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[maighdean-ailceimic]

The smaller vampire, Corin, bolted at Sabriel again. He effortlessly dodged Joachim’s swords, at the cost of his attention straying from the alchemist to the blades. The opening was enough for Sabriel to fling the mark waiting in her hand at him. It struck his chest, erupting into a flame that devoured his upper clothing and seared flesh. Corin let out a strangled roar and patted at his chest in effort to quell the fire.

Marks of gold and shadow burst into existence around Sabriel, merging together as quickly as they appeared to form a bow in her waiting palm. She drew the string as more marks materialized into a silver-tipped arrow, releasing it as Corin turned his focus back to her. The arrow struck the vampire in his gut. He screamed at the immense pain. Sabriel drew another arrow, shooting it into one of his eyes as he pulled out the first, and then shot another into his heart.

It was over in a matter of seconds. Corin’s body dropped onto the ground and withered away. It seemed the decades following Simon’s prime hadn’t dulled her skills and speed after all.

Sabriel turned towards the last foeman, ready to draw her bow if he came at her instead of Joachim.

Joachim did not glance down at what the alchemist's hand was doing. He was well-trained to cover for Belmonts and Speakers when they were up to their sneaky shenanigans. He kept his eyes trained on the other two vampires. He hoped that whatever Sabriel was going to do, it was worth it.

Being called a 'bloody foreign noble' caused the ancient vampire's smile to twitch. While it wasn't untrue at one point in his long lifetime, he certainly wouldn't be called that in this day in age. Yet, he kept his composure under control and listened with intense focus.

"'D'Gandolfi'? Joachim pretended to test the name on his lips. With a small tilt of his head, he feigned ignorance as he said, "I wasn't aware. However, I believe you're mistaken. Madam Belmont here was just about to become my meal." As he spoke, he saw the growing mistrust in the other vampire's eyes. Joachim tried to hurry with what he had to say and hoped the two left them alone. "You know about the Belmonts, yes? Well, I have a very long grudge against them. You wouldn't get in my way, now would you?"

However, the larger vampire's face suddenly expanded in recognition, and then he snarled. The ogre-like fiend readied his spiked club and snorted, his words coming out like a bull's lazy bellow, "Corin, he is no ally of ours. There is a vampire who is in alliance with the humans. There was one who did not accept the Messiah's invitation. One from Germany."

Joachim's smile dropped.

The vampire realized he hit the nail on the head and a grin split his disgusting lips, showing his crooked teeth. "The Lord of Eternal Night? The 'Saint', no?"

"What a pain in the ass," Joachim grumbled frustratedly. He released his grip on Sabriel and darted to the side. As he went, he willed all five of his swords at the intruders, three of them going for the bigger vampire while the last two blades made wild swings at the other one. Trusting Sabriel to take care of the first vampire, Joachim focused mostly on the larger vampire.

While he was no fool with his telekinetic powers, Joachim's opponent was experienced. The vampire's large size had no effect on his speed, as Joachim suspected. The undead man batted two of the blades away before the third one got him good on the bicep. But this seemed to have made the bull of a vampire enraged. The large figure dashed right at Joachim with blinding momentum and swung his club down.

Joachim, however, was faster. The ancient vampire dashed out of the way with little more than a small huff and floated in the air. He glanced over at Sabriel to catch how she was faring along.

She may be D'Gandolfi, but she was also a Belmont. If she was in trouble, he was obligated to help.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

Sabriel barely heard Juste despite how silent the pub became. She suspected the vampire’s appearance was an uncommon sight, despite Yves’ apparent reliance on his father’s reputation. That likely meant that the vampire was aware of Juste’s identity, if not hers.  

“Why so silent?” Yves laughed. “Come, come. The night is young! Play another song, Jon! I believe a certain lady owes me a dance.”

“Quiet, boy.” Lord d'Angennes snapped.

The vampire’s focused lingered on Juste. However, when he glanced at Sabriel, his expression shifted into one of bewilderment. Yves claimed this girl was the granddaughter of the hunter, didn’t he? d’Angennes sensed she was far older than she looked, not unlike an elder vampire if not for the heartbeat within her chest.

“Curious.” The vampire chuckled. “Belmonts certainly keep odd company when they aren’t meddling in others’ affairs.”

'I will be careful'.

Those four words honestly could mean nothing, in the end. An empty promise at best with how everything is turning more sour by the passing of days. He knew that his grandmother was well-equipped to defend herself. After all, she's lived this long... Yet he couldn't help the feeling of wanting to protect her, even though he knew that his protection was riddled with holes.

He sat in contemplative silence for a moment, running his tongue over his teeth behind pressed lips... After he gathered his thoughts, the old man parted his lips to say--

At the sudden ruckus at the entrance of the inn, Juste's pale eyes darted over. He saw that youth, Yves, seeming more drunk and angry than when he was chased out from the place. Behind him was another stranger. It was easy to tell the similarities between the two, alluding to them being blood-related.

Juste tensed. His knuckles formed into fists for a moment over the wooden table, and he readjusted his body in his seat -- ready to leap up at any given second. Pale eyes didn't move from the newcomer, for it wasn't a trick of the firelight when he saw the gleam of red within those dark eyes.

"Grandmother..." He wanted to tell her to move close to him, as he suspected that a vampire was Yves' trump card. However, his voice was barely a whisper. His eyes never left the pale newcomer.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

She doubted that Juste knew the affect those words had on her. How often had she heard Simon…or one of her children…utter the same sentence? Still, it warmed her heart that Juste still respected and cared enough not to dictate her presence here. She wouldn’t blame him if he had, but she’d preferred to avoid negative conversations with her kin.

