tashy

She told me to write. That it might help.

She said, “If you’re going to spend your days pacing and sighing, you might as well let the pages hear it too. At least they won’t talk back.”

I think she knew the silence was swallowing me.

So, Here I am. Writing. Or… trying to.

How does one start something like this?

“My father is dead.”

That seems as good a beginning as any.

That should be the end of the sentence, shouldn’t it?

But the words echo louder than I expected.

They don’t feel like triumph. They feel like grief. Like a hole I can’t stop staring into.

⸻

He looked at me with madness in his eyes. And then, for a moment — just a moment — there was clarity. Recognition. He knew me. Not as the soldier who stood in his way, but as his son. As his child. That broke me more than any blow he dealt.

But you reached him. Not with blades. Not with fire. With your magic, the moon blessed powers.

With illusions of who he was before grief made him a monster.

She pulled them from my mind — images I didn’t know I had locked away. My mother. My childhood. Laughter. Wine. Snow in the castle courtyard. Her hand on his chest.

He hesitated.

That was all I needed.

The stake drove clean.

He didn’t scream.

He didn’t curse.

He only looked at me.

And I think, in the end… he forgave me.

Or maybe I only hope he did.

And I think, in the end… he forgave me.

Or maybe I only hope he did.

Even now, I don’t know if I feel anger… or pity.

He died not as a monster, but as a broken man in a shattered home, whispering my mother’s name.

I sometimes wonder if the madness took him… or if the pain of losing her was simply too much.

If I hadn’t struck the killing blow, he would’ve withered in his grief anyway.

I suppose that’s why you gave me this journal.

Because I can’t say these things aloud. Not yet.

Not to Trevor. Not even to Sypha.

And maybe not even to you.

⸻

Now the world expects me to move on.

To rebuild.

To lead.

To be fine.

But I don’t know how to be anything but hollow.

I watch her move through the halls, mending windows and helping villages, and I wonder how she isn’t shattered too. Then I remember — she is. She’s just better at hiding it.

She still laughs sometimes. And when she does, I find my shoulders relaxing before I realise it.

When she leaves the castle, I watch from the tower. I always wait for her to look back.

She always does.

Why does that matter so much?

Why does it terrify me when she’s gone too long?

Why does the sound of her voice steady something in my chest I didn’t know needed calming?

She doesn’t ask much. Never pries.

She left this journal and walked away.

But she knew I’d write eventually.

She always knows.

⸻

She has been… steady.

When I needed silence, she sat beside me and offered nothing but her presence.

When the dreams turned to nightmares, she lit candles and whispered protection spells until the darkness retreated.

When I tried to bury my grief in the hollow routines of this castle, she pulled me back to the world — gently. Always gently.

I do not know what I am becoming.

I have no master. No father. No clear purpose beyond restoring what’s left.

But maybe that’s the beginning.

Maybe this is where I choose who I will be — not as Dracula’s son, not as the last heir to bloodshed and legacy —

But as Adrian.

Just Adrian.

And she calls me that, too.

She prefers it.

I think I like the way it sounds in her voice.

Maybe I’ll keep writing.

If only for her.

⸻

I suppose that’s all for now.

I still think this is foolish. But maybe foolishness is what I need.

Thank you, …

Even if I never say it aloud.

– Adrian

The scenery suddenly changed as you turned a corner. The trees dwindled, exposing a column of black smoke rising in the distance instead of the road's anticipated continuance. Through the silence of the forest, you heard a faint, discordant chorus of screams and the harsh clang of metal.

You broke into a run, and the others followed closely after. The woodland floor became covered with broken branches and overturned wagons, indicating a frenzied flight. As you pushed past the final few trees, a scene of anarchy emerged in front of you. 

A little settlement, lying in a shallow valley, was under attack. Flickering candles highlighted strange beings, their shapes changing and contorting as they ripped through the thatched roofs and attacked the fleeing residents. The air was heavy with the stink of smoke and anxiety.

"Night creatures," Trevor muttered, pulling out his whip. "And a lot of them."

Villagers, their faces etched with fear, urgently attempted to defend themselves with agricultural implements and homemade weapons, but they were hopelessly outmatched. The beasts, their eyes gleaming with malignant desire, surged through the settlement, their claws and teeth ripping through the residents' defences.

You saw a beast, its form a twisted combination of muscle and shadow, dragging the woman to the outskirts of the hamlet while her scream pierced the air.

It had been a short but heated debate. The urgency of their objective clashed with the frantic shouts coming from the people below, and the air crackled with unsaid tension.

"We don't have time for this," Alucard muttered in a low, clipped voice as he crossed his arms and looked down at the burning community. His golden eyes reflected the orange brightness of the flames, but they remained cold and calculating. "We aren't getting closer to the Hold every second we waste here. Dracula's armies get more powerful every second.”

His reasoning was crisp and uncompromising, and he was focused rather than heartless. Every cry from the village served as a diversion, a departure from the course he believed to be necessary.

Sypha had raised the first objection, her voice full of a calm determination. "This cannot be ignored. These people are being butchered, and they are afraid. We can assist.” Normally filled with wonder and inquiry, her eyes were suddenly shaded with intense empathy. The villagers' dread and their frank and urgent cry for survival struck a chord with her sense of justice. Not merely a nuisance to be avoided, she saw the faces of the fearful.

The grudging hero Trevor let out a sigh that was heavy with the weight of innumerable struggles and hard-earned skepticism. "As much as I hate to admit it, we need food and a nice bed. Furthermore, I don't think we'll find a more hospitable setting than the one we could save." He used a dry sense of humor in his speech to cover up the fatigue that was eating away at him. However, there was a glimmer of something more beneath the sarcasm: a grudging sense of accountability. Even if he acted otherwise, he had witnessed too much misery to just go. In his heart, he knew he couldn't abandon them to perish.

You watched the scene warily, your eyes darting from the far-off flames to Alucard's tight position. You felt the burden of your role as a saintess pressing down on you. You protected the defenseless and were a ray of hope. You were betraying your fundamental mission if you turned away from sorrow. 

The peasants' cries served as a sharp reminder of your responsibility and caused a physical ache in your chest. You were clearly struggling with yourself. Alucard's pragmatism clashed fiercely with your instinctive need to protect. Your emotions begged for action even though you could see the strategic significance of their mission and the logic of his statements.

You parted your lips to speak, to remind Alucard of the value of human life and their obligation to defend the weak. However, Alucard quickly straightened up, his attitude changing from calculating to tired acceptance before you could say another word.

"Fine," he admitted, growling softly. "We'll assist them. However, we work fast. After getting all the necessary supplies, we leave immediately.” 

With a sneer on his lips, Trevor raised an eyebrow. "All right, all right. Take a look at that. He only back down when The dear Saintess was about to say something. In the end, the vampire has a heart.

Alucard gave him a sour look. "Belmont, don't confuse compassion with weakness. Nothing is changed by this. Our goal is still our top priority.”

A wave of relief washed over you. You hadn't even had to say anything. Maybe Alucard saw the unflinching resolution in your eyes, or maybe he knew you too well. For whatever reason, lives would be saved because he had given in. You gave him a tiny, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Alucard."

There was complete panic in the village. A symphony of death reverberated through the air as night creatures, their eyes blazing with evil desire, swarmed through the winding streets. The villagers gathered close to one another, their bodies shaking in fright and their faces scarred with fear.

It had been a quick but vicious battle. The town had been ripped apart by a herd of night creatures, who had left devastation in their wake. Only a small number of people were still engaged in combat when the group got there.

You were the first to enter the battle, and as you slew the beast, silver light flared around you. As Trevor's whip sliced through blood and bone, Sypha summoned fire and ice with relentless accuracy. And with his blade slicing through the night creatures with ruthless efficiency, Alucard—Alucard was death in motion.

The village was still standing by dusk.

You had expected gratitude. What all of you hadn’t expected was reverence.

When the last monster fell, silence settled over the village.

Then came the cheers.

The villagers spilled from their hiding places, rushing toward them.

