossed her mind. "But isn't that some sort of magic? One that you can use at the expense of people's life force? Is that why I heard cries of pain?"

"What? It's nothing like that, Jote."

"Then explain. Please. I need to know what the people I now consider family are doing. With all that is happening, the vampire attacks, the groups of bandits menacing the smaller villages, the way the emperor seems to be on the verge of going crazy and..."

"Fine. You are right. Jote, you are still young, and I suppose I didn't tell you as a way of protecting you. So you wouldn't have another issue to worry about. Regardless, this is not knowledge we share with everyone due to that reason, precisely." Cyril finished his apple and took a deep breath as if he were gathering courage before taking a dive into deep, turbulent waters. "There are three main goals in alchemy: the transmutation of base metals into noble ones, like turning lead into gold, which is called chrysopoeia; the production of panaceas that can cure any disease, hence the presence of our esteemed physicker that you mentioned earlier. And the creation of an elixir of immortality."

Jote placed her mug on the carpet, pondering what Cyril's words might entail. "And has anyone actually managed to convert metals or find a cure for all ailments?"

"Well, those I mentioned are the traditional objectives of alchemy. Taking into account what the world is presently facing, we aim for something different. Although it might be a bit hard for you to believe, we are working on a way to stop what is taking place by means of transmutation."

"Of metals?"

"Not exactly." Cyril answered in a hushed tone.

"And is that the reason why you have someone in pain hidden in The Basement?"

"Jote, we are not torturing anyone. I thought I had told you."

"Then why is that person there?" She was determined to get the truth out of Cyril.

"I am afraid that is classified and is only for the knowledge of those who work there. But you can rest assured that the person is there willingly with the intention of contributing to the common cause. You have my word on that. And that is actually our philosopher's stone, which will hopefully help us gain an upper hand against those bloodsucking monsters. I can't say any more than that."

Jote relented. She would have to find out more at a later date, under different circumstances. She could consider herself lucky to have received that much information all of a sudden. "How about the last two goals? Are you truly seeking a means to achieve immortality and cure all diseases?"

"Mostly, we strive to expand our knowledge of medicine and practices that can help improve health and cure diseases. If that may extend our lives and maybe grant human beings immortality, then so be it. But what we are truly focused on is finding cures or better medicine for today's ailments. As you can see, that purpose is nothing out of the ordinary, is it?"

Jote slowly shook her head, taking time to digest what might be obscured behind the words that Cyrill uttered. Her thoughts kept returning to the moment she heard those painful grunts of anguish. She wanted to believe what she had just been told, but it still didn't make much sense. What could be happening behind all those doors hidden in an underground facility? Could it all be as plain and innocent as Cyril played it out to be? Looking back at him, she found him staring at her, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Upon noticing Jote's eyes on him, Cyril showed a faint smile and gulped the remaining tea.

"Shall we head inside?" He suggested. He reached out his hand to retrieve Jote's empty mug, and they both entered the house. "There are a couple more details that I consider important for you to know and to help ease your mind."

"Please, do tell. Though I cannot even begin to fathom what that could be."

Cyril seemed to take a quick, deep breath. "Here we go. One of the reasons we have been recruiting help from people from other towns and villages is due to the fact that we have actually been investigating suspicious activities for a while."

"Activities?"

"We suspected that we might have encountered a new kind of beast that enjoyed drinking blood. They were first located in Waloed, so we dispatched a few people there. The information they gathered was quite startling. We were not facing beasts, but human beings turned into vampires. As, unfortunately, we all now know."

"So the attacks didn't start off in Rosalith but in Waloed instead?"

"As far as we can tell, that is correct. Although there were only two individuals there that fit that description: Barnabas Tharmr and Cidolfus Telamon."

Jote grabbed Cyril's arm. "Do you mean the King of Waloed?"

"Indeed. And his Lord Commander. We do not know for sure, but according to the reports of our associates, the two of them had some sort of disagreement, and the latter reportedly killed himself while the former's whereabouts or fate remain unknown. The killings in the area, however, have diminished, so that's a good sign if we can take anything as that at a time like this."

"So you were aware of what was happening?"

"We were not aware of the extent of the danger. We were foolish enough to believe that the situation was restricted to that area of Valisthea. There had not been any other suspicious events that we were made aware of."

"Cyril, you make it sound like you are part of an organization. I thought we were talking about a group of people that merely did research here in Tabor."

"I will be candid with you. It is an organization, though secretive and based here in Tabor, that has associates all over Valisthea. We go by the name of The Undying. And your mother, Josephine, took part in it."

"My mother?" Jote crossed her hands over her chest, trying to calm down as she felt both her heart and her mind racing. Her mother had been part of a secret society. One that was aware of the existence of vampires, that conducted experiments on human beings, that tried to stop those same blood sucking vampires, and whose main objective was to save people and cure diseases? Jote was only vaguely conscious that Cyril had helped her sit down in a nearby chair. She had been a child at the time and had noticed nothing strange about her mother. It was true that Cybill took care of her often, but it was because her mother had to spend long days in the castle attending to the royal family. Or at least that's what she thought at the time. But apart from that, there used to be that odd smell that Jote had only encountered again when she had met Cyril and some Tabor locals.

She felt like her mind was clearing once more. "What was my mother's role in all of this? In the Undying?"

"She helped us with the healing. Josephine was very keen on it. It was like she possessed some intuition for the combinations that might enhance the results of several concoctions."

Jote realized Cyril had a tender smile on his face every time he spoke of her mother, just like the one he had right now. "Did you used to work together often?"

"We did." Cyril took a seat in the chair next to her. "We got along well, Jote. We were friends. And I actually learned a lot from Josephine."

Clenching her hands, Jote glanced down, the warm prickling of tears in her eyes. She wished she could have more time with her mother. Her mother deserved so much more than what happened to her. Such a kind, hard-working person that was doing her best to provide for her daughter, that never failed the Duchal family, and that was secretly working to better people's health. Her mother was committed to improving the living conditions of her family, the duchy, and the whole of Valisthea. And she had been robbed of that dream; the world had been deprived of such help, and Jote had been left without her love. She raised her head to face Cyril once more, her eyes wet and shining.

"I also want to help. Like mommy did. Since I'm assisting in the infirmary, I'm already familiar with the basic procedures. It's my wish to continue my mother's work, and I also want to make those evil creatures pay. Please, Cyril, let me know what I can do. Mayhap I can get some training, or you can send me to one of your associates if you don't have the right resources here."

Cyril placed his hand on her shoulder and gave her a serious look. "I understand you want to follow in Josephine's footsteps, and I won't deny that we could use the help, but you are still too young to make such a decision."

Jote stood up as she stood her ground. "I am not too young to choose to help people or to find a means to destroy the creatures that killed my mom. That's what I will do, Cyril. And I'm certain you understand because you made that same choice."

Cyril sighed as he also got up from the chair. "Very well. I will talk to the others. But for now, let's just concentrate on the healing department."

"All right. I assume I still have a lot to learn about The Undying in the meantime."

"You are correct. If you are half as good as Josephine, your help will be invaluable. For starters, we could use your aid in preparing some new potions for the sickly youngster that Constantine just visited in Port Isolde."

"I will be helping the head physicker? Worry not. I will do my best." Jote took a step closer to Cyril and hugged him tight.

His hand patted her head as he spoke. "Thank you for bringing the candy apple."

Chapter Text

Northern territories. Years later.

The severe cold that shrouded the northern reaches of the continent of Storm was accentuated by the strong winds.
With the exception of a few estates at the edge of town, the place was mostly made up of small houses scattered along crooked and narrow streets and alleyways. Anabella disliked the way most of them looked like thatch-roofed barns, which Anabella disliked, but she knew when to make the effort. So instead of gold and marble, she had to put up with living in the midst of houses with sturdy stonework and gilded wood, some shaped in elegant forms, she had to admit. The majority had gable or pyramid roofs, which made it easier for the snow to fall to the ground. A few old, tattered banners swayed in the brisk winter wind, adding a further touch of forlornness to the place.

With her gaze focused on the flickering flames of the hearth, Anabella rested. Since it was impossible for her kind to sleep, she allowed her mind to wander. Starting off with Rodney Murdoch. She began by recalling how Ultima's face transformed into his when he made her reborn as the powerful new creature she was now. Then Rodney himself sprang to mind. They were sweethearts. She remembered his strong, almost intimidating appearance and the serene smile that often appeared on his lips. A smile she used to cherish so much. When he'd walk Anabella home to protect her, she always admired his strong jawline, and the few times she dared to caress his beard from his hairline to his plusher bottom lip, the glint he would get on his eyes would make her melt. Those were joyous days in which Anabella felt every fiber of her body vibrate with the light that radiated from within, giving her hope that every morning would offer her fresh opportunities for fulfillment until her deepest, most loving dreams came true. Every new day was bright with the promise of happiness.

That was until Hannah Murdoch appeared in the picture. Anabella was ready to put aside her ambitions for love, but someone stole her love right in front of her eyes. Of course, what could she have expected? It didn't matter, anyway. She had no more use for one such as him.

Anabella couldn't help but compare him to Elwin, who quickly seemed to lose interest in her after their alliance - made out of mere political interest in strengthening the ducal line. Quickly, he began to move around the regions that made up the duchy and even abroad to his former enemies in the Northern Territories, which used to be nothing more than a collection of small, unimportant nations in the north-west of Valisthea. A savage people that had a strained relationship with the southern border nation, with the Grand Duchy of Rosaria. But even so, her so-called good husband brought precisely from there his new ward, that little wild girl, Jill. All for the sake of maintaining good relations between the nations. Supposedly. However, given the girl's tender age and the way Elwin treated her... Like she was truly a part of the family, aiming to give her the best education possible and already planning to provide her with an advantageous marriage. All of that was highly suspicious. Elwin spent less and less time with Anabella, and he had turned cold towards her. They were rarely intimate, and on the sparse occasions when they were, he acted like he was simply carrying out one of his duties as the archduke of Rosaria. She did her best to demonstrate her respect for him and his worthiness to sit upon the throne of Rosalith - and she did it in the name of their bloodline.

All in vain, for Elwin was far more concerned with the people, Jill and that good-for-nothing Clive, than his wife and most lost loving son, Joshua. The idea had always been clear in Anabella's mind. Her husband must have had an affair with a wretched northerner woman and that creature with icy blue eyes must have been his illegitimate daughter—a blight in their line born from who knows who. It turned out that Elwin Rosfield wasn't worthy of the grace he had been granted at all. Justice had to be served, and Anabella, by fate, was the right vehicle to carry it out. And so she did. With pleasure. Though her initial idea was just to feed on him and leave him weak, the scent of his blood made her throat parched; a loud drum beat on the inside of her temple; a surge of unknown will took over her body; and she sucked him dry till there was not a single drop of blood left. It was her very first kill, and it tasted as sweet as honey and as sweet as revenge can be.

As her mind returned to the present, the flickering flames in the fireplace came back into focus. Anabella had no need for heat as a mere human, but the truth is that every residence in the northern territories was equipped in this manner. And the heat was useful for the survival of the servant Emilie, who remained with Anabella and Olivier. Even though Emilie had almost become a comedy target for Anabella, the truth is that she had proven to be extremely useful in Olivier's education at such a tender age. Furthermore, she truly was a loyal soul, although Anabella didn't really care about the reasons behind her servant's reliability. A smile appeared on his crimson lips. Did the human have any other real options?

Emilie was waiting on a nearby street, wrapped in a coat, shivering as snowflakes fell in piles on the ground. In the alley in front of her, one of the mounds took on a pinkish hue that detracted from the purity of the rest. Noises of struggling breath echoed in the surrounding silence without any response other than the discreet sound of sucking. Anabella controlled the situation from a balcony in the tallest building nearby, her view unobstructed by the breathtaking spectacle unfolding before her. Appraising its main actor, her stone-aether heart pulsated with pride. Truly. There was nothing like a mother's love for her beloved child.

She sensed the air around her, and her nose detected pure virgin blood up ahead. Anabella's eyes were brimming with aether tears. He was doing such a magnificent job. Two heavy thuds, cushioned by snow. Moments later, Olivier's childish voice was heard.

"Emilie, I am done. And look what I've found for mother."

Anabella heard the sound of retching before Emilie emerged in her field of vision. Her head turned towards Olivier but quickly dropped to the ground, as if she were afraid of knowing what was happening in front of her. The servant's arms wrapped around her own body, eagerly seeking the comfort of her coat. Anabella snickered. Her fragility and ridiculous nervousness had become more pronounced in recent years.

Olivier appeared at the entrance to the alley. His small hand wiped with softness the corners of his mouth, erasing the last traces of blood, while his other arm wrapped itself around a staggering girl of about 14 years of age. Releasing her, he gave her a small push in the direction of his former wet nurse.

"Mother will love this one." Olivier let out a sincere cheer in his soft, childlike tone. "She is so innocent. The girl tried to comfort me as soon as I said that mommy and daddy had been killed by vampires and that I was lost. Little did she know."

Another laugh echoed on the street, only to be followed by a very human and horrified scream. Emilie and Olivier immediately looked in the direction of the sound. A young woman with gray hair stared towards the dazed girl, her light blue eyes appalled as she pointed towards the faint red thread running down the younger girl's neck. Turning in the opposite direction, she took off running, her feet sliding on the snow-covered floor. The girl opened her mouth, but before any sound got out, Anabella jumped off the balcony and landed right in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. She grabbed her by the neck and pulled her closer. Turning her head back, the empress addressed her maidservant.

"Take him home. I will take care of this little nuisance." She raised her gentle voice. "And Olivier, mother loves the lovely gift you've caught. I'll see it as soon as I get home. You did wonderfully, my darling boy. As you always do."

She turned her full attention back to the young woman struggling under her grasp. Her bright eyes restless as her fingers tried to desperately relieve Anabella's iron grip. She shoved the woman against a nearby wall and watched as she whimpered and let her back slide down against its protruding stones.

"That must have hurt. But worry not. Your empress will make it so it won't hurt anymore."

The moment Anabella loosened her grip on the woman's neck, she approached her face. Taking advantage of her attacker's inattention, the young woman raised a knee against her attacker's chin. Furious, Anabella huffed. How dared such an insignificant creature defy her? Mayhap she should have some fun and make her hurt again. The girl started to flee, screaming for help at the top of her lungs. However, Anabella had done a great job of "cleaning up" most of the last remnants of the Northern Territories. A feat she was quite proud of. Leisurely, she fixed her gloves, smoothing the cloth all the way to her elbows. She jumped and, with no effort, landed right in front of the woman, a smile making her appearance look even more youthful than that of her prey.

"What do you think you are doing? Has your empress given you permission to leave? You Northerners have always lacked manners, haven't you?" Anabella was not surprised to see a look of defiance in the tear-filled eyes of the young woman. She reminded her of that ungrateful Jill. "Well. I shan't waste any more time. My son is waiting for me."

With a swift movement, Anabella yanked her long gray hair until the woman's back banged into her. Her fingernails rasped across the woman's cheek, and blood began to trickle immediately. She smelled her skin and heard the girl gulp as the tears began to fall, mingling with the droplets of blood.

"My, my. You're not even pure anymore. That's why my Olivier ignored you. You're simply not suitable for my very special regime. Alas, you're already delaying me too much, and I can't just let you go free, now can I?"

"You can, you can. Please."

The way the girl's voice sounded frail, her brief and desperate speech jumbling together, nearly managed to make Anabella feel pity. Still, it wasn't quite enough. In a quick movement, she exposed her fangs and grabbed the young woman's neck, one hand supporting her head and the other going to her forearm, her nails tearing it up to the wrist. As soon as she noticed the young woman's body becoming limp, Anabella let go of her and left her lying on the floor. Bright ruby blood continued to drip from the gash onto the floor, the red pool spreading until it reached the heavy wooden door of the house they were standing next to. Anabella straightened up and turned away. The human creature was still breathing. Whether she survived or not was up to fate to decide.

