Chapter 91 – The Only Ones Left
The castle hall was dim, lit only by a few ancient chandeliers that flickered with flame like they remembered when electricity was a rumor.
Mircella Draculesti sat calmly on Alex's lap, still as a porcelain sculpture, still sipping from her thermos of rose-scented blood tea. Her boots didn't touch the floor. Her heartbeat was a hum of eternity.
But even eternity had its irritants.
She turned her head slightly — not enough to break her poise, but enough to signal she'd noticed.
Far above, across layers of hidden stone, shielded projection, and carefully masked surveillance...
The vampire nobles were watching.
Dozens of ancient eyes, seated in thrones of blood and memory, observing through enchanted mirrors and illusion-threaded spells.
And Mircella?
She narrowed her crimson eyes slightly.
"…Old men," she muttered.
The air chilled by a single degree.
Up in the chamber of the Crimson Court, twelve vampire lords stiffened — caught like children sneaking cookies before dinner.
One of them immediately coughed. Another adjusted their robe. A third dismissed the viewing spell entirely.
Privacy was restored. Instantly.
Back on the castle bench, Mircella gave a quiet "hmph" of satisfaction and leaned more comfortably against Alex's chest.
Then—
Her eyes fluttered once.
A light pressure pressed against her thoughts.
A voice. Velvet and iron. Older than language.
"Mircella."
The psychic connection was soft, warm, unmistakable.
Her mother.
Queen Ileana Draculesti.
Mircella closed her eyes and responded silently across the bond.
"Mother."
"Come. Dinner."
"I'm busy."
"With something... interesting?"
A pause.
"...Yes."
A soft chuckle echoed across the link — like roses blooming in moonlight.
"Then you must tell me about them later."
Mircella blinked open her eyes and looked up at Alex.
"I have to go," she said softly.
Alex met her gaze.
Calm. Unbothered. As always.
"Alright."
She smiled faintly.
"I'll see you again."
And without ceremony, without magic circles or bursts of smoke—
She vanished.
One blink.
Gone.
Later — Somewhere Deeper
The dining chamber of the vampire royal estate was vast, beautiful, and utterly silent. Soft wine-colored carpets rolled across black marble. The walls bore no portraits, only shifting mosaics of night skies and ancient bloodlines carved in relief.
At the head of the table, Queen Ileana Draculesti reclined — her gown shimmering with runes, her eyes reflecting millennia.
Across from her, now seated and pouring herself more rose-blood tea from a porcelain pot, was Mircella.
No guards.
No stewards.
No consorts.
Just mother and daughter.
The only ones left.
But they didn't seem lonely.
"Was it a good day?" the Queen asked, lips curved in something between amusement and genuine interest.
Mircella stirred her tea once, counter-clockwise. "Eventful."
"You walked through the mortal castle again?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"I found someone interesting."
That earned a pause.
Ileana raised an eyebrow, just slightly.
"A threat?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Mircella looked down into her tea, then smiled softly.
"He's… calm."
A slow sip.
Then her mother leaned back in her chair, folding her arms.
"Well, well."
"Are we finally entering our rebellious phase?"
"I'm not rebelling," Mircella said primly.
"No. That would involve explosions and poor fashion decisions." The queen smirked. "This is worse. You're… curious."
Mircella didn't respond.
She sipped her tea.
Ileana tilted her head.
"Will I meet him?"
"Maybe."
"I'll wear my less-scary tiara."
Mircella glanced at her mother, face neutral.
"You don't own one."
"Then I'll just smile softly and promise not to erase him."
Mircella said nothing.
But the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth was impossible to hide.
Chapter 92 – The Taste of Moonlight
The halls of Bran Castle dimmed behind them, swallowed by night and memory.
By the time the tour was finished, the students had returned to the hotel buzzing with excitement and exhaustion. Their footsteps echoed against old wood floors, their voices blending into hallway laughter and the soft rustle of tired movement.
In the lobby, the homeroom teacher clapped for attention.
"Tomorrow is a free day," he said, raising his voice just enough to cut through the hum. "You may explore the town — in pairs or small groups only. Stay together, stay safe, and return by evening roll call. Understood?"
A collective "Yes!" surged from the students.
Plans were already forming — cafes, bookstores, antique markets, quiet trails leading to mountaintop shrines.
Airi Tachibana walked among them quietly, her face composed.
But her heart?
Panic.
Because she had a plan.
Later – Room 206
The door clicked shut behind her.
Alex was already inside — seated calmly on his bed, hoodie unzipped, reading a folded city map. The soft light from the wall sconce gave him a quiet glow. His posture was as always: still, alert, unbothered.
Airi stood at the door, gripping the handle like it might anchor her thoughts.
Okay. This is it. This is your chance.
"Hey Alex, do you have any plans for tomorrow?"
"There's this place I thought you might want to see."
"We don't have to go alone! But, um, we could."
She turned to face him.
He looked up.
Her throat closed.
The words melted.
What came out instead was:
"Um—tomorrow—if you want—I mean—maybe town—walk… you… me… possibly?"
Alex blinked once.
She panicked.
"Never mind! Good night!"
She dove into her blanket like it could protect her from social failure.
Alex stared at the wall for a second.
Then returned to folding the map.
"…Goodnight."
Later That Night
The radiator clicked.
Alex lay in bed, eyes half-lidded, breathing steady, listening to the quiet creak of the old hotel settling into silence.
Then, without warning—
A soft pulse of mana brushed the edge of his senses.
He opened one eye.
A presence stood beside his bed.