“I will be careful.” Sabriel replied. “I shall face whatever is fated upon me like any other challenge of my long-lived life.”

Sabriel wouldn’t deny the danger. Only a fool would. However, she’d rather face potential death than hide and do nothing when her family was at risk. The vampires would likely prioritize her as a target, should they confirm she returned to the Old World. If she had stayed in the New World, they would’ve eventually come for her if they succeeded in whatever their messiah planned.

There was a commotion at the inn’s door. Sabriel looked over to see Yves had returned, the youth following behind a man who bore a strong resemblance to him…a man whose eyes glinted red in the firelight.

Juste was flattered that his grandmother would spare the time to come and see him. However, he knew that his grandmother had to return to Europe for a serious reason.

Upon hearing the news of alchemists being murdered, Juste's lips tilted into a pensive frown. He had a vague understanding of what Magnum Opus was. However, listening to her more, it wasn't long for the old man to come to the same conclusion Sabriel might have had after discovering that vampires were behind the disappearance of many alchemists.

The age-old vampire hunter tapped his fingers against the tankard as he thought. As much as he wanted to force his grandmother away again with how the vampires had gradually become bolder over the years, he didn't know if anything he would do or say would sway the woman. He knew that Sabriel was strong enough to protect herself, but a part of him from long ago still wished to guard her -- even if he knew it was an ineffective endeavor. It's not like his wrinkled hands can protect anyone anymore.

Juste lifted his eyes to her and asked softly, "Will you be okay?" The question was weighed down by many said words.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

“Seeing you again was a major reason for my return.”

Sabriel didn’t dwell on how Juste had aged from the young lad he had been when she left. His eyes, though darkened by experience, were the same. His voice sounded older but the familiarity of it remained.

Her expression turned more somber. She wouldn’t lie to Juste. She never did before and he didn’t deserve it now. The crowd became louder with a drinking song, allowing her more freedom to be direct.

“I’ve received word that many alchemists have been murdered within the last year. At first, I believed it to be the work of Magnum Opus. The guide has a habit of killing off alchemists who refuse to join it…which is how I lost Papa.” Sabriel sighed. “However, it appears that the vampires are behind it. I believe you can guess what they might be after if they are targeting alchemists.”

“I know it’s dangerous for me to be here. However, I cannot bear the thought of living if I did nothing to help you and Richter during these times.”

Juste huffed a humorless smile from his nose. He wouldn't doubt Julia. With her and the kid's gift for magic, being with Speakers would entertain them enough to not go crazy on such a long and boring trip.

Feeling done with his meal, he pushed it aside. No, he hadn't gotten through half of what was on the plate, but he didn't feel like eating anymore. As his grandmother was speaking to him, the invisible weight in his chest became heavier.

The memory of Lydie dying in his arms... He can still feel her limp body at times. And the mental image of Mixum tore open like some prey animal... But he was never one that asked for help. He knew what he did was wrong, shutting the world away from him so that he could rot away in his pathetic shack. But he really had no motivation to fight to live like he did before. Not even his own grandson sparked any interest.

"I still should have tried," Juste forced himself to say, words so quiet that it nearly came off as a whisper. "But it felt like the world had left me when they were murdered. And I was too weak to save them."

He knew that his grandmother was well experienced with loss. She's lived such a long time, it would be ignorant to assume otherwise. However, a part of him still felt alone in this world. In the end, even his own daughter felt like a stranger.

But the old hunter heaved a heavy sigh and turned his head away from the youthful woman. He had to get away from this conversation. It wasn't something he was ready to touch upon.

"What returns you to Europe after so long?" he feigned ignorance, leaving the conversation open to take whatever path Sabriel wanted to go. "I know it's not just for my handsome, old face. Unless it is. Then I'm very flattered, granddaughter." The last word came out as a tease.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

Athena remained on Sabriel’s shoulder. Her feathers flared out to betray her fear, but she had yet to take flight. The owl did glare at Joachim before pressing herself against Sabriel’s neck as if to reassure her mistress that their friend remained a friend, even when a second sword moved near the alchemist’s throat.

Sabriel kept still while processing the situation. She carefully summoned another symbol for fire in the hand that was behind her back. Not to use against Joachim but to ready herself. Fire distracted vampires. It would give her enough time to summon her bow and assist if the pale vampire wasn’t able to take on both other creatures.

“Oui, you jest! Or mayhap you’re one of those bloody foreign nobles the messiah called to France. Too high and mighty to join the meetings where us common blood are given orders, right? No matter.” The first vampire laughed.

“This woman is Sabriel D’Gandolfi. The messiah learned about her during her interrogations of alchemists throughout Europe. The messiah believes she possesses a magical artifact or can create one that will benefit all vampires.”  

Joachim's hand shot out to grab Sabriel's arm before she stumbled toward him. While his grip wasn't offensive initially -- having trained himself over the centuries to handle humans with care -- when the other vampire snapped at him, Joachim tightened his grip and strongly pulled Sabriel in front of him. He pulled her hand behind her back in an arresting manner, but he did it gently enough to not threaten her with a dislocated arm. If Athena decided that her master was truly in danger, he trusted the little owl would take action.

"Apologies, my kin!" Joachim laughed, willing his already drawn sword into a ready stance some feet in front of him and Sabriel. Another sword floated from its clip, and the second blade was arranged near the alchemist's throat, yet innocuously--almost as if it was taking aim at the other vampire than it was threatening to slit the woman's throat.