"You saved us!" a woman cried, tears streaming down her face. "We thought we were lost!"

A group of children, wide-eyed, tugged at your cloak. "Are you an angel?" one asked in hushed reverence.

Trevor, smirking, nudged her with his elbow. “Yeah, moonbeam. Are you an angel? She’s a real divine presence, a saintess who curses under her breath.”

You shot him a glare. “Oh, shut up. Don’t encourage this.”

The village elder approached, bowing deeply. “You shone through the darkness, all of you. A beacon of light when we had none. You are our star.”

“You came like a falling star,” one of the elders murmured, his old hands clasped together. His eyes, clouded by age, gleamed with something like awe. “A light in the darkness.”

The villagers had begun calling all of you the STAR. The ones who appeared when all seemed lost. The ones who shone in the night. "You are the STAR that shines in our darkness. May your light guide us through the night." The villages murmured in agreement, urging you guys to rest for the night.

Alucard exchanged a glance with Trevor. He could practically hear the gears turning in the hunter's head, the internal struggle between politeness and blunt honesty. He felt a slight grimace tug at the corner of his lips. STAR? It sounded… well, a bit corny.

Trevor cleared his throat. "That's… very kind of you," he said, the forced enthusiasm evident in his voice. He subtly nudged Sypha with his elbow. "STAR? That’s what we’re going with?" He ran a hand down his face. "Gods above, I need a drink." He whispered loud enough that only the four of them could heard it.

Sypha, ever the diplomat, smiled warmly at the villagers. "It's a beautiful sentiment," she said, her voice smooth. "Thank you." She shot a quick, pointed look at Alucard and Trevor, a silent warning to behave themselves.

Trevor scoffed at the name, muttering something about dramatic peasants, a hint of discomfort in his eyes, his cheeks flushing slightly. He shifted his weight, glancing at Alucard, his expression a mix of embarrassment and amusement. 

Sypha smiled warmly, her eyes filled with compassion, a gentle glow radiating from her. Sypha, of course, found it endearing.

But you—you couldn’t shake the weight of it.

Because you knew stars burned out.

And you were already flickering.

You stayed for two nights.

You had spent most of your time healing the wounded, though you tried to conceal just how much it took from you. You were careful—never using more than necessary, always keeping the strain from showing.

Alucard had noticed anyway.

Later on the second night, he had found you sitting alone near the village outskirts, the moon casting silver light over your weary form.

“You should rest.”

You didn’t look at him, instead watching the lantern-lit village below. “They call us the Star.”

Alucard hummed, taking a seat beside you. “You dislike it.”

“I don’t dislike it.” You exhaled. “But I know what happens to stars.”

Alucard was quiet for a moment. Then, with uncharacteristic gentleness, he said, “Not all of them fall.”

You turned to him then, searching his face for something—assurance, belief, something to hold onto.

And you found it.

You smiled, just slightly. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to keep burning.”

Alucard held your gaze. “Not alone.”

And beneath the watchful moon, the Star flickered on.

The village was quiet now, the fires extinguished, the dead buried. The people were safe—for now—and for the first time in what felt like weeks, the group could afford to rest.

Trevor, however, had different ideas.

“If we’re staying the night, we might as well celebrate,” he declared, dropping heavily onto a bench outside the small tavern. “And that means drinking.”

Sypha rolled her eyes but took a seat beside him. “We saved a village, not a kingdom.”

Trevor grinned. “Exactly! Which means we still have enough sense left to enjoy it.” He glanced at you, who was sitting awkwardly beside Alucard, your fingers absently tracing patterns in the dirt, exhaled, ready to retreat into your thoughts.

“Oh, no you don’t” Trevor’s voice cut through your brooding like a whip crack. You startled as he marched over and grabbed you by the wrist. 

“Trevor---”

“Nope! Not happening. I’ve seen that look before. You’re about to mope yourself into a spiral, and I refuse to let that happen. We already have enough brooding from the Brooding Prince.” He gestured at Alucard. 

Before you could argue, he was already dragging you toward the village tavern, much to the amusement of Alucard and Sypha, who followed behind. “God, forgive my sin.” 

“Please you’re being so dramatic.” 

“Trevor, I don’t think—”

“Exactly. That’s the point! No thinking, just drinking.” He shoved the door open with unnecessary flair.

The tavern was alive with laughter and celebration, villagers toasting to their survival. Trevor wasted no time securing a table, slamming a tankard of ale in front of you with a grin. “Here. You’re trying this.”

You crossed your arms. “I fail to see the appeal of burning my throat for the sake of ‘celebration.’”

“That’s because you haven’t actually drunk before.” Trevor shoved a wooden tankard into your hands. “Beer is different. Less pretentious. Less likely to make you whine about flavor.”

You peered into the tankard as if it contained poison. “It smells terrible.”

“It is terrible,” Alucard deadpanned.

Trevor shot him a glare. “Don’t listen to him. He’s too good for ‘peasant drinks.’”

“I have taste.”

“You have a stick up your ass.”

Sypha snorted, taking a sip of her own drink.

You sighed. “And what, exactly, do I get out of this?”

“The experience,” Trevor said smugly. “You claim to be adventurous, don’t you? Or are you scared?”

Your eyes narrowed.

Sypha smirked. “Oh, now you’ve done it.”

With a huff, you lifted the tankard to your lips and took a sip.

And nearly choked.

“Ugh!” You coughed, shoving the tankard back into Trevor’s hands. “That is disgusting!”

Trevor was laughing so hard he nearly fell off the bench.

Sypha clapped her hands together. “Oh, that was priceless.”

Alucard merely smirked. “I did warn you.”

You wiped at your mouth, scowling. “How do people enjoy this?”

Trevor, still chuckling, took a deep drink from his own mug. “Because, princess, after a few more, you stop tasting it.”

You glared at him. “I am never drinking again.”

“Oh, you will,” Sypha said with a grin. “Just wait until the next festival.”

You groaned.

Alucard, ever the amused observer, merely wrapped an arm around your shoulder and whispered, “I’ll make sure you survive it.”

You leaned into him with a sigh. “I hate you all.”

Trevor raised his drink. “To The Saintess’s first drink!”

And much to your dismay, the entire tavern cheered.

Sypha patted your back encouragingly. “You get used to it!”

Alucard smirked behind his wine glass. “Or you don’t.”

Trevor leaned in with a wicked grin. “You will.” He raised his own drink. “Round two.”

You groaned but took another sip.

By the third, your face scrunched up less. By the fourth, you were warming to it. By the fifth, you were giggling.

Trevor grinned. “See? I told you it grows on you!”

Sypha was giggling along with you, already a few drinks in. Even Alucard looked more relaxed, watching them with quiet amusement.

You shook her head, still laughing. “You dragged me here just for this?”

Trevor smirked, raising his tankard in a toast. “To not brooding.”

You rolled your eyes but clinked your drink against his. “Fine. To not brooding.”

As the night wore on, laughter filled the tavern, and for a while, you were just four people sharing drinks, stories, and terrible jokes.

It started, as most things did between you, over something stupid.

The rain had finally stopped, leaving the ground damp and the air thick with the scent of wet earth. Their small camp was quiet, save for the crackling fire and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. Trevor was sharpening his sword, Sypha was sipping tea, and Adrian and you—

Well.

Adrian and you were at it again.

"You’re being reckless." Adrian’s voice was calm, too calm, which meant he was trying very hard not to lose his patience.

You, arms crossed, didn’t so much as flinch. "And you’re being overbearing."

Trevor let out a long, pained sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "Oh, for the love of—are they fighting or flirting?"

Sypha, completely unbothered, took another sip of tea. "Yes."

Trevor frowned. "That’s not an answer."

"It is, actually." Sypha gestured toward the scene before them, where Adrian and you were locked in a stare-down, standing far too close for it to be just an argument.

"You can’t keep throwing yourself into danger like this," Adrian was saying, his golden eyes sharp, his posture tense.

"And you can’t keep acting like I need protecting," You shot back, your voice smooth but edged with challenge.

Adrian scoffed, running a hand through his damp hair. "That’s because you do."