Small. Silent.
Elegant.
Mircella Draculesti.
She was barefoot, wearing a velvet nightdress trimmed with lace and embroidered sigils, her silver-white hair falling loosely around her shoulders. In her hands, she clutched a small black bat plush. Her crimson eyes gleamed in the dark.
She looked like a doll made of starlight and secrets.
"Move over," she whispered.
Alex blinked.
"…What?"
"I want to sleep with you."
Her tone was simple. Calm. Undemanding. Like a child asking for a story before bed.
He didn't argue.
Maybe it's part of her nature, he thought. A whim. A comfort. A symbol of trust.
He shifted aside.
She climbed in.
Pulled the blanket over herself.
Curled up beside him.
The plush bat rested between them like a soft, silent witness.
Then—
"I want to drink your blood" she said softly.
Alex turned his head to her.
She met his gaze without hesitation.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
She nodded once. "Please."
He considered it only briefly.
His ENDURANCE was beyond comprehension. His body regenerated faster than it could be damaged, faster than anything could ever hope to deplete.
And this girl — this ancient royal — wasn't doing it out of hunger.
There was something quieter behind it.
Curiosity. Trust. Craving. Maybe even comfort.
He gave a slow nod.
"Okay."
And with a simple thought, he reduced his skin's resistance, allowing her to pierce the surface.
Mircella leaned in slowly.
Her lips brushed against his neck.
Then—
The bite.
It wasn't violent.
But it wasn't small either.
She drank.
Deeply.
Alex didn't wince. Didn't flinch.
His body responded — immediate blood regeneration, vessels replenishing as fast as they emptied.
But she kept drinking.
Not out of greed… but out of astonishment.
Her hands clenched faintly into his shirt.
Her breath slowed.
Her eyes fluttered shut as she drank more.
And more.
When she finally pulled away, her lips were faintly flushed. Her breath trembled with restrained awe.
She stared at him, as if unsure he was real.
Then, in a quiet whisper—
"…That was the best blood I've ever tasted."
She blinked, almost dazed.
"I've lived for hundreds of years. I've tasted royal blood, blessed blood, cursed blood. Ancient bloodlines. Magical hybrids. Faeborn knights."
She exhaled slowly.
"None of them compare."
Her voice dropped to a reverent hush.
"I don't think there will ever be blood more perfect than yours."
Alex didn't answer.
She didn't expect him to.
Instead, she tucked herself closer — resting her head against his chest, plush bat between them, her fingers brushing his sleeve.
"Goodnight, Alex," she whispered.
And just like that, she fell asleep.
Calm.
Warm.
Completely at peace.
Alex lay there in silence.
He had faced monsters.
Trained through fire.
Survived dimensional storms and battled corrupted giants.
But somehow, nothing had prepared him for a tiny vampire princess wrapped in velvet and lace, snuggling into his chest after draining more blood than most beings could lose and saying it tasted like something eternal.
He closed his eyes.
"…Goodnight."
Chapter 93 – Before the World Wakes
The light creeping through the curtains was faint — the soft, bluish gray of a world not quite awake.
It was still early.
The hotel was silent.
No footfalls in the hallway. No voices from the rooms next door. No morning announcements. Only the occasional creak of ancient wood adjusting to the dawn chill.
Alex Elwood opened his eyes.
He hadn't moved much during the night. He didn't need to.
Mircella was still curled against his chest, arms gently wrapped around her bat plush, her silver hair cascading over his shoulder like a frozen waterfall. Her breath was slow and warm. Her face was still, peaceful.
Alex didn't say anything.
He didn't shift or wake her.
He simply stared at the ceiling for a few moments, eyes quiet, thoughts slower than usual.
Then, carefully, he slid out of bed.
Mircella stirred only slightly, her fingers clenching faintly where the warmth had been.
But she didn't wake fully.
Until—
The click of the bathroom door.
Then the sound of water running.
A moment later, her eyes opened.
She sat up, brushed her hair over one shoulder, and padded softly across the wooden floor — following.
Inside the small bathroom, Alex was finishing his shower and brushing his teeth with practiced efficiency.
The door creaked slightly.
He glanced back.
Mircella stood just inside, hair now tied back with a small black ribbon, still wearing her velvet nightdress, unfazed by the intrusion.
"You're up early," she murmured, stepping beside the sink like she'd done this dozens of times before.
Alex spit, rinsed, and shrugged lightly.
"Couldn't sleep more."
Mircella looked at her reflection in the mirror. She tilted her head, then reached up and adjusted her bangs until they fell just so.
"You slept fine last night," she said, voice light, almost teasing.
Alex didn't reply.
Instead, he opened the curtain slightly.
Outside, the Carpathian mountains were still half-swallowed in mist. The sky was a pale gray-blue, tinged with sleepy gold. The town below was hushed — shops closed, chimneys dark, streets still waiting for footsteps.
The sun hadn't fully risen.
Most of the world was still dreaming.
"We're the only ones up," Alex said quietly.
Mircella stood beside him at the window, hands folded behind her back.
"Perfect," she whispered.
A few minutes later, they walked quietly down the hotel's narrow staircase. The wooden banister creaked softly beneath Alex's hand.
The lobby was empty.
So was the lounge.
And so was the kitchen.
A hand-painted sign on the cabinet read:
STUDENT ACCESS PERMITTED – SELF SERVICE ALLOWED
(Clean what you use. Respect hotel property.)
Alex rolled up his sleeves.
Mircella sat calmly at the counter, legs dangling off the high stool, chin resting on her hands as she watched.