Joachim continued, playing dumb with the brightest smile he could, his youthful appearance helping his naivety, "It appears I missed the memo the Messiah gave out. Are you sure it was this alchemist? What makes this one different from the others?"

He knew that if Simon were alive, the Belmont would have his head. However, Joachim wished dearly that Sabriel understood. While he will never put her in harm's way, he also wanted to play this out since he wasn't immediately recognized.

Behind the first vampire, a second one trudged through the foliage. A larger vampire in height and weight. This vampire wielded a spiked club, and a large scar over his nose indicated that he had experience in rough fights. He reminded Joachim of the ogres that used to litter the Dark Place of Waterfalls. The second vampire didn't say anything, but he stared at Joachim and Sabriel with clear suspicion.

Well shit, was all Joachim could think. While he hasn't lost his act on these two yet, he knew it was only a matter of time before the less trusting vampire caught onto his game. But, until then, he was going to get as much information out of the first vampire as he could.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

“Only a few. She was more interested in hearing about my life throughout the different centuries than how I’ve lived so long. The voyage to the new world took over six weeks, if I recall correctly. Enough to drive anyone to cabin fever if they weren’t prepared. I suspect Julia intentionally took the same ship as the Speakers as means to keep herself entertained while caring for her boy.”

Sabriel pushed aside her empty plate, freeing space for her to fold her arms on top of the table. Again, she chewed at her inner cheek while considering was she was about to say.

“It takes a lot of strength to keep existing, Juste. Especially after you lose those you love in such a brutal and sudden way.” She idly picked at the sleeve of her dress. “I understand why you went silent…in my own way.”

She didn’t mean Simon or any of her children who have passed. Their deaths were natural, from old age or sickness. While their absence from this world hurt, it wasn’t the same as losing someone to murder. Lydie and Maxim came to mind, as she remembered how often they would come to the estate to join Juste in adventures. But what haunted her was her papa, the man who raised her as his own blood.

Juste's brows rose upon hearing the mention of his mother, but a breathless chuckle escaped his lips. A brief moment of lightheartedness the Old Hunter expressed throughout their moment together. "I did not know that my mother cared enough to scold you for almost dying, even if it had been for my sake," Juste half-joked as he took another bite of his meal. His mother was usually scowling at Sabriel, and Just really didn't know why.

Hearing Julia's name made the old man's expression turn melancholic. He furrowed his brows as he swallowed with some difficulty. It was true that Julia most likely would have known Sabriel from a painting. When he inherited the Belmont estate, before marrying Lydie, he had a painting of Sabriel, Simon, and their children in the great room -- a treasure he saved from his grandfather's vault. And, aside from that, a smaller painting of his grandparents in the hallway leading to his room. Julia had often stared at the paintings, and it led to a couple of fond conversations about Juste's past with his grandparents. To hear that such conversations helped with a great-grandchild meeting her great-grandmother shouldn't have made him feel ashamed. Ashamed of himself for not introducing them properly.

"You left when you felt it necessary," Juste paused only for a moment to take a drink. "But I failed in keeping you updated on my life after some time... I just couldn't find the strength to pick up the pen anymore. But I am happy to hear that Julia didn't attack you immediately. Although I'm sure she had questions about your... situation."

He nearly laughed at the last part. He knew Julia was brilliant for a huntress, but anyone would be confused upon seeing an eternally young 'grandmother'.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

A chill ran down her spine when Joachim’s glowed red. She felt Athena shift on her shoulder, turning her head to look at whatever captured the vampire’s attention, before the little owl screeched in warning. An inhuman scream followed as Sabriel heard something approaching her.

Sabriel half rose from the log, already unbalanced as she scrambled towards Joachim, narrowing missing the sword.

The second vampire nearly caught her, his claws grasping at her hair he noticed the sword coming at him. No time to properly evade. He tried, but the blade sliced into his side before he could leap back.

He didn’t heed his wound as it already begun to heal. He hissed, baring his fangs at Joachim. “Stay your hand, dark brother. Have you not heard the messiah’s will? She wants this alchemist brought to her.”

Joachim turned his eyes to watch her. He allowed her to speak. After all, when it came to the alchemists, they were also off his radar. He should allocate some time to listen to their plights as they are vital to some aspects of the vampire world.

He frowned upon hearing the news of alchemists dying. That was never good news. Especially with how rare alchemists are--even if they had a more secret society than a lot of children of the night.

The vampire's smooth face tightened in intense thought. "If they were searching for any of the stones, that can be troublesome. If we were to theorize any of the stones are in her possession, I would have thought that Báthory possessed the Ebony Stone. It fits the bill for someone who wants eternal night, from my experience. However, I do not doubt the possibility of the three stones being re-created."

Joachim sighed before he lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, his narrowing in his signature annoyance, but it was spoiled by faint traces of fatigue. After a breath of careful consideration, he said, "Are you going to be okay? Or would you like me to travel with you until this even passes over?"

Of course, he worried about the woman to a small degree. She was a Belmont in the eyes of Human Law. Assisting her came with the vow he made to Leon. To him, it didn't matter if she was a Philosopher's Stone or a normal human. She was a Belmont, and he was obligated to assist her.

Suddenly, he saw a shift from the corner of his eye--a shimmer of shadow in the forest nearby. As a reactionary instinct, he snapped his head to the movement, red eyes glowing and face concentrated, and tensely watched the treeline for any more movement.