Now it was time to go home and appreciate Olivier's offer. Anabella made her way back to the mansion, making a point of passing through the street where her little vampire had enthralled and captured his victims. The pile of red snow preceded the trail of destruction left by Olivier. Two bodies, sucked mercilessly until they had run out of blood, lay on the ground, surrounded by masonry debris from the walls of the surrounding houses. Anabella smiled tenderly. Her son, in the carnal and vampiric sense, was hungry and had taken the initiative to feed himself, and due to the strange position in which the two bodies were spread out, he had discarded them at once, as he had so often done with his toys when he was through with them. And all this while, he sought out yet another young virgin so that his mother could increase her power of rejuvenation. Anabella was very proud. The day in which Valisthea was finally kneeling before her darling boy had finally come, its people powerless before his unquestionable might and superiority. She wasn't acting in a conceited way. It was simply the truth.

Anabella clicked the heels of her boots on the ground as she moved forward, the anticipation of reuniting with Olivier cheering her steps. There was no doubt that her decision to relocate to the Northern Territories had been correct. Even though the first years had been difficult because Olivier was very young and had to be subjected to the cold and a scarcity of goods, which they were not used to in Sanbreque, everything started to go according to her plans as soon as she transformed her son. Olivier was the perfect little vampire, captivating unsuspecting victims with his innocent, childish charisma. His blond hair, innocent eyes, and cherubic cheeks alone were enough to make people let their guard down. But it was his new ability as a vampire that disarmed anyone. One intentional glimpse of him was enough for any unprepared human to become dazed and susceptible to little Olivier's will. He was the most delicate, perfect weapon Anabella could have ever produced or even imagined. Both would soon wipe out the last vestiges of humanity in the region, and any ties the late Elwin Rosfield may have had to northern blood would be severed forever. Revenge, or better said, retribution would be complete.

At the moment, there was only one small setback: since the northern territories were sparsely inhabited, the number of virgins available to support Anabella's eternal youth began to dwindle quickly, even though they had already changed residence several times. She would have to think carefully about their next steps after enjoying the meal her darling boy had prepared just for her.

From atop one of the rooftops, a cloaked figure had spied everything that had occurred, hidden behind a chimney. They turned in the opposite direction, tightened the hood around their head, and leapt to the snowy floor in one smooth, swift motion before disappearing into the town's narrow and desolate alleyways.

----------

The market was much smaller than it used to be, but just the fact that it was still being held was impressive. And having been granted leave by Uncle Byron to be there with Sir Wade was truly a miracle. These days, organizing a market was risky because, despite the fact that the vampires seemed to prefer attacking at night, there were tales that some victims had been taken away during plain daylight.

Joshua strolled by the few stalls shoulder-to-shoulder with a heavily armed Wade. The fact that the other man was carrying more swords, dirks, and knives might have dimmed his spirits, but the truth was that Joshua was thrilled. Seeing people, soaking in the sunlight almost alone, and doing so outside of Port Isolde was a rare blessing for him. Since he had moved to his uncle's manor, he had seldom left the perimeter of the house, let alone the port town. Due to what happened the night Rosalith was overrun by those beasts, Byron was very protective of him. And being sick didn't help at all. Therefore, Joshua had had many talks with his uncle to persuade him to give him a little more freedom and ended up getting the compromise of traveling for "safe" distances at least a few times a year, so long as his health permitted it.

Other people moved about the carts and stalls, and although they walked leisurely, there was a palpable air of tension and unease. Joshua allowed himself to relax as he perused the articles available: linens with plain patterns but vibrant colors, a diverse selection of fruit preserves and honey, and weaponry. There were at least three people selling swords, pikes, and daggers of various sizes and quality. Wade poked his shoulder so they could get a better look at the assortment of blades on display, but they quickly moved on because those present could not compare to the mighty ones Sir Wade was carrying behind his back.

Taking a step back, Joshua admired Wade's axe and sword. "Perhaps you should buy something more inconspicuous. We are not supposed to attract attention, or Uncle Byron won't let me leave anytime soon."

"Your uncle won't let "me live" if anything happens to you, so I'll keep these on me, if you don't mind." Wade patted the scabbard attached to his back to prove his point. "Regardless, didn't you pester Lord Byron to come here and buy something? What was it?"

"Well, Sir Wade, aren't you blunt today? Please allow me to breathe in the air of freedom for a little longer."

"Unlike my axe's blade." Wade said as he approached the trader selling jam and honey. "Is this the item you were procuring?" He asked while pointing at a large flask of honey with a grin. "To make your sweet talk even smoother?"

"Very amusing. Although I'm sure Uncle Byron would appreciate it if you also took some to make your demeanor more appealing."

"My lord, you offend me."

"You asked for it." Joshua replied with a smile that was promptly mirrored by Wade. "But, no. I actually intend to buy something for my current project." Joshua said, already moving past the other customers towards one of the last stalls of the small market.

"Oh, you mean for your..."

"For my garden, yes. Even if I can purchase some seeds in Port Isolde, there's not much else available. And if I want the flowerbed in my room to thrive, I'll need to buy some strong fertilizer."

They approached the stall and looked at the several flower pots and seeds. The intensity of their hues brightened that little corner as if a colorful rainbow had sprouted forth to sprinkle light and joy over the surrounding gloom. Mayhap the magic of life would be the seed that would win the war against the blood sucking creatures's death spree.

Joshua gently stretched out his hand, brushing his trembling fingers over the soft white petals of a daisy. They felt frail and yet so resistant. They reminded him of Clive. His older brother was brave while having one of the kindest hearts he had ever met. And, by the Founder, how he missed him. He also mourned his parents, but the void Clive's death had carved in his chest would never diminish. Unbidden, a tear left a warm trail on his cheek. Withdrawing his hand from the flower, he wiped away the tear and presented his order to the merchant.

All of a sudden, a bang resonated throughout the market, compelling all passersby to look in its direction. A cloaked figure had just collided with a jewelry rack in a stall two vendors away from the florist. Wade was already sprinting after the hooded individual, his hand going to the axe, as Joshua peered about for the source of the commotion. Snaking among the customers with grace, the figure disappeared in the opposite direction to that in which Joshua was, the soldier closing in on them. Soon after, he saw Wade return the axe to its scabbard and make his way back to him, halting briefly next to the jewelry seller.

"What on Valisthea was that? Did you see their face?"

"I do not know. They disappeared into thin air as soon as I got to the market's entrance. I couldn't even tell whether it was a man or a woman. I asked the trader if anything had been stolen, but she said no. I suppose it was a random accident, and the person simply got shocked by the mess they caused and ran away. Despite that, we should leave before your uncle starts to worry. The journey back will still take some time. Have you bought all you need?"

"I have." Joshua answered, his brows furrowing. "I really don't like when you act sensible and compel me to agree with you. Let us return then, but without hurrying."

Joshua wanted to enjoy the pleasant weather as leisurely as possible. However, a coughing fit came along with a breeze, hastening the much-longed-for stroll.

----------

Byron Rosfield strode back and forth under the watchful and concerned gaze of the chief steward of the estate. Rutherford ran his hands down his elegant black pants and stood up, determined, from the padded burgundy armchair.

"Lord Byron, please relax. I'm sure the young Rosfield is fine. He's a bright young man, and besides that, he is not alone. Our valiant Wade is with him and you mustn't forget he is a soldier who has faced bandits, beasts, and even had a couple of encounters with vampires."

Byron interrupted him. "Whom he was unable to vanquish." He groaned and paused to face his trusted servant.

"But the most important thing is that both he and his charge escaped unscathed."

"That is true. And I know it very well. That is why I entrusted Wade with my nephew's safety. I just feel awful about how restricted I have to keep the boy. But every time I allow him to spread his wings for a bit, panic overtakes me. My fear that something bad might happen to him is even greater than my remorse for keeping him so close. Elwin wouldn't forgive me if I failed his son, the only one who managed to survive."

"If you permit me to say so, your brother would surely be proud of you for adapting your lifestyle to make Joshua feel so welcome. And, may the Founder forbid it, if something bad happened, it wouldn't be your fault. Not with all the precautions and care you have provided over the years. Regardless, I believe that both of them should arrive soon enough, and you will be able to give your worries a rest. And besides that, my Lord, the physicker's delivery people should be almost here, so I'll prepare to meet them." Sebastian Rutherford took a small bow, although they rarely recurred to such formalities when only family was present. "With your permission, I shall take my leave."

"Of course, of course. I'll go to my study. Feel free to use this room to receive them."

"Very well."

Both men left the imposing living room, one of them striving for a semblance of confidence and hope.

----------

The phials of the new medicine developed to provide longer-lasting results had been carefully packaged in the crates. Jote and Tarja moved slowly, carrying them with the utmost care. On their way to the estate, they took their time to observe every detail of the hustle and bustle that was bubbling in Port Isolde. Several merchants and servants moved about the harbor and nearby streets, ensuring that the trade galleon was unloaded smoothly. Each element carried out its task and acted with precision. Like an ant colony, they were fast and efficient, focused on their function and oblivious to everything else. Just like dancers performing a dance marked by the rhythm of their purposeful steps on the wooden walkways, so focused that they become unaware of the small audience present.

Jote enjoyed the soft ocean breeze, a gentle caress on her locks, as they now strode towards the center of the town. Despite the general commotion, the discrete lapping of water still reached their ears and induced a soothing sense of calm. Jote pondered how some regions in Valisthea, despite looking serene, had their lack of normalcy betrayed by the way everyone moved and worked in a rushed way. No one could escape the fear that danger might be lurking right outside the door of their homes, behind the trees of a garden, underneath a market stand. That would have to change, and she would do her best to see it happen. It was why she was working with the Undying, after all. And the work they were achieving in the basement was extraordinary. Distillation, one of their experimental procedures, was generating excellent results in terms of creating new medicines and strengthening some of their components, as well as achieving their most pressing goal: putting an end to those monstrosities.

"You did a good job with packaging this extravagant delivery." Tarja's voice jolted her awake from her musings. "Although not nearly as great as your dedication to soften the taste of the medicine."

"Oh, it was nothing. Constantine mentioned that the lad had reacted badly to the taste of the previous version of the medicine, so I thought I could make it more pleasant in order to help future patients who might need that concoction." Jote's cheeks blushed as she spoke, gradually lowering her voice.

"Don't be shy about your skills, girl. Let's not forget that you developed the ointment with a soothing, cool effect to be applied to the chest. So, well done. Thanks for your dedication and for joining me too. Speaking of which, your training must be going well; otherwise, you would not have been appointed to come."

"My dedication is not limited to medicine. My goal is twofold. I also want to be an able fighter."

"And you already are one. I've seen you on the practice yard and I can say, without a doubt, that you're already so agile and brave."

"Well, my mother was killed by vampires, so I want to kill as many of them as I can."

"Mmmh. You want to both save and take lives, Jote. That is quite unusual, and moreover, it is not an easy position to maintain. Life may teach you that someday."

"I am determined to remain faithful to my principles," she replied, her voice becoming firmer as she strode towards the mansion's gate.

"Hey! What has gotten into you? Are you trying to leave me behind?" The older physicker exclaimed, her amusement obvious.

"I'm just trying to do my job the best I can, Tarja."

"Relax. I allow me to handle the conversation."

Tarja was still looking for the bell to announce their arrival when someone approached them from the inside. It was a man clad in elegant clothing, his demeanor polite, and his voice secure and calm. Jote noticed, however, that he had pronounced dark circles under his eyes. Possibly a man aged beyond his years. Perhaps it was a sign of the present times or another sort of personal suffering.

"Ah! Our most anticipated order."

His expression lightened as he opened the gate, allowing them to enter.

Jote considered this a little strange since such a residence should have several servants, and that one would most likely be the mansion's steward. Why would someone like that man come to meet them outside? As promised, Tarja took the lead and spoke with the man as they walked through the well-kept garden, allowing Jote to admire her surroundings. Someone must certainly have a penchant for roses. Several rows of fragile stems sprouted with the help of sticks and short, thin branches. Countless unopened buds held the promise of a full and beautiful garden if the gardeners continued to work hard. And they had apparently done so thus far. She admired the flowers again. Their note of color definitely made the place livelier, or at the very least it provided a breach in the omnipresent seriousness, as its dark masonry evoked a sense of gloom.

The garden gave way to a narrow stone patch path that led to one of the mansion's entrances. Once inside, they were shown to an ample room with towering wood-paneled walls that made Jote feel out of place. If not for the various candles and candelabra that lightened the space, the atmosphere would feel almost oppressive. The lack of other sounds in the house further added to the somber ambience. The room featured a pair of huge horns on the wall, a couple of tables, one of which looked fit for sharing meals, and, perhaps, in order to convey a more delicate impression to those present, there were also fancy vases and plates on display, as well as a fireplace  with candelabras on each side. However, the presence of belic elements, such as swords hanging in a cross over the mantelpiece, an ax in a wall rack, and a taxidermy coeurl, detracted from the potential for coziness.

As the man, who introduced himself as Sebastian Rutherford, chief steward of the estate, spoke, Jote turned her attention towards him. He kindly asked them to take a seat. Soon after, another servant entered to take the crate with the potions and ointments, leaving them alone with the kind man. Rutherford profusely commended them for their efforts in improving the tonic's formula, all for the benefit of the young man who so desperately needed their assistance.

"This young lady is one of the people responsible for these improvements, which we hope will translate into concrete effects on the health of the boy and other patients suffering from the same illness." Tarja declared with pride.

Jote felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

Rutherford directed his attention to Jote. "My Lord and I would most certainly like to have the opportunity to express our most heartfelt gratitude. Could you be so kind as to tell me your name?"

"Please, there is no such need. I am merely one of many people working on the medicines. There is no need to thank me." Jote lowered her gaze and fidgeted as she noticed the seneschal's astonishment. "Any improvement we might achieve is already enough to make our hearts filled with joy, and that's the best reward we can hope to accomplish."

Tarja rose. And so did Jote and Sebastian Rutherford. "This is a shy one; expect when she's fighting or gathering and mixing her herbs. But she is correct. If we can contribute to improving the life of a single person, even if in a small way, that will drive us to try even harder and do our absolute best. On that note, do let us know if the young lord feels better in regards to the results and the taste of the mixture."

"We will most certainly do so. Would you like us to send someone to assist you if we require another delivery?"

"Thank you, but we can manage. We usually go to other towns along the way. As a matter of fact we've actually just come from Eastpool and we will still make a few more visits before heading home."

"Very well. We will send word."

As Sebastian decided to see them off himself, Jote glanced one last time at the coeurl that occupied a prominent place to the side of the fireplace. She shook her head. That chamber must have been decorated to intimidate guests, although nothing in the way they were received indicated that. Maybe the Lord of the Mansion had a penchant for the rumbustious side of things. It was a pity they didn't have the opportunity to make his acquaintance. Thinking about it, Jote also wondered if the ailing young man had any influence on the decor of the estate.

As they made their way out, she kept her mind busy with conjectures about who their patrons might be, what they would look like, and how they might be personality-wise. Most of all, she wondered what the family dynamic would be like in such a unique household. But none of that mattered as long as those people, whoever they actually were, remained safe and in good health.
Jote gazed back, as if she had sensed a ghost of a touch. There was no one behind her—just two men in the distance approaching the estate with their backs to her.

----------

"Since we're already here, I won't delay any longer." Joshua was well aware that the trip was over, so he might as well return to his room and the beloved private garden, as he liked to think of it. "I've got to sow these seeds and then work out the best way to use this liquid fertilizer on the different flowers we have in the garden."

"Who would have thought you would turn into a gardener?"