He moved through the kitchen like it was a second home — washing the rice, preparing the eggs, checking the vegetables, heating the oil.
The knives didn't clang. The pans didn't hiss too loudly.
Everything moved in clean rhythm.
Quiet. Controlled. Familiar.
"You've done this before," she said softly.
Alex nodded, flipping a pan.
"I usually cook for my family."
"Your sister?"
"And my parents. They work late."
Mircella tilted her head, curious.
"And you're always this calm in the morning?"
"Usually."
"Most people are grumpy."
"I don't need to be."
She smiled.
"I think that's why I like being around you."
When he finished cooking, he prepared two trays.
A hot bowl of rice each. Miso soup. Steamed greens. Tamagoyaki. Grilled fish. A side of sliced apples, lightly chilled. And hot tea — perfectly steeped.
He placed one tray in front of her.
Mircella blinked.
Then stared.
Then leaned forward — slowly, reverently — as if the scent alone was casting a spell.
She picked up her chopsticks delicately.
Took a bite.
And stopped.
Eyes wide.
Cheeks puffed slightly as she chewed slowly, reverently.
She swallowed.
Then stared at the tray like it had confessed a centuries-old secret to her.
"This…" she whispered.
"…is divine."
Alex raised an eyebrow.
"It's just breakfast."
"No," she said firmly. "This is sacred. This is a holy rite. This is what royalty should be eating at every dawn."
She took another bite.
Then another.
Then clutched her cheeks softly and murmured, "I can't go back to blood tea after this…"
Alex chuckled softly.
First time in a while.
Mircella looked up, still chewing, then smiled gently.
"Your blood was the best I've ever tasted," she said matter-of-factly. "But this…"
She gestured at the food.
"This might be even better."
Alex didn't answer.
He just sipped his tea, watching the horizon brighten.
And somewhere above them, behind closed doors and silent runes, vampire lords were waking too — unaware that the heir of their Queen was sitting in a hotel kitchen in her pajamas, eating rice and grilled fish with a boy they hadn't approved of.
Yet.
Chapter 94 – The Princess and the Walker
By the time the sun had risen fully above the misty slopes of Bran, the hotel was beginning to stir.
Voices echoed faintly through the halls. Doors creaked open. Someone upstairs sneezed. A kettle whistled weakly in the staff room.
But Room 206 was already empty.
Alex and Mircella had left before breakfast hour.
She had asked him softly — after finishing her last bite of apple and tea — if he would walk with her. No command. No formality. Just a simple request.
"Let's go outside."
Alex had shrugged and nodded, setting their dishes in the sink before grabbing his hoodie and stepping out the front door with her beside him.
The early city was still half-dreaming.
Fog hovered low along the cobblestones, curling around the crooked fences and small garden gates of old homes. The morning air smelled of woodsmoke and baked earth, a scent that hadn't changed in centuries.
Shutters creaked as windows opened slowly.
Lanterns flickered out.
A rooster crowed somewhere up the slope.
The first townsfolk appeared one by one — a baker setting out baskets of warm bread, a florist arranging dew-kissed petals in tin buckets, a man in an apron lighting a forge behind a quiet workshop.
Alex and Mircella walked past them without urgency.
He wore his usual black hoodie, hands tucked in his pockets.
She walked beside him in a long coat, her silver hair braided neatly behind her back, her crimson eyes observing the world like it was a snow globe held gently in her palm.
She said nothing at first.
Neither did he.
But the silence was comfortable.
To anyone watching — and there were a few — it might have looked like a quiet brother taking his much-younger sister out for some fresh air.
They passed a pastry stall. She tugged lightly at his sleeve.
"That one smells nice."
He bought it without asking — a flaky buttered croissant filled with sour cherry.
She took a bite and lit up like sunrise.
"This city is better than I expected," she murmured.
But not everyone saw them as a simple pair.
Because others were watching, too.
Others not quite human.
High above, perched in the shadowed upper windows of a slanted rooftop, two pale figures knelt in silence — cloaked in heavy coats stitched with silver thread.
Their eyes followed the girl with reverence.
One whispered.
"That's her."
The other nodded slowly.
"Princess Draculesti. She walks in daylight. With him."
In the far corner of the town square, behind the veil of an antique shop's enchanted mirror, an elder of the Lichvault Sect paused mid-chant.
He saw her pass.
Saw the calm, steady boy beside her.
His eyes widened.
He dropped the crystal he was polishing.
At the back of a blood café hidden behind a faux-curtained bookstore, three young vampire heirs sat with steaming goblets — laughing over gear builds in Mythcore.
The laughter stopped when the bell above the shop rang faintly.
One turned toward the window.
And stood up.
"Don't move," he whispered to the others.
They followed his gaze.
And all three stared in still silence.
Not because of the boy.
But because of the girl beside him.
In the vampire world, hierarchy was blood.
Power was history.
But Mircella Draculesti was above all of it.
The daughter of the Queen.
Born from no man.
Not just royalty.
A miracle.
And now she was strolling through a sleepy human town in broad daylight — eating cherry pastries and occasionally looking up at the boy beside her with clear, quiet fondness.
The boy didn't bow.
Didn't kneel.
Didn't react like a servant or a worshipper.
He just walked beside her.
Like it was normal.
Like she was normal.
And that… terrified them more than any title.
Back on the street, Mircella finished her pastry and brushed crumbs from her gloves.
She glanced up at Alex.
"You walk very quietly," she said.
"You walk like a shadow that chooses not to hide."
Alex gave a noncommittal shrug.