Then it happened. A shadow dashed from the foilage with a scream, claws outstretched toward Sabriel. Joachim flicked a hand into the air toward the shadow, one of his Symbiotic Swords flying from its clip beneath his coat to intercept the intruder.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

Sabriel ate a few bites of food before it grew cold. The meal was better than expected, not as heavy as she feared it would be after her voyage across the ocean. And, given this was on Juste’s coin, she wouldn’t dare to let it go to waste.

She felt guilty when Juste expressed that he didn’t want to lose her. While it lifted her spirits that he cared, she knew how easily her past effort to regain her mortality could be taken as a worse intention.

“That was the only time your mother yelled at me. Of course, she waited until I recovered enough of my senses and your father had taken you out to train before giving me a piece of her mind. While she lacked fondness towards our bond, she was more afraid of how my death might affect you.”   

Everyone had been afraid. It was likely Sabriel wouldn’t have been survived if her children hadn’t insisted on helping her. Their combined efforts kept the spell from destroying her when the stone reacted negatively the moment a separation was attempted.

She barely remembered what happened after. It took weeks for the stone to regain enough power to active its healing effects on her. They had told her that she slept for a fortnight before waking up in a very weakened state, remaining bedridden until a few weeks later.

“When you turned seventeen…I knew it was my time to leave.” Sabriel chewed at her inner cheek. “I know I missed a lot of your life because of that. Only witnessing it through letters and from Julia.”

She closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself. “Julia recognized me from a painting you kept. We had boarded the same ship to the new world when I was traveling there to help Speakers from Sophia’s lineage. If not for seeing me at noon above deck, I fear she would’ve been more set on the idea that I was a vampire.”

When Sabriel confirmed that she wasn't related to vampires, Juste's shoulders lost a bit of tension. He wasn't aware of how stiff his body had become. However, he should have known. His grandmother loved indulging him whenever he would ask to be walked around the manor. It was foolish of him to subconsciously default to those creatures of the night when it came to those who didn't age.

"I believe you," Juste quietly said. He finally found the spark of motivation to pick up a fork and start pushing around the greens on his plate. "Grandfather was strict with his inner circle. I imagine he had more uncompromising standards for spouses."

While Sabriel drank and considered her words, Juste numbly pushed around a few more items on his plate before he decided that he should pretend to be hungry. So he cut the meat and sluggishly started to dine. His appetite had disappeared a while ago. But he didn't want his grandmother to concern herself with him.

His brows shot up at the mention of the Philosopher’s Stone. Of course, he grew up listening to the murmurings of the stone in the scholarly scenes. But Juste had always been a little more pragmatic than his peers. The Philosopher’s Stone was supposed to be mythic if not completely false. But he wisely kept his mouth shut, even after the waitress briefly came by to refill their mugs.

Hearing the woman's story, Juste's brows drew in tightly as he carefully regarded the weight of the tale. He knew that his grandmother wasn't a liar.

When she brought up the memory of the events that happened after Simon's death, the look on the old man's morphed.

"You tried to..." Juste couldn't find the proper words... Or, perhaps, he didn't know what face to show. Anger? Pain? Confusion? His expression twisted between some emotion or another as he tried to settle on a proper train of thought.

Then he found his inner stability, his body returning to a calmer state when he heaved a weighty sigh.

"I see. So that was why you were so sick," Juste's eyes dropped as he returned to pushing around the items on his plate. He would take a large drink of beer, but he didn't feel thirsty. "I remember bits and pieces. It was such a long time ago. I remember feeling... scared. Scared that I would lose my wonderful grandmother. Now that I know what loss is, I... Still, don't want to lose my wonderful grandmother."

The last half of his words were but a whisper on his lips.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

𝔗𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤, 𝔗𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔤𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔉𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔶 𝔤𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔰, ℑ'𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞 𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔤, 𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢'𝔩𝔩 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔘𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔤.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

“The question is…what?” The alchemist agreed.

Sabriel moved to sit on a nearby log. She closed her eyes before weaving her hands together, calling forth a golden symbol of fire. She cupped it between her fingers, allowing it to chase of some of the night’s cold.

“A lot of my fellow alchemists, friend and foe, have been slaughtered across Europe by those associated with Báthory. Not by random, either. It’s like they’re searching for something rather than eliminating.” She gently blew out the symbol as if it was a flame.

“Many of us are coming to believe that her intention is to prevent any chance of that kind alchemy from being used against her if someone among us still possess knowledge of it. The Ebony stone is likely gone but no one is certain about the Crimson stone. It was also possible that other versions of either stone might have been re-created by accident, too. And there are still a few Philosopher’s stones in existence.”

Sabriel was living proof of that. She understood there’s a chance the vampire messiah might order her to be hunted down. The fear came from wondering if she would be killed or kept alive to be used for some nefarious plan.

Joachim had long been aware of Sabriel's connection to the Belmont clan. While he would like to feign ignorance about each Belmont's name, he remembered each one, as well as committing to memory several members of the extended family such as the Helsings and Morrises. While the Speakers weren't on his radar, he knew of the Blood that ran through some of them.

He gave a hum of acknowledgment. He was aware of who she was talking about, but it wasn't his place to say anything. The vampire chose not to say anything about Sabriel's dilemma. While it was not the same, Joachim knew full well how difficult it is to face the next generation in one's bloodline while being immortal.

In his opinion, she really shouldn't. It will only lead to unpleasantries. And he's speaking from experience.