"Oh? And who made you the sole authority on that?" You arched a brow, tilting your head just slightly, a knowing little smirk playing on your lips.

Trevor let out another groan, throwing his head back. "I CAN’T DO THIS. Sypha, we have to do something before they combust."

Sypha hummed thoughtfully. "No, I think we should let this play out."

"LET THIS PLAY OUT?" Trevor repeated in disbelief. "Are you mad?"

Sypha only shrugged. "Look at them. They’re arguing, but they’re also making very intense eye contact. There’s a lot of lingering tension. Neither of them is backing down." She took another sip. "Classic foreplay."

Trevor choked. "WHAT?! I CAN’T DO THIS. Sypha, it’s like watching two cats pretend they don’t want to cuddle."

"Mmm," Sypha mused, "I give them another month before one of them snaps."

Trevor groaned into his hands. "I hate this."

Meanwhile, Adrian had stepped even closer to you, voice low and carefully controlled. "One of these days, your recklessness is going to get you killed."

Your smirk didn’t waver. "And yet, you’re always there to catch me."

Adrian’s jaw clenched.

For a fleeting moment, something flickered across his face—frustration, exasperation, but also something else. Something he refused to name.

You saw it. Of course, you did.

And because you were you, you leaned in just slightly, your voice turning almost sweet.

"Oh? No sharp words now?"

Adrian exhaled sharply through his nose. "You frustrate me beyond belief."

"And yet," You mused, "you never walk away."

Trevor threw his hands up in defeat. "KILL ME."

Sypha, watching with an amused glint in her eye, watching the way Adrian’s fingers twitched—as if resisting the urge to touch you—only smiled.

"No."

He vowed never to do this again.

He was aware that you weren't meant for him.

He was aware that you treated him like a hunter, forcing him to chase and desire.

Anyway, here he was.

Once more.

"We say it’s over, But I keep fucking with you And everytime I do I wake up With this love hangover”

Suna never enjoyed excessive drinking, but you?

You were intoxicated in a different way.

The kind that caused his heart to ache, his body to burn, and his head to spin in ways he couldn't name.

The sort that left him feeling as though he would do it again, the ghost of your nails on his skin, and your perfume remained on his sheets when he woke up.

"Ah shit, I did it again, Call me back, call me back, call me back”

He was no longer even shocked.

He called, of course. You responded, of course. Naturally, you allowed him back in as though things wouldn't end the same way they usually did.

Because, wasn't that the thing?

No matter how hard you fought or how strongly you insisted that it was finished—

You would always return.

He would, too.

Suna had lost track of how many times this had happened.

The fights. The silence. The longing.

And then the inevitable pull—magnetic, toxic, and damn near impossible to resist.

"I’m so, I’m so shady I really don’t mind when you play me Wanna switch it up, go crazy I ain’t gonna leave till you hate me”

Perhaps that was the issue.

You didn't despise him. Not quite enough.

And he—well, he didn't hate you at all.

But he should, he knew.

He should have blocked your number, stopped knocking on your door, and stopped allowing you to slide back into his bed as if it weren't destroying him, piece by piece.

But each time he even considered leaving, you intervened—laughed at one of his sarcastic jokes, carelessly caressed his wrist, or drew him closer for a final kiss.

Swiftly he found himself back at the beginning.

"We say it’s over, But I keep fucking with you And everytime I do I wake up With this love hangover”

He shifted onto his side and let out a groan, the sunlight blazing into his sleep-deprived eyes through his curtains.

Instinctively, his arm out, only to discover frigid blankets.

Empty.

Figures.

By now, he ought to be accustomed to this.

As if staying any longer would make it real, you always left before the morning.

As if that would compel you both to acknowledge that this was more than just sex, whatever the devil it was.

That it had never been.

"You got me pouring for two I swore I never do it again Until you came over”

With a sharp sigh, he wiped his face while his phone buzzed next to him.

Before he even looked, he knew who it was.

Nevertheless—he checked.

Call me back

Suna laughed.

He ought to disregard it.

He ought to throw his phone across the room, get up, and do what he promised himself.

He ought to.

However—his fingertips lingered over your name instead.

And even before he hit the dial, he was aware—

That he was going to do it once more.

The line hardly rang before you answered.

"Took you long enough."

Your voice was taunting and lazy, as if you knew he would call. As if you never doubted it.

Suna sat up and rubbed his temple with two fingers. "Yes, yeah. "What do you want?"

A pause. The sound of sheets rustling on your end.

"Come over."

Only two words. Simple. Dangerous.

He breathed through his nose and leaned back against the headboard. "Thought we said we were done.”

You chuckled softly and knowingly. "We say a lot of things, Rin."

Wasn't that the truth?

"Ah shit, I did it again, Call me back, call me back, call me back Oh, but you know I’m gonna do it again”

Suna could already predict how this would turn out.

He'd get up, put on sweatpants, and grab his keys. He'd persuade himself on the way over that it was the last time. That when daylight arrived, he'd finally walk away.

Then he would see you.

And everything would go to hell.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're a pain in my ass, you know that?"

You chuckled, and he could hear the grin in your tone. "And yet… you're still coming, aren't you?"

Suna stared at the ceiling, allowing the silence to spread.

Then, a low, resigned "Yeah."

As if you already knew you had won, he heard you murmur with delight.

"Hurry up then."

The line died.

Suna dragged a palm down his face and dropped his phone onto his bed.

He ought to quit. The cycle should be broken.

However, he was already aware—

He was going to do it once more.

You closed your eyes and concentrated on the fading, smoky embers of lunar energy inside of you. You visualized a wall of moonlight and a shimmering barrier, and then, with a burst of willpower, you created the energy. “Please don’t embarrass me moonlight,” you muttered under your breath. 

A beast pounced at Trevor, its claws dripping with ichor. A shimmering, semi-transparent shield appeared before its claws could touch him, repelling the assault with a dull thud. The creature flinched, its confused eyes wide. Trevor hardly glanced at the shield before turning his focus to another beast, a glimmer of astonishment visible in his eyes.

With a pack of animals around her and her face twisted from concentration, Sypha was fighting to keep her shields up. Your brow furrowed as you focused, and a sphere of glistening light surrounded her. The snarls of the beasts became irritated growls as their claws scraped futilely against the barrier. With a brief respite, Sypha let forth a torrent of fire, sending the creatures exploding in flames.

With a controlled aggression, Alucard danced in a deadly tango with a particularly nimble monster. You saw a momentary gap, a lapse in the creature's defences. You held out your hand, a tiny, focused sphere of lunar light forming in your hand. By flicking your wrist, the orb sped in the direction of the creature's eyes, blinding it with a white light. Taking advantage of the situation, Alucard slashed the beast's chest with his sword, causing it to dissolve into a cloud of ash.

You went on, breathing shallowly and moving deliberately. A dazzling flash of light when required, a protecting dome here, a shimmering wall there. You served as a silent protector and a delicate force barrier to keep the approaching darkness at bay.  

Alucard's strikes sharpened with determination, Trevor's whip flicked with deadly precision, and Sypha's flames roared with devastating power. The creatures, battered by the relentless barrage and your ethereal shields, began to falter, their bodies crumbling into dust and shadow.

The last creature fell with a thud, its menacing growl fading into the night. The clearing was shrouded in silence, the air heavy with the afterglow of magic. 

Trevor wiped a patch of grime from his face and stared at you with narrowed eyes. He whispered, "Those… shields," pointing to the shimmering remnants of your power. "You made those? Moonbeam, you're more than just a sparkler, aren't you?”

You rolled your eyes, a glimmer of irritation briefly taking precedence over your fatigue. You shot back, your voice tinged with a fatigue that verged on frustration. "Yes, Trevor, I created them," you said. "And I'm not 'sparkles and shine.' I'm trying to keep us all alive."

Sypha's eyes glowed warmly as she smiled at you. "You were incredible," she said in a tone full of sincere appreciation. You gave her a tiny, sincere grin as a quiet token of appreciation for the help.  "Thank you, Sypha."

