(Sable's POV)
The door swung open on a wash of warm steam, and I stepped out with a content sigh. My boots thudded softly against the polished stone floor, the weight of travel and grime washed away at last. My dreads—slightly damp—were tied back low, a concession to civility. The robe-like suit I'd worn earlier was back in place, crisp and clean, though my shoulders felt oddly light without the constant grit of ash clinging to me.
The corridor outside was lit not by torches but by faint electric bulbs set into wrought-iron fixtures along the walls. They hummed ever so faintly, filling the hall with a quiet, modern pulse that didn't belong in a fortress this old. Shadows lingered just beyond their reach, thick enough to suggest secrets instead of emptiness.
I glanced up and down the hallway. Empty.
Good. No vampire lord breathing down my neck for once.
I leaned back slightly against the wall, arms folding across my chest, and let my mind drift for the first time since I'd arrived.
The Chalice.
I summoned the mental image of it from my pocket-space, an ornate vessel of silver and black filigree, glowing faintly with three lit nodes out of twelve. Three. That was all I had left. Barely enough for one world jump, and even that would leave me cracked and gasping.
I needed more. More essence, more energy—something.
I mentally ticked off what I did know: a few general locations, some whispered names, and nothing concrete. All of them far away, buried in corners of this world I couldn't reach without burning what little I had. I could scatter proxies across the map, but even the thought made me wince—splitting my awareness into twenty shards was like trying to play chess blindfolded on twenty boards at once while someone screamed in your ear.
I exhaled through my nose, frustration curling in my gut. Options thin, time thinner.
And then—
"You are ready."
I jerked upright, heart skipping. Dracula stood there, not ten feet away, as if he'd simply materialized out of the walls.
Of course. Of course he did.
Inwardly, I grumbled, He's doing this on purpose. Has to be. Nobody that tall moves that quietly without trying.
"Follow me," he said, already turning on his heel, cloak whispering against the floor.
I sighed, muttering under my breath, "Yep. Love being ambushed by walking monuments. Really keeps the heart rate up."
I followed. What else was I going to do?
The dining hall was a cathedral of indulgence. The vaulted ceiling arched so high it vanished into shadow, its ribbed beams painted with constellations that gleamed faintly in the electric light. Along the walls, tall windows framed the night beyond, black and silver with the faint glimmer of stars. A table stretched nearly the full length of the room, draped in black cloth, set with gold-trimmed plates and crystal glasses that caught the light like frozen rain.
The scent of roasted meat and herbs hung in the air, subtle but rich, like a promise.
Lisa sat halfway down the table, and for a moment I didn't recognize her. Gone was the ragged linen dress, replaced by a simple but elegant gown of deep blue silk. Her hair, loose and clean, framed a face both warm and commanding. She looked up as we entered, and her smile—gentle, genuine—caught me off guard.
Dracula gestured to the seat across from her, at the far end of the table. "Sit."
I nodded silently and made my way over, the sound of my boots echoing far too loudly in the vast room. I sat.
And then… nothing.
Minutes passed in awkward, echoing silence. Lisa glanced between us once or twice, as if considering saying something, but chose not to. I tried not to fidget. Are we waiting for food? A speech? A ritual sacrifice?
The answer came when the doors at the far end of the hall opened.
I turned toward the sound, already suspecting who it might be.
And there he was.
Adrian Țepeș.
Tall, elegant, and undeniably striking. His long, wavy blond hair fell down his back like a banner, his golden eyes catching the light with quiet warmth. He wore fitted black leather beneath a sweeping coat, boots clicking softly as he crossed the room. His face—chiseled, pale, faintly pointed—was unreadable at first glance.
He didn't spare me more than a fleeting look of acknowledgment before continuing forward.
"Mother," he said warmly, embracing Lisa in a hug that was full and unguarded.
She smiled and held him close. "Adrian."
Then he turned to his father, and I braced myself for something cold, distant—what I remembered from the show.
Instead, Adrian smiled.
A real, small smile, but real nonetheless. "Father."
Dracula's response was subtle, but no less striking: a brief softening of his features, a hand resting on his son's shoulder in return.
I sat there, outwardly neutral, inwardly reeling. In the world I knew, this boy had stood alone over his mother's grave, forced to kill the man before me. In the world I knew, this family had been shattered before it had a chance to be whole.
And here they were. Together.