"Not at all, Sir Wade. It's...er... it is." From the corner of his eye, Joshua caught a glimpse of pink. Was that a pinwheel? The pinwheel he had given to little Jote? Were those two women walking away from his home?

"... to your uncle about the mysterious person at the market." The other man had continued talking to an oblivious Joshua.

"I apologize, Wade. I was just... I was listening. Were they coming from the estate?"

"Who?"

"Those two ladies. They are about to turn a corner on Lord Bernard's estate. I should go make sure that..."

Wade grabbed him just as he was about to rush after them. "Hold on. It's time to take you to Lord Byron. I'm sure he will start to worry. Besides, weren't you in a hurry to plant those seeds of yours?"

Although some unknown force seemed to tug at his heart, Joshua aquiesced in silence and followed Wade through the gate. The soldier was right. Recently, his uncle had been quite upset, although he didn't know the motive.

Unfortunately, that meant that the younger Rosfield didn't see one of the women turning around to look his way right when he and Wade entered the property grounds.

As soon as he got inside, Joshua dashed up to his room, eager to tend to his flowers.

"Don't run, Joshua. You were coughing just a while ago."

Wade's voice reached his ears just as he closed the door, shutting himself off from the outside world. He was finally in his bubble of safety. He had no idea why his heart was racing, his mind whirling. He had to ask his uncle if those women had just left their house. And if so, why? Could Jote still be alive? Could it really be her? Could she still cherish his gift dearly after all these years? Did she still think of him the way he thought of her? And why was he making such a big deal about it?

Jote—she was the last sweet memory he had of Rosalith because everyone else was simply gone. He couldn't dwell on those thoughts any longer. Acting with agile moves, Joshua spread a little bit of the fertilizer in the flower beds, accommodated the seeds in the soil he had previously raked and prepared, and swore to come back soon enough to finish those tasks with as much care as his plant knowledge would allow him.

Leaving the door ajar, he went to look for Byron Rosfield.
He found him tucked away in the study— the place where he attended to his several associates and connections. As well as the place where he wrote letters... poetry and plays. Joshua was positive that only Sebastian Rutherford and he were aware of this secret activity. Byron answered as soon as he knocked. And, indeed, he had a piece of paper right in front of him. No words had been written, though.

"How are you doing, Joshua? Wade has already reported to me. He mentioned your little excursion went well except for a mysterious individual who caused a bit of a mess at the market. Is that right?"

"Yes, uncle. It was uneventful. So much so that I expect we will be able to repeat it soon. Mayhap with your presence."

"I wish that we could walk at our own leisure. Unfortunately, the times we live in are far too dangerous for idle travel."

"But we must also feed our souls; otherwise, even if alive, we will wither."

"My boy, there you go with your flowery discourse." Byron Rosfield couldn't help but giggle. "If you are in the mood to use fancy words and act, then I would be delighted if you would indulge me and act out a few scenes with me from "The Saint and the Sectary." You know very well that Sebastian has refused to help me."

"I will definitely give it some thought, uncle. In fact, I was wondering if you could also help me. I believe I saw people leaving our property when Wade and I arrived. Two women. Did we receive any visitors?"

"Oh, yes. Well, they were the physickers that are working on your medicine. They brought a brand new batch of tonic and some ointment for you to try. Rutherford informed me that they even wanted to know your opinion on the improvements as well as the taste of the medicine."

"I will definitely let them know. So, does that mean they will return soon?"

"I don't know. They usually send different people."

"I see." Joshua stroked his chin as he looked for a way to avoid sounding too intrigued while still getting some conclusive answers. "I truly am fortunate to have such dedicated people helping me, even if only from a distance. Uncle, where did they come from before arriving in Port Isolde?"

"I am afraid I don't know. Sebastian may have more information, as he had the pleasure of speaking with the young ladies. Hmm. Since you are asking so many questions, perhaps you would have liked to meet them. You don't have any lady friends, do you?"

"Uncle Byron, are you sure you want to discuss this sort of subject with me?"

"Well..."

"I will see you later, uncle." Joshua waved his goodbye and swiftly left, closing the door behind him.

However, he still heard his uncle Byron add quietly, "Maybe, my boy, maybe."

Rushing through the corridor that led to the kitchen, he almost bumped into the steward. "I am terribly sorry, Rutherford. I was actually searching for you."

"Is that so? How can I be of assistance?"

"I was just talking to my uncle and he said that two physickers brought the new medicine."

"That's true. Two kind young ladies, as a matter of fact..."

"It was a shame I missed them. Do you know where they came from?"

"They said they were passing through several towns and villages to make their deliveries, and if I am not mistaken, the last one they'd been to was Eastpool."

"But that's quite far. Shouldn't we have offered them a place to stay or taken them to the nearest inn?"

"They weren't finished for the day."

"Of course. Well, thanks for enlightening me. Maybe I'll get a chance to thank them in person another time. Do you remember their names, by any chance?"

"Well, young lord. I think your little trip with Wade piqued your curiosity. I hope it has a similar effect on your appetite."

Joshua felt his ears heat up at that comment, but thankfully Rutherford didn't dwell on that point.

"One was called Tarja, and the other, a meek little thing with a surprising fierce gaze that she tried to hide, refused to give her name. She was the one who apparently made the new ointment."

"Oh."

Joshua had many more questions to ask, but he knew his behavior had already been too out of character. In all honesty, he wasn't even sure what it would mean to have all his questions answered. But at least he felt like he was taking some sort of action, as opposed to staying idle and prisoner of a sweet daydream. Maybe Metia would still assist him in retrieving another piece of his beloved Rosaria, the only one left aside from his adoring uncle. Maybe he could convince that same adoring uncle to accompany him to Eastpool.

----------

Over the past few months, Terence had been a constant source of support, guidance, and love for Dion Lesage. He couldn't thank Greagor enough for presenting him with such a devoted heart. Especially at this time. He felt Terence giving his hand a gentle squeeze, helping him steady his own heart. Before entering his father's chamber, he turned to Terence, whose bright eyes gave him the strength and courage he had eagerly sought in his own family but had never found. And the situation had only gotten worse since the new Empress had infiltrated their lives like a weed whose roots were so deep that no matter how often they cut it, new shoots still continued to emerge.

Dion opened the door. Scanning the room with unsteady eyes, he avoided the bed in the middle and focused his gaze on the table. The translucent vase with the golden painting held a bunch of white wyvern tails, as it had for many years. However, unlike in past happier times, the flowers had withered, all of their petals yellowish, and their stems fragile like brittle bones. Instead of the usual zesty aroma that wyvern tails emanated, the room smelled of old paper and decay.

The midday sun filtered through the thin curtains and ended up drawing Dion's eyes towards the place where his father rested. If being in bed all day could be considered resting. Sylvestre Lesage quickly became catatonic after the empress and Olivier vanished. Dion was still a young lad back then, but he made every effort to find Anabella. For many years, he searched for her tirelessly, but his investigation yielded no results. However, now that he had reached the age of eighteen, his luck appeared to be changing.

Being the leader of the Holy Order of the Knights Dragoon and having Terence's support seemed to make all the difference. Or, at least, it was what he wanted to believe, and he would stick to it until he fulfilled his mission of protecting and avenging the holy empire. And those weren't idle ideas. Dion and a group of his closest dragoons, Terrence included, had been slowly but steadily capturing and executing those monstrous creatures that had decimated a great part of the Sanbrequois population. Those monsters murdered many brave soldiers, but the dragoons were still able to reduce the vampires' numbers significantly. Or, at least, they had scared most of them away over the years as the killings and disappearances started to subside. It had been no mean feat, as Dion was still unsure about the best way to kill them. They were fast and resistant. The ones they had eliminated only died after drawn-out battles in which they managed to puncture their hearts with the dragoon's spears via ambush. Even without limbs, the creatures didn't die. Maybe the solution would be to capture one and subject it to all kinds of wounds to determine the most effective ways to exterminate their species. Dion would very much like to test every method he might think of on his own stepmother, as he was absolutely sure she was one of them. Mayhap even their leader. After all, the killing spree started in Sanbreque after the arrival of that cursed woman.

Respectfully, Dion bowed and kneeled by his father's bedside. As expected, he didn't acknowledge his presence. Despite how strained their relationship had become over the years, Dion had always strived to make Sylvestre proud of him, from studying under Harpocrates II Hyperboreos's tutelage to enlisting with the dragoons and ascending to the rank of holy dragoon. But, in spite of his efforts, his father never showed him his appreciation. And with the emperor's present condition, Dion would never be able to change or strengthen their bond. Regardless, he still loved his father, and he would do what it took to make their kingdom proud.

Adjusting his position, Dion moved closer to his father's face. The emperor's complexion was pale, and his spirit seemed completely absent as his eyes stared at the empty ceiling of the room. His breathing was regular, although his mouth was slightly open. Upon noticing this, Dion got up and picked up the jug that was on the nightstand to pour some water into the glass. Carefully, he brought the glass to his father's lips so he could drink a little. A trickle of water spilled down Sylvestre's chin, and Dion hurried to wipe it off with his hand.

"Damn you, Anabella." He muttered under his breath so as not to disturb Sylvestre. He held his father's hand for a moment. "I will make sure the culprit is justly punished, father. Rest assured, you and our fair nation shall be avenged." As Dion stood up to leave, he noticed his father's index finger moving. Was he pointing at the withered wyvern tails, or was it just a spasm? Bowing his head, Dion took his leave.

As soon as he left his father's chambers, Dion clenched his jaw and marched his way outside towards the barracks of the Holy Order of the Knight Dragoons, only to be met along the way  by a very flustered Terence.

"Your Highness."

"Is aught the matter?"

"My prince, there's been some development."

"Do you mean in regards to that treacherous woman's whereabouts?"

"Quite possibly. It is as if someone knew we were searching for the empress and pointed us right to her likely location. Of course, it could also be a trap."

"Speak plainly, Terence." Dion placed her hands on his shoulders, urging him to continue. "What has happened?"

"I and a few other dragoons have caught on to some unusual movements around the palace and barracks. It seemed like someone was watching us, but every time we'd check the perimeter, we never saw anything out of the ordinary. We decided to keep it to ourselves because we hadn't actually seen anything, and if someone was planning something against us, we'd be ready for it without revealing our suspicion." In a soft but swift motion, Terence brushed his gauntlets over Dion's hands. "After I left you by the Emperor's chambers, I proceeded with the rounds in the palace until I heard the sound of rushing footsteps and gave chase. I picked up the person's track right before they entered the throne room. I only managed to catch a glimpse of a cloak before they jumped out of the balcony."

"Surely they didn't escape unscathed from such a jump, unless they were a trained dragoon."

"Neither of these things happened. I saw them jump, and they did so with light feet—light enough that they sprinted away and disappeared right after they landed. My spear wasn't fast enough to catch them."

"Should I assume you couldn't ascertain their identity?"

"I am afraid you are correct. I instructed the other dragoons to scour the area while I backtracked the intruder's trail." Terence lowered his voice. "It led to your room, where I found this on your desk."

Dion accepted the map held out by the Holy Dragoon's second in command. "A map of the Northern Territories! That's exactly where we believe the woman is. According to our sources, that's where most of the killings are taking place now. Could this actually be real?"

"Precisely." Terence's eyes were as bright as Dion's, as he sensed his lover's hope that they might catch the woman who had destroyed his family sooner than anticipated. "And look. They drew a red circle around the southwest region."

"Very well. Summon our most trusted dragoons. We have a hunting trip to plan."

"Of course, Your Highness." Terence saluted Dion and prepared to head into the barracks of the Holy Order of the Knights Dragoon.

"Wait." Dion peered into the hallway they were in to ensure no one else could see them. As it was still empty, he approached his lover with a caring look in his golden brown eyes. "Once again, I must thank you. For everything, I mean." He reached for Terence's face and brushed his cheek with the back of his hand. "You're so good to me."

"Just as you have always been towards me. I will always have your back and you will always have my heart, Dion. No matter what."

Dion slid his hands from Terence's face to his shoulders. With his gaze lost in Terence's bright blue eyes, he pressed him against the wall, their hot breaths mixing as their lips met to seal a passionate kiss.

Although the Holy Order of the Knights Dragoon had an effective network for gathering information in most places in Valisthea, the Northern Territories had remained mostly unexplored. Dion had only dispatched a few dragoons there after he caught wind that a significant number of young girls from the dwindling tribes and towns were disappearing, only to later reappear blood-drained as if slaughtered by a vile unknown beast. Those killings never concentrated in a single place, making it unpredictable to discover what, who, and where the culprit may be.

Dion, his second-in-command, Terence, and a few of his most trusted dragoons ventured into the cold lands of the Northern Territories. Although they didn't expect to find much life in those lands, the scenery that greeted them was even more desolate, with only a few empty towns in which no sound could be heard other than the wind whistling and the delicate movements of the little snowflakes that fell in a hurried and uninterrupted dance. Just as if not even they intended to linger in such a place.

The group approached the mansion with the agility and silence of hunters. Dion left the dragoons in the streets outside the estate, leaving Terence to circle the wooden barrier that surrounded it, while he jumped onto a balcony to hunt for an entrance that would raise as little alarm as possible. As the number of people or other creatures inside was unknown, he would have to proceed with as much caution as possible. Armed with his halberd, Dion circled the terrace connecting the top floor's windows. As expected, they were all closed, leading the dragoon to consider if it would be better to risk a loud entrance after all. He was not forced to make this decision because he found a small window ajar. With deft fingers, he forced his way inside, finding himself in a small storage room in the attic, face-to-face with a familiar face.

"You? I remember you."

"Your highness." Emilie curtsied and bashfully kept her head lowered, her hair grayer than it used to be back in Sanbreque.

Dion wondered what she must have been through in the years she had spent with Anabella. Putting those thoughts away, Dion reentered his Holy Dragoon mode. There was no more time to lose. "Emilie, I don't know if you've been forced to come here or if you are a willing participant in what has been going on. However, taking into consideration how well you always served my father and our family before that cold-hearted woman arrived to curse us, I urge you to leave now."

"But where should I go? And what will happen, your highness?"

"I cannot predict the outcome, but we're here to kill a monster." He paused. "Is she alone?"

"Yes. I mean, no. Olivier is with her." Emilie rubbed her hands on her apron again and again as if trying to remove traces of some stain invisible to the naked eye, her face turning increasingly pale as she spoke to her former master.

"So my brother is still alive."

"He is, but... do be careful..."

"I see. Well, you must leave now. If you would, please. I hope to see you again when this is all over." He watched as Emilie bowed again before rushing down the stairs.

Dion Lesage moved in silence, and as he heard his former servant's footsteps fade away, he realized how devoid of warmth and life that house was. It was as if the household was colder than the snow-covered streets outside. Walking through the various corridors and empty rooms, Dion finally heard a discreet crackling.

Determined, he let the flames of ire burn in his heart while his expression remained cool and unperturbed. He closed his grip around the halberd, his silver gauntlet shining under the soft candlelight of the house. He could barely believe the opportunity to exact revenge on his father's and his people's behalf had finally arrived. It was time. The prince of Sanbreque stormed into the chamber, announcing his presence with a bang.

"I can see you are even less refined than before. Showing up unannounced." Anabella sat in a luxurious armchair. She clicked her tongue with displeasure while she her index finger flicked the tip of her nose. "Of course that your gutter stench alerted me of your arrival. Have you come to disturb mine and Olivier's peace as you have that of your own father, my beloved Radiance of Sanbreque."

"I can see you are even less refined than before. Showing up unannounced." Anabella sat in a luxurious armchair. She clicked her tongue with displeasure, flicking the tip of her nose with her index finger. "Of course your gutter stench alerted me to your presence even before you decided to barge in. Have you come to disturb mine and Olivier's peace as you have that of His Radiance, your own father?"

