Back at the tavern, an energized Sable bursts through the entrance. She’s successfully shaken the strange vision from her mind and is now fully focused on the new task at hand. Spotting Viktor’s hulking frame at the bar, she shouts from across the room.
“New objective,” she says as the warrior and various other patrons turn to recognize her. “Let’s put a wrap on it here, and I’ll bring you up to speed.”
He turns on the barstool to face her. “Oh yeah? Just so happens I’ve found us a new mission, myself. It’s a family in need of our services.”
“Are you drunk?” she says. “You expect me to believe that as if you haven’t been mucking about in the booze this whole time?”
He leans to the side so that Nyx is visible. “This nice person just hired me in the protection of their sister. Say hello, Nyx.”
“Hello, Nyx,” they say with a joyless smile.
“H-hi,” says Sable. “Uh, I’m sorry. What’s the situation?”
“Nyx has invited us to stay the night. Beds. Supper. Very hospitable, right?” says Viktor boastfully. “But I guess we could just decline and run off to whatever you’ve got lined up.”
“No, that’s quite alright,” says Sable, shifting on her heels. “It’s getting late. I’m sure we could help her and her sister. Nyx, is it?”
“They, not she or he. Particular about that, this one,” corrects the warrior.
“Oh? Pardon my mistake, then. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she continues. “Um, unrelated, but very important, would you happen to know the whereabouts of a young woman named Briar?”
Viktor finishes another drink and then collects Celest from the corner table while Sable asks around the bar if anyone knows a girl fitting the missing person’s description, but unfortunately, no one has.
Nyx unfolds a worn, metal walking stick and proceeds to lead the party out of the tavern and down suffocated cobbled streets to a manor nestled in the middle of a forgotten garden. Fresh chive blossoms bob to the rhythm of the raindrops as they approach the front steps. “Here we are,” they say. “Home sweet home.”
A dilapidated signpost reads “The Lasaunt House of Unattended Youth” in copper lettering that has bloomed green with age.
“This is an orphanage?” asks Sable as she runs her fingers along the sign’s splintered wood.
“Used to be,” they reply. The door opens with a painful creek. “I’m home… Brought some guests.”
A tall, gangly woman with fluffy brown hair peeks out from around a corner. “Guests?” she asks worriedly. “Who are they?” Her dusk-honey eyes scan the party with the attention of a cornered rabbit.
“They’re adventurers,” says Nyx. “Big one’s Viktor, the small one’s Sable, and the quiet one’s named Celest. I asked them to help us— help Adinine.” Humble greetings are extended from the party, all feeling a bit awkward for intruding.
“Oh, I see,” she says. “I’m sorry. It’s not often that we have foreigners come through these parts. My name’s Cassianna. We were just about to have some roasted onion soup. Would you folks care to join? There’s enough for everyone.”
Viktor agrees without hesitation, and they follow Cassianna to the kitchen.
A large oak table is set for three, and savory sweetness emanates from a large cast-iron pot. Sitting at the table, a striking young woman with long, copper hair and sharp, old-world features wrings a napkin between slender palms. She introduces herself, with a voice like summer doves, as Adinine—youngest sister of the Lasaunt home.
They situate themselves around the table as Cassianna collects more bowls, spoons, and rags from a high cabinet. She pours the golden-brown liquid into each with a ladle and serves the guests first, followed by her siblings and then herself. Bits of charred black onion and pepper float on the top layer of the soup. A warm, earthy flavor invites the thought that one could ward off the coming winter with this meal alone.
“So, your sibling brought us here for a reason,” says Viktor in an uncharacteristically cordial tone. “Could you, Adinine, in your own words, describe what has been happening?”
Silence falls in the room as Adinine’s face contorts with worry, and her shoulders reflexively tense up to guard the skin around her neck. Her voice is barely a whisper. “It started last week on the day of my nineteenth year. I was alone, sleeping in bed, when I heard tapping at the window. From there, everything is a blur, but—“ She pauses to swallow the mass of stress welling up behind her tongue. “I remember his eyes. Like blood-filled pools. Hungry. More than that. Insatiable. I thought… It was a nightmare.” She looks down into the soup bowl, trying desperately to keep her composure.
“She told us the next morning, but we didn’t take it too seriously. The second time was a few nights ago. There was no way to dismiss it after that. We had all fallen asleep in the common room,” says Nyx, sparing their sister the pain of recounting her trauma. “When Cassianna and I woke up, Adinine was gone. The demon slipped past us somehow. We found her later in the drawing room. She was in some kind of strange trance, standing in the corner as stiff as a board. Her wrists were dripping with blood. And, we heard it. It… has the voice of a man. I remember hearing an awful laugh just before we found her.”
Another empty silence hangs in the air as the horrific image manifests itself in the adventurers’ minds. In the most passive voice she can muster, Sable asks, “This creature, it drinks of your blood?”
Adinine nods, eyes still fixed on the bowl.
