Dracula and Feltan were walking through a vast forest, both wearing disguises that did a questionable job of hiding who they were.
"You know, I don't understand why you're wearing that cloak," Dracula said, glancing sideways at Feltan while continuing forward. "Can't you just use the face of some random person?"
"Sure, I guess I could," Feltan replied calmly, his pace unchanging. "But then who knows? Maybe I'd use the face of someone's dad. And you can guess how that usually plays out."
He shrugged, walking beside Dracula. The sight was almost comical—Feltan, a mountain of a man standing at least eight, maybe nine feet tall, lumbering along while wearing a cloak that made him look like he'd stolen a camper's tent and draped it over himself.
"Still," Dracula continued, "do you have to use your regular body? A nine-foot-tall giant isn't exactly subtle."
"Oh, c'mon," Feltan said, smirking. "You're just jealous because you're short—and you're scared I'm going to make you look weak. Especially since you're still a little Transcended."
"Please," Dracula scoffed. "You just got lucky fighting on a battlefield against a few Transcended."
"Excuse you," Feltan snapped, clearly offended. "It was more than a thousand. And if that didn't earn me supremacy, I don't know what act of defiance would."
"Well," Dracula replied casually, "my army is raiding the capital of the Sun God's forces in a few months, so you're not going to be one rank above me for too long."
"Sure," Feltan said, rolling his eyes, "as if that's more impressive than killing a THOUSAND Transcended while being Transcended myself."
"Oh, of course," Dracula said with mock reverence. "I'm nowhere near as great as you, oh mighty lord of meat and booze."
He stopped walking.
The forest ahead abruptly gave way to glowing lights—reds, yellows, and warm oranges flickering through the trees.
"Oh, like you can talk, Mr. I Miss My Wife."
Dracula rolled his eyes and stepped forward, the trees parting to reveal a massive festival. Vendors lined the open clearing, selling roasted meats, strange fruits, glowing drinks, and trinkets carved from bone and crystal. Jesters danced between crowds, juggling flaming torches and pulling pranks on laughing children. Music echoed from every direction.
"Man," Feltan said, stretching his arms into the air, "I missed this place. It's been so long since I could feel this… human again."
"Yeah," Dracula said softly, then stopped himself. "I just wish—"
Too late.
Feltan turned toward him with a wicked grin, already preparing the inevitable teasing.
"What? That your wife was here?" Feltan laughed. "You wanna do some smoochies with her? Share one goblet of Girnxh fruit? Oh—are you also—"
He formed exaggerated heart shapes with his many hands, striking ridiculous poses as he followed Dracula. It worked far too well—Dracula's pale skin practically glowed red with embarrassment.
"Stop it, damn it," Dracula snapped. "Why do you do this every time I mention her?"
He looked down and walked faster into the festival.
"Oh, then stop mentioning her so much," Feltan shot back. "We literally saw her a few hours ago when we decided to sneak out and come here."
Dracula facepalmed, groaning. "Can't a man love his beautiful wife?"
Feltan shrugged. "Sure. You're free to love her all you want. I don't want to take her from you—but you can't complain about me teasing you."
Dracula turned toward him, eyes narrowing with a dangerous smile.
"Fine. Since you wish to joke around, I shall play the same game. I'll tell the maids not to give you any alcohol or meat when we return to the mansion."
Dracula turned away, leaving Feltan frozen in horror.
"What—wait—dude, you're not serious, right? Right?" Feltan rushed after him. "Your alcohol is the only thing that can get me drunk. Please tell me you're joking."
Dracula stopped near a jester juggling
glowing spheres.
"You know," he said calmly, "when I was really young, I learned how to juggle."
Feltan raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I can imagine it—little Drac dropping balls on his head over and over."
Dracula smiled faintly. "Yeah. I failed a lot back then. But eventually I learned. The kids at the orphanage always liked jesters."
Feltan knew how that story ended. The smile faded from both of their faces as the laughter of the festival continued around them.
After a moment, Feltan cleared his throat.
"Hey… let's get those souvenirs Cassandra wanted and head back. Don't wanna keep wifey lonely, eh?"
He bumped his elbow into Dracula's shoulder.
Together, they disappeared into the crowd—and returned later with enough souvenirs to fill an entire castle.