"You fork-tongued witch! How dare you speak of my father in such terms?" Dion let his rage towards his stepmother materialize through words. "Do you have any idea how the emperor is faring because of you? He is a shadow of his former self. Worse, Sylvestre Lesage is an authentic empty shell, devoid of will, hatred, and love. He simply exists. And His Radiance, as you dared to call him, became like that after you disappeared with Olivier. What did you do to him, you damned demon?"

At those words, Olivier got up and stood close to his mother's side. Anabella held his hand while she rested the other one over her chest, feigning sorrow.

"It is so obvious now that you have reached maturity, Dion. That is why Sylvestre didn't entrust you with the honor of becoming the future emperor. You are wholly unworthy, and you have always lacked the purer breeding that is required for those in such positions. Having someone like you as the head of the Sanbrequois Empire could only taint its own roots. Your blood is not worthy. It would not even be good enough for fodder."

"What do you know of my blood?" Dion's eyes blazed brightly with anger as he pronounced every word clearly. "What do you know of blood or family ties? Of honor? You betrayed your native country. You slew your own husband!"

Olivier cackled next to his mother, earning him a furious glare from Dion.

"I found out your secret. Tell me. How many people have you killed since the monsters took over Rosalith all those years ago? Mayhap you were the actual culprit behind the tragedy. Is that the reason why you moved here?"

"I moved to the Northern Territories because I used to come here with my family to hunt. Not that I owe you any justification. As a matter of fact, you are starting to bore us. Isn't that so, Olivier?"

"Yes, mother. We shouldn't have let him meet us. He's impolite. We should stop him from leaving until he learns proper manners." The boy spoke, his voice as sweet as an angel's.

Dion ignored his brother and directed his words, once again, at his stepmother. "So you have always enjoyed hunting, it seems. But tell me: did you used to hunt human beings like you do now? Drinking their blood until they are dried up and using spells to destroy them as you did to my father?!"

Anabella stood up and took a step toward Dion so quickly that her movements seemed like a blur. Tilting her head a little to the side, she licked her lips before showing a wide smile.

Dion drew his arm back as if about to retreat, while he looked deep into her eyes. His next words reverberated through the dim-lit room. "This is for my father."

Quick as lightning, Dion threw the halberd straight at Anabella's chest, his eyes flocked on her darkening irises.

Anabella's eyes widened, and she looked down as a loud crack echoed like a crystal had shattered into a tiny million pieces. There was a thud afterwards, when Olivier's body fell motionless on the floor.

"No!!" Anabella screamed, her face pain-stricken, a thin trickle of a light blue liquid falling from her eyes as she tumbled to her knees and cradled Olivier in her arms, rocking him back and forth like she was lulling him to sleep.

Surprised by the scene unfolding in front of him, Dion stood still. As soon as he had thrown his weapon, his younger stepbrother jumped in front of his mother, his small frame still tall enough to act as a shield for Anabella. Olivier lay down on heap, eyelids still fluttering as an almost fluorescent blue liquid gushed from his neck and chest, staining his fancy clothes and pooling on the wooden floor like an eerie poisonous stain. Dion looked away. It appeared that his stepmother still had some feelings left in her cold heart after all. He looked for a way of retrieving this weapon, unsure whether he should allow her a moment to mourn the creature that nevertheless was her son.

That moment of distraction was enough for Anabella to lunge towards Dion, knocking him down, her nails and fangs ready to tear and bite with all the ferocity a powerful vampire could muster. A prickly pain spread on Dion's neck, followed by a warm sensation as blood began to flow. Anabella crouched by his side and licked her blood-stained fingers, only to spit it out right away.

"You murderous bitch."

"What have you done to my son, you treacherous churl?" She yelled at him, gripping his jaw with iron tongs.
Dion feared that, with one more squeeze, she would snap his bones like they were dried branches from a shrub. Trying not to make sudden moves, he felt the ground while trying to reach his halberd.

"How dare you attack a being that is far superior to you? How could you harm the noblest being in all of creation?"

"He was just a pawn in your games. If he got hurt, you were the sole responsible. Ha!" Another wave of pain came when she pierced Dion's jugular. Unexpectedly, he found himself gasping for air.

Anabella's face loomed over his. "This will be your last breath, Dion, and Sylvestre will never know what happened to you. Not that he would care about it."

Closing his eyes, Dion chastised himself for acting rashly. He should have known better.

Swoosh.

Another lance pierced the air directly above Dion's head, striking Anabella.

"My prince!"

Terence's trembling voice called out to him, and he was at his side in an instant, wrapping a cloth tightly around his neck to stop the bleeding. Dion's breathing seemed to improve immediately. Opening his eyes, he was pleased to see Terence's loving eyes staring at him with concern.

Anabella had returned to Olivier in the opposite corner of the room. Apparently oblivious to her enemies and the wound Terence had inflicted, her sole focus was on assessing whether her son could still be saved.

"Dion, we should leave. You're injured."

As Terence retrieved his halberd, Dion couldn't help himself from giving Anabella one last piece of his mind. "You got your older son killed in Rosalith, turned your younger one into a monster, and left the middle one to fend for himself. You've always been incapable of caring for anyone other than yourself. Perhaps that's why you never wanted the world to know who the new empress of Sanbreque was. That or the fear that your new condition would be discovered."

"What did you say?" She spat in fury. "My two older sons are dead, and you hurt my beloved boy." Anabella caressed Olivier's face, spreading the bluish tears across his cheeks.

"Are you really sure?" Dion let the sentence hang in the now-quite room and accepted Terence's support so they could leave. "Mark my words. So long as I have strength, I will continue fighting until you are no more."

----------

Once again, Anabella was forced to be on the move. An abandoned wooden shack on a deserted path in a forest was just what she needed. Though, in fact, she couldn't afford the time, nor did she have the heart to look for a more dignified place. Her son, her darling, beautiful, loyal boy, was on the precipice of vanishing from her existence forever. Olivier was lying on the floor, and Anabella kneeled by his side. Tearing the skin of her wrist with her nails, she let the blue aether that flowed through her body pour into Olivier's mouth. She hoped her blood was powerful enough to achieve the miracle of reviving him before it was too late. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she focused her thoughts on the mighty being that had turned her into a vampire. He had promised her unparalleled power and eternal life with her transformation, so certainly that would also mean that her son would not die at the hands of that son of a prostitute.

She closed Olivier's mouth and, with a pang of sorrow in her chest, removed her coat and wrapped it around him. Not because he needed more warmth. After all, vampires were impervious to cold. However, seeing her beloved child look so helpless and fragile... It was a situation that didn't suit either of them.

As the wind picked up outside, Anabella got up and peered through the pieces of wood that barred the lone window. Snow was again falling in swirling patterns. She observed it while her thoughts were once again drawn to Dion's words. He spoke as if Joshua had not been killed that night at Rosalith Castle, as if she had simply abandoned him. What an utter lie. Anabella had wanted to make her son reign beside her.

Suddenly, she sensed a shift inside the shack. "Olivier!"

The flow of aether had ceased circulating, and the calcified patch on his chest was gone. Her younger son had ceased to exist, and Anabella had been unable to stop it. Thirst for blood immediately left her throat parched as her thoughts about Dion Lesage fanned her flames of anger. She would make that being of lesser birth, polluted since the act of conception, pay for his sin. But for now, she would focus on the fact that she was still the empress of an empire and vampire royalty, personally chosen by the mighty Ultima.

Regardless, her stepson's words might still prove useful if what he hinted at was actually true. Could Joshua still be alive?

Chapter Text

The ample chamber looked strange, but at the same time, there was something familiar about it. The surrounding gloom appeared to rise and fall as if it were the building's own breath. Its rhythm was more consistent than the ebb and flow of the tides, creating a sense of tranquility and security. But behold, light began to shine through, lifting the darkness' veil and revealing the various pillars that supported and decorated the space. The stage was set, its lights cast on the actors.

Joshua was sitting in a chair, his gaze fixated on what was happening at that moment in the throne room of Rosalith Castle. On each pillar, there was a member of Joshua's family. His mother, father, and brother Clive struggled furiously against the chains that imprisoned them close to the ceiling and out of reach of any mere mortal creature. Oblivious to all else, Joshua watched the scene unfold before him while unable to move a single muscle in his body. Except for the bizarre, dark, and unbelievable vision to which he was an unwilling witness, the entire room remained shrouded in complete darkness.

Without making a single sound, massive, muscular, purple-bluish arms emerged from behind the pillar that held his mother captive. They were extremely long and ended in fingers whose nails resembled sharp claws. Everything about those limbs screamed danger and strangeness, their size implying that the body they belonged to was of supernatural proportions. The entity, however, did not reveal more of itself while quickly carrying out its intention. In the blink of an eye, those claws moved lightly and dexterously, causing multiple cuts on Anabella's neck. Joshua saw that, despite the blood gushing from her wounds, his mother was still as beautiful as ever, a smile appearing on her lips. Horrified, Joshua followed the beam of light as it strayed to the next pillar, where Elwin was. He closed his eyes, but he wasn't quick enough to avoid seeing how one of the creature's hands cut his father's neck over its full breadth as the claws of the other arm surged towards his chest. Hot tears began to flow from Joshua's closed eyes. He really wanted to scream, but his throat was unable to produce any sound. Instead, it was dry, like the Dhalmekian desert.

A familiar grunt prompted Joshua to open his eyes, despite his desire not to. The beast might have left his brother for last, but it hadn't forgotten about him. Clive was chained to the last pillar in the throne room. His dark blue gaze was fixed on the ceiling, or most likely, the sky beyond it, in a silent prayer to Metia. In a flash, one of the hands appeared from behind the pillar and seized Clive by the jaw while the other cautiously approached his face, making five thin incisive cuts in the cheeks on both sides of his face with the tips of its claws. The arms then retracted into the shadows while thin threads of blood flowed from one cut to the other, like small lava cascades. Suddenly, the killer claws resumed their attack, scraping hard across Clive's abdomen and shredding his clothes. Huge red welts immediately began to ooze blood. So much blood... Joshua heard Clive's harrowing screams as he writhed, trying to free himself from the bindings. Suddenly, the rumbling of cracking stones rang throughout the chamber as the creature's hand burst from behind the pillar, destroying it. However, the creature's vile intent did not stop there. The hand lunged at Clive's back, piercing him and impaling his heart, which sprang from the front of the chest and beat right in front of Joshua's eyes. It was a blue heart, shiny as if it were made of crystal.

Joshua covered his mouth to stifle a scream that never came out. Avoiding at all costs to gaze at the organ in front of him, Joshua instead looked at his parents and noticed that his mother's body was no longer bound to the pillar. Anabella seemed to have simply vanished into the shadows. Panic completely overcame Joshua. His heart was racing so fast that it felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. The hammering became increasingly louder, drowning out all other sounds. It continued to get louder and louder and louder until...

Joshua woke up with a start. He jumped on the bed and pushed aside his bangs, which were plastered to his sweaty forehead. A nightmare. Simply a nightmare. Even though reality wasn't very far from what he had just dreamed. Joshua swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up more quickly than he should have, causing him to feel a bit dizzy. He needed to get away from those images. The scent of roses drifted melodiously through the air, and as usual, it had the power to soothe him. The candle by his bedside was still burning, indicating that he hadn't been asleep for long. He decided to open the window to let the cool night air clear his mind. Joshua sat on a nearby chair, contemplating the roses he had planted in a small flowerbed on the windowsill. Keeping them healthy and fresh had not been easy, but after years of trial and error and much reading, he finally got the hang of it. He looked at the pruning shears that he had left by the window after finishing his work for the afternoon. Pruning was an essential part of keeping roses beautiful and lush. A breeze blew through the open window, accentuating the pleasant scent of the roses.

Far in the sky, the messenger Metia cast its ruby glow. It caught Joshua's eye right away, as if beckoning directly to him. It was time to say a prayer to Metia for Clive and his parents, for everyone he knew back in Rosalith, for his uncle and everyone in Port Isolde, and for the physickers who had developed his medicine. Joshua had not yet had the opportunity to confirm whether one of the physickers who had made the delivery was in fact Jote, but either way, he appreciated it when memories of her graced his thoughts and prayers. Alas, she did not visit his dreams.

Jill also appeared in his thoughts addressed to Metia. The girl who was like a surrogate sister to him and on whom his older brother had a huge infatuation. Joshua wondered if they'd still be together if the monsters hadn't descended upon Rosalith that night. Joshua liked to imagine that that would be the case—that they'd already be married. The thought of it briefly filled his heart with joy.

"May those who are no longer among us find peace in their rest. And may you protect the ones that are still alive. Keep them safe."

A strong gust of wind interrupted his prayer. Feeling an incoming coughing fit, Joshua closed the window and decided to retire. As he calmed his cough, he remembered the last few years he had spent with his uncle. Despite all the servants and people that frequented the household, Joshua felt lonely. Truth be told, he was rarely alone, and everyone on the estate and in Port Isolde treated him kindly. And besides that, Wade was starting to become a true friend to him, but he felt so restricted. As odd as it might sound, he felt like he couldn't fully enjoy the rapports he was developing, and at the same time, he didn't have enough time to truly be alone. He desired to be free to pursue his goals and even his whims at his own leisure. Yet he found himself bound by circumstances time and time again. Vampires, a new home, his illness... He knew that it was one of the reasons Uncle Byron was so overprotective. That, plus the fact that, despite being in Rosalith, his uncle had been unable to keep the rest of the family safe. It was too delicate a topic for Joshua to discuss with him, but it was plain to see through Byron Rosfield's careful actions and painful expression during the years they had lived together.

Even so, those had been happy years. Joshua liked Port Isolde. The port was lively enough to entertain him on his short walks, as was the view he could enjoy from the attic window of the house. The sunsets in that town were enchanting. As the sky adopted purple and orange hues, the sun gradually retreated into the blanket of soft waves, whose gentle ripples lulled it to sleep under the watchful and loving gaze of the bright moon. Joshua had spent many nights, unbeknownst to his uncle, admiring the view perched on the tiny window on the top floor. Quite often in the company of a fantasy or adventure tome and a candle. And sometimes he even allowed himself to truly get lost in the magical haze of love poetry. Moonlight, a cool maritime breeze, the melodic sound of lapping waves, and mystical reading content. What else could he ask for?

His uncle had promised him a longer trip, and Joshua was excited about it. If there were no reports of recent vampire assaults in the region, they would even pass through Eastpool and neighboring Rosaria towns. The other requirement was that Joshua continue to take his medication as needed, something he often tried to evade. Over the years, he would distract his uncle and Rutherford with questions and unexpected chores in order to avoid taking the tonic. But since he had promised to take the medicine without complaints, he really tried his best. The fact that the taste of the potion seemed to be improving over time also helped, although he still grimaced whenever he drank it in one gulp. Apparently, the physickers were still striving to better their creation, and, granted, they were succeeding. Besides, on those harder days where breathing felt like a constant pressure on his chest and keeping food in his stomach required patience and faith, Joshua had come up with a little trick of his own. It was as simple as spending some time tending to the roses in his room or the estate's garden. The concoction would always go down smoother after he spent some time enveloped by the flower's strong aroma. Joshua never imagined as a child that one day his life would revolve around roses, books, and daydreams. A ducal heir turned studious floriculturist. Life really was ironic.

It was time to find another adventure and live out a wondrous story. Joshua tiptoed out of his chambers, went to the library, perused through the various works of fiction that Byron Rosfield had, and soon returned to his room with a new tome. As he settled on a chair to read, he reflected on how he had not heard a sound from the drawing room or the study. Perhaps his uncle went out to meet up with one of his many associates.