When the sound of feathers mildly interrupted them, Joachim could only smile in greeting at the little owl that circled him. When the little thing landed on Sabriel's shoulder, the pale vampire laughed, "And another old friend. My, today is very eventful."

"I've noticed," Joachim said. He glanced over to the small town that Sabriel just come from and nodded his head toward it. "Even in that place, the stink of vampires is there. I can only assume that most of the vampires had already aligned themselves with Báthory. Raw power often reigns supreme. I am not surprised that it's rooted in the nobility."

When the Ebony Stone was brought up, Joachim's expression morphed into light surprise.

"...That depends on if that kind of alchemy still exists in this era. I had assumed the Ebony stone that Walter had disappeared with him," he said, lost in wonder. "If the rumors of what god she consumed are correct, then magic alone can swallow the sun even if for a moment. But that takes extraordinary force. Life continuing on after such an event is the question."

They both know who really benefitted from a sunless world. In Joachim's opinion, this never was really about squishing the revolutionaries as Báthory's attendants tried to make it out to be.

"Something greater is a play here, Sabriel," the vampire gnashed his teeth. He knew something was brewing in the background, he was just too far removed from the vampire society to see what it was. But he had no desire to reacclimate himself to that culture. He's gotten too accustomed to watching humans live their short, precious lives.

"There wouldn't be so many vampires killing in her name for centuries if there wasn't."

[maighdean-ailceimic]

"What are you?"

Simon asked that same question so many years ago. Back then, he was the first person in centuries that she dared to trust with the knowledge of her immortality. A secret she only shared when it became clear they could have a future together after Simon healed from his curse.

“I’m not a vampire or a Dhampir.” Sabriel assured her grandson. She smiled broadly, revealing her lack of elongated fangs. Her ears weren’t pointed. Her skin wasn’t sickly pale or cold. A cross hung around her neck, a gift from Simon during their courtship, and its pure silver didn’t burn her. “And, contrary to what my enemies would say about me, I didn’t sell my soul to remain young.”

She took a large gulp of her own tankard. She drummed her fingertips against the side of it while she considered her next words.

“I was born human in the year 1100. What I became at the age of twenty… is the embodiment of what all alchemists could only dream of achieving. A vessel for the Philosopher’s stone.”

“I trust you’ve heard of the stone?” Sabriel paused when a waitress appeared to refill their drinks. She continued when they were alone again. “What most don’t realize is that each stone takes on a different form upon creation. Sometimes a rock. Sometimes a beating heart. Mine decided to be most difficult and merged with my soul.”

A pained expression befell her. “This wasn’t a willing fate, mind you. I chose to stop the man responsible for Papa’s murder. I interrupted a ceremony that would’ve given him unimaginable power and…well…the maiden of alchemy still lives while his body rotted away long ago.”   

In that moment, her eyes finally betrayed a hint of her true age.

“It’s my belief that I can be killed. I’m still human, after all, even if the stone has kept my physical body in a form of stasis. However, my efforts to find a way to safely remove the stone were unsuccessful. The only time I tried…well, you remember when I became deathly ill after your grandfather passed? Despite how often I rarely get sick beyond a sniffle and light fever?”

Juste allowed his grandmother to clean off his face from Yves' saliva. He didn't know if it was because he wanted to keep up the act of not being affected by it, or if he secretly wanted to know if she still had a light hand.

And she did. How it twisted his heart so uncomfortably to feel the feather-like touch against his slightly sagging skin.

"You have nothing to apologize for," was all that managed to pass his lips. A fragile murmur.

They were seated at his favored spot when the festivities began. Juste was perceptive enough to catch the sight of Yves bolting for the door with his buddies. It wasn't anything worthy of pointing out, so Juste sunk into the darkness of his corner as usual, his grandmother sitting across from him.

Luckily, the new songs and festivities were loud enough to allow the two a moment of privacy in hushed tones.

"Yes," Juste nearly laughed, yet his lips weren't smiling. He knew that his grandmother wasn't like the rest of the family. He's known for a while; his grandfather aged and crippled while his grandmother retained her youthfulness. Juste had no ill thought about her eternal youth. He just believed that was how she was.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He only opened them to spare a glance at one of the waitresses, who came by with a tavern dinner for two plus ale. The old hunter waited until the woman was out of earshot before reaching for the tankard mug and downing his drink.

After placing the mug down, he continued, "I had known. But I did not realize what it was at the time. Perhaps I had deluded myself into thinking you just had the best genes of your lineage. But I am not a youth anymore."

Juste paused for a moment, his eyes downcast, seeing past his plate of food.

The question he wanted to ask his grandmother was stuck in his throat. It was a difficult question that he didn't think to ask as a teenager, but he should ask now. He knew he could switch the topic and talk about their current lives, or he could pull out some excuse as to why he hadn't written her letters in years. But, with his line of work, it was important to know.

"What..." Juste started slowly as if processing how to ask the question as quietly as he could. And he did. The last word fading to a soundless breath on his lips, "What are you?"

[maighdean-ailceimic]

“Here,” Sabriel couldn’t resist pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and cleaning the spit off Juste’s face. “I apologize for the scene.”

The crowd fell back into a more festive mood. Their chatter and singing provided enough noise that she felt it was safe enough to speak openly. No sign of Yves and she hoped there wouldn’t be further trouble.

“I don’t know where to start.” She admitted. “I perceive the path of time…differently than most. I trust you understand that now. Like Simon before you.”

