(???? POV)
Cold. That was the first thing I felt. Cold air against my face, cold earth at my back… and something warmer beneath my head.
I opened my eyes to a dim canopy of fir branches, the night sky caught in their needles. My breath misted. A fire wasn't lit, but something soft — a coat? — was folded under me like a pillow.
Memory came back in jagged shards: rough rope biting into my wrists, the stink of pitch, shouts about devils, the dry whisper of kindling being laid at my feet. The Bishop's voice, smooth and venomous, praising himself as a servant of God. Then—light. A figure. Not the devil they accused me of knowing, but someone I had never seen before.
He was still here. Sitting a few paces away, cross-legged on the damp ground, the firelight from some unseen source catching in his strange silver-lined hair. Dreadlocks — dozens of them — bound into a loose ponytail, the spiraling threads of silver glinting when he shifted. His skin was deep, warm brown, a shade I'd only ever seen in rare travelers, never in these lands.
He noticed my gaze. His eyes were… curious, but guarded. The robe he wore was unlike anything I'd seen — a tailored black-and-indigo garment patterned with faintly glowing constellations that shifted when he moved. No gloves, his hands bare, calloused, but steady.
"You're awake," he said, voice low, as though the trees might be listening.
I pushed myself up slowly, wincing at the ache in my ribs. "Yes. Thanks to you." My voice rasped more than I liked.
"Couldn't exactly let you roast," he replied, a hint of dry humor in it.
We sat in a quiet moment. I took him in again — the neatness of his posture, the way he kept glancing to the tree line as if expecting trouble. The careful distance between us, like he was used to people being wary.
"You're not from here," I said, the truth plain in his features and his clothes. "Your complexion… it's rare to see men like you in Wallachia."
One corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
He reached to his side and, with a flick of his wrist, pulled something from thin air — bread, wrapped in cloth. He caught my surprise and smirked. "Spatial pocket. Think of it like… a travel bag, but better."
He handed it to me without ceremony. Hunger overruled questions, and I took a small bite, the warmth of real food spreading faster than the fire that had nearly claimed me.
After a moment, he said, "Name?"
I hesitated — not because I distrusted him, but because names have weight. Still, I owed him truth. "Lisa. Lisa Țepeș."
His expression froze. The easy readiness in his shoulders went stiff, his gaze locking on mine like I'd said something dangerous. For a moment I wondered if he'd even heard me right. Then his skin seemed to lose some color, and a sheen of sweat formed at his brow.
I leaned forward instinctively, hand hovering near his forehead. "Are you unwell?"
He blinked rapidly, pulling back. "I'm fine," he said too quickly. "Just—fine."
But he wasn't. Something in my name had rattled him, and I couldn't imagine why.
(Sable POV)
…Oh, hell.
Țepeș. Lisa Țepeș.
My brain slammed straight into the Castlevania timeline and stayed there. The Lisa, wife of Vlad Dracula Țepeș. Mother of Alucard. The one who, right about now, is supposed to be dead. And not just "oops, passed away" dead — burned at the stake by a fanatical church while Dracula is out of town, which, spoiler alert, kicks off the part where the guy decides humanity needs to be permanently deleted.
Which means one tiny problem: Dracula thinks she's ash. And I'm sitting here with her alive.
If he finds out I have her? There's a nonzero chance he skips the part where he thanks me and jumps straight to rearranging my skeleton.
And even if I wanted to bring her to him — which, yeah, kinda the moral thing to do — there's the other problem: Dracula's castle can teleport. Like, anywhere. You don't just "go" to Dracula's castle. It could be in the Carpathians tonight and the middle of the Black Sea tomorrow. My only shot would be Lupu… her home. Which, fun fact, is probably a smoldering ruin courtesy of the Church.
I'm already picturing the lovely options: fight my way into a burnt village swarming with Bishop's zealots, hope I don't get skewered, and wait around in case Dracula shows up.
Yeah. Totally safe plan.
"Where's Lupu?" I asked before I could talk myself out of it.
Her eyes searched mine. "Northwest. Two days, if you follow the river roads."
Great. A clock just started ticking in my head. If I don't make it there before Dracula crashes the party, I'm either too late… or in the middle of a one-man apocalypse.
I realized I was still staring at her like an idiot and forced a smirk. "Guess I've got some walking to do."
She tilted her head, watching me. Concern still lingered in her expression — not fear, just a doctor's kind of worry. The kind that wants to know why a patient is pale and sweating.
If only I could tell her, It's not me I'm worried about — it's everyone else when your husband finds out.
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A/N: it seems MC is in a pickle
I don't have much to say...
Well….see ya 😐