On the lower floor, a door slammed shut. Apparently, his uncle had returned. Joshua turned his focus back to the tome, eager to delve into a new fantasy. The protagonist was a bard who composed an unexpectedly mystical melody powerful enough to defeat beasts and all sorts of evil creatures. As his fame grew, people began to seek his assistance to solve several threats, and as he continued to triumph, he soon drew the king's attention. The princess, too, was captivated by his performances, and she would sneak out to watch him play in the grand halls of the kingdom or in the shady taverns near the castle walls. Her new-found interest, however, did not go unnoticed by her father. Feeling threatened by the bard's closeness to his daughter, the king decided to take action. As a result, the monarch planned to have the bard slain in a mission he devised himself. What the king didn't expect was for the princess to flee with the musician, thus putting her life in danger at the hands of her own father.

Bang!

The door to Joshua's room flew open as a blond woman entered, her steps as graceful as a breeze and her gaze as powerful as a storm. She wore her hair in a long bob that framed her heart-shaped face. As she waddled her way in, her leather clothes clung to every curve of her body, her light hair swayed, and her hazel eyes seemed to pierce him. Apparently, she was pleased with what she saw or sensed, as a smirk graced her glossy lips. Joshua jumped to his feet and dropped the tome he was reading. What on Valisthea was happening? What did that woman want? And how did she manage to...?

He stepped back, his legs bumping into the chair.

Before Joshua even had the opportunity to decide whether or not to scream for help, the woman was right in front of him. She slapped him hard, grabbed him by the chin, and forced him to sit down.
Stunned by the woman's unexpected actions, Joshua remained still and watched as she smiled openly at him. Putting her hands on his shoulders, she pushed him down and sat on his lap with one leg on each side, straddling and trapping him.

His mind was racing. Could his uncle have decided to impose a female "friendship" on him? If that was the case, then she was definitely on the rough side. She rubbed her hand gently over his cheek, where she had smacked him just moments before. It relieved the ache but increased his sense of disgust. Joshua attempted to withdraw to avoid as much contact between their bodies as possible. Noticing the motion, the blonde moved her hand away from him, but her hazel gaze drew him in even more.

"My name is Benedikta. Garuda for my foes. But mayhap I'll allow you to call me Benna. That one is for my... close friends."

Her sultry voice sounded smoother than he had anticipated. Uneasy, he tried to shove her away again, but to no avail.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Are you already afraid of me? Well, we can't have that when we have just met, can we?"

She brought her face even closer to his and parted her lips. Two fangs protruded from her gums, and Benedikta made sure to show them off. She was a vampire!

Approaching the side of his head, she scraped her fangs along his neck, then along his bobbing Adam's apple. Joshua gulped. He felt like a mere toy in that creature's hands. After so many years of protection and safety, he found himself alone and face-to-face with the enemy within his own home.

With all the courage and strength he could muster, he pushed the woman while simultaneously thrusting his body into the back of the chair, which tipped over. The vampire quickly recovered her stance. She looked at him with superiority as Joshua scrambled back to his feet, trying to assume a posture that concealed his vulnerability.

Like a true predator, she began to circle him. Joshua kept his gaze straight ahead as Benedikta waddled in front of him. However, when she passed behind him and suddenly licked his ear, his focus crumbled. He stepped back and leaned against the desk, his heart racing. But she didn't relent.

"Oh, little lamb, aren't I turning you on? Don't you think I'm sexy?" Benedikta whispered.

He gripped the desk to contain his anger and turned his gaze away from her. He focused on the roses by the window. They were just starting to bloom. He calmed down. If he were to get out there alive, he needed to be smart rather than impulsive. He wondered if the vampire had come alone or if there were others with her in Port Isolde and in the house. He only hoped Uncle Byron, Rutherford, and everyone else were alright.

Her voice sounded once again close to his ear. "If you are a lost lamb, I can help you find yourself." Unable to sneak behind him again, she stood in front of him. In a serpentine manner, she slid her hand across his lower abdomen and groped him.

Joshua shuddered, which caused Benedikta to chuckle before she proceeded.

"If it's hearth you long for, you can find more than enough warmth in me."

As painful as it was to admit it, temptation was on the verge of making itself manifest. Though that wouldn't come to fruition, not with a creature who could never penetrate his heart. As the vampire glanced at him, she seemed to see right through him. She pulled a crystal cigarette seemingly out of thin air and puffed on it.

"Do you think you will resist me?" She chuckled. "I assure you that you will succumb. One way or another."

"How could I? You are a monster!" Joshua was staring her straight in the eye, his blue eyes ablaze with a new-found fire.

"Oh, am I? Then perhaps I should show you what this monster is capable of."

She returned the crystal cigarette to her lips and sucked on it slowly and teasingly before blowing smoke into his face. Joshua still did not react. Putting out her cigarette in tandem with the mirth in her eyes, Benedikta approached again and cornered him.

"Come, little lamb. To the slaughter with you."

She tightened her grip on Joshua as her mouth gently approached his face. Her mouth brushed his skin from the corner of his mouth to his jaw, then his ear, and lastly his neck. Joshua felt her lips parting and heard an odd, eager sound coming from within as she prepared to bite him.

A moan escaped his throat, which elicited a soft purr from her. And when Joshua laced his arm around her neck, pulling her closer, she couldn't help but quip. "Such naivety for you to think that a man such as yourself might be able to oppose me."

Joshua's other hand moved tentatively towards her breast. A second later, Benedikta felt something sharp pierce her garments. Joshua had just attempted to stab her with pruning shears.

She immediately gripped his wrists and threw him to the ground. With a swift glance, Benedikta contemplated her pale skin as a trickle of blue aether slid down her cleavage. A glint of surprise surfaced in her hazel eyes. "You've got some fight in you."

She lunged at Joshua as he was trying to get back on his feet. He struggled with all his strength; the tightness in his chest getting worse. They rolled on the ground, fighting for dominance, yet the woman didn't attempt to bite him again.
For all intents and purposes, she seemed to be enjoying all of the resistance he was putting up. Or perhaps she was just tiring him out so she could finally finish him off as effortlessly as if he were a gentle little lamb. No, that wouldn't do. Laying on his back, Joshua flung his leg forward and kicked her right in the nose. As she recoiled for a brief moment, he grabbed a watering can and threw it at her, water splashing all over her face. She sliced him with her nails, sharp and harsh like a coeurl's claws, inflicting cuts on his arm that immediately began to bleed.

At this point, Byron Rosfield entered with an axe at the ready, followed by some of his servants and the best soldiers who lived in the port town. Their clothes and faces constituted a genuine canvas of gashes, blood, and aether. That scene painted a very clear message: Garuda had not come alone. And who knew how many vampires were in Port Isolde at that time? Joshua wondered if he would witness what happened to his first home in Rosalith again. Noticing the interruption and impending threat to her own life, Benedikta finally immobilized Joshua as she prepared to sink her teeth into his flesh.

Uncle Bryon let out a scream and charged forward, swaying his axe. Without hesitating, his companions imitated his attack. Byron Rosfield charged toward the vampire, jaw clenched, his gaze focused and merciless. "You will let go of my nephew right this instant, wicked woman."

Benedikta stood up, facing Byron Rosfield, and stomped on Joshua's torso with her boot. She smirked. "And who will make me do so? You? A lazy man well past his prime?" She laughed loudly.

Meanwhile, Joshua was writhing on the floor in pain from the pressure the vampire was exerting on his core. His mind, however, remained active and was searching for a solution that could help them escape from the nightmare. He saw none.
Byron maneuvered his axe with ease and advanced towards Benedikta. It was clear from his stance that he knew what he was doing. He definitely had battle experience, though Joshua didn't know to what extent. Benedikta seemed to finally recognize the newcomers as a real threat as she changed her posture, her back slightly arched as if she were about to pounce at any moment. Uncle Byron lunged straight for the blonde and was immediately supported by the other soldiers and servants, who surrounded and assaulted her from the flanks.

Letting out a frustrated growl, Benedikta released Joshua and instead focused on the ongoing attack on her. She deflected Byron's blow with her arm, shielding the axe's movement without even a wince. But as swords and spears slashed and jabbed at her sides, she opted to deal with them first. When she turned to face his allies, Byron took advantage of the opportunity and kicked her back. However, the action yielded no results. Garuda continued slashing the men as unperturbed as before.

A crash of furniture being toppled over echoed from the floor below but had no effect on the fight that was unfolding in front of Joshua. The vampire seemed completely engrossed in the combat, with a satisfied smile and a gleam in her eye adorning her face. Joshua had never imagined that such a creature, a predator at the top of the food chain, could exert such a powerful attraction. Just as if it were a human. Was it possible that those creatures still harbored any human feelings? Perhaps they did. But those would surely only be feelings of pleasure derived from their kills. Only creatures who relish taking lives could possibly ingest and even enjoy drinking blood. Joshua shook off his daydreams and concentrated on what was unfolding in front of him. Garuda had just flung his uncle to the ground and was feasting on the blood of one of the servants while the others lay on the corner. Alive, but dazed. Appetizer, main course, and dessert. The meal was ready to be served.

Joshua crawled towards his uncle, trying to keep a low profile. Sir Wade stormed into the room just as he was about to reach Byron Rosfield. His axe pierced the air with a woosh and flew towards Benedikta before anyone present could grasp what was happening.

Hearing the sound, the vampire hastened to dodge the throw; her prey knocked unconscious but still alive. The axe still struck her, and blood was beginning to soak through her garments, which had turned dark blue. She stood up straight and flashed Wade a look that was both angry and contemptuous.

"If you believe you are safe from my kind, you are utterly wrong. This was just a welcome card, petty little humans." With those brief words, Benna vaulted over the roses on the windowsill and glided out of the window, a pair of enormous wings emerging from her back and propelling her away from the astonished onlookers.

In Joshua's chambers, the soldiers, servants, Sir Wade, Byron, and Joshua gradually recovered from the fight. However, the surprise they felt at seeing wings sprout from the vampire's back would still last. Joshua's uncle hugged him tightly, letting out a loud sigh of relief as he confirmed that his nephew was safe and sound, even if against all odds.

"By the Founder, my boy, we are extremely fortunate to have survived the night. Though the story might have been quite different if Wade had arrived but a few moments later."

The mentioned soldier simply dismissed the claim with a wave of his hand and helped one of his companions stand up.

"What about Sebastian? Is he alright?" Joshua inquired, as the steward had not yet appeared.

"He is safe." Wade reassured. "That's actually why I arrived later at the estate. Soon after we discovered the ongoing vampire attack on Port Isolde, I located Rutherford and sent him to the barracks with one of my fellow soldiers. He's currently at what should be the safest location in town. Regardless, we were indeed blessed that the group that targeted us was no bigger than three vampires. However, there's no way of predicting if or when they will return. Perhaps this was simply a reconnaissance mission, and they'll return with a full-fledged assault. We must prepare."

"You are correct. I shall write my acquaintances in the nearby towns to see who can lend some help."

"Those people must also protect their homes, uncle. I'm not sure they will be able to spare men. We should do our best with whatever means we have at our disposal at the moment. And I mean every single one."

Byron Rosfield raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"I would like to contribute as well." Joshua continued. "And being so, I want Wade to give me swordsmanship lessons."

Turning pale, Byron Rosfield surrendered to silence.

Chapter Text

The metallic sound of regular and heavy footsteps echoed in the narrow corridors of the underground dungeon that existed beneath the palace of Sanbreque. Despite the fact that the dungeons were from the same era as the palace, Terence had no previous reason to venture into those forlorn depths of the Empire. Therefore, it was with a certain feeling of discomfort that the dragoon continued through the progressively darker corridors. As he marched ahead, a continuous drip of water permeated the silence, even though its source was undiscernible. As the bearer of the most recent news on one of Emperor Dion's quarries, the second-in-command of the Holy Order of the Knights Dragoon, he proceeded without delay. Immersed in almost complete darkness, Terence made his way with slower but deliberate strides, the spear in his hand and the clicking of his armor setting a peculiar rhythm in tandem with the trickle of water.

A torch illuminated a small portion of the path. Terence took a turn to the left and descended a long flight of stairs. Soon after he reached another floor deeper underground, he detected a musty odor with a pungent hint of something acrid. It was as if a multitude of ineffable, dark secrets wanted to escape Pandora's box of their own volition. Terence was trying not to focus on the eerie feeling those scents evoked when he heard a sound akin to grunts. He stopped in his tracks for a moment and released the faintest of sighs before he continued. Each stride moved him closer to the source of the noise. A growl louder and more prolonged than all the others pierced the air and then suddenly dissolved into quietness.

For the rest of the way, no other noise interrupted the rhythmic walk of Terence's steps.

At the end of the hall, in a small, dark alcove in the masonry, was a sturdy wooden door with metal reinforcements. The dragoon stopped and stared at it for a moment before giving it three strong knocks. Silence greeted him for longer than expected before steps echoed on the other side of the door. A bolt was opened. At last, Dion's voice granted him permission to enter.

The area inside the alcove was small and resembled a prisoner's cell. On the top of the furthest wall, there was a tiny fissure through which a faint sliver of natural light leaked—the only semblance of light in a space otherwise plunged into darkness. Dion was clad in a white and golden outfit, which made him stand out in the dim light. His back was still turned to Terence, his gaze focused on the wooden beam wedged between the two stone walls, from which hanged a blindfolded vampire. The new emperor of Sanbreque approached a small wooden chest of drawers, which constituted the only furniture in that bare space, apart from a rack with several weapons hanging on it. With quick and efficient gestures, Dion cleaned his delicate hands in a basin of water and dried them on a cloth with the Sanbrequois insignia embroidered on the edge before facing his lover.

"My prince, my Emperor, I come bringing news."

"There's no need for such formalities when we're alone, Terence." Dion's voice was warm, though it didn't reach his light amber eyes, which seemed to be fuming with cold anger. "What did you find out? Any information regarding the whereabouts of that cursed witch?"

"I am afraid we were unable to ascertain the location of her new lair. Instead, we discovered another creature. As per your request, following the attack on Port Isolde, we have been inspecting the surrounding area. Curiously enough, there were no more recurrent assaults on the town. Everything appeared normal until we picked up a suspicious trail of several dead villagers and animals. It headed south, from Port Isolde towards Dhalmekia."

There was a pause. As Terence prepared to share his full report, he couldn't help but cast quick glances at the worn-out body of the vampire that hung behind Dion. The creature was still alive, if you could call it that. In fact, it would be preferable if the vampire did not exist at all. The body of what used to be a human man had been practically stripped down, except for some tattered pants that still covered some areas of his lower body. From the creature's neck down, the body was filled with veins of blue aether, some dried up and others still dripping to the floor, leaving a dark stain on the cold stone floor.

"Before I proceed, I must inform you that, unfortunately, we didn't manage to discover Anabella's whereabouts."

"It is fine, Terence. In all honesty, it was to be expected."

Dion gave him a faint smile before diverting his attention back to the vampire. Glancing at the creature, he returned to the desk and lit a small fire beneath a metal stand holding a copper pan filled to the brim with what appeared to be oil. Another container lay nearby, between the basin of water and the fire. Covered by an old rag, it appeared to have been forgotten.

"Soon after we crossed the Dhalmekian border, we found more evidence of a strange presence. It was someone we had already encountered before." Terence went on to say, "Or at least, I think it was the same person."

Dion looked away from the oil, which was about to boil. He cast a quick, serious glance at Terence. "Who did you find?"

"We caught sight of the cloaked figure. And based on the agility and speed with which they moved, I am convinced they're the same individual who jumped out of the balcony. The one we chased away after we found out that tip in your room about Anabella's whereabouts a few years ago."

"Did anyone actually manage to catch the person?"

"No. Once again, they simply directed us in the right direction. We couldn't get close enough because they were...

"Too fast." Dion concluded.

"Precisely. We tracked their movements until they suddenly disappeared. We found ourselves in a woodland area by some cliffs. That's where we found someone else."