Sabriel couldn’t remember if she had ever told Juste of her immortality. He was too bright not to notice, even if he never seemed to question why she never aged. Perhaps it helped that, by the time Juste was born, her family had already accepted it and it became a norm that she wouldn’t grow old as they did. As bittersweet as that effort was.

Juste was no longer that youth of seventeen. She knew a bit of his life. There had been letters, though those ceased around the time of… What else she knew came from Julia, Tera, or one of Sabriel’s many connections within Europe.

The spit from the angry youngin didn't do much to rouse a reaction from Juste. To maintain his prideful stance, Juste didn't make a move to show that he acknowledged being spat on. His eyes remained trained on Sabriel as if engraving her into his memory once again.

He didn't get the chance to retort to Yves' question when Sabriel shot up and responded for him.

As much as he was shocked at the word "grandfather" coming out of her mouth, Juste knew that it was the only cover-up that made logical sense in the eyes of others. Yet, he had to close his eyes for a moment. Why did it make his chest hurt so?

He remained silent as everyone around him spoke. There was no point in talking, he figured. The age-worn Belmont released his hold on Yves' wrist after Jon had said his piece. With a glare, Juste aimed to end this situation with a final warning, "It's best if you get your sorry ass out of here and back to the father you so desperately pine for, boy."

Juste turned his back to the younger man in dismissal, offering Sabriel one hand while gesturing to his usual spot in the corner of the tavern with the other. He didn't care for the other people around him. He never did.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, grand...daughter," he mumbled softly, almost stumbling over his words at the last part of his sentence. It would have been awkward if he didn't feel so bashful. He led her to the table as he continued, "I was not aware that you came down to visit. Come. They will bring our food to the table. We have a lot to catch up on."

And a lot to catch up on. He didn't realize that he had such a yearning to know what his grandmother had been up to since the last time they saw each other. He hasn't seen his grandmother since he was seventeen.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

“I couldn’t stay in the New World once I heard about the messiah. The guild I left there is led by a strong Speaker and she promised to watch over Julia’s resting place. I managed to find Juste but have yet to meet Richter. Tera knows I’m here but I’m not ready to introduce myself to my great-great-grandson just yet.”

It didn’t matter if Joachim knew exactly who she spoke of. He had ways of finding out information if he felt it was important enough to learn. Just like she did.

A flutter of wings broke the quiet as a tiny owl descended from the sky. Athena circled Joachim in greeting before landing on Sabriel’s shoulder. She adjusted her perch, fluffing out her feathers, before relaxing.

Sabriel reached up to gentle caress Athena’s wing. “I’m grateful, then, that I don’t have to consider you an enemy against my family. The war in France is forcing many to take sides. My connections…at least those who still live…informed me that the vampire population is growing rapidly among the nobility.”

She left unspoken about how few Belmonts were still around to help.

Juste was past his prime. Richter had allies but time would soon challenge his resolve, especially if the rumors were true and Olrox was in France. The vampires had taken out most of the rest. Distant relatives still existed, of course.

Sabriel’s eldest daughter had married into the Speakers and her descendants went to different groups in Europe and the New World. Sabriel’s youngest children, Joan and Joshua, where elsewhere in time. She wasn’t sure what era or if they would appear to help now. She almost prayed they didn’t, at least that would mean the Belmont line would continue and potentially rise again.

“They say this messiah intends to devour the sun? I understood when Dracula wanted to do something similar, as his intention was to eradicate life from this world.” Sabriel finally inquired. “Does she have another Ebony stone, like Walter?  Or is she truly powerful enough to make the sun vanish but still provide enough magic for life to continue without it?”  

Joachim's pointed ears twitched at the sound of the woman's voice. And at her words, he couldn't do anything much but pass an agitated glance to the heavens with an aggrieved sigh. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his long coat. Hands toying with a hilt hanging at his waist through the fabric.

Bringing up his past after so long really was hitting below the belt. However, her words reminded him of the alliance he made with the Belmonts. Those wasted hundreds of years imprisoned in that watery tomb were a faraway dream at this point.

"It's nice to see you too, my other old friend," he sounded almost bored. If one could strain their ears, they could pick up the exasperated undertone in his voice. "I thought you were in the New World. Welcome back to Europe."

At the mention of Athena, Joachim hummed, not quite taking his eyes off of the darkened heavens. He half expected the little owl to flutter in his line of sight. Upon hearing her last words, Joachim turned only his head to the woman.

He was in Germany when he received an invitation from the Queen some time ago -- an invitation specifically asking for the presence of The Saintly Grandsire for her event of 'devouring the sun'. How she managed to fit him with such a title he couldn't begin to comprehend, but the fact that she knew of him creeped him out considering their origins.

So, Joachim, in an unceremonious fashion, took off without giving a notice in return. Which took him to France.

"Why would I heed the call of a false goddess?" Joachim shot her a perplexed look, his ruby eyes almost bordering aggravation. However, he supposed he couldn't blame her for her way of thinking. Báthory was powerful.

Joachim shrugged a stiffness from his shoulder and casually supplied, "Besides, I have a rebellious streak. Walter would attest to that. No, I've been in the area for some time before all of this." He waved a hand in the air to dismiss any ill thoughts that the woman might have had. He returned his eyes to the horizon. Staring. Watching.

"Call it a coincidence. Not that it was a choice, but I would rather help the Bloodline than her."

[maighdean-ailceimic]

“Their rock bottom is still freedom compared to being imprisoned alone behind a waterfall.” Sabriel answered the pale vampire as she approached him from behind.