“Perhaps it’s a vampire, then.” Sable takes a deep breath in and continues to eat. Between casual spoonfuls, she says, “We’ve dealt with undead beings before, and I’ve read a few texts regarding different types of undeath. Plus, Celest is a cleric of The Order of the Sun. Dealing with the undead is practically a specialty of theirs.”
Adinine’s eyes flutter as fear shifts toward an unexpected hope before asking, “A vampire? You’re aware of a monster like this?”
The witch dabs her mouth with a rag, nodding. “Mm, yes. The libraries in Hightower are filled with all sorts of things. From what I understand, vampires are a very rare sort, and the only few documented accounts are from overseas. Nothing I’ve read about them spoke of mental enchantments, but you can rest assured that you’ll be protected under our watch. We are nothing if not professionals.”
With that, the acute tension subsides, and the meal continues.
After its completion, bellies are full, and eyes hang heavy from the long day. Cassianna offers to show the party to their rooms. “Luckily enough, there’s a bed for each of you,” she says. “The three of us have taken to sleeping in the old master room—if we fall asleep tonight, that is. It feels safe when we’re all together.”
Viktor and Sable stand to follow, but Celest’s attention lies on Adinine, whose delicate fingers are clenched into solid fists.
Celest stands and moves around the table to her side. “May I?” he asks, extending a tender hand. With a puzzled expression, she relaxes as best she can and meets his palm with her own. A frigid jolt of fear pings through Celest’s nerves, finding a home in the center of his torso, directly under the rib cage. He takes a deep, careful breath in—pushing on the feeling with the bottom of his lungs until it’s swaddled in a film of warm, white light. Slowly, he exhales, letting the fear float up through his throat and dissipate with a glimmering iridescence past his lips.
Adinine gasps with relief, and a single tear slides down the ridge of her high cheekbone. “Thank you, Celest. I feel—“ She pauses to wipe away the salty droplet. “a bit better.” He offers her a friendly smile and goes to meet his friends in the doorway.
Cassianna guides them through the home, dropping each off at an empty room. “Here we are, Celest. This last one belongs to Adinine. Sorry about the mess. It’s been—“
Celest cuts her off with a hand on her forearm. “There’s no need for apologies. Thank you for letting us stay. And for the meal. It was delicious.”
“I’m the grateful one, really.” A warm, toothy smile bounces from ear to ear. “You and your friends have given us hope. That’s more than anyone else in this city has even tried to do. The people around here are reserved and usually keep to themselves. I can’t tell you how nice it feels to have some fresh faces nearby.” She steps off down the hallway and gives a final farewell before sliding around the corner.
Celest has no trouble falling asleep. Beneath the linens, the chill of night finds no purchase on his golden skin. The plush, wool-stuffed pillow cradles his head like an attendant mother and smells of whispered lavender, matching the scent of Adinine’s hair. As a member of the elvyn race, Celest has no dire need for sleep, but the act of drifting into the subconscious and allowing himself a moment of quiet vulnerability, especially after such a demanding day, is practically irresistible.
A few hours pass, accompanied only by the music of falling raindrops on the roof tiles, until a new sound rouses the cleric from his dreams. Three polite taps at the window are followed by an absolute silence as if everything outside the bedroom suddenly ceased to exist. A dazed Celest slowly opens his eyes, turning to face the noise. Outside, heavy black fog licks at the windowpane, and in an instant, his focus is captured by an arresting crimson gaze floating amongst the smoke. A smooth, sensuous voice shakes the stillness as the deep-red eyes transform into shimmering gold. “The night is cold. Invite me inside.”
Without a thought, involuntary words escape Celest’s lips. “Yes, of course. Please come in.” He mindlessly gets out of bed and unfastens the lock at the window. Fog spills through the opening and collects on the wooden floorboards, shaping itself into the form of a man. The figure is taller than Celest, almost Viktor’s height. A flowing black robe lazily holds his pale frame and is cinched at the waist by a silky, scarlet sash. Void-colored hair cascades down his back. Under sharp brows, his golden eyes fade back to red as Celest’s mental daze returns to clarity.
The reality of the situation quickly sinks in, and Celest takes a sharp inhale to scream, but the man lunges forward with the grace of a sea serpent, and the elf is met with a death-cold palm over his mouth. “Yelling would be terribly unwise,” says the man. “How about instead, you tell me your name.” His hand lingers for a moment, then falls as he takes a step backward.
Through tight, trembling lips, the cleric manages to respond. “Celest.”
With a flourish of his robe, the man holds out an arm to the side and takes a deeply dramatic bow. “It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Celest. My name is Julian,” he says in a silken voice. “I do appreciate your composure. Truly, there’s no need to be afraid.” He turns and walks to the bed, touching the pillow delicately with the back of his hand. “Now, tell me. Where is the young lady, Adinine?”
“No,” says Celest reflexively, a bit louder than intended. “You can’t have her.”