"I just walk."
She smiled faintly.
Then, as they turned a corner near a fountain, she asked:
"Do you ever wonder why people stare at you?"
Alex didn't answer right away.
Then:
"They stare at you, too."
Mircella looked forward again, her expression unreadable.
"They're not used to seeing someone like me outside the throne's shadow."
A pause.
"Or with someone who doesn't flinch."
She looked at him again, lips curved softly.
"I like that about you."
They kept walking.
Quiet. Steady. Side by side.
And behind them, in hushed whispers and sealed messages, the vampire world began to tremble — not with rebellion, but reverence.
Because the heir of the Queen had chosen someone.
And that someone walked like he belonged there.
The morning light spilled gently through the curtains.
Birdsong floated faintly outside.
Inside Room 206, Airi Tachibana stirred beneath the blankets, her hair a soft tangle, her face half-buried in her pillow.
She blinked once.
Then again.
Sat up slowly.
Rubbed her eyes.
Silence.
The kind of silence that didn't feel natural in a shared room.
She looked across the space—
Alex's bed was empty.
Blanket folded.
Pillow barely indented.
The room was neat.
Too neat.
Her heart skipped — not because she thought something had happened, but because of something worse:
She hadn't noticed him leave.
No footsteps.
No door sound.
No rustle of cloth.
She got up quickly, brushing her hair out of her face, still in her sleep shirt and socks.
She checked the bathroom.
Empty.
No steam.
She checked the hallway through the peephole.
Still quiet. No students.
She stepped back inside the room, staring at the empty bed again.
"…He left early?"
That wouldn't be strange — not really.
Alex was always early. Calm. Distant. Unbothered.
But today…
Today was supposed to be different.
She had rehearsed lines.
She had planned to ask him to go with her — around the town, just for an hour. A small thing. Normal. Casual. The kind of thing that might become something more.
But now he was gone.
Without a word.
Without a sound.
And something in her stomach twisted.
She reached for her phone.
Checked for messages.
Nothing.
Checked the hallway again.
Still quiet.
She bit her lip, standing in the middle of the room.
Then whispered aloud to herself:
"…Did he go alone?"
A pause.
Then another thought surfaced.
Unbidden. Inevitable.
Did he go with someone else?
Her expression tightened.
It was irrational.
It was ridiculous.
It was probably wrong.
But it stayed with her.
She looked down at the empty bed again.
And for the first time in a long while…
Airi felt something ugly flicker behind her ribs.
Not fear.
Not worry.
But something sharp.
Possessive.
Chapter 95 – The Distance Between Us
Airi walked fast.
Not quite running.
Not yet.
The air was still crisp, and the town was only beginning to wake. Light touched the rooftops, stretching golden fingers through chimney smoke and crooked alleyways. But she barely noticed.
She had searched the hotel first.
The lounge.
The garden courtyard.
The breakfast room.
The kitchen.
Empty.
No one had seen him. One teacher, still yawning behind his coffee mug, mumbled something about students being allowed to explore freely today.
Airi had nodded politely, left quickly, and now—
She was in the streets of Bran.
Looking for him.
"He doesn't usually disappear."
"Why didn't he leave a note? A message?"
"Who would he leave with?"
Her steps quickened.
She turned down a narrow lane lined with old stone walls and wrought-iron balconies.
Then she froze.
Her breath caught.
Across the street, in the soft morning light, she saw him.
Alex.
Calm as ever. Hoodie on. Hands in his pockets.
And next to him…
A girl.
Small. Pale. Silver-haired. Dressed in elegant black layers with lace trim. Her crimson eyes reflected the rising sun like liquid rubies.
They weren't holding hands.
But they were walking close.
Too close.
The girl turned slightly — just enough for Airi to see her full face.
And that was when everything snapped into place.
She knew that face.
From a restricted magical registry.
From a lecture on high-risk supernatural royalty.
From a page labeled:
"Mircella Draculesti – Pureblood Vampire Princess, Heir to the Crimson Court."
Airi's heart stopped cold.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"That's her."
"That's her."
She ducked behind a fruit cart instinctively, peeking between baskets of plums.
Alex stood at the fountain, gently brushing a few crumbs off the girl's shoulder.
Mircella looked up at him and smiled.
Airi's chest tightened.
"He doesn't know."
"He doesn't realize who she is."
"He's being charmed. Lured. Manipulated."
The vampire princess was notorious for looking young, acting sweet, and possessing an aura that could melt mortal resistance like sugar in tea.
Airi bit her lip hard.
"This isn't his fault. He doesn't understand."
"But I do."
She took a deep breath and stepped back into the alley.
Her mind raced.
She wasn't just a student. She was trained.
She'd dealt with Class-C demons, sealed minor curses, and assisted in mage barrier construction.
And she remembered what Sister Mariam always said:
"If you can't break the spell, break the momentum."
Airi didn't want Alex dragged into the supernatural world.
He was kind.
Quiet.
Normal.
She couldn't let this happen.
Couldn't let that girl pull him into something darker.
So she began planning.
Quickly. Carefully.
She knew how to work enchantments. She had access to temporary memory seal talismans. And she was very, very good at disruptive coincidence magic.
Her eyes narrowed.
"I'll separate them."
"Gently. Cleanly. Without him realizing."
"And then… I'll keep him safe."
She glanced once more toward the fountain.
Mircella was now holding a warm pastry in one hand, smiling up at Alex.
Alex — still unreadable — handed her a napkin without a word.
They looked like a scene from a storybook.
It made her stomach twist.