Her intention wasn’t to bring up unpleasant memories, if any were provoked, but it never hurt to remind the vampire that she still remembered what he chose to reveal of his past. Perhaps she was one of the few who knew at all. It was hard to guess how forthcoming Joachim might be with others.

“Athena surprised me with news of your arrival. I trust her but I had prayed in vain that she could be wrong this time. Tell me, old friend, did the vampire messiah call upon you?”

Sabriel had returned from the new world a fortnight ago. It difficult to leave and even more difficult to come back. She had left several protective spells on Julia’s grave and entrusted the care of it to trusted friends she had made in Massachusetts.

Upon arriving in France, Sabriel quickly learned about the vampire messiah through her connections. That spurred her to quickly locate Juste and Ritcher, not that the latter had been aware of her presence when she visited Tera. She was no Sypha but if her abilities could assist her family…so be it.

Joachim could only laugh at what the world had become.

It was a far cry better than what it had been centuries ago, yes, but it still looked like, smelled, and even tasted like a dump. He wondered if Leon would be rolling in his grave right about now.

"Your bloodline certainly has reached rock bottom, old friend," the vampire could only muse aloud. Piercing red eyes stared down at the seemingly peaceful little village town in the distance.

Oh, poor Belmonts. The stink of their blood always gave them away. Fortunately for the clan, Joachim had long conditioned himself to kin the disgusting smell. Or else they would have been rooted up a long, long time ago.

"It's a wonder how there are two surviving members of your clan in this age with the amount of enemies your blood has."

[maighdean-ailceimic]

Jon ceased fiddling as soon as he noticed Sabriel being grabbed. Others looked over their shoulders, curious to see what suddenly occupied his attention, before most of the crowd turned upon hearing Juste’s voice. They witnessed Sabriel’s brief captivity before the men released her.

Both men, when noticing they were being watched, immediately bolted for the tavern’s door. Or tried to. They weren’t as drunk as Yves but still stumbled on their feet.

 “How dare you touch me, peasant. Do you know who my father is?” Yves barely noticed his companions leaving. He sneered, angry at what he perceived to be an interruption, and spat in Juste’s face while the hunter was focused on Sabriel. “Are you the old fool this wench was waiting for?”

Sabriel crossed her arms. She balled her hands into fists, tightening and loosening them in effort not to cast a spell on Yves. The last thing she needed to do was cause a bigger scene that could get Juste in trouble. That didn’t mean that she wasn’t ready to set the youth ablaze if he managed to hurt the hunter.

“You insult my grandfather when it is you who behaves unjustly.” Sabriel managed to speak.

It felt odd calling Juste her grandfather. He may look the part now but she would always see him as her grandson. A look in his eyes caught her off guard, reminding her of the look that lingered in Simon’s eyes at times when he thought she wouldn’t notice. She tried to ignore it now as she did then, knowing there was little she could do to ease the fact that she physically hadn’t aged a day throughout Juste’s entire existence.   

Sabriel fringed worry and fear. Best to keep in character. While Juste knew who she truly is, the other patrons only knew her as Briel…the young and naïve woman seeking her grandfather. “Please, just leave us be?”

Yves laughed. “And allow myself to be disgraced by this slight?”

“Enough, Yves.” Jon snapped. “Even your father wouldn’t overlook your behavior of attempting to assault a lady in public. Lord d'Angennes is many things but he has too much pride to let his family name be stained.”

Juste heard the sound of her voice before he saw her, his eyes widening. That distinctive, beautiful voice he hadn't heard since he was a child. Memories that he had almost forgotten flooded him. Flashes of his grandmother's smile, the Belmont villa he grew up in, and his grandfather's downcast countenance.

She was about midway through her song when he saw her. She hadn't aged a day. Her hair was still a red chestnut -- not a lick of silver or white in those soft locks; the skin of her face was still smooth -- not a single wrinkle of old age weighing her down. Dark eyes radiant in a familiar joy he used to delight in as a brat.

His beautiful grandmother.

Juste had to avoid her gaze. He mentally tried to steel himself to face a literal ghost of his past. Juste grumbled just loud enough for the man behind the counter to hear. "Give me your lunch meals with ale for two. I'll be sitting at my usual spot."

Louis grunted a little before he went to the back to tell the cook about the added orders.

When the song ended, Juste inhaled deeply and turned back to the crowd. He saw his grandmother attempt to take her departure from the crowd.

And he saw the man try to force her into a dance.

If he had been in his younger years, Juste would have bolted from his seat to defend his grandmother's honor. He would have cursed the men who dared to put their hands on his grandmother. After all, he knew that is what his grandfather would have done. No, Grandfather Simon would have started a bar fight. Juste wouldn't go that far if it could have been avoidable.

But, instead, his current body stood as still as a statue, too heavy to move -- too fatigued to care -- even after the other two men had grabbed his grandmother by the arms and held her in place while the sniveling little son of a bitch tried to regain his footing.

Juste saw the aggression in the young man's eyes and it seemed that only then did Juste's body finally caught up with his sense of obligation. Although he was a tad slower than he wished, he still managed to push himself off of his comfortable spot at the bar and toward the group.

Just as the hand raised against the woman came rushing down, Juste's own snagged it right out of the air. There was a moment of silence as those nearby processed what had happened.

"Who would raise their hand against a lady?" Juste's voice was stern and deep -- a warning he had used countless times on vampires and misbehaving youngins. His grey eyes tightened, his back was straight, and his shoulders were rigid. Juste didn't offer Yvis a chance to say his piece before he turned his attention to the other two men. "And what graceless bastards would hold a woman up like that? Unhand her, or you'll get the worse end of whatever-the-fuck I'll use to beat some honor into you."