Alucard nodded slowly and thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on yours. He said, "Your abilities are… impressive," with a rich, melodious echo in his voice.

A glimpse of something unreadable flickered between you as you locked eyes with him.  You said, "Thank you, Alucard," in a quieter tone. You experienced a peculiar mixture of relief and lingering discomfort. Even though you had demonstrated your talent, the curse's depleting effects persisted, serving as a continual reminder of your weakness.  

You attempted to ignore the slight pain in your limbs as you turned your head away from him and towards the now-quiet woodland. You broke the momentary pause by asking, "Well, what now? Do we just stand here, waiting for more of those things to show up?"

"We can't linger," Trevor stated in a sharp tone, cutting the lingering tension. “Those night creatures will be back and we can’t be sure Dracula’s underlings aren't watching us.”

Sypha gave a nod of consent. "We should find a safer place to rest and tend to our wounds." Her face seemed worried as she looked at you. "Especially yours."

Alucard stared at the treeline for a minute without saying anything. When he eventually said, "There's an old abandoned monastery to the north," "It's been deserted for centuries, but it should provide shelter."

"A monastery?" Trevor snorted. "Sounds cheery."

"It's the best option we have," Alucard stated firmly. "It's secluded, defensible, and far from any populated areas. We need to rest before we can venture."

With a clap of his hands, Trevor declared, "Okay, north it is." Let's get moving before our uninvited guests decide to pay us another visit."

The four of you leave the clearing behind and head into the darkness, Alucard at the head of the way. The only sound in the forest was the rustle of leaves underfoot. You all strolled in silence, absorbed in your thoughts.

You were curious about what was waiting for you at the monastery. More peril? More conflicts? Or maybe a peaceful moment at last. You looked around at your friends. Alucard appeared to be always on guard, his senses sharpened, his countenance a mask of indifference. Trevor strode with a resolute gait, his hand always close to his whip, his brow strained. With a reassuring grin, Sypha strolled beside you, her eyes full of peaceful strength.

These odd pals were still unknown to you. However, they appeared committed to keeping you safe and had saved your life. And you had a glimmer of hope for the first time in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, you weren't fighting this battle alone. Together, you might be able to overcome any obstacles that may arise.

Long, swirling shadows were thrown by the moon, a thin crescent blade in the dark sky, twisting familiar trees into ominous, grotesque shapes. A dismal memory of the conflicts of the night, the musty smell of the moist ground blended with the coppery tang that clung to you, a metallic reminder of spilled blood. The mark of Trevor’s whip was a flaming brand against your skin, a searing line of pain, and your wrist throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that radiated up your arm.

"How far?" you uttered, your voice almost audible above the sound of rustling leaves and your own laboured breathing, each breath a painful reminder of your exhaustion.

Alucard settled into a rhythm next to you, his motions smooth and quiet, a sharp contrast to your own tired, stumbling pace. Their forms faded in and out of the moonlight patches as Trevor and Sypha continued their whispered chat ahead, their voices a low, comforting murmur.

His piercing, observant eyes, like twin pools of molten gold, fell upon your wounded wrist, their intensity making you instinctively flinch. He said, "You are wounded," in a low, resonant hum, a smooth cadence that seemed to vibrate through the very air.

As though to hide the wound from his view, you reflexively drew your arm closer, a desperate attempt to shield yourself from his scrutiny. You whispered, "It's nothing," in a tight, guarded voice, your jaw clenched against the pain.

His quiet was a burden in and of itself, a heavy silence that pressed down on you, but he didn't press. "Bleeding does not mean it’s nothing," he said plainly, leaving the remark lingering between you like a cold, unspoken truth.

You let out a sigh, a tired resignation, the weight of the night settling heavily on your shoulders. "It was due to my false courage of trying to attack a hunter, a speaker and a vampire," you shake your head, annoyed at your own bad decision, a bitter taste in your mouth.

He gave no false pledges or clichés. He merely nodded, his eyes resting on your wrist for a brief second, his expression unreadable, before shifting back to the road in front of him. But there was a weird comfort in having him by your side, a silent, watchful guardian, his presence a steady, unwavering force.

With the distant hoot of an owl and the rustle of leaves, the silence stretched like a tapestry, woven with unspoken questions and unspoken fears. In the chilly night air, you could feel the weight of his stare, the ancient power that radiated from him, a palpable energy that made you shiver.

Before you could stop yourself, the question slipped out of your mouth: "Why? Why are you helping me?"

He didn't respond right away, instead keeping his eyes on the road ahead as though he was searching for a response in the fading darkness. He finally said the words, "You are the Saintess," in a low, melodious growl, his voice resonating with an ancient authority. "You are needed."

You repeated, "Needed?" as a query and an appeal for comprehension, your brow furrowed in confusion. "However, I don't get it. For what purpose am I required?”

"To fight," he answered in a hard, determined tone, his voice laced with an unyielding resolve. "To fight a battle unlike any other."

Your features were obscured by confusion. "A battle?" you asked in a doubtful tone of voice, a flicker of irony in your eyes. You wanted to laugh at the absurdity, “You do know ‘The Saintess is a healer’, right?” You air quoted it in the same tone those bishops used to worship and introduced you.

Alucard opened his mouth, debating on whether he should just tell you, his eyes flickering with an internal struggle, but he shook his head and just nodded. You stopped in your tracks, laced with confusion, but continued your pace, catching up to Alucard.

The trip to the monastery was a haze of fatigue and anxiety. Your legs ached and your head was still spinning from the night's events as you staggered up the overgrown path, each step a painful effort. Every step was difficult because of the curse, which constantly depleted your power, leaving you weak and vulnerable.

You finally arrived at the monastery as the first rays of dawn tinged the sky in shades of purple and grey. It was a dilapidated wreck, with ivy growing up its walls and windows that were dark and deserted, a skeletal reminder of its former glory. However, it provided cover, a brief escape from the forest's perils.

Your body was heavy with fatigue as you fell upon a stone bench covered with moss in the courtyard, the rough texture of the stone a stark contrast to your aching muscles. Sypha, Trevor, and Alucard huddled around you, their faces displaying a mix of interest and worry, their eyes searching yours for answers.

"So," said Trevor in a gruff voice, a hint of concern beneath the gruffness, "you were running. From those creatures?"

You nodded while keeping your eyes on the dilapidated archway that opened into the inner courtyard, a sense of unease lingering in your gut. You continued, "And… other things," in a hardly audible voice, your voice trembling slightly.

"Other things?" With a wrinkled brow, Sypha inquired, her eyes filled with a gentle curiosity.

"I… I don't remember much before," you initially said in a tentative tone, your voice barely a whisper. "Just… the Church."

"The Church?" Trevor snorted, a hint of derision in his voice. "What, you were a nun on the run?"

With a glimmer of pain on your face, your eyes clouding with painful memories, you shook your head. "I was raised there," you clarified in a strained tone, your voice thick with emotion. "Everything was it. My family, my home, my mission." The words caught in your throat as you paused, struggling to contain the surge of emotion. "Until they turned on me."

“Turned on you?” Sypha sat next to you, her hands warm as she rested them on top of yours, offering solace in any way she could, her touch a comforting anchor in the storm of your memories. “What happened?”

You hesitated, the memories, a tangled web of confusion and betrayal, threatening to overwhelm you. "Lunar magic. I can defend, I can heal, I'm capable of things others don't comprehend. They tried to control me in ways that I refused and--"

"And they tried to kill you?" Alucard inquired in a menacingly low voice, his voice a chilling echo of your own fears.

With a chill down your spine, you nodded, your eyes wide with a lingering terror. The words hung in the air, a stark echo of the nightmare that had become your reality. As the others watched, their expressions a mixture of concern and morbid curiosity, the fragments of your past began to coalesce, sharp and vivid, like shards of broken glass.