But Airi set her jaw.
Whatever this was… it had to end.
And she would end it.
Chapter 96 – Operation: "Totally Not Jealous"
Airi pressed her back against the alley wall, heart thudding like a festival drum.
In her hands:
One low-level disruption talismanOne folded charm of minor confusionA candy wrapper she didn't remember putting in her pocket (possibly enchanted, possibly just old gum)
This was it.
Operation: "Totally Not Jealous."
Objective: Separate Alex from the Vampire Princess.
Sub-objective: Look casual and not deranged.
Sub-sub-objective: Definitely not explode a fruit stand. Again.
She peeked around the corner.
There they were.
Alex, ever calm, ever unreadable.
Mircella, smiling as she pointed at some old architecture like a tourist... if tourists were ancient royalty with the power to cause international incidents by sneezing too hard.
They were walking toward the market plaza.
Perfect.
Airi reached into her jacket and whispered to the talisman:
"Trigger spatial drift. Cause misalignment. Nothing dramatic. Just a harmless directional nudge."
The paper glowed faintly in her hand.
She tossed it gently toward the path behind them.
It caught the breeze, floated for a moment—
And immediately stuck to a nearby goat.
The goat blinked.
Paused.
Then turned directly toward the market, screaming as it bolted forward like a four-legged missile.
Airi stared in horror.
"That wasn't in the instructions."
Across the plaza, Alex and Mircella turned calmly as a screaming goat ran past them, knocking over a table of plum jam jars and several souvenir scarves.
Alex blinked once.
Mircella tilted her head.
"…Is that normal?"
Alex shrugged. "Don't think so."
"Charming."
They kept walking.
Airi panicked.
"Okay. Plan B."
She reached into her sleeve and pulled out the Charm of Minor Confusion™.
Whispered: "Target: small, elegant vampire girl. Goal: forget which direction is forward."
She released it toward Mircella like a paper airplane.
It caught the wind, circled once…
…and hit Alex in the back of the head.
His step paused for half a second.
Then he adjusted his hoodie and kept walking.
Unbothered.
The charm fluttered sadly to the ground like a defeated napkin.
Airi hissed through her teeth.
"Okay. Final plan. Go in person. Say something. Cause awkwardness. Ruin the mood. Easy."
She marched forward from the alley, channeling every ounce of "I'm-just-a-fellow-tourist-who-definitely-didn't-just-launch-spellpaper-at-you" energy she could summon.
"Ah! Alex!"
He turned.
Mircella turned too.
The vampire princess tilted her head, expression soft and unreadable.
"Oh, hey," Alex said simply.
Airi's brain screamed:
Act casual.
Act smooth.
This is fine. This is so fine.
She waved too hard.
"Hi! Funny seeing you here! You know, just out for a walk! Not following anyone! Not disrupting anything! Haha!"
Mircella blinked.
Alex blinked.
Airi wanted to disintegrate.
She cleared her throat and pointed vaguely at a café.
"I heard there's a good bakery down that way. You should definitely check it out. Like right now. Away from this street. Very far."
Alex glanced down the street.
Then back at Mircella.
Then at Airi.
"I'm not really hungry."
Mircella smiled sweetly.
"I already had a pastry. He bought it for me."
Damage: Critical
Airi nodded too fast. "Right. Cute. I mean—cool. Very modern. Sharing carbs is bonding. I get it."
Mircella stepped closer to Alex.
Then, softly—
"Can I hold your hand while we walk?"
The world slowed.
Airi froze.
Her heart leapt into her throat.
Her soul ascended to the second floor of the nearest building and screamed through a window.
Alex looked at Mircella.
Paused.
Did not say yes.
Did not say no.
He simply… didn't say anything.
And did not move his hand away.
Mircella gently took it.
Small fingers slipping into his palm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She smiled again — not smug, not proud, just quietly pleased.
Alex remained unreadable.
But he let her hold it.
Airi's face went red.
Then white.
Then blue.
She nodded politely, turned around, and calmly walked back toward the alley—
—and tripped over the same screaming goat, which had returned with a ribbon in its mouth and now seemed emotionally unstable.
Back in the plaza, Mircella gave Alex's hand the faintest squeeze.
"He's cute when he panics," she said.
"You mean her?"
"No. The goat."
A pause.
Alex looked down at her, one eyebrow slightly raised.
She smiled with fangs just barely showing.
"…Maybe both."
Chapter 97 – The Weight Beneath the Crown
The morning passed softly as Alex and Mircella walked beyond the main streets of Bran, into a district that didn't exist on tourist maps.
The fog here was thicker — deliberate. It clung to the stones like secrets. The street signs shimmered slightly, their letters curling in languages no longer spoken aloud. Lamps hung from iron vines. Doors opened without hinges. The people here… didn't blink as humans did.
They bowed when they saw her.
Mircella Draculesti.
Some placed hands to hearts.
Others simply stepped back, heads lowered in silent respect.
Alex noticed it all, but said nothing. He didn't flinch. Didn't question.
Mircella liked that.
They passed a fountain where the water ran crimson. Passed a flower stall that sold petals which whispered names when touched. Passed a watchmaker who hadn't breathed in centuries but whose clocks never missed a beat.
Everything here moved around Mircella like the city recognized her heartbeat.
And still — she kept glancing sideways at Alex.
Silent.
Thoughtful.
Curious.
Until she paused mid-step.
Her eyes widened slightly.
A pressure entered her thoughts.
Familiar.
Velvet and steel.
Mother.