His intimidation seemed to have worked for the other two as they had quickly released their hold on the lady. In this distance, Juste saw the better details of his grandmother's face. And he felt his fierce expression slack into something close to adoring disbelief.

She was still as beautiful as he remembered.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

More people gathered around Sabriel. Many of them joined in with Jon’s fiddling by clapping or even drumming their hands against table tops. Some who heard her songs from previous nights even whispered along, providing a chorus at times. Others who came as couples took to dancing.

“Tell me that the night is long. Tell me that the moon is glowing. Fill my glass, I'll sing a song and we'll start the music flowing.”

It was easy for Sabriel to relax and lose herself. Her mind drifting back to days long passed. Of the nights she attended village festivals with Simon before their marriage, where she danced under starlight and beside bonfires, singing to him and the villagers who accepted her after years of her avoiding people. Of the nights her family would hold celebrations of their own, where her children and grandchildren would beg her for song after song. Sometimes they would join her, like Juste when he would duet with her.

“Don't go out into the cold. Where the wind and rain are blowing. For the fire is flaming gold and in here, the music's flowing.”

Sabriel caught a glimpse of a white-haired man near the bar. She couldn’t see him very well while dancers moved back and forth, often blocking direct sight of him. So, when she brought her song to an end, she attempted to pardon herself.

“Allow me a break.” Sabriel smiled at her audience. “It has been a while since I’ve sung this long for good company.”

There were a few noises of disappointment, but Jon effortlessly began another melody and grabbed their attentions. Sabriel weaved her way through the crowd. A drink of water or ale wouldn’t hurt, either, while she confirmed if the old man was the one she had been waiting for.

Suddenly, someone claimed her arm and dragged her into a clumsy dance step. Sabriel barely recovered and glared up at the youth from earlier. She thought he left by now, given he seemed absent from the crowd.

“Enough singing.” He sneered. “Dance with me.”

 “No.” She could smell the alcohol on his breath.

She stomped on his foot when he refused to let go, causing him to shove her backwards. Sabriel stumbled but didn’t fall, as his friends had been close enough to grab either of her arms.

“Oui, you alright, Yves?” One inquired.

“Not good, missy. He doesn’t like to be hurt.” The other said.

They were drunk, too, but their hold was strong. Sabriel glanced towards the crowd, noting how many of them hadn’t noticed anything yet, before focusing on Yves. Once the pain seemed to fade enough for him to stop hopping around, he looked at her with rage in his eyes.

“How dare you.” Yves hissed. He approached her, his hand rising to strike. “No commoner gets away with rejecting a noble!”

She braced herself.

Juste was, to say in very kind terms, beat. Exhausted.

This week's hunt for pesky vampires some towns over was more exhausting than pulling teeth. He might have been a little sloppy with his execution, sure, but who cares? As long as the target was dead and he got his labor's worth, then consider the job done.

He heaved a sigh as he lumbered into familiar grounds.

...Of course, he immediately marched his sluggish feet right into the pub.

It has been too long since his last visit. If he had the energy to make a joke, he would say that the barkeep would have been lonely without his drinking coin. It's not like he had anything going for him anyway. There was only one thing keeping him from asking the question "Why the hell am I even alive?"

As soon as he stepped foot into the place, the smell of food and rum made his stomach quietly grumble. He didn't realize how hungry he really was until now.

"Louis, the usual," Juste grumbled as he took a quick stop in front of the barkeep to deposit the usual payment amount.

The man behind the counter grunted before saying, "It's rude to keep a lady waiting." As Juste flashed Louis a look that said 'what the fuck', the man gave a quick point into the crowd and continued, "She insisted on waiting. Voice of an angel, that one. She makes the place lively."

Juste was baffled. He passed a half-hearted glance over to the crowd, not sure what to expect.

[maighdean-ailceimic]

Familiar faces

|| Closed starter for @melancholynobleman ||

“Evening, miss.” The barkeep nodded in acknowledgement. “Bit earlier than usual tonight. Not sure if he’ll be in but he usually isn’t gone for this long.”

Sabriel inwardly sighed despite offering a pleasant smile. “Thank you, good sir.”

The barkeep studied her after his eyes flickered towards some other patrons. “Have you other family you can stay with? It’s not the norm around these parts for young women to linger on their own.”

“My cousin should be in town from Machecoul tomorrow morning. If Grandfather doesn’t show up this evening, I shall leave to join my family there.” The lie came effortlessly. Not the location but that she had people expecting her.

“Tis a shame that you would leave us so soon, Miss Briel.”

Sabriel couldn’t resist a grimace before she steeled her expression into that befitting the naïveté young woman. She turned towards the youth who sat with a couple of his friends, smiling pleasantly. She understood his attraction, for she physically seemed around his age…give or take a year…but nothing about him was appealing to her.

“Rather rude to listen in on others’ conversations, sir.” She retorted before looking to other patrons she had befriended during her stay. “I promised everyone more songs, no? What instrument has anyone brought tonight?”

An older man, Jon if she remembered correctly, lifted his fiddle. “Just tuned her, miss.”

“Wonderful.” Sabriel moved past the group of young men, ensuring she was outside of arm space, before taking a place at the hearth. She ignored the cold stare from the youth who spoke earlier, clearly disliking that she had easily disengaged from him, and began to sing while Jon played.