At first, I had been afraid of these heights. But now in his arms, I feel safe. Sturdy. Ruvan won’t let any harm come to me and that certainty allows me to enjoy the stunning vistas—the archways and pillars of the castle in all their crumbling glory.
“This place truly must have been amazing,” I murmur, mostly to myself. But the wind carries my words right into Ruvan’s ears.
“It was. But even when I was born, it was long enough after King Solos’s death that the castle was falling into disrepair during all the infighting and weakening of the curse. Then we went into our slumber and, when we awoke…everything had changed. It was worse than I could have ever imagined.”
I can hear the sorrow in his voice. Not for the first time I try and imagine how it might have been for these vampir—my friends—when they had encased themselves in magic and woke up three thousand years later to the decrepit shell of a world they once knew. The places that were fresh and bright in their memories now in ruins.
“When the curse is broken, will the vampir rebuild or will they move on from this place?”
“We will reclaim our home and it will be better than it has ever been. Of that, I’m sure.”
“I hope I can see it,” I say softly.
“If it’s something you desire, I will make sure of it.”
Our discussion ends once we reenter the castle. The rest of the group is already down in the chapel. Drew stands before the altar, looking up at the statue.
“It looks so much like the hall underneath the fortress.” Even though his words are soft, they echo in the cavernous space to be much louder.
“That fortress was also built by the king of the vampir,” Callos says. “It stands to reason they would have built a hall dedicated to more advanced blood arts.”
“And who would’ve thought it would continue to be used three thousand years after the formation of the Fade,” Winny murmurs.
“Except the statue of King Solos was ripped down there and replaced with that abomination.”
“The statue of the first hunter, Tersius. The statue that looks like the Raven Man,” Drew says solemnly.
“It was ancient there, too,” Ventos adds. “Looked as old as this one.”
“So, the Raven Man really could be from the time of Solos,” Winny murmurs.
Her musings bring up a question I hadn’t considered earlier. “I was under the impression that vampir couldn’t live forever?”
“Naturally, no. But the blood lore was designed to strengthen the vampir’s body. An early goal of the experimentations was to elongate one’s life. However, much like turning a human to vampir, the cost was too great,” Callos says.
“Was anyone ever successful?”
“No, and it was forbidden after the test group escaped.” Callos shakes his head. “It required vast amounts of blood…taken by force. And blood taken by force is the antithesis to the true lore. It’s not nearly as effective and can only be used for particular rituals without intense purification.”
Blood taken by force is the antithesis of the true lore…I’ve heard them say it before. If Solos was the founder of the blood lore, then why was Solos keeping humans as test subjects? Was he actually mind controlling them and that was his way around getting them to give their blood freely? It doesn’t make sense. I stare up at the statue, willing it to come to life and tell me the secrets of the man it was modeled after.
“Let’s move along. The smithy is this way,” Ruvan says before I can voice my wonderings aloud, starting for the door that heads to the halls we’ve been occupying.
The rest of the group lingers in the main hall, beginning to set about their work. Ruvan excuses himself, remarking that he’s tired, and heads upstairs. I wonder if I should follow, but Drew is waiting on me to show him the smithy and I only have until sundown with my brother.
Alone together, I guide him down to the armory. He marvels, much like I did, at the collection of antique hunter’s tools. And then gazes in wonder at the forge itself.
As a child, he always seemed to resent the smithy. It was work. It was a job he never had to do. But now, his eyes glisten as he runs his fingertips over the anvil. He inspects the billows with care, as though he’s going to begin work himself. Much like I did at our family’s smithy, he ends up at the hearth, holding a hand over it, feeling its residual warmth with more than his palm.
There will always be the smell of hot metal, smoke, and soot on our souls. Even if his path was different. We are both of the same initial casting.
Drew’s inspection comes to an end when his eyes finally land on me. “You look at home here.” The words sound sad, and somewhat filled with longing.
“It’s a smithy. I will always be at home near a forge.” I push myself up onto one of the tables, swinging my feet.
“No, it’s more than that, you’re comfortable among them. You move and act like them now. You’re stronger, faster. Your face is fuller and brow more relaxed.” After a quick inspection of my work, Drew leans against the table opposite, arms folded. “If anything, you look more at home because you gotoutof our smithy for a bit.”
“You say that like I was supposed to leave Hunter’s Hamlet earlier.”