"Come now," the voice said — not spoken, but thought directly into her mind.
"There is no more time."
Mircella froze.
Alex turned to her.
She looked up at him, smile soft but tinged with something else.
"I have to go."
He gave a small nod.
She hesitated — just a second longer — then gently squeezed his sleeve.
"I'll see you again."
And then, without another word, she stepped into the mist at the edge of the alley.
One breath later—
She was gone.
Mircella emerged in a cathedral of obsidian and silence — high above the mortal realm, suspended in space carved from blood memory and stone. Runes lit the arches. Ancient flames burned upside down along the vaulted ceiling.
And at the center…
Queen Ileana Draculesti.
Sitting on a throne not of metal, but of coiled veins and petrified roses.
She looked pale — not her usual eternal calm. Her hands were folded too tightly. The corners of her eyes shimmered with exhaustion she never let anyone see.
"Mama," Mircella said quietly.
The queen looked up.
The chamber felt too quiet.
Even the fire dared not crackle.
"He's waking up," the queen said.
Mircella's heart tightened.
"...Vlad."
Her mother nodded.
"He's been stirring for weeks. I've been suppressing it… but today, he whispered again. With my voice."
A long silence.
Then, quietly:
"You told me you killed him," Mircella said.
"I did."
"Then how—"
"Because he prepared for death."
The queen stood, slowly. Her motion was elegant, heavy with history.
"When I destroyed him… when I burned him, when I broke every piece of him — he left a fragment of himself inside me. A sliver of blood. A venom."
"So he could return through you."
"He wanted my body. My throne. My name. My power."
The queen's voice did not tremble. But it hardened.
"He never accepted that I was greater. He called me his creation. Said I owed him fealty. That I was his to command."
"But I wasn't."
Mircella's fists clenched.
"I know."
"But he's trying again," the queen whispered. "He grows stronger every year. Every century. And now…"
She looked at her daughter.
Eyes bright.
Tired.
Resolute.
"I can't stop him the next time he pushes through."
Silence.
And then:
"I want you to kill me."
Mircella's breath caught.
She stepped back — almost staggered.
"No."
"Mircella."
"No!"
The princess's voice echoed, sharp and small and furious.
"You've fought him for two thousand years. You've protected everything. You made the Crimson Court. You carried us all."
"You're not going to just give up."
"I'm not giving up," the queen said softly. "I'm keeping the world safe."
Mircella shook her head violently.
"No."
"You are the only one who can do it," the queen continued. "You have my blood. You have the strength. If he rises… he'll wear my face. My name. He'll make the world bow and call it love."
"I won't let that happen."
"Then listen to me."
"I am listening!"
"I'm your daughter!" Mircella shouted. "Not your executioner!"
The queen's eyes flickered.
And for a moment — just a moment — her voice broke.
"I'm tired, Mircella."
"I know," she whispered.
"But I'm not ready to say goodbye."
Silence.
The flames dimmed.
The throne hummed with ancient magic.
And the queen sat back down slowly.
Then closed her eyes.
"You don't have to decide yet," she said. "But when the time comes… I trust you to do what must be done."
Mircella stood there.
Alone in a hall where the world might end.
She stared at her mother.
The strongest being she had ever known.
And felt a tear trail down her cheek for the first time in a hundred years.
Chapter 98 – The Two Who Were Born Eternal
Before kingdoms carved borders…
Before gods claimed heavens…
Before men feared the night…
There were two.
Born not of womb or ritual, but from the collision of myth and will.
Their names were not whispered, because the world had not yet learned to whisper.
But when the stars burned lower, and the blood of beasts ran thicker than water, the first echoes of their existence were marked in legend.
One: Ileana — flame-eyed, moon-blooded, carved from the hunger of stillness and gifted the crown of silence.
The other: Vlad — born of iron and conquest, his soul sharp as the spears of his future armies, forged in the rhythm of war drums before war had a name.
They were not lovers.
They were twins of night.
They rose together.
They fed together.
They watched the rise of tribes and empires, and walked through the ruins as if they were meadows.
They were the first vampires.
But not equals.
Not forever.
Vlad thirsted for dominance.
He bathed in battle. He drank from kings and called it tribute. He crushed cities under his heel and declared the screams of his enemies divine music.
And Ileana?
She watched.
She learned.
She walked not with wolves, but with whispers.
Where Vlad turned his enemies into corpses, Ileana turned hers into followers.
He ruled through fear.
She ruled through awe.
They were born side by side, but the space between them grew wider with every century.
He wanted her.
Not romantically — not truly.
He wanted her beneath him.
At his side, then beneath his boot. As a weapon. As a trophy.
But Ileana would not bend.
So he offered her power.
She declined.
He offered her half the world.
She laughed.
He offered her his name.
And she gave him silence.
It was the first time Vlad Dracula felt humiliation.
It would not be the last.
He waited centuries.
Plotted.
Gathered forbidden magics.
Fed on horrors not meant for blood.
And finally — two thousand years ago — he snapped.
He confronted her beneath a red moon, atop a mountain soaked in the blood of nations.
He gave her one final chance:
"Submit to me."
She didn't answer.
So he attacked.
And the stars themselves went dark to avoid watching.
The battle lasted seven days.
The forests turned to ash.
The rivers boiled.
Spells collided with screams. Lightning tore through dimensions. Entire bloodlines were erased from existence by mistake.
And when it ended…
She stood.
He didn't.
But in the moment of his death — as his body crumbled, as his soul howled — he smiled.
Because before she struck the final blow…
He had struck a quieter one.