A flood of sunlight, warm and golden, poured through the stained-glass windows of the church. The air hummed with the sound of chanting, the melodic voices of the choir rising in a harmonious chorus. You, a young girl, knelt before the altar, your hands clasped in prayer. The intricate patterns of the stained glass danced across your face, painting it with vibrant hues. A gentle hand rested on your shoulder, and you looked up to see the kind, weathered face of the head priest, his eyes filled with a paternal affection. "You are blessed, " he whispered, his voice warm and reassuring. "The light of the moon shines brightly within you."

You remembered the library, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls, their pages whispering secrets of lunar magic. You spent countless hours there, absorbing knowledge like a sponge, your mind eager to understand the power that flowed through your veins. The priests praised your dedication, your aptitude for healing, your ability to channel the moon's energy. You were their prized student, their shining star.

The feasts, the celebrations, the sense of belonging. The warmth of camaraderie, the feeling of purpose. You were a part of something larger than yourself, a vessel for the moon's benevolent power. You believed in their words, in their teachings, in their love.

The warm images shattered, replaced by the cold, harsh reality of betrayal.

The meeting room was dark, the air thick with tension. The faces of the priests, once filled with kindness, were now contorted with fear and anger. "You are a threat," the head priest hissed, his voice laced with venom. "Your power is too great, too unpredictable. We cannot allow you to remain."

The accusations, the whispers, the fear-mongering. "Heretic," they called you, their voices echoing through the halls. "Sinner. Abomination." The words stung like acid, burning away the last vestiges of your innocence.

The chase. The frantic flight through the labyrinthine corridors of the church, the sound of their footsteps echoing behind you, a relentless pursuit. The glint of steel, the flash of torches, the roar of their voices. "Stop her!" they cried, their voices filled with bloodlust.

The gates, once a symbol of sanctuary, were now a barrier, a prison. You stumbled through them, your heart pounding with terror, the sound of their enraged cries echoing in your ears. The world outside was a blur of trees and shadows, a stark contrast to the familiar walls of your home.

The villages, once havens of safety, were now battlegrounds. The screams of the innocent, the clash of steel, the stench of burning flesh. The faces of your protectors, contorted with pain and fear, their bodies falling to the ground, lifeless.

You blinked, the images fading, leaving you breathless and trembling. The weight of the memories pressed down on you, a suffocating blanket of grief and betrayal. You were no longer the innocent girl who had knelt before the altar, filled with faith and hope. You were a hunted fugitive, a pariah, a survivor. The Church, your home, your family, had become your enemy, and the world outside, a dangerous, unforgiving wilderness. “They pursued and hounded me into the woods. They murdered those who attempted to defend me and destroyed the villages where I was safe.”

Trevor murmured, "I have never been a fan of those bloody bastards," as his fist clenched. "So you've just been running since then?" With a gentle tone, Sypha inquired.

Unable to speak, you nodded once more. The memories came flooding back, along with the betrayal, uncertainty, and terror. You had sacrificed your life for the Church, devoted yourself to its principles, and received violence and hatred in return.

The courtyard was silent, and it pressed down on you, a suffocating weight mirroring the burden of your own memories. You weren't sure how to accept the silent consolation that Sypha's warm hands continued to provide over yours, her gentle touch a stark contrast to the icy grip of fear. Unusually silent, Trevor stroked his palm over his jaw, his eyes dark with a weariness that hinted at a deeper understanding. But Alucard was still inscrutable, his golden eyes examining you with a chilling ferocity, an intensity that made you feel exposed.

At last, Trevor shook his head and mumbled, "I detest priests. Self-righteous idiots. I've never seen one who wasn't attempting to murder, burn, or intoxicate me.” The amusement, a thin, sardonic smile, didn't quite reach his eyes as he scoffed. "They don't seem to have changed all that much."

You exhaled sharply, a bitter hiss that escaped your lips, almost like a laugh. "No, they have not. Not that I've participated in any of their drinking activities." Trevor clutched his mouth in mock disbelief. "You my friend, when we find a bar, we're getting beer."

Sypha's fingers gently squeezed yours before letting go, her eyes holding yours with a quiet reassurance. "You're not alone anymore," she replied softly. "Whatever happens next, we'll figure it out together." You wanted to believe it, your heart aching with the need for that truth. However, the weight of years spent fleeing, hiding, and battling did not evaporate overnight.

Alucard finally spoke. "You need rest." His tone was stern, but not cruel, a subtle softening in his voice that betrayed his concern. "The curse, the fight—you're pushing yourself too far."

You squared your shoulders, instinctively defensive. "I'm fine."

His eyes shifted to your shaking fingers and the way you still held your wrist close to your chest, a protective shield against unseen pain. He didn't say anything, but the look he gave you indicated he wasn't convinced, the intensity of his gaze a silent accusation.

Trevor sighed, a sound that carried the weight of weary resignation. "Fine or not, we are all fatigued. Let us get inside before something decides to finish what the night creatures started."

Like the skeletal remains of your history, the monastery was dead. The musty smell of damp earth and old parchment hung in the air as crumbling stone hallways extended into the night. Dust swirled in the glints of moonlight that filtered through shattered stained glass, casting fractured patterns of color on the floor. From the murals, you could see the broken faces of saints who had been forgotten, their cracked features and faded colors a testament to neglect and time.

A proper home for the abandoned.

Trevor grunted and fell onto a stone ledge. "If anything tries to eat us, wake me up." Despite rolling her eyes, Sypha sought cover close to him.

You didn't sit right away. Rest seemed like an unaffordable luxury, but the fatigue clung to you, a heavy weight on your limbs. Rather, you approached one of the shattered windows and gazed at the small crescent of the moon. Not much light. It makes sense why your body aches.

Alucard moved closer, his footsteps on the stone almost imperceptible. "You’re still pushing yourself,”

You let out a breath without glancing at him. "Are you this perceptive all the time?"

"When I feel like it." His voice had become softer and less piercing, a subtle warmth replacing the usual chill. "You ought to let Sypha take care of your wounds."

You tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. "Why do you care?"

He paused as if weighing his response. At last, he responded: "Because I've seen what happens to people who fight until there's nothing left of them."

You shivered, a full-body tremor that sent goosebumps down your arms, not because of the cold, but because of the way his words sank deep into your chest, a chilling echo of your own fears. You didn't know what to say to that.

The weight of tiredness ultimately prevailed. You took a slow breath and nodded. "Fine."

Alucard did not respond, but as you turned away, you felt his presence linger for a brief second, a faint warmth in the air, before he retreated into the darkness.

You lay down on the uneven, chilly stone, the cold seeping into your bones. The monastery was a tomb of silence, broken only by the faint rustle of my own worn cloak. Sleep claimed you quickly, but it was not peaceful.

The flames erupted, a blinding, angry red, licking at the crumbling stone and splintering wood. The air shimmered with unbearable heat, and the chants of prayer twisted into a chorus of agonized screams. Hands, gnarled and burning, seized you, pulling, scratching, scorching. A familiar, yet cruelly distorted voice whispered in your ear, each syllable a shard of ice: "Saintess… sinner… heretic."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence, as you gasped awake. The air was heavy with the scent of dust and antiquity, but beneath it, a phantom smell clung to your skin: smoke, acrid and cloying, a taste of a nightmare.

A shadow shifted in the dim light of the waning moon. Alucard. He sat close, his golden eyes reflecting the faint moonlight. Even though he wasn't directly observing you, a subtle tension radiated from him, a silent question hanging in the air. The moonlight caught the sharp angles of his face, highlighting the subtle concern in his expression.

"You aren't asleep," your voice raspy.

"I don't require much." A pause, his gaze flicking to your face. "You had a dream."

You forced yourself to stand, the chill of the stone a stark reminder of your nightmare. "A bad habit."

His eyes searched yours, a silent offer of understanding. "You don't have to deal with them by yourself."

The words lodged in your throat, a lump of unspoken fear. For so long, isolation had been your only shield, your only defense. Now, faced with an offer of connection, you felt a wave of disorientation, a fear of vulnerability. You turned to the window, the rising moon a cold, distant light.

"Get some rest," Alucard urged, his voice softer, a hint of something akin to empathy in his tone.

