(Sable's POV)
I packed in silence.
Not because I needed to I kept most of what mattered tucked away in my pocket space but because sound felt wrong here. Dracula's castle breathed with an unearthly stillness. Every shift of leather and cloth as I slung my coat over one arm echoed too loudly in the room. Every click of a buckle sounded like it might disturb something ancient slumbering behind these walls.
I glanced around the guest chamber one last time. Dark velvet curtains, faint ember-glow from the hearth, a desk I hadn't touched because it looked like it would judge me. This place had been… safe. Against all odds, safe. And now I was leaving.
I stepped out into the hall, boots tapping against marble. The corridors were quieter than usual—no servants, no unseen watchers. Just the occasional torchlight pooling amber across stone, and my reflection in the high-polished black floor, walking beside me like an unwanted twin.
Lisa was waiting at the bottom of the grand staircase.
She wasn't dressed as a noblewoman—no finery, just a simple dark gown that brought out the warmth of her eyes. When she saw me, she smiled—small, genuine, the kind that felt like sunlight in this cold fortress.
"You're going," she said. Not a question.
"Yeah," I replied. My voice sounded rougher than I'd intended.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then she stepped forward and, to my surprise, took my hands in hers. Her palms were warm, steady—those of a healer, not a noble.
"I never got to thank you properly," she said softly. "For what you did for me. For bringing me home."
My throat tightened. "You don't have to—"
"I do." Her eyes searched mine, earnest and unflinching. "Whatever you're seeking… I hope you find it. And I hope it's kind to you."
There was nothing to say to that, not without unraveling. So I just nodded, squeezing her hands briefly before letting go.
Adrian appeared then, stepping out of a side corridor. He looked much like he had at dinner—poised, calm, his golden eyes betraying little. But when he stopped in front of me, there was no stiffness in his bearing, only quiet respect.
"Safe travels," he said simply.
"Thanks," I replied, meeting his gaze. There was something unspoken there—recognition, maybe. A warrior's acknowledgment of another on their path.
And then, of course, came the shadow at the top of the stairs.
Dracula descended without hurry, each step measured, cloak flowing behind him like liquid night. He reached the landing and regarded me with those crimson eyes, still and fathomless.
"You have what you need?" he asked.
"I think so," I said.
"Good." He paused, and for an instant I thought that was it—that he'd let me walk out without another word. But then:
"Do not squander what you've been given," he said quietly. "Time, life, chance—they are rarer than you think."
It wasn't a threat. It wasn't even advice. Just truth, delivered like a bell tolling in a long-empty church.
I swallowed and gave a short, respectful nod. "Understood."
His gaze lingered one heartbeat longer, then he stepped aside. Permission granted.
I turned, walked to the massive doors, and pushed them open. Cold mountain air swept in, carrying the scent of pine and distant storms. I glanced back once—Lisa with her soft, steady smile; Adrian with his unreadable golden eyes; Dracula, a dark pillar watching everything and nothing.
Then I stepped out into the night.
Three days later, under a sun that bleached the world to bone and gold, I stood before a sandstone temple half-buried in the desert.
The air here tasted of dust and heat. The dunes around me rolled like a dead ocean, broken only by jagged rock and scrub.
And somewhere within that temple was the man I'd come to find.
Isaac.