A hidden ritual.
A transference.
A sliver of his blood — no longer just blood, but curse — was injected into her heart.
A venom with patience.
A seed with teeth.
"If I cannot have your body in life," he whispered,
"Then I will take it in death."
She killed him.
But part of him lived on — buried, buried deep.
She sealed it.
Suppressed it.
Sank it in layers of ritual and will and rage.
But it was there.
Inside her.
Sleeping.
Waiting.
And now, in the present—
That seed was stirring again.
Mircella had heard the story before.
But never like this.
Never with her mother's voice shaking. Never with her hand trembling against the armrest of her throne.
The weight of 2,000 years of resistance rested in her chest like stone.
And for the first time in her life…
She hated Vlad not as a historical monster.
But as a man who tried to take her mother's soul.
They were both born eternal.
But only one still bore the cost of it.
Chapter 99 – Threads That Should Not Tremble
The morning air in Bran carried the scent of fresh earth and old stone, mingling with the faint aroma of bread from unseen ovens. Sunlight filtered through the crooked roofs and faded shutters, casting long, uneven shadows across the cobbled streets. But for Alex, the beauty of the town barely registered now. He stood still in a quiet courtyard near the border of the hidden vampire district — the one Mircella had led him through just hours ago. The place was unchanged. The old fountain still trickled with lazy rhythm, the bakery just across the square had begun setting out baskets, and the sky was a pale blue canvas painted with wisps of early cloud. And yet... something was wrong.
He couldn't explain it in words. There were no alarms, no magical pulses, no hostile aura. But in the stillness of his breath, in the precision of how his senses worked — how time felt in each moment — he knew that something had shifted. Something subtle. Something important. It wasn't danger, exactly. It wasn't panic. But it was... absence. A hollow where warmth had been. A thread in the atmosphere pulled taut — and then gone slack.
That thread was Mircella.
She had vanished into the mist hours earlier, promising to return. She had said it calmly. Softly. But Alex could feel, now, that she was not coming back yet — and perhaps not as easily as she'd planned. He looked to the alley she'd disappeared through, gaze sharp but unreadable, the stillness in his body more like a coil than a calm. Whatever it was, wherever she'd gone… something was interfering with the rhythm of the world. And that was enough.
Inside the obsidian heart of the Crimson Court, Mircella Draculesti knelt — not in submission, but in disbelief. Her hands pressed against the ancient floor, nails curled into the inlaid symbols carved by vampire kings long since turned to dust. She was breathing too shallow. Her mind was racing with thoughts she couldn't speak aloud. Her eyes, normally filled with quiet playfulness or eerie calm, now brimmed with something far older. Fear.
Before her sat Queen Ileana Draculesti, her mother, her sovereign — the First and Only — who now looked... smaller. Not physically. Her posture was perfect. Her garments immaculate. But something about her aura had dimmed. She sat upon the throne of blackened roses, a throne that had outlasted empires and excommunicated gods, and yet... her hands trembled ever so slightly. Her voice, when it came, was even and gentle — but brittle, like porcelain under too much weight.
"He's waking up," the Queen had said. And Mircella had known exactly what she meant.
Vlad.
The monster. The origin. The shadow that had once been her equal — and had long since turned into her parasite.
"You told me you killed him," Mircella had whispered. The words were soft, almost childlike. But the undertone in them — the betrayal — was not.
"I did," her mother had answered. "But death is not always exile. Not for someone like him."
Mircella rose slowly to her feet, her coat sweeping the floor like wings drawn tight. She stared at her mother — the strongest being she had ever known — and for the first time in her life, saw fragility in that immortal frame. A crack. A warning. And then came the sentence that crushed her like the weight of the moon:
"I want you to kill me."
The words rang out across the chamber, bouncing off ancient arches and sealed tapestries. They echoed not in the air — but in her blood.
Her throat tightened. Her voice broke.
"No."
It was not defiance.
It was grief.
It was love.
"You've fought him for thousands of years. You built this court. You've protected everything. You've raised me. You don't get to give up now."
The Queen's expression softened, the barest sadness flickering in her crimson eyes. "I'm not giving up," she said. "I'm protecting you. Protecting the world. If he takes my body, my voice… he won't just wear my crown. He'll remake the world with it."
Silence fell like a curtain.
Mircella turned away from the throne, hands trembling, but her spine straight.
"Then I'll find another way," she said.
"I will not be your executioner."
Far above the Crimson Court, in the world still wrapped in morning fog, Alex moved without hesitation. His feet struck the stone with no sound. His breath didn't catch. But something beneath his skin — something deeper than instinct, older than training — was pulsing like a forgotten drum.
He didn't know the name of the thing calling him.
He didn't know the shape of the thread he was following.
But he knew it was tied to Mircella.
And that was enough.
The passage opened into darkness — deeper than night, colder than shadow. A layer of mana-saturated air tried to push him back, but it couldn't. It passed over him like smoke, searching for identity, and found none it could name.
The next step did not land on stone.
It landed on ritual.
There was no light, no motion, no sound. Just displacement — a sudden tearing of spatial rules, like the world re-threaded itself briefly to allow something impossible.
In the depths of the Crimson Court, Mircella stood at her mother's side, her hand outstretched, lips tight, preparing to speak again.
And then — he appeared.
One moment, there was only shadow near the edge of the throneroom.
The next—
Alex Elwood stood there.
No flare of light. No ripple of magic. No spell signature.
He was simply there.
Solid.
Breathing.
Present.
Mircella gasped, stepping back. "Alex?!"