Silence prevailed in the small cell to the point where the soft crackling of the fire was audible. The new emperor of Sanbreque seemed restless, not because of the news that Terrence was narrating but instead because he had been neglecting his "guest." Without further ado, Dion resumed his previous activities, his hands moving quickly, his gaze focusing on each precise movement and gesture he performed. He took the boiling liquid out of the fire, and holding the pan with the utmost care, he stepped behind the still vampire. In one swift motion, Dion tugged on a rope, making the vampire descend so he could reach the top of his head. Without hesitation, he poured the boiling oil down his face. Immediately, a twitch seemed to travel through the vampire's entire being, his jaw clenched tightly as if he could somehow control the spread of the pain.

While the oil was still slowly dripping down the creature's body, Dion went back to the wooden desk and retrieved the halberd that was leaning against the wall. Oblivious to Terence's attentive gaze, Dion threw the halberd into the air and caught it with his other hand, twirling it between his fingers. A smile graced his pale lips while his eyes shone with delight. As fast as only a dragoon could be, Dion stretched out his arm and pierced the vampire's neck. As incredible as it seemed, even a weapon like a halberd could not penetrate the creature's tough skin. Only after another throw did a hole appear, through which dark blue aether began to pour. As fluid as a dancer performing a well-practiced routine, Dion kept piercing through the thick, resistant skin of the vampire from his neck to his chest, his abdomen, and his thighs, observing with a gleeful expression as more aether ran down and augmented the pool on the cold stone floor.

Just as the blond man returned to the desk once again and removed the cloth that covered the last bowl, one word left Terence's mouth and tore the silence.

"Benedikta."

After a small hesitation that caught his lover's eyes, Dion dipped the tip of the pikehead into the dark liquid that until a few moments ago had remained a mystery. Making use of the wounds he had previously inflicted on the vampire, he jabbed the creature all over again, the liquid dripping into the open flesh and meshing with the flowing aether. A foul smell permeated the air. It didn't take long for Terence to recognize it as poison, one made from wyvern tails that had been secretly utilized by Sanbreque's royalty and other higher-ups for generations. Unlike the halberd's direct blow, which had not provoked much of a reaction, the corrosive effect of the wyvern tails' poison soon had the creature writhing and grunting in pain.

Terence winced, as he did not anticipate hearing the horrible noise that had accompanied him through the hallways once more. Especially now that he knew the situation was occurring because of the actions of his courageous and beloved partner.

As the venom worked its way through the vampire's body, more aether seeped through the orifices punctured by the halberd. The drained liquid was darker and had a musty smell. The vampire's blindfolded head lolled forward and remained limp. As soon as Dion realized this, he hurled another pan of boiling oil directly into its face and chest wounds, jolting it awake. The action had the desired effect. The vampire raised his head and moved his arms with the energy he still had left. He tried to free himself from the ropes that kept him under control. His strength, however, appeared to be extinguished.

Dion let out a laugh that echoed in the small, dark, damp cell. The strangeness of that sound in such an environment just added to the macabre nature of the situation.

Terence cleared his throat before proceeding. "She was seriously wounded. Although I cannot say if the bigger affliction was that of the body or the mind. All in all, it seemed the rumors were accurate."

"Do you mean the rumors that said she no longer retained her vampiric powers?"

"Indeed. She almost looked ashamed. We let her be, as per your orders, since she was not Anabella and you already had other vampire prisoners. She fled South, but I assigned one of the dragoons to follow her."

"Thank you, Terence. Your support means everything to me." Straightening his back, Dion focused once again on the vampire, which seemed to have calmed down.

"I am afraid foul creatures like you or Benedikta are not allowed to rest."

He reached into his belt and unsheathed a small dagger from its scabbard. With a single stride, he reached the vampire and used one hand to tug the creature's arm. Dion made the dagger dance between his own deft fingers, the blade quickly approaching the vampire's hands. In one swift motion, the dagger's blade split the quick from the nail of the vampire's index finger. A scream rippled through the creature's body like choppy waves at high tide. Its origin vortex, however, was one of wrath and revolt rather than pain.

"Do not dare to utter my lady's name again, you mortal scum." The voice was deep with a faint quiver that broke the façade of power and revealed a touch of fragility, maybe even of humanity.

"Oh, that a leech can be so bold as to speak back." By contrast, Dion's tone was secure and gentle, almost sweet as he slapped the vampire's face hard. "I am the one in charge here. You're just an insignificant little monster who tried to sink his teeth into more than it could chew. Now, tell me, which lady are you talking about? How could something like you be acquainted with any lady deserving of that title?"

"Scoff to your heart's content. You're an ignorant oaf. If Lady Benedikta had caught wind of your wrongdoings, she would have drained you long ago. She wouldn't want someone like you in our ranks."

Dion laughed again. "Perish the thought. No words you utter will have the effect to provoke me, if that is your wish. In fact, I will give you the clemency of allowing you to say any final words before I render you completely and literally speechless once and for all."

"Fool. If only you had the honor of serving under Lady Benedikta's command. She had always been a force of nature, but after turning into such a majestic creature, everyone was in awe of her. No one could resist her power, her grace, and much less her sharp teeth and claws. Even now, after making that choice and experiencing the limiting consequences of the loss of power, our squad will always see her as the leader. No matter what. Even now, the likes of you won't be able to catch her. Lady Benedikta will never give up. She and the others will bring down their wrath upon Dhalmekia and all who support them. You will see..."

Dion made use of the halberd once more, this time piercing and completely severing one of the vampire's digits, thus cutting its discourse short.

"Every word you spit out and every breath you don't take just disgusts me. I shall not allow you to continue." Dion dipped the tip of his weapon in the poison bowl and proceeded to impale the prisoner anew, his gaze gleaming with the rush of another session of torture.

"My prince, please! You won't be able to extract any further information if you incapacitate it."

The new Emperor, however, paid those words no mind. Without delay, he drove the halberd halfway through the vampire's neck, causing a new gush of aether to erupt from the fresh gash. And although the creature remained silent, a surge of power seemed to run through its body, a blue-purple glow intensifying as it started to tremble.

"I must carry on, Terence. Discovering and studying all of our enemies' weaknesses is of the utmost importance. Surely you know this to be true. We ought to find ways to turn the tide." Dion focused his gaze back on the creature's lower limbs. "Now those are a liability, but not for long. And after we finish 'talking' you won't need them anymore, so..." An odd smile crept across his visage.

Just as Dion was about to retrieve another weapon from the rack behind the desk, Terence decided it was time to intervene. Taking advantage of the fact that the emperor had his back turned, he stepped back and launched his spear towards the vampire's heart. As he realized that wasn't enough to put the creature out of its misery, Terence jumped forward and pushed the spear with his own hands against the chest of the being that had previously been a man. Terence continued to press until he heard a loud snap and realized that there was no more resistance and the tip of the spear was emerging from the vampire's back.

"Terence!"

A pair of widened hazel eyes stared back at him. Disbelief, disappointment, and a certain relief colored his intense gaze.

The dragoon swallowed hard before expressing what was in his soul. "Wasn't it all a little too much, my prince?"

Dion stepped forward and walked straight up to Terence, his head slightly raised so he could look into the clear eyes of his lover. "I was about to slice him into pieces. I... I do not wish to simply eliminate these monsters. I want to make them suffer, to torture them in every way I can conceive, to extract every single secret their wicked bodies may conceal so that I can bring about their utter destruction." He paused for a moment, his chest rising and falling faster and faster. "If my main objective is not achieved, I will have to work out how to reach it through another method. I will not allow a minor delay to dampen my spirits. No, I will get my way, the just way, regardless of the method. That will be my atonement for failing to intervene in due time when my family got destroyed."

As Dion kept speaking, his body slumped, his gaze moving from Terence's face to the cold stone floor. Without having to utter a single word, Terence opened his arms and welcomed his lover into the warmth of his embrace. Slowly, he drew him away from the cell, his sweet, comforting words contrasting with the chill he felt coming from his companion. As soon as they left the dungeon, Terence lifted Dion's chin so their eyes could meet. What he saw worried him more. Wrapping Dion's hands in his, he realized how distraught the prince was. His eyes looked dazed, his hands cold, and his breathing was erratic.

"I won't fail. I cannot fail."

The words were no more than a whisper barely heard by Terence as he held him close and placed a chaste kiss on his forehead, his hand caressing his cheek with softness. If only his touch was enough to purge all that sadness, frustration, and regret... He knew how frustrated Dion felt about the way Anabella always seemed to elude his efforts to find her. And aside from that, life hadn't been too kind to him in recent years. After Sylvestre Lesage passed away, Dion had been devoting all his efforts and dedication to establishing an efficient rule that could guide Sanbreque through such dire times. However, he had never let go of the intention of killing Anabella by his own hands, destroying as many vampires as possible in the process.

Frustration became a constant in Dion's life as he was forced to retract some of the resources he had initially allocated to pursuing his present nemesis and former stepmother to the government and restoration of the Empire. He used every spare moment to train as hard as he could and establish a trustworthy web of informants, which was actually proving effective for the time being. Dion learned about the former winged vampire that had been spotted by herself in central southern Dhalmekia from that team of intelligence collectors. As the situation in the Empire seemed to be finally improving, Dion returned to his passion and previous goal. And only if he were succeeded in that objective would his blood stop boiling: killing as many of those blood sucking monsters as he could while also avenging his father and his family name once and for all. That goal was like a fever that was always running under Dion's skin, accompanied by the occasional flare-up.

Suddenly, Dion's slightly trembling hand caressed Terence's face. The dragoon immediately enveloped it with his own, tenderly brushing his face against those cold fingers.

"Only you know my heart, Terence. Only you can soothe and heal me. Thank you, my love, for always providing me with sanctuary."

----------

There was no airflow, and the sun shone brightly, even though the evening was rapidly approaching. The packed sand field and surrounding area were desolate and silent except for the rhythmic striking of wood against wood and the occasional grunt of exertion. In an improvised dance, the two men's light and quick steps slid without interruption, creating small clouds of dust that swirled above the ground.

Even though he didn't want to show it, Joshua's exhaustion and the heat eventually caught up to him, and while dodging a lunge from Wade, he tripped and fell on his back. "That was a productive session. Let's take a pause, shall we?" Wade placed the wooden sword on the ground and extended his hand to his friend and pupil to help him stand up.

Joshua dismissed Wade's help with a wave of his hand. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and kicked the sand, raising a new cloud of nearly invisible dust that spread to where Wade rested against the rickety wooden fence. Even the sand was against him. Joshua was well aware of his blunders while sparring. Little misstep after little misstep led to failure. They didn't seem to amount to much, but those missteps were the reason he lost. What if there was an actual fight? He could have gotten gravely injured, killed, or, worse, caused an ally's death.

After so many months dedicated to drilling, Joshua assumed he would be prepared for a real fight. He should be. Perhaps the hot weather had only added to his body's stress. His garments stuck to his body like an undersized glove, restricting his movements a little. Searching for the slightest breeze of air, he opened the collar of his tunic and moved it as far away from his skin as possible so that his breathing became easier. Immediately, a drop of sweat slipped from his collarbone down the center of his chest, quickly, as if rushing to join the moisture that had pooled near the belt that kept his turquoise tunic in place. Indeed, the heat was stiffling, like a crackless wall closing in on him, leaving him nowhere to escape or even breathe.

Joshua loosened his belt and placed it next to the small pouch containing some belongings that he had left near a tree. He was about to also take off his tunic when Wade questioned him. "Are you perhaps trying to distract the enemy? I inform you that I am definitely not the target audience."

"I'm glad someone is amusing himself," Joshua scoffed.

"And I'm glad someone is willing to provide suitable entertainment for my amusement. I am a truly fortunate man. Regardless, if you are up to it, we can go for one more bout. At a slower pace, mind you. After all, it has been several bells since we began practicing."

"That sounds fantastic, but when can I start sparring with an actual sword? And I don't mean using it against the striking dummies. I want to have a go at you, Wade. With a dull sword, of course, as I do not intend to hurt my best friend." He winked at the soldier.

"Maneuvering a real sword is a serious task. As with any weapon, we must respect its lethality. It can always pose a risk to others or even ourselves."

Joshua placed a reassuring hand on Wade's shoulder before stepping back and assuming an attack stance. "It's precisely because it involves risks that wielding a real sword would make me feel more confident and focused. Furthermore, I need to be as prepared as possible when it comes time to face the vampires, and we do not know when that will be. We are very well aware that no matter how much these creatures enjoy playing with their food, their end goal is always to kill."

"Mmmh. Too much talk, Joshua. Are you ready?"

Joshua returned to the center of the arena, the wooden sword twirling in his long, nimble fingers. "Ready." Within moments, both fighters had resumed dancing. Despite Wade's words, the soldier appeared energized, his movements more precise, and his attacks more direct than before. Joshua, for his part, felt exhausted now that the adrenaline from the previous confrontation had subsided. After months and months of drilling, his body already knew what to do, and his movements were efficient thanks to the muscle memory acquired during the countless combo repetitions Wade had made him do since the beginning of his training.

Swoosh. Wade's wooden sword struck the ground right where Joshua had stood just moments before. Spinning around on himself, Joshua avoided the blow and counterattacked, throwing his weapon without hesitation towards Wade's back, who dodged the blow by skidding on the sand. Joshua's instincts kicked in, and his mind quieted as he once again entered the flow.

The fight resumed, the combatants completely in sync. The clack, clack of the wooden swords colliding filled the entire arena and surrounding clearing. Joshua and Wade attacked, blocked, parried, and dodged in a continual up-and-down rhythm, resulting in a relentless melody whose climax seemed impossible to anticipate.

True to his years of practice as a soldier, Wade launched a swift and unexpected attack on Joshua's torso, which the latter dodged with a backward leap thanks to his adrenaline control. And, with a movement worthy of a dragoon, Joshua jumped again, propelling his body forward, his arm fully extended, and swinging the wooden blade at Wade's side. Joshua smirked. That move would end the sparring session for sure, making him the victor.

Wade, however, sidestepped, took his knee to the ground, and then propelled himself to avoid the attack. Failing to predict his opponent's move, Joshua fell to the ground. Again.

Wade's voice reached his ears. "Let's call it a day. You did well."

Joshua spread his fingers on the ground and grabbed a handful of sand. Clenching his fists, he stood up slowly, releasing the dust little by little, his gaze focused on the golden trail it seemed to leave in the air before gracefully returning to the ground. He had not yet claimed the victor's crown. Why would Wade insist on giving him praise? He should already be able to defeat his mentor. After all, it had been several months since he asked the soldier to teach him swordsmanship. It couldn't continue like this. He wanted to win, or at least to achieve a draw.

"I believe we can go for a couple more rounds." As soon as he spoke, an irritating itch surged up his chest, afflicting him. Joshua turned away from Wade and jogged to his pouch under the tree. He covered his mouth when he could no longer sustain the cough. If only he could reach the medicine quickly enough, then Wade would not report the incident to Uncle Byron, and the lessons would carry on.
Joshua paused. His friend's voice reached his ears, but he really couldn't make out the words he was saying. Oblivious to everything else, Joshua stared at his hand. A few droplets of bright red blood contrasted against the pale skin of his palm.

Apparently their sparing had brought him closer to the threshold of what his body could withstand. Discretely, he rubbed his hands on his dark pants and then rummaged through his belongings. The phial of green liquid appeared more tempting than ever before. In one gulp, he drank the medicine. He didn't want to give up; he had to protect those he loved. Therefore, such a minor nuisance would not prevent his training. When Wade caught up to him, Joshua had already composed himself and his cough had been soothed.

Just as Wade opened his mouth to speak, Joshua explained, "As it turns out, you were completely right, my friend. This was indeed an intense session. We should resume it at a later date. Let's just get out of this sun and cool down at home. Besides, it is clear that I didn't perform well at all, so there is no point in continuing."