Julian meets his eyes for a moment, sending needled tingles down his spine, then looks away and relaxes into a lounging position on the bed. “It’s rare that more than one outsider finds their way into this place at a time. Always a very interesting event—doubly so when they’re questers by trade.” Worry flashes across the elf’s face. How did he know about the others? Had they been followed? Celest wracks his mind for an answer. “Don’t give me too much credit. It’s a bit obvious to tell your profession. Your type all have that wistful gem caught in their eyes. So, where is the rest of your party, priest?” asks Julian as he meticulously absorbs every detail of the elf’s form. Celest stares back at the man, silent as a mouse.
The quiet gap between them stiffens the air. “Well, since you seem determined not to share anything of yours, maybe I should lead by example and be more giving.” The man pauses a moment as if deliberating the consequences of a choice he’s already decided to make.
“Let me tell you a story, Celest. But be warned. It is a tragedy. You may not have the heart to bear it.” After a lengthy sigh, he closes his eyes and continues. “Once, long ago, lived a prince. His life was filled with successes of every kind. In the face of opposition, he always stood victorious. The prince conquered this land by twenty, and built a castle for his mother and brother. He was content with the days watching as his city grew around it. They prospered under the system he had built.” The vampire’s hand drops to the scented pillow. “Until he met a beautiful woman full of will and spirit. Her name was Katya. She was a devotee at the church, not a noble by any standard, but one of regal grace. He would win her heart… However, it was stolen from him all too soon. She died. Abruptly. As quickly as he’d fallen in love, she was gone.”
Julian’s eyes open, and he stares idly at the ceiling. “He became obsessed. Her death twisted his mind. It beguiled his thoughts until he no longer recognized who he had become. In an act of desperation, the prince sought the aid of forbidden magic and, in doing so, cursed himself and the land he had once called home. Even still, he wanders his forsaken kingdom, forced to witness the disaster of his mistakes.”
Celest’s stiff body softens a bit, and as if noticing, Julian effortlessly rises from the bed and slowly walks toward the cleric. “Besides the guilt, however, there is hope,” he whispers, now inches from Celest’s face, “to lift the curse and save the people of Markovia from their unending isolation and despair.” Julian’s lustrous, sanguine eyes smolder like the dying embers of an abandoned fire pit. The elf loses himself in their depth as a compulsory hand reaches up to touch the vampire’s chest and unburden his mind.
Darkness clouds Celest’s vision. It clots in his lungs as if he were gasping in tar and strangles him like a bladed noose. An endless expanse envelops the cleric, void of light, color, and warmth. An echoing silence, the sound of an unvoiced scream, chokes tighter as he tries to escape, tearing at the ceaseless nothing with a weakness only found in one’s dreams. He reaches outward, writhing in the violence. Somewhere in the void, however, another is present. A ghost of a person, chained down and unable to move, shares its space with the elf. It’s almost imperceptible through the full-bodied pain, but, in the darkness, the ghost stares at its guest and feels something different for the first time in centuries.
A beat breaks the aching silence. Celest is still alive. Despite the agony, his heart keeps warm. Its rhythm is steady. The thought washes over him, followed by a sense of self to cling to. He focuses inward, feeling the cadence at which his spirit pulses through delicate veins and buzzes on the tips of his fingers. It reminds him of her, of the goddess abiding within him. The shadows sink away from a soft light now emanating from his core. Her mercy is boundless and divine, and this borrowed body was proof of her favor. He holds firmly to the gift of his life and bursts, becoming the radiance inside of himself. Taking in a bottomless breath, Celest lets everything else melt away with an exhale.
He finds himself back in Adinine’s bedroom, hand still resting on the vampire’s chest. He looks up to see that Julian’s face is stricken with quiet tears of reprieve. “What did you do?” asks the vampire breathlessly. “How did you do that?” Before summoning an answer, Julian draws the cleric into a tight embrace. One hand drags through the alabaster strands of Celest’s hair, and the other securely fastens to his slender hip. Celest lets out a surprised yelp that is muffled substantially by the black robes enveloping his mouth. Otherwise, he makes no move to stop it, choosing instead to become a passive observer.
Julian’s clothing gives off a strangely pleasant scent, sweet like myrrh and honey, but his frame is solid and still as a marble statue. The hug lasts longer than expected. With each passing moment, an unfamiliar swollen heat expands in the center of the cleric’s breast. Its fever grows hotter and ever more distracting until, finally, the vampire loosens his grip. He takes a slight step back but keeps his hands firmly planted. Julian stares down at the elf with a captivated look. “Dearest Celest,” he whispers. “You alone may be the salvation I’m searching for.”
Struggling to find his voice, Celest stammers, “I—“
Julian’s eyes melt to gold. “You are feeling very tired now. Get to bed and rest. You’ll need it.”
Celest yawns, eyes glazing over with sleep. Julian guides him to the bedside and gently lays him down. “I’ll be seeing more of you. Sweet dreams, sweetest Celest.”
The last thing the young elvyn man sees before returning to the pull of sleep is Julian’s animated black robe flicking the latch of the closing window to land perfectly in the lock as it clicks shut.