Chapter 173: Is This All A Dream?
Somewhere far away in an abandoned grey castle, a man walked with quiet footsteps echoing against the dark, broken marble floor. His footsteps were unsteady, given the amount of liquor he had consumed.
As he looked ahead, he noticed how the blackened walls were spattered here and there with dried blood, the stains long since turned a deep, crusted brown. The air was thick with a putrid stench...the smell of rotting flesh and old bones strewn haphazardly across the corridor.
His light red eyes, burning with impatient madness, darted through the empty hallway until his staggering steps brought him to a turn on the left, where he stopped before a massive black door.
Two Darkrots stood on either side, guarding it against any intruder.
He halted and said in a low, slurred voice, "Let me through."
Their narrow red eyes glimmered as one of them hissed, "Master has ordered that no one is to disturb him."
Another one added in a guttural voice, "Run back to your room, Viremont, unless you want to become a meal."
They snickered darkly and hissed, "That’s right, it’s getting harder to find a fresh meal these days."
Their twisted laughter echoed through the empty corridors, the sound grating against Drake’s eardrums like sharp claws on stone.
Ever since he had come to this desolate place, all he had done was rot away in his room. Apart from eating, sleeping, and drowning himself in liquor, he had done nothing at all. The promise made to him, that he would have Evelyn all to himself by that Darkrot in his academy room on that fateful night, had never been fulfilled.
And as if that humiliation weren’t enough, he’d later learned that his father had been executed publicly before the entire city and branded a traitor. There had been very few things Drake Viremont ever regretted in his life of indulgence and pride, but right now, he regretted one thing above all else...the decision to come to this wretched place, wasting away like discarded filth in a graveyard of monsters.
So finally, after downing God knows how many bottles for liquid courage, he stood before the chamber of their so-called master, demanding to know when he would get what had been promised.
They tried to intimidate him, but tonight he felt he could take on anyone who stood between him and answers. "No! I refuse to go back to that sorry excuse for a room! I didn’t come here to rot away like this! I want answers! Answers from your Master, and I will not leave until I get them!"
The Darkrots stopped laughing and straightened at his words. They raised their grey, veiny palms, sharp nails flexing as dark stones surfaced in the centre of each hand. Stepping forward, they hissed, "Listen, vampire: Master’s orders are absolute. If anyone disobeys, we will not hesitate to use this on you. Consider this your last warning, return to your hole."
But Drake was too inebriated to think straight. Instead of backing down, his bruised ego flared; he sharpened his nails and stepped forward. "No! You listen to me! Call your Master to speak to me right now! If not, I will kill you both."
They cocked their heads to the side at his threat before breaking into warped laughter. Drake felt doubly insulted that they brushed off his warning so easily. In the heat of the moment he lunged, elongating his nails and fangs, ready to attack. The Darkrots stilled, the dark stones in their palms pulsed; snake-like smoke slithered out of them and shot at Drake, sending him flying. He smashed into the wall and coughed up blood.
He lay there unmoving for a long time before he could muster the strength to rise and attack again. Each time he tried, he failed, ending up back on the filthy floor. When he finally lay still, wheezing for breath, the Darkrots raised their hands once more to deliver the final blow.
The giant black doors behind them creaked open, halting them mid-gesture. A masked, hooded figure stepped out and whispered, "What is this commotion?"
The Darkrots dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. "Master, this man insisted on barging into your chambers and disrupting your peace, so we restrained him."
Their master glanced at the man sprawled in his blood. "He seems half-dead," the figure murmured. It approached Drake, nudged his head with the toe of its shoe, and Drake groaned in pain.
"Take him back to his room," the master ordered. "Assign two more to guard him so he cannot leave. Once he has partially recovered, bring him to me."
The master added, coldly, "Do not kill him yet. He still has a role to play." Then the masked figure glided back into the chamber and the black doors closed behind it.
....
Back at the Rosemount Hotel, after finalising the plan for tomorrow’s tour of the Royal Palace of Dartmouth, everyone retired to their rooms, leaving Eve and Ivan alone in theirs once again.
Now, Ivan stood by the balcony, his expression blank as he gazed at the moon, which was nearly full, its cool light casting a silver glow across his sharp features. Left alone with his thoughts, his mind drifted back to what he had experienced at the museum. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, his cheeks hollowing slightly before he exhaled, releasing a thin stream of smoke into the quiet night air.
His thoughts drifted to the ethereal woman with long golden hair...her features identical to his Eve’s. What haunted him most was the heartbreak etched across her face, as if she were about to lose everything, yet her tear-filled eyes still brimmed with love for the man before her. The man Ivan had seen, who looked like him, yet wasn’t him. He had the same dark hair, the same molten orange eyes that flared when he used his powers, and the same aura that resonated through the air. Ivan felt utterly confused, wondering what it all could possibly mean.
That man had said the relics housed there once belonged to the celestial beings...but how was it possible for them to look like him and Eve? It would be ridiculous to think they were the same people or even their ancestors, because Ivan had studied the entire history of his family and all their portraits, dating back to the very first vampire ever recorded. He was the seventh in the generation of their direct royal bloodline, and none of his predecessors bore any resemblance to him. The closest was his father. He had studied the same history as everyone else, of how the vampires and the lumens came into existence. But nowhere was there any mention of a connection to the celestial beings who fought in the Great War. On top of that, it didn’t help knowing some of that very history was botched up.
Then why? No matter how much he thought or how many facts he recalled, logic simply couldn’t explain any of it. Yet what he saw felt real...so real that it was as if a part of his very soul resided within those rings. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray by the railing, then gripped the cold stone railing and leaned forward slightly, exhaling a long, weary breath as he struggled to make sense of everything unfolding in his life.
As he stood there, lost in thought, he suddenly felt a feather-light touch wrap around his torso. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was...the only woman whose every touch could set him ablaze every single time.
He stood still, letting his body gradually relax as he melted into her embrace. Eve pressed a light kiss against his back, making Ivan release another shaky breath before finally lifting his head and turning to face her. Leaning against the railing, he gently took her by the arms and pulled her closer, and she came without a word of protest.
Their eyes met, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. Both were silently recalling the two figures they had seen in the museum’s chamber. As their eyes traced each other’s features, they couldn’t deny the uncanny resemblance between those ancient beings and themselves.
Just like Ivan, Eve found the entire thing almost impossible to believe. She couldn’t begin to fathom what connection might exist between the four of them.
Reaching out, she gently brushed her fingers against his cheek and asked softly, "How are you feeling now?"
Ivan closed his eyes, leaning into her tender touch. "Fine," he muttered under his breath, his eyes still shut.
Eve’s gaze softened, and she asked almost in a whisper, "Is... this all a dream?"
Ivan slowly opened his molten-