They retrieved the few belongings they had brought and made their way to the estate.

"So..." Wade started, "Are you sure you are feeling fine?"

"I am. I simply tried too hard, and worst of all, to no avail. I suppose I made a fool of myself." Joshua opened his hands and looked at his empty palms before clenching them into fists. "I managed to become more aware of my weaknesses, however. So I'm assuming all that training didn't go to waste."

"Nonsense. I'm confident that you have learned more from our training than that. And why are you speaking as if only this session matters? What about your efforts and our work throughout all these months? I am certain you are aware of your own strengths, are you not?"

Both men paused before Wade resumed. "Not only that, but your endurance has also improved. And I recall how, after I hit you a couple of times in a row, you would tremble and forfeit the fight. That happened because you used to let your thoughts get the better of you. Now, however, you follow your instincts, which most of the time guide you to a positive outcome."

"That might be true, but that still doesn't stop me from often losing."

"First of all, you're exaggerating. Second, winning many times implies that you make a conscious choice to fight again and again. The exact same thing applies to everyday life. We must learn how to be tough enough to not give up when life throws challenges at us.

Joshua mulled over his sparing partner's words as they walked in silence to the center of Port Isolde.

----------

The sun was beginning to rise in the distance. Rays of pale light traveled a long distance until they shyly passed through the curtained windows of the houses as if afraid to abruptly wake up the sleeping residents of Tabor. Jote, however, was not disturbed by that discreet intrusion of daylight, as her windows were already drawn open while she worked in the kitchen.

No sooner had Jote arrived home than she made herself busy with the daily chores that had been left undone during her week-long stay with Hanna Murdoch. They had established a routine in which they traveled between Eastpool and Tabor, as often as their occupations permitted, in order to spend time together just as a true small family. Indeed, spending the previous week with Hanna was a breath of fresh air for Jote. Due to their shared circumstances and losses since their escape from Rosalith, they naturally became close. Furthermore, Jote still felt somewhat apart from the main activities that took place in The Basement, so talking freely to Hanna about all sorts of mundane subjects, as well as opening up her heart about her deepest fears, truly felt like a blessing. But now it was time to get back to her life.

Having ridden out through the dawn, Jote should be tired, but the truth was that, even if her body was a tad sore from the journey, her mind was restless, and getting back to her potions and ointments was both convenient and a relief. Her thoughts kept going back to how eerie Eastpool still felt. Some villagers had died as a result of the widespread vampire attacks in Rosaria, while many others opted to leave their houses behind in search of a safer haven—except that there was none and no way of predicting where the next full-scale attack would occur. And although, little by little, people were returning, Eastpool still resembled a ghost town.

Despite all that, Hanna Murdoch was still content to be back in her home. With her spirits high and her resolve strong, she was actually one of the main sources of support for the other few residents of the village, never getting tired of helping people to reacomodate or planning the best ways to regrow the local crops in order to promote their livelihood and commercial exchanges. Jote truly believed that with her friend's assistance and perseverance, the hamlet was well on its way to becoming its former self.

Feeling more energetic as she continued to mix and weigh the herbs, Jote decided to take some notes. When the chance arose, Jote would experiment using what she already knew and the information she was surreptitiously gathering, even if she still lacked access to all the branches of alchemy projects operating in The Basement. In fact, over the last few months she had been trying to incorporate new herbs in her mixes, expecting that different compositions would produce better results in those afflicted by pain and other ailments. Not yet fully satisfied with the improvements resulting from the changes, Jote began to incorporate tiny doses of chemical compounds. Apparently, the notes she had managed to take secretly were, in fact, very effective. And who knew what additional applications this knowledge might have with some more research and practical tests? Jote was set on pursuing all the ways through which that hidden data might benefit everyone, whether it meant improvements in health or a way to annihilate humanity's enemy.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound gradually permeated the kitchen and became distinct from the rhythm of the knife chopping the herbs and the pestle grinding them in the mortar. Jote was so immersed in her work that the sound surprised her. Only after a moment did she realize that it was someone knocking on her door.

"Jote? How are you, my dear? Can I come in?"

Cybill's tender voice had the power to calm her and bring her back to the present moment. Jote welcomed her neighbor in, and they settled in a couple of armchairs by the window.

"How is Hanna faring? And how was the trip? You are already completely immersed in work, and I didn't even realize you returned."

"I arrived this morning. At dawn, to be more precise." Upon noticing Cybill's grimace, Jote decided to explain herself, even if she didn't really need to. "I had to catch up to all the work I left behind. People's health doesn't wait on someone's absence."

"I understand what you're saying, but surely Tarja has the situation under control. Otherwise, she would have sent someone to fetch you.

Jote tapped the armchair's handrest. Cybill's words didn't have any ill intent, but for some reason she didn't know what else to say. Fortunately, her neighbor did not press the matter any further. Jote stood up and motioned for Cybill to join her in the kitchen, eager to keep herself occupied. The mortar and pestle were on the counter, as were a sharp knife and a set of bowls and jars of various sizes. The sunlight now advanced without preamble and fell on a wooden rack with several phials filled with liquids of various densities and colors.

"By the Founder! You really have been keeping yourself busy. Perhaps too much…"

"It's fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, I've rested plenty during my stay with Hanna."

Cybill smiled as she stood next to Jote, attentively observing the medicine vials that were already on the rack. "As a matter of fact, I would like to compliment you for your incredible dedication. You are such a talented herbalist! The sheer number of new formulas you have created over the past few months is astounding. In particular, I want you to know how much I appreciate the ointment you made for my wrist. It has produced amazing results, as I am no longer in pain. Because of your help, I am now able to work on my candy and caramel apples once again." Cybill put her arm around Jote and brought her closer in a gentle half-hug. "Thank you."

Jote laid her head lightly on her neighbor's shoulder. But, feeling embarrassed, she quickly turned her attention back to her tasks. In fact, Jote moved so quickly that the pinwheel fastened to the back of her apron slipped off and fell to the floor.

As Cybill noticed the fallen flash of pink, she leaned down and picked it up. "Mmmh. Would you like to know something? I find it quite adorable that you carry this pinwheel almost all the time, even when you're working." She spoke softly as she returned it to Jote.

Jote lowered her gaze a bit, perhaps in an attempt to conceal the undeniable glow in her brown eyes. With the utmost care, she cradled the pinwheel as if it were a piece of parchment thousands of years old that could shatter into a million pieces if someone happened to touch it or look at it in a different way. As she returned the pinwheel to the back of the apron, her attention wandered through inscrutable thoughts. When Jote turned to face Cybill again, her visage had turned pale. "Perhaps I am, in fact, wrong in persisting to carry it with me. After so many years, the winds are unlikely to shift and bring new luck, aren't they?"

"Jote?" Concern was written all over her longtime neighbor's face.

"Forgive me, but I'm afraid I must go now." Jote blabbered. "I will see you tomorrow."

In a swift motion, she closed the jar with the herbs and hurried from the house, leaving Cybill baffled. She strode without aim. Her steps, however, seemed to have a mind of their own and led her through the narrow alleys and winding streets of the awakening Tabor, right into The Basement.

As Jote descended the several flights of stairs and delved into the depths of the Undying headquarters, each step taking her closer to that secluded world of untold mysteries and secrets, she realized that she still had no idea what she was going to do at that moment. One thing was certain: at the moment, she didn't want to think of her past. She needed to maintain her focus on both the present and the future, and Founder helped her; that future would be free of those repulsive and vile creatures that only sowed agony, death, and destruction wherever they went.

Jote slowed down and halted in front of the room where she normally conducted experiments to make new medicinal potions with Cyril's occasional guidance. However, as she was about to open the door, she sighed and turned around. She felt disturbed. The latest conversations with Cybill had been complicated. Jote had been gathering her thoughts on all she had discovered thus far about the vampires through the Undying as well as her own research. Regrettably, she was unable to impart that information to her neighbor. Hushing seemed to be the only option, and acting in this manner made her feel like a traitor who couldn't even be honest with the people closest to her.

Even when she spent time with Hanna, she did not reveal her disappointments. Jote wanted to become more involved with the Undying's alchemy development team. And even if Cyril had actually provided more details about the projects they were currently working on, she still had her own ideas about how to end the vampire threat once and for all. Having her mind full of fresh ideas, Jote wanted to play a bigger role in the creation of the so-called weapon they were trying to create at the Basement. But how could that come to fruition when there were still so many secrets and information that she wasn't privy to? While that scenario persisted, she couldn't help but be a bit suspicious.

"Good morning, Jote! You arrived early today." Her colleague Oscar's voice took her by surprise. They often worked together to prepare special concoctions created by the Undying. In fact, the young man was already part of that group before Jote joined their ranks. She had overheard Oscar and Cyril's exchanges, which suggested that her colleague had even been part of the team searching for an elixir of immortality for quite some time.

Jote forced a smile. "I was just about to leave, as a matter of fact. Tarja is sure to be already waiting for me at the infirmary. Besides, no one else seems to be here. I might as well make myself useful over there."

"The Ward is usually busy, so I'm sure Tarja will appreciate it. As for the Basement, we are definitely not the first ones to arrive."

"Is that so? Regardless, please don't let me detain you any longer." Jote raised her hand in farewell and watched as Oscar disappeared behind the door. While they were talking, she decided it would be better for her to take advantage of the peace and quiet of the moment to investigate the source of her doubts about the Undying.

Even after all this time, Jote was still not allowed in the chamber where the regular grunts of pain were heard. Cyril had told her that some of the potions she was working on were meant to help that Undying's "assistant," or more precisely, according to her suspicions, their test subject. Apart from that, there was no further information. That situation would end today. Letting her curiosity get the better of her, Jote finally decided to sneak in.

After making sure no one was in the vicinity, Jote headed to the division in question. The room was silent, and, from what she saw, the beds were all empty. Jote moved between the curtains that separated the different resting spaces, looking for traces of recent use. She tried to feel for any bedsheets that still held any heat by passing her palm over them. Her brief inspection continued as she searched for any misplaced objects or crumpled sheets. Her eyes widened. There was an open drawer. She nearly leaped to the opposite side of the bed, reaching out one hand to fully open the drawer in search of any clues. Finally, she would resolve the matter and learn the truth about the Undying's "assistant.".

Suddenly, footsteps sounded nearby the room's entrance. Jote jumped up, her hands shaking. Oh, no! She was going to get caught before she even had the chance to find out the truth. What to do? She wouldn't have time to get out of there. Making use of what was closest to her, Jote slipped silently and hid behind a separating curtain. However, her movements were too fast, and she stumbled backwards, colliding with the foot of a chair. Startled, she steadied her step and held her breath, but the noise appeared to be too discreet to alert the people outside. In fact, the footsteps outside started to fade away, and Jote allowed herself to relax a bit, her focus returning to her investigation. Just as she looked back at the chair, she realized that it wasn't empty.

A good-looking man sat on it. He was lying back, with his eyes closed and a peaceful expression on his face. He had a thin, clear tube attached to his arm from which blood was trickling into an opaque receiver. Jote examined his face and body, looking for signs of malnutrition or maltreatment. However, all she discovered were dark circles under his closed eyes—circles that were half obscured by the shadow cast by his voluminous eyelashes.

Getting a little closer to the sleeping individual, Jote scrutinized his features intently, as if trying to uncover a secret concealed just beneath the surface. Something about that face gnawed at the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite describe what it was.

Suddenly, a pair of lively eyes fixed her with a serious gaze.

"Ah!" Jote gasped.

Those intense, bright eyes...

Chapter Text

Joshua was reading a book when he fell asleep, and even though the book fell on his face, it was still not enough to wake him. Lately, he had been exhausted. If only it were due to his training. Unfortunately, it had been more than two months since he had actually handled a sword, made of wood or otherwise. His coughing fits had become worse over time, and Joshua simply had not been able to hide it from Wade any longer. Naturally, as soon as Uncle Byron got wind of it, he demanded that his nephew's sparring sessions stop at once. In spite of that, whenever the fits gave him a break, Joshua trained the basic attack and dodge movements with vigor and dedication. Still, whenever he did so, his health worsened, causing the occasional cough of blood and extreme tiredness. In fact, it was this exhaustion that had led him to retire early and seek the reliable refuge of literature as well as the soothing scent of the roses blooming on the windowsill. He took a slow, deep breath and was relieved to feel that this action had not caused him to cough.

After picking up a book, Joshua laid down on the bed. He opened it, but as he did so, memories of his past began to flood his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he allowed the parade of sweet memories to lull him. The loving antics of Clive, Sir Wade, and Sir Tyler's steady protection and respect; Sir Rodney Murdoch's nonchalant and imposing aura; his parents' constant fussing over him; the generous care he received from the servants of Rosalith Castle; the lively fair with all the merchants and the patrons from all walks of life who gathered there and created the most colorful scenery he had ever seen; the few children who didn't feel intimidated to spend time with him when his mother allowed; little Jote and her giving heart…

Joshua shook his head. No, he had to push those memories away, which, even if pleasant, still caused him a sharp pang in his heart. After all, they were nothing more than moments from a past that would never return. And if he wanted to have a shred of hope of fulfilling his part in the eradication of vampires, he couldn't concentrate on such matters. That's what his brother, and most likely his parents as well, would have wanted. Deciding to escape his thoughts, he opened the book, and lulled by the sound of a light breeze that rustled the leaves of the trees, as well as the murmur of voices in the estate, Joshua fell asleep.

Little by little, wisps of a gentle melody reached Joshua's ears. His body was relaxed and his mind was at ease, drifting just like a lone cloud in a clear sky or a feather gliding in the warm spring air. It was a lullaby, which made him feel warm, fuzzy, and welcomed. Pure, unattainable bliss. In his dream state, Joshua could not identify how he recognized it, but the more he listened to it, the more familiar it sounded. Perhaps... Perhaps it was... Yes, that was it—it was a nursery rhyme that had been sung to him during his tender years.

Why did the voice sound so close? And so authentic—as though it had transcended the very threshold of time and space? How could it be? How could his mother's voice sound so real? He did not recall ever hearing her sing to him as a child. Mayhap he had blocked that memory out of his mind. But, by the Founder, hearing her again was akin to a dream come true. Joshua focused on the sound of her voice. Indeed, she had a beautiful voice, even if it wasn't exactly warm. And had she ever sounded as excited as at the moment? That ought to be a positive thing, right?

With his eyes still closed and his arms no longer holding the pillow, Joshua turned to face the ceiling. His breathing quickened. His mother's voice became increasingly clearer in such a way that she sounded almost gentle. A goosebump ran down his body, head to toes, prompting him to fully wake up. Even though his eyelids were still stubbornly closed, his ears left no room for deception. There was no mistaking it. That was Anabella's voice. But his mother had died in Rosalith more than a decade ago. She couldn't be right there with him... could she?

Not knowing what else to do, Joshua let his gut instinct and the lessons he had learned from his training with Wade guide him. Keeping his eyes closed, he discreetly felt the bedside table for something that could serve as a weapon. He could smell the roses blossoming in the room; their scent accompanied the melodic lullaby to form a sweet duet. They were all in bloom due to his care and attention. How unfortunate! Why did he have to leave everything in its place today of all days? Even the pruning shears were stored this time. Sometimes being too attentive could have a negative result.

An instant after the voice that sang the lullaby was silenced, the sound of sniffing echoed in the room like an alarm. It seemed as though winter's first freezing winds had arrived in the midst of summer. Joshua felt a new chill run down his spine.

"My darling boy, how I have missed you."

Joshua squeezed his eyelids shut. That voice...

Breathing became difficult as an itchy sensation suddenly rose in his chest and moved up his throat. Joshua, however, remained quiet and made a concerted effort not to cough. As though his room had been abruptly swept away into the ocean's depths, the beating of his heart vibrated loudly in his ears, drowning out the surrounding sounds. But as soon as the voice was heard once again, this effect ceased. His consciousness rose to the surface of the turbulent waters around him, and his hearing became as sharp as before.