Her heart skipped — not from fear, but disbelief.
"How—?"
But there was no time.
Because at that very moment…
Queen Ileana Draculesti began to tremble.
Not her body — her aura.
The silence that had surrounded her throne cracked like glass under pressure. The light in her eyes dimmed. Her hand clutched the armrest hard enough to fracture it.
And then her head slowly lifted.
But it wasn't her.
Her gaze swept the room — heavy, slow, dragging centuries behind it like a bleeding cape.
When she looked at Mircella, her lips curled upward.
But her eyes did not smile.
They glowed brighter than they ever had before.
And colder.
"Mircella," came the voice — her mother's voice, but dipped in something fouler, deeper, slick with rot and memory.
"Still playing daughter, I see."
Mircella's breath hitched. Her nails dug into her palm.
"Don't."
The Queen — no, the thing inside her — chuckled softly.
"You should've killed me when she asked."
Her posture shifted.
Not wrong. But possessive.
Almost… delighted.
Then her gaze flicked to the side.
Toward Alex.
And for the first time, the entity paused.
"Oh…"
A low, amused hum followed.
"What are you?"
Alex didn't move.
Didn't blink.
But his voice, when it came, was quieter than the throne room could contain.
"I'm someone who won't let you take her."
The thing inside Ileana leaned forward, lips curling slightly.
"Oh… this one's interesting."
The flames around the throne dimmed further.
And in the air, for the first time in two millennia…
Vlad smiled.
Chapter 100 – The Weight of No Wound
The moment shattered like glass.
There was no warning — no words — just the sound of power detonating.
Vlad moved first.
His form — still wearing Queen Ileana's face — blurred across the chamber like a whipcrack. His clawed hand struck forward, crashing against Alex's chest with a pulse of necrotic energy, ancient blood magic, and raw hatred.
The explosion lit the throne room in crimson.
Stone cracked. Dust blasted outward. The air trembled as if trying to recoil from the force of the strike.
A blast wave burst outward, shattering columns and sending centuries-old banners whipping violently against the walls. Smoke swallowed everything.
Vlad turned before the dust could settle — his eyes already shifting back toward Mircella.
He took a step toward her.
"I told you—"
But he never finished the sentence.
Because the smoke vanished.
Gone.
Not blown away — but dispelled in an instant, like light slicing through fog.
And standing in the center of the blast zone…
Alex.
Unmoved.
Unbothered.
Untouched.
There wasn't a mark on his clothing. Not a burn. Not a scratch. Not even a crease.
Vlad's brow twitched.
He attacked again.
A flurry of strikes — his fists were blackened with corrupted mana, dripping with soulfire and anti-life.
Alex didn't move.
The blows landed.
And they didn't matter.
No recoil. No blood. No bruises.
The sound echoed, but Alex stood like a statue — if statues could blink quietly and look faintly disappointed.
Vlad leapt back, snarled, and hurled a spear made from his own crystallized rib. It was coated in cursefire, engraved with the names of forgotten gods.
Alex didn't dodge.
It shattered on his shoulder like cheap glass.
Vlad's eyes narrowed. "What are you?"
He unleashed a wave of his most devastating technique — an implosion curse designed to collapse anything with a soul, wrapped in blood-forged lightning that twisted dimensions.
It struck.
There was another thunderous boom.
And when it cleared—
Alex was still there.
He raised one hand.
"Done?"
Alex – Point of View
To him, the attacks were irrelevant.
With his current ENDURANCE, Vlad's blows weren't even worth processing. His regeneration outpaced the damage the moment it began. The curses didn't take hold. The soulfire passed through without traction. Even the air didn't resist him.
He hadn't moved not because he couldn't.
But because he didn't need to.
He observed. Calculated.
And something strange stood out.
The thing wearing the Queen's body — it wasn't just possession. It wasn't full transformation. And when the smoke had cleared, he'd seen it more clearly:
The form looked too much like Mircella.
Not just genetically similar.
Deliberately similar.
He could've ended it then.
Crushed the body. Vaporized the blood. Unraveled the soul thread.
But he didn't.
Because if this was still the Queen's body… or even a copy of it… it mattered to Mircella.
And he respected that.
So instead, he reached back — not physically, but through the catalog of inventions he'd built in World Frontier.
A mental command triggered a glyph floating behind his mind.
A cube appeared in his hand.
Simple at first glance — black alloy, glowing magic circuit lines running through every face like veins. Arcane inscriptions rotated like clockwork gears across its surface.
He threw it.
Mid-air, the cube split — its eight corners expanding outward with a chime that sounded like shattered stars reassembling.
In a blink, they locked into position, forming a translucent dome of white-blue light around Vlad.
The moment it closed, the inside shimmered.
And the air turned heavy.
A containment field.
Runes from over three hundred systems of magic and quantum lock theory pulsed around the sphere.
Vlad snarled, turned, and struck it.
Nothing.
He tried again.
No effect.
He screamed a command in High Bloodtongue, trying to twist the dimensional anchors.
Still nothing.
He launched an internal rupture spell — the kind that would vaporize a castle from the inside.
The dome rippled once.
Then calmed.
Vlad bared his teeth.
He tried to teleport.
Tried to collapse into mist.
Tried to rip through the gaps.
But every motion was matched by the field — as if it were learning in real-time.
Alex stepped closer, now standing just beyond the shimmering wall.
He looked at Mircella, his voice calm.
"Explain."
Not a demand.
Not angry.
Just… patient.
Unshakeable.
But the weight of the word was heavy enough to silence the entire court.