You nodded, though you doubted sleep would return. Not when the ghosts of your past, the whispers of 'heretic' and the taste of smoke, lingered in the shadows, threatening to consume you.

A false impression of tranquillity pervaded the air as the morning sun's long, golden rays filtered through the trees. The night had been agitated—old wounds reopened, memories roused—but now your determination awoke along with the rest of the world. You looked at the other people. While Sypha stretched and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, Trevor sat by the final remnants of last night's fire, absently polishing the handle of his whip. Alucard was standing a few steps away, engrossed in ideas that were out of your grasp, his eyes focused on the horizon.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Trevor let out a breath. He responded sternly, "Alright," in a somewhat softer tone than previously. We have two options: either we take action or we just stay here and mope about the past. You're already fighting this battle if the Church and those night creatures are pursuing you. Meanwhile, we have more pressing issues to address."

Sypha gave a nod of agreement. "The real danger is Dracula. We require more than simply our own might if we are to have any chance of stopping him. We require information, tools, and a strategy.” 

"Not sure if you caught this while being chased, Moonbeam, but your people, the church, waged war on Dracula by burning his wife at the stake." Trevor paused, a rough scrape in his throat. "His mother," he added, gesturing toward Alucard. "In return, he's waging a war with the whole humanity."

You opened your mouth, a faint "Oh-" escaping, a breathy sound lost in the courtyard's silence. Alucard's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, momentarily dropped to the stone floor, a flicker of something dark and intense passing across them. You bit down on your tongue, the metallic taste of blood a sharp reminder. Not now. Not here.

Push it down. The mantra echoed in your head, a familiar shield against the rising tide of unwanted images. The stained-glass windows, once a source of comfort, now fractured into shards of memory: the flames, the screams, the contorted faces of the dying. His mother. The words, a stark echo of your lost world, threatened to shatter the fragile dam you'd built against the nightmares.

Your cloak felt heavy, a shroud of past betrayals. The Church's brand, invisible but searing, pressed against your skin. Focus. Breathe. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, forcing the images back into the dark corners of your mind. They clawed at the edges of your consciousness, insistent, desperate to break free. No.

Alucard stood a few feet away, his silhouette sharp against the fading moonlight. His hands were clenched at his sides, knuckles white, a silent struggle against an unseen force. His father. The one who should have been a protector is now a source of unimaginable pain.

Did he feel it too? The twisted echo of fate? The Church, a puppeteer's hand forcing your path, just as grief twisted his. A shared burden, a silent understanding you desperately wanted to ignore. Don't think about it. The familiar, desperate denial.

You took a breath, a slow, deliberate inhale, the cool air filling your lungs. No hesitation. The air tasted of ash and damp stone, a bitter reminder of the world you were trying so hard to forget.

Trevor, with a decisive nod, stated, "And thus, we go to Belmont Hold."

Your breath hitched, and the same question formed in your mind as Alucard's. You both spoke at once: "Belmont Hold?"  The sound of your voices, so perfectly aligned, startled you. You felt a warmth spread across your cheeks as you met Alucard’s eyes, a brief, shared moment of surprise. Then, you quickly looked down, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your cloak.

"It's a treasure trove of knowledge," Trevor explained. “A hidden vault housing centuries of accumulated knowledge about monsters, magic, and the instruments required to defeat them. If we're going to stand a chance against Dracula, we need what's inside."

Trevor crossed his arms. "It has been abandoned for years. My family's legacy, and the one thing that could genuinely help us right now. We uncover it, prepare, and then figure out how to defeat the scariest nightmare of all."

A glimmer of doubt twisted within you. Facing Dracula was more than just a struggle; it was a combat against an eternal power of hate and grief. And yet, looking at the three of them—Trevor with his unflinching resolution, Sypha with her calm determination, and Alucard with his eerie intensity—you knew there was no going back. You have already completed the first step.

You took a deep breath and pushed off from the stone bench. "Then we head to the Belmont Hold. We fight Dracula. We put an end to this."

Trevor smirked. "That's the spirit, moonbeam."

Alucard cast you a glance, his golden eyes flickering with something indecipherable. A quiet approval?  A warning? Or something else, buried beneath centuries of grief. 

Either way, the path ahead was clear.

And the four of you stepped forward, bound by fate, purpose, and the looming shadow of war.

“Pretty girls don’t do drama, ‘less we wanna. It’ll be depending on the day. ”

You weren't just attractive; you were dangerous. The type of girl that can annihilate someone without raising a finger. And you knew it. 

You did not ask for permission to exist in a loud manner. You just did. Unapologetic. Fearless. Beautiful in a way that went beyond appearances. 

Suna was not dumb. He noticed how other males looked at you, how they leaned in too close, convinced they had a chance. Convinced that you would even glance at their way.

 A grin appeared on his face as he debated which guy you would let approach. Suna wasn't lying if he didn't wish it would be him.

He also witnessed your dismissive laughter, as if they were not even worthy of your time. 

He liked that about you.

You weren’t just a pretty face. You had a bite. Looks that could kill. 

“Mix me with the drama (drama) Check you like commas (ah) ”

Hours blurred into a flurry of neon lights, and bass-heavy music, and Suna although never letting his gaze away from you, noticed that you got closer. Or was it him that got closer? Not that the details matter. 

The infrequent, carefree yet purposeful touch of Suna’s fingertips against your skin. He never pushed too hard or hung on for too long.

But he never let you stray too far either.

Suna slipped in next to you while you were leaning against the bar and drinking something sweet and potent. Even when he was in his typical laid-back stance, his presence was captivating.

His voice was smooth above the music as he inquired, "Are you enjoying yourself yet?"

You swirled your drink and hummed. "It depends. Will you dance with me or will you spend the entire evening hiding in the shadows?”

His lips twitched. “Lurking’s kind of my thing.”

You rolled your eyes, setting your glass down. “Boring.”

You took hold of his wrist and dragged him onto the dance floor before he could react.

Suna didn’t resist.

"I thought I'd give you a little more time to enjoy the attention,"

He could see the twitching of your lips even as you rolled your eyes.

Yes. You were his.

“Daytime baddie use her mind Quick switch of the fit for the night (night) ”

You moved effortlessly to the music, the rhythm pouring through your blood. Suna, for all of his lack of interest, moved just as fluidly, his hands landing at your waist with confidence that sent shivers down your spine.

It was easy to get lost in him—the way he looked at you, the lazy smirk he hardly bothered to conceal, the way his fingers tightened just enough to indicate he was paying attention.

The air between you was dense with something unsaid, something lurking beneath the surface.

And then— 

“It's not that deep (deep), I'm not that drunk (drunk) Sometimes girls just gotta have fun. ”

—your phone buzzed.

a message. A name on the screen made your stomach turn.

Suna noticed it before you could hide it, his eyes flicking to yours.

"Do you want me to delete it for you?" he inquired, his voice deceptively light.

You sighed, locking your phone and not replying. "No need."

He tilted his head, looking at your face. "You sure?"

You gave a nod. "I'm not that dumb."

Suna refrained from pushing. Didn't ask any questions. Just drew you in, hands warm across your skin.

He whispered, "You look good tonight."

You raised your chin in a smile. "I always look nice."

Leaning forward just enough to let his breath ghost on your ear, Suna laughed.

"Yes," he whispered. "But you're mine tonight."

The message on your phone suddenly becomes irrelevant.

Not when Suna had this look on his face.

“Pretty girls packed in a Defender, know I’ma defend her. Never let her catch no stray. ”

A guy tried to approach you too closely at the club. Too close to his liking.

Suna was there before you could say anything.

With a single sharp look and a well-placed arm between you and the jerk, the message was clear.

You smirked at him and cocked your head. "I didn't think you were the envious kind."

He just shrugged, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I didn't think you were the kind to allow anyone to approach."

You stepped into his personal space and caressed his wrist while laughing.

"Good thing you're not just anybody, isn't that right?"

Yes.

This could become second nature to him. 