"Won't you get up and say hello to your mother? Where are your manners, Joshua Rosfield?"

Joshua swallowed hard, his hands balling into tight fists. His mind spun like an all-consuming whirlwind, his sanity on the verge of breaking. As it was impossible to ignore or escape what was happening in front of him, Joshua got up from the bed, making an effort to keep his breathing normal and to collect himself.

He stared at the person before him. An unbidden gasp escaped his parted lips.His eyes were certainly deceiving him. He took one hesitant step forward. Anabella was there with him in his room. His mother had actually been singing to him in a beautiful, almost lukewarm voice. But how could that be? The vampires had slaughtered all his family in Rosalith Castle, with the exception of his uncle. Another shiver ran through his body, leaving a trace of cold around his chest, as if an icy hand touched his heart and played with it, squeezing it slowly with ice-cold fingers.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at the person before him. There was no doubt that it was Anabella, his mother. She had a beautiful, youthful appearance. Mayhap she even looked fairer than before. But how could that be possible? Joshua's suppressed coughing urge resurfaced inside him again until he lost control and started coughing. At the same time, the feeling of constriction increased. With his gaze captivated by his mother, Joshua placed his hands on his chest as if that could relieve him. However, the tightness only made the cold that had already penetrated his heart worse—it spread through his body, making him gasp for air.

"My dear Joshua, I wonder if you are aware of your true state of health." His mother's gloved hand lifted his chin so that he focused his attention on her. "I must confess, my beloved son, that I have been monitoring the comings and goings in your uncle's estate for some time now, and I am aware of what the physickers revealed to that buffoon. Truth be told, that old fool did not spare any effort. He even went so far as to seek experts outside of Rosaria for assistance." She sighed. "It took me so long to find out that you were still alive. It was indeed an event crafted by fate that brought that bane of my existence to my domain; he inadvertently led me to the greatest of joys—one I thought long gone. You don't realize how much suffering I endured in your absence, Joshua. I genuinely believed I had lost you."

The strangeness of what was happening before his waking eyes only seemed to fuel his condition. Was he still dreaming? Had he somehow managed to turn back time? Was he a child again, about to be taken back into his mother's embrace? Feeling a new wave of convulsions about to take over him, Joshua removed his mother's hand from his face and stepped back. Whether Anabella was real or simply an illusion conjured up by fever, he still did not wish for her to watch him like this. Perhaps he should go to the medicine cabinet or even ask Uncle Byron to help him out. Joshua covered his mouth and held his chest with another hand while trying to move past his mother.

With elegance, she approached him and tenderly brushed his pale face. "I'll make the pain and suffering go away." Then added in a whisper, "I promise."

Those words made Joshua shiver. Although his mind was racing before, he now found himself having trouble keeping a clear head and couldn't come up with a cohesive line of thought. Only one idea kept blaring in his mind like a battle horn. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Fearing for both his uncle's safety and his own, Joshua knew he had to take action.

He tried to move towards the bedroom door, but Anabella grabbed him by the shoulders. And, although shorter than him and delicately built, the force she employed completely stopped him in his tracks. Immobilized, he sought to read his mother's gaze. Her lips formed a pompous smile, which was reflected by a strange, haughty glow in her eyes.

As his mother pulled Joshua into a tight embrace, a cold sensation appeared in the pit of his stomach in tandem with the revelation of truth. The realization, however, didn't cause him to react. There was no way he could turn against Anabella. After all, she was his mother. He simply could not. And besides, he had missed her so much. And there were already so many people he missed so much. He missed his previous home, his previous life. He wouldn't lose the person he was in the process either. Joshua still wanted to save the world, but he was loyal, and he'd always be. He would not; he could not…

All those thoughts seemed to leak away as Anabella left the tiniest kiss on his cheek and then swiftly approached his neck, her cold fangs immediately piercing the soft skin that covered his delicate veins—veins that brimmed with young, uncorrupted blood that flowed vibrantly and free. A grunt escaped his mouth as Joshua's eyes brimmed with tears. As the sharp pain of puncture intensified and his mother's grip on him turned to steel, musings of inevitability filled his mind. After all, what were the odds that after having taken so many precautions and training, his household would be once again breached? And this time, even his chamber failed to provide a timely escape route. But would that even have been effective at all? Truth be told, he had welcomed his mother's presence, whether it was real or an illusion. She was part of his family. He would never do anything that would harm her—regardless of what might have happened while they were apart. Just as he wouldn't do it to his father, Clive, Uncle Byron, Wade, or even...

He gazed at the roses by the window. They were barely visible beneath the dense, dark blanket of night, yet their fresh aroma lingered in the room. It was a silent testimony to their existence, to the life they exuded, innocent and oblivious to what was happening around them. Joshua closed his eyes, the first tears escaping and dripping down his cheeks. The flowers brought back memories of his happy childhood and of ...

Could his present response be a mistake?

"..." A strained sigh sounded fragile in the silence of the room. It was too late to change his mind. Joshua began to feel an even greater tightness in his chest, to the point of suffocating. At the same time, a strange sensation invaded his entire body, as if thousands of ants were inside him, digging into his organs and skin with their tiny legs, trying to escape at any cost.

"No!" Joshua raised his hands and held them up to his mother's face. Before he even had the opportunity to touch her, Anabella made an imperceptible movement that prevented him from doing so. Joshua tried to see what was stopping him from getting close enough to push his mother, but his own body seemed to rebel against him. His heartbeat got increasingly rapid at the same time that it became nearly impossible to take in a new breath of air, triggering a rhythm so unrestrained that Joshua believed his heart was literally about to explode. And perhaps that would be a kinder way to go…

Anabella withdrew from her son's neck for an instant and took a whiff of the air. She licked her lips, an air of appraisal plastered onto her face as if she were tasting a rare delicacy.

"Oh, my darling boy is still a virgin."

Noticing him wince, she caressed his cheek as she spoke in a soft tone. "This world could never recognize something precious even if or when it is staring them in the face. Valisthea still abounds with uncultured brutes. But not for long..."

Joshua grunted, a thin layer of sweat covering his skin, as convulsions tormented him. Amidst the haze of his mind and the ache of his body, the words his mother had just pronounced vanished like wisps of fog.

Presenting a gentle smile, Anabella brushed off Joshua's bangs from his forehead. His skin felt too hot to the touch. Without wasting time, she inserted her fangs again in the already existing punctures.

As if the precious liquid might evaporate into thin air if she wasn't quick enough, Anabella eagerly lapped up the warm blood, allowing her thirst and greed to take over. His vigorous and untouched blood would do wonders for her. She could barely wait to see the results. Meanwhile, the tremors wracking her son's body grew fainter and fainter until they eventually stopped. When she finally finished, Anabella ran a finger across her flushed lips, wiping away a drop of the rapidly cooling blood.

She sat on the edge of the bed and held one of Joshua's hands. Leaning down, she spoke in a tender tone. "My beloved son, you were so sick. Even more so than you realized… I had no choice but to bite you so that you could be saved." She sighed and then proceeded in a whisper, "Let's hope you don't take after your brother, and the transformation goes smoothly. Mother truly needs you. Hmm. Of course, the fact that you are handsome won't hurt at all. You'll be able to help your mother just like Olivier did, and with your good looks, it will be even easier to attract the virgin blood I crave. You will see. No one will be able to stop us, my darling boy."

As gentle as a spring breeze, Anabella raised her son's head and brought his lips to her neck. Joshua's eyelids flickered slightly, as though they were fighting to open against his will, but his eyes remained closed. A minor conflict between the body and the mind.

Anabella giggled. "Don't fight the urge. It's only natural."

As an impromptu answer, Joshua's lips parted, allowing a feeble whimper to escape. Swift as the wind, Anabella grazed her neck with her nails, opening a thin cut. Aetherical blood started to trickle right away.

Anabella cast a quick look at the collar of her dress. A dark blue halo was beginning to expand across the white fabric. She sighed. Although she sensed how Joshua's breathing quickened, he still made no move to drink from her. Very well. She would give him a little nudge in the right direction. Gently, she cradled her son's head between her hands. She brought her lips close to his face so that her breath hit his face and murmured, "Open your eyes, Joshua, and look at your mother. Have you not missed me?"

Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, and his azure gaze met hers.

She looked deep into his eyes and conjured up in her mind the image of Joshua accepting her blood. Almost imperceptibly, Joshua's breathing hitched and his eyes widened, then closed for an instant, as if he were going to fall asleep. It was done. The barrier had been broken. A smile appeared on her face as she placed the gash within her son's grasp again.

Joshua looped an arm around his mother and placed his lips on her neck. His mind was trapped in a fog, and his body felt light and fragile like never before. What was he thinking before? He no longer remembered, but it didn't matter. He didn't need to be forceful or resist. Now was the time to make the most of the present time and rejoice in his mother's company. After all, he was her darling boy, and he loved her deeply. But had she been with him all this time, or had she been gone...? None of it mattered, not when his body felt like it was floating, magnetically attracted by an irresistible force; his mind becoming silent as his body gained more and more say in the matter. In that instant, all the world around seemed to vanish, and only one thought consumed his ethereal existence—fulfill the need.

Like a baby dozing off to a lullaby, Joshua allowed his mind to rest and his senses to take over. Gently, inexorably, he fell deeper and deeper into slumber.

"Doesn't it taste good? Drink up, my darling boy." Anabella's voice sounded soft and melodious, like a song. "So eager..."

Anabella rejoiced as she realized how Joshua held her neck with one hand so as to sip her aether more easily and eagerly. Trying to find purchase to steady himself, Joshua's hand felt around until it found the bedside table. His fingers clenched and unclenched as they ran over the polished wood until they came across a vase of roses and knocked it over. The sound of shattering glass broke the almost complete silence, which until then had only been marked by the sound of Joshua's irregular breathing.

Observing how her son showed no intention of stopping, Anabella lifted his head away from her neck and placed a delicate phial full of a dark liquid on his lips. Without hesitation, she poured the liquid onto her son's still parted lips. Joshua quickly gulped the fluid, oblivious to everything but his body's impulses.

Anabella's eyes gleamed with pride as she put the phial back with the others she kept in the small sachet attached to her dress. The container was now completely empty, without any trace of the human blood she had prepared beforehand, except mayhap for the faint coppery scent.

"I couldn't allow you to become a helpless, submissive little puppet, could I? After all, I learned my lesson from what transpired with Sylvestre. No, my son. My plans for you are far more ambitious."

Joshua's eyes, which had remained half-closed until Anabella once again brushed her fingers across his cold and damp forehead, were suddenly wide open. In a flash, he flung himself to the ground.

A strange vibration had erupted from his jaws as if small particles of water were accumulating faster and faster until they reached the magnitude and power of a tidal wave. Only in this case, the unstoppable force originated from Joshua's newly sprouted fangs, which erupted from his gums with all the brutality of a beast. A beast that erupted from within him, a beast that would devour him until he would be undistinguishable from the monster itself.

His azure gauze captured a sliver of pink. Faced with his mother's impassive gaze, Joshua rolled around on the floor, attempting to dodge the flowers that were strewn among the vase's broken shards. As his body was assailed with a myriad of strangely indescribable, alien sensations, Joshua grabbed one of the fallen pink roses. He clutched it hard between his clenched fingers as though it were a lifeline. He pricked himself on the thorns, and ruby blood instantly began to flow down the flower's stem and onto the ground, where it was quickly absorbed, until a red stain turned bluish as it expanded. Although Joshua's body would not allow it, his soul yearned to escape reality. Closing his eyes, Joshua sought refuge in the memories that the rose he had cared for evoked. The pain of being stung by the thorns served as an anchor that allowed him to maintain a connection to his past, happy life. However, these memories were in danger of becoming nothing more than fleeting dreams as the transformations in his body threatened to permanently sever this bond… as well as all the others he used to have.

At this point, everything started to appear foreign to him. And when an agonizing scream escaped his lips, it was as if someone else was screaming. It was another person who was in pain. It was another entity that was uncontrollably writhing on the ground. It was an unknown creature that was turning into something unholy and predatory.

A shard of the broken vase that was on the floor tore the skin of Joshua's forearm as he slammed his hands on the floor and clenched his fingers as if such a gesture could transport him to a different reality.

Noticing that her son's grunts of agony were not subsiding, Anabella knelt beside him. A thin veil of perspiration illuminated his skin in an unnatural way. His body was burning up—more than would be desirable or expected. Caressing his face with her slender, cold fingers, she hummed in a serene voice, "My darling boy, allow mother to help you. You will see. Soon we will claim the role that was always meant for us."

Anabella swiftly licked and drank the blood that was trickling from his arm with eagerness. After the skin was clean, she moved closer to the holes she had already made in his skin, injecting more of her own aetheric blood into his circulation to alleviate his aching body. She then retrieved the phial, which still contained human blood, and began pouring it between her son's quivering lips. The effects were almost instantaneous.

"No! Move away from me." As his mind finally became clearer, Joshua shook off his mother's hand and threw the container to the floor. A grimace of sadness and loathing twisted his features. Extending an arm in front of him, he stopped Anabella from closing the distance. He simply could not fathom what had just happened, what he had just done. In an instant, he brought his other arm to his mouth and rubbed his lips abruptly. The metallic taste didn't disappear, and the copper smell just seemed to intensify.

"Joshua!"

"Stay away!" When he sensed his mother's footsteps behind him, he turned his back and walked away with unsteady strides. Thoughts seemed to spin through his head at the speed of light, turning the visions of what he had just done into a hellish kaleidoscope. By the Founder! What had he done? The images that rotated endlessly in his mind showed how he had consumed the blood. He had acted like a man who suddenly found water in an oasis after languishing in the desert for days in a row. Unquenchable. He teetered.

Anabella saw that Joshua was about to fall. She rushed forward to support her son's fall and cradled his body in her arms. He was unresponsive, in a state akin to unconsciousness.

She opened his tunic and examined his torso. A tangle of thick veins had risen to the surface of Joshua's chest and pulsed with the glow of aetheric blue. A smile spread across her face, and she let out a sigh of relief. The metamorphosis was complete, and Joshua would soon be able to use his new vampire abilities. Tenderly, she held his body. Her son was again a newborn, and Anabella, his caring and loving mother. All was finally as it should be.

Being sucked into and plunging into an endless abyss. That's how Joshua felt as the pain and pressure in his body subsided and a wave of lethargy washed over him. One by one, his five senses failed him. Never before had he felt immersed in such darkness. Was that the end?

Suddenly, images began to fill his mind, like intruders, as a surge of a new, unknown power flowed through his body. It was then that he saw her: a cute, little brunette girl with fearless umber eyes and a kind smile on her lips. A familiar warmth seemed to reach him, despite his now cold body. If the images were real, Joshua would have permitted himself to smile back. However, the scene was quick to change when the girl's innocent features were contorted into a grimace of pain, and she collapsed to the ground. She was terribly wounded. As rose petals began to fall from the sky and scattered in the wind like droplets of soft rain, his vision drew him nearer to the girl. The "him" in that dreamlike reality got even closer to her. Joshua tried to close his eyes, but that proved impossible, as he knew that was not reality, and therefore nothing he could do would allow him to escape. He gulped and strained for air, although those instinctive bodily reactions were completely useless in his current state. Even if it was only a mere dream, Joshua could not bear the thought of what he was about to do. Powerless to prevent the act, agony befell him as his cursed dream form finally touched the girl. Her eyes snapped open, and she observed him. Her gaze was tinged with an emotion Joshua couldn't make sense of. Only one thing was clear: the vision tugged at his (figurative) heartstrings with overwhelming force.

And the same happened every time Joshua was plagued with that vision from that night onwards.