Something twisted unexpectedly in my chest. Sadness, maybe? I shoved it aside, forcing my expression into polite blankness as Adrian took his seat beside his mother.
And then, as one, the entire Tepes family turned their eyes to me.
Right. Dinner with the happy vampire family. No pressure.
I didn't flinch. Not visibly, anyway. But sitting here, under the collective gaze of Dracula, Lisa, and Adrian, felt like being pinned by three different stars.
Lisa's eyes were soft, curious. Adrian's were calm, assessing but not hostile. Dracula's… were a glacier—clear, precise, and fathoms deep.
"Welcome," Lisa said first, breaking the silence. "I hope the accommodations were sufficient?"
I cleared my throat, grateful for a question that didn't sound like a trap. "Very," I said. "The bath alone might've saved my sanity. So, thank you."
Her lips curved in amusement. "I thought you might appreciate it."
The conversation could have stopped there—mercifully light—but Adrian spoke next, his tone smooth, polite, and just a touch curious. "You're far from home, aren't you?"
A little too accurate for comfort. I kept my voice even. "You could say that."
Dracula's gaze sharpened a fraction. "Where is home?"
Ah. There it was.
I exhaled slowly, eyes on the table for a beat before meeting his. "That's the problem," I said, letting some genuine weariness seep into my tone. "I don't know how to get back. I've been… moving, trying to find a way. It's been a long road with more dead ends than answers."
It wasn't a lie. Not exactly. Just… missing the part where "home" wasn't on this plane of existence.
Adrian leaned forward slightly, golden eyes thoughtful. "And what are you seeking? A place, or a person?"
"Both," I admitted, then hesitated, feeling the weight of that single word. "At least… I think so. I'm not sure if there's anyone left."
That drew a flicker of something—pity?—across Lisa's features, subtle but genuine. Dracula's face didn't change, but I caught the tiniest pause in his stillness, like a predator acknowledging prey's wound without comment.
"I see," Adrian said softly. There was no mockery in it, no judgment. Just understanding, clean and quiet.
Lisa's gaze softened further at that, a flicker of empathy crossing her face. Dracula's remained unreadable, but he didn't interrupt.
"And what," Adrian continued after a beat, "do you need from us?"
There it was—the opening. I hesitated, fingers tapping lightly against the table before I stilled them. "I was going to ask a favor."
Dracula tilted his head slightly, like a predator considering whether to pounce. "A favor."
"Yes," I said, forcing steadiness into my voice. "Information, mostly. Maybe… a lead."
He said nothing, and the silence stretched long enough to feel like a test.
I met his gaze head-on, pulse a drum in my ears. "I need to know if you're aware of any Forgemasters in these lands."
One eyebrow arched. Just slightly.
I held my ground.
For a moment, the room was stone-still. Then—unexpectedly—Dracula leaned back in his chair, the intensity of his stare easing by a hair's breadth.
"Forgemasters," he repeated, tone neither approving nor condemning. "And what use would you have for such individuals?"
"I have… gaps in what I can do," I said carefully. "And the kind of work they do—creation, transformation—it might be the key to filling those gaps. I need every advantage I can get if I'm going to make it home."
Adrian's eyes flicked briefly toward his father, then back to me. Lisa's expression was unreadable now, though I sensed no hostility—only thoughtfulness.
Dracula, meanwhile, studied me like a puzzle box. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke.
"I do," he said simply. "And I will tell you."
I blinked. "Just like that?"
The faintest—faintest—curve touched the corner of his mouth. "You asked."
It was such an unexpected answer that I almost laughed. Instead, I caught myself and sat back, realizing something I hadn't before:
The scrutiny was gone. The suspicion, the weight of being constantly judged—it had shifted. What lingered now in Dracula's eyes wasn't distrust. It was appraisal. Quiet, considered, but no longer hostile.
I glanced around the table again. Lisa offered me a small, encouraging smile. Adrian, while composed, seemed marginally more relaxed than when I'd entered. And Dracula… was Dracula. But a Dracula who had just granted me a boon without hesitation.
For the first time since I'd set foot in this castle, I felt something close to… welcome.
I sighed, long and quiet, and let my voice drop just above a whisper. "Thank you."
Dracula inclined his head. "We will discuss it tomorrow. For now, eat."
The words were simple, final, and oddly reassuring.
I picked up my fork, realizing my hands had finally stopped trembling.