“Throw it back, all that ass Me and my sis, way too attached”

You smiled, twisting in Suna's embrace as the bass beat beneath your feet. He wasn't much of a dancer—not in the wild, reckless way you were—but he had his own style of moving, slow and purposeful, hands firm at your waist as if he wasn't going to let you go.

Not tonight.

You caught his glance, golden in the low lighting, keen and unreadable. He wasn't really attempting to figure you out. Suna wasn't the kind to dig. But he noticed you in a way that most others did not.

Perhaps that was what kept you coming back to him.

Maybe that's why you disregarded your phone when it buzzed again.

“It's not that deep (deep), we're not that dumb (dumb) Look at them Bonnies on the run”

With your fingers tightening around the material of his shirt, you whispered, "Let's leave."

Suna smirked slowly and teasedly. "That eager, huh?"

You didn't deny it, but you rolled your eyes.

It might have been the way he gazed at you. Perhaps it was the fact that you didn't feel like running for once, or perhaps it was the way the music and the drinks were making your head spin.

Not from this.

Not from him.

“Love what it feels like To be off of the grid, like, all night ”

In murmured discussions and wavering lighting, time passed slowly. It was a warm night, full of the kind of electricity that buzzed like a live wire between you and Suna. 

He leaned on the hood of his car, observing as you twisted your drink in your palm, his gaze shifting between him and the city skyline.

"Are you always so quiet?" you teased, taking a step closer.

Suna gave a lazy chuckle and tilted his head. "You always this loud?"

A smirk. "Only when I want to be heard."

“Swerve off all the creeps, no weird vibes We ain't never let it ruin a good time”

He moved in a way that you liked—unconcerned, aloof, but somehow always there when it counted. Although he wasn't the kind to hover, he was constantly observing and listening.

You also didn't mind being watched for once.

You slid into the passenger seat of his car and said, "Are you coming or what?"

Suna shook his head and smirked. "Bossy."

Nevertheless, he followed.

“Ain't nobody gon' dim our good light This the words we're living by”

The drive was quiet, but not the awkward kind. The kind where the silence was its own conversation. The kind where every glance meant something.

Suna tapped his fingers on the wheel, stealing a quick look at you. Your head was tilted back, eyes half-lidded, the neon lights outside casting a glow on your skin.

You looked like trouble.

He kinda liked that.

“This that pretty-girl mantra, she's that stunna Make you wanna swing both ways”

At a red light, you turned to face him directly, your eyes flashing with mischief.

"You always this hard to read?"

Suna hummed and pretended to think. "Maybe."

You huffed, but your voice sounded cheerful. "Guess I'll just have to figure you out, then."

He looked at you with an unreadable expression.

"Good luck with that."

But something told him that you were not the sort to back down from a challenge.

And maybe he didn't want you to.

"Inside glowing like the sun (sun, s-) You gonna feel us every day (day)”

With your legs resting on his lap in the backseat and his fingertips making languid lines across your skin, the ride back was peaceful. You two didn't need to say much because Suna didn't want to talk until absolutely necessary.

When he saw you staring back, he simply observed you, his eyes heavy and his lips curling.

"What?" you inquired in a quieter tone than previously.

He dragged his thumb along your knee and whispered, "Nothing." "I was just curious how long you plan to continue acting like this is a lighthearted endeavour."

Even though your breath caught, you continued to look.

He always managed to surprise you just when you thought you understood him.

"I don't act," you remarked.

Leaning back and grinning as if he knew something you didn't, Suna hummed. "Yes."

You detested how quickly he irritated you.

However, you discovered that you didn't really mind as you dragged him into your apartment, his hands grabbing your hips, and his lips meeting yours.

Not when Suna was involved.

Alucard took a deep breath after concluding his survey over the treetops. “I can smell her,” Trevor quirked a brow, “Not her actual aroma, but the lingering effects of her enchantment. It’s there but it’s dim. Like moonlight on dew.”

"Moonlight on dew," Trevor said again, his tone somewhat amused. "You're getting poetic in your old age, Alucard." 

Ignoring him, Alucard concentrated on the enchanted aroma. Alucard stood apart; his gaze focused on the deep forest ahead. He inhaled deeply and his demeanour changed from stoic to something else.  Recognition?  He cocked his head slightly as if listening to something only he could hear. "Well, there's an old settlement constructed around an abandoned chapel; she must have sought refuge or cared for the wounded. We are heading north."

And for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, you let yourself breathe.  The days in Orlin passed with a lovely pace.  You awoke with the sun, assisting the people with their daily work, your hands finding familiar comfort in the dirt, tending crops and caring for cattle.  You sat with the kids, their laughing a melody that chased away the darkness in your heart, telling them simple songs and stories about the moon and stars. 

In the evenings, you gathered with the villagers around the crackling fire, exchanging stories and laughter, the warmth of their company melting the frigid loneliness that had clung to you for so long. However, the nagging thought that this time will not endure is always present in your mind. Nothing lasts in your life. Nothing remains the same. 

The people, with their simple faith and open hearts, looked past the Church's labels.  They saw a woman whose touch could heal wounds and calm restless spirits, not a heretic.  They offered you not only a place to stay but also their understanding after noticing your fatigue and the intense anguish in your eyes. One evening, the village elder informed her, "You bear a heavy load, child."  "But you don't have to carry it alone." 

You looked at her, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.  No one had ever spoken to you like that, with such genuine concern, without the veiled expectations of the Church.  "I'm not meant for this," you whispered, your voice barely audible.  "I'm not meant for kindness, for community.  I bring misfortune, I—" 

The older intervened, "Hush, child," in a soft yet stern voice.  "You provide light and healing.  The darkness should not persuade you otherwise." You wanted to think she was sincere.  In order to forget the atrocities, you had seen and the suffering you were carrying, you wanted to stay and immerse yourself in the village's warmth.  However, the worry was always there, muttering cautions in your ear. 

You were aware that the Church would keep looking for you until they did.  And you couldn't, wouldn't, jeopardise the security of these generous people who had taken you in.  You have witnessed the fate of those who dared to provide your assistance and those who dared to disobey the Church.  You'd heard the cries, smelt the charred flesh, and seen the flames. You cannot let them take innocent again. Not this time. 

You were startled out of your reverie by the watchman's frenzied cries, "The Church! They're coming!" shattered the brittle haven you had discovered in Orlin as it reverberated through the quiet night.  The villagers felt a surge of anxiety, yet they looked at you with eyes that were a mix of defiance and terror.  You felt a strong sense of protection as you witnessed their faith in you and their readiness to keep you safe. 

However, it was a desperation-infused protectiveness.  You were aware of the Church's power.  You were aware that the knights' armour and their zeal would be too strong for the villagers' crude implements and unshakeable faith. 

"We will defend you, Saintess," the village elder said, her voice trembling but resolute.  "We will not let them take you." 

Another sight, a recollection from a lifetime ago, appeared before you as you closed your eyes.  The sun shone on the magnificent church, illuminating the kneeling audience with a rainbow of hues from its stained-glass windows.  The feeling of belonging, the singing of your name, the warmth of their affection...  You had been their Moonlit miracle, their Saintess, a beacon of healing and hope.  The same voices that had praised you were now demanding your blood and calling you a witch and a heretic. 

The recollection faded like a dying ember as you opened your eyes.  The current situation was harsh and merciless.  With their torches gleaming off polished steel like predatory eyes in the darkness, the knights were drawing near.  You were forced to choose.  Either stay and fight, putting these defenceless villagers' lives in danger, or run away and subject them to the Church's wrath. "No," you answered firmly, even though her throat was shaking.  "You can't battle them.  All you'll be doing is entering a death trap.  I refuse to allow that to occur.” 

"But—" 

"No," you repeated, your voice rising. "I will face them alone. It is my burden, not yours. You have shown me kindness; you have sheltered me. That is more than I could have ever asked for. But I cannot let you pay the price for my sins." 

You stumbled on your feet as a wave of vertigo swept over you. Your ear was being whispered with sneaky doubts as the curse tightened its hold. It growled, You're weak. You're terrified. It's going to kill you. The fear persisted like a leaden weight in your stomach, even if you forced the notion away. The idea of forgetting was dreadful. Not right now. Not after...You inhaled deeply, strengthening your determination. You have to resist letting fear rule you. You needed to be strong for both you and the villagers. You had to face your mortality in order to face the Church. However, how?  How am I going to defeat them all?   

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "For everything." 

You exchanged a silent vow with the elder as you locked eyes for the final time.  Then, leaving behind the villagers' anguished cries and the warmth of the only refuge you had ever known, you turned and walked towards the village's edge, towards the approaching torches and the sound of marching feet.  The cool night air contrasted sharply with the fire's warmth as you stopped at the edge of the trees. 

Your heart thumping in your chest, you thought, this is it .  With the dim glow of the lamplight acting as a beacon in the darkness, you took one final glance back at the village.  Then you moved into the darkness, the rustling leaves engulfing your steps. 

Your footsteps were heavy as you left behind your short-lived hope. The clearing was a ballet of light and shade as the torches flashed. The smell of damp ground and pine, along with the metallic tang of blood, lingered heavy in the air. Bishop Valen stood in front of you, a mask of rage covering his face. But memories flashed through your mind as you gazed at him. You viewed him as the guy who believed in and admired you as the Saintess, not as a hateful bishop. You remember the day you questioned the church's rulings over the Targovishte burning. 

And his words still linger, "You were my greatest disappointment," Valen spat, his words cutting deeper than his blade.  "You betrayed my trust; you turned your back on the light." 

"And tonight, your tricks end here, heretic," he hissed, his palm tightening on his sword's hilt. You swayed too much, hoping he'd alter his mind, your breath rushing out in jagged gasps. The wound in your side throbbed, and the curse sapped your vitality. You knew you wouldn't win a direct fight. You needed to be smarter.

Valen leaped, his blade a flurry of steel. You dodged, utilising a nearby tree as cover. You conjured a swarm of lunar moths in an attempt to distract him, but they flickered and died, a weak shadow of your former might. "Your magic is failing you, child," Valen snarled, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. He pressed his attack, causing you to repeatedly retreat. 

A searing pain ran through your arm. Valen's sword grazed you, causing a deep cut. You yelled out, tripping and your eyesight blurred. "Remember the screams of those witches?" Valen taunted, his voice full of hate. "Will you scream like they did?" Your heart clenched. You pushed the discomfort aside and concentrated on the fight. You could not afford to lose control. But Valen was unrelenting. He pressed his advantage, and his strikes became more ferocious. You were cornered with your back against a rocky outcrop. You were stuck. Valen raised his sword, ready to strike the killing stroke.

"May the Gods above forgive our sins for taking you," 

ROAR.  

A guttural shriek rang across the trees. They emerged from the shadows, gaunt beings with skin stretched taut over bone and eyes full of evil hunger. The knights yelled in terror, and their ranks broke as the beasts struck. You were aware of your vulnerability in the midst of the pandemonium. Injured, tired, and facing a new threat. You were caught between the Church and the Night Creatures. You stumbled back, grabbing the opportunity to escape. You couldn't fight everyone. But your legs were leaden, and your breath was ragged. The curse was a vice around your heart that sapped your strength. 

The gnarled branches clawed at your cloak as you rushed through the deadwood woodland. The beasts followed you relentlessly, their snarls booming through the forest. One of them lunged, raking its claws against your arm. You shouted out, stumbled, and fell to your knees. No, not like this.

The creatures were everywhere, their foetid breath scorching across your face. You were stuck, backed up against a collapsing stone wall. Their snarls rang in your ears like a symphony of nightmares. You lashed out weakly, your assaults scarcely registering on their thick hides. Your movements were slow, and your vision blurred.  Almost there, you thought, your lungs burning. Almost to the edge of the woods…

Then you saw them. 

The silhouettes of three people against the moonlit sky. More enemies. Your heart fell apart. You had stumbled into another nightmare after escaping the first one. Fear tore at your throat. You needed to leave. “Please, what is going on with my luck? Three encounters in a night are just vile God.”  

You lunged without thinking. Your silver blade, your lone weapon, glittered in the moonlight as you aimed for the nearest figure, a woman with a cascade of fiery hair. Strike first. Escape later. The attack was a desperate gamble, a split-second decision born of fear. 

  However, your attack failed to land. A whip sprang out of nowhere, wrapping around your wrist and throwing you off balance. You shouted out as the intensity of the pull knocked you off your feet. 

  A rough voice yelled, "Whoa there!" "Who the hell are you?" 

Your eyes darted between the three figures as you fought against the whip's tight hold. The three of them were odd. The tall one exuded an aura of ancient strength that chilled your spine, his eyes gleaming with an unearthly brilliance. A vampire. Their species, monsters of myth and evil, had been spoken to you. The man with the whip, his hand hovering close to the sword at his hip, was all jagged edges and suspicious mistrust. Additionally, the woman had a strong magical energy that crackled in the atmosphere. a speaker. A magician. Fuck. You curse under your breath, seems like you chose the wrong night to be brave.  

"Let me go!" You growled, your rage fueled by dread and desperation. "You're in my way!" 

  The woman answered, "Not until you tell us who you are and what you're doing here," in a remarkably composed tone. "We're not your enemies. Please let us explain and we all calm down first." 

"Enemies?" You sneered. "You're preventing me from getting away. You become enemies as a result.”  

The tall figure stepped forward; his eyes narrowed. "We were fighting those creatures," he said, his voice low and melodic, sending another shiver down your spine. "The same creatures that were chasing you." 

You hesitated, your gaze shifting between them. Were they telling the truth? Or was this some sort of trap? You couldn't trust anyone. 

  A bloodcurdling howl shattered the forest's quiet. The creatures. They were close. Too close. 

  Your breath caught. You were stuck. Between these three strangers and the terrifying menace closing in. Desperation clawed at you. You had to make a decision. 

  "Help me," you pleaded, your tone raw and urgent. "Please." You tried to summon the little lunar magic in your hands, gazing up at the moon. It was full. That’s enough to defend yourself.  

The tall person's eyes wavered. He and the other two looked at each other. "She's the one," in an eager tone. "She's the Saintess." His eyes were focused on the small light that emitted from your hands. Your small dagger was lost after being reflected by the other man.  

  The whip-wielding man snorted. "The Saintess? The Moonbeam? This girl who just tried stabbing her dagger into the air?" You couldn't even bother giving him any reaction, eyes focused on the glowing eyes, like burning coals, pierced the darkness, gaining with every stride. 

  "She's more than she seems," returned the tall one, staring at you. "I've seen her power." 

  The woman's eyes widened in recognition as she gasped. She exhaled, "The prophecy…" "It's true." Her attitude changed from one of scepticism to one of awe as she gazed at you. "You… you're her, aren't you?" 

  "Her? With a quivering voice, you questioned, "Who are you talking about?" 

  "The Saintess," the woman stated in a respectful tone. "The person who controls the power of the moon. The one who is going to save us.”  

"Save you? Your mind racing, you said, "From what?" 

  Before they could respond, the animals charged into the clearing, staring at you with luminous eyes. All around you. 

  In the moonlight, the tall one's blade gleamed as it was drawn. His expression was tough and resolute. He said, "We'll explain later." His sword floats close to him, his stance going nearer and shielding you from the view. "For now, we fight." 

  He faced you, his eyes locking with yours. "You're one of us now," he declares.  

"Whether you like it or not." And the whip-man added. "Great. Another stray with otherworldly abilities. Alucard, Sypha, and now you." He made an unclear gesture. "We might as well start charging rent now." You heard Sypha, the Speaker, gently prod the man, saying, "Trevor, not the time and place." 

  Your heart sank. They weren't trustworthy. No, not yet. You were aware, however, that you couldn't do this by yourself. 

  You inhaled tremblingly, a sensation of inevitability against horror. Saintess aren't someone who should get used to battlefields, running, and certainly not with the weird group you had going. But here you are. You had to battle to prevail. 

a/n:

i cant stop laughing at the 'roar' there's nothing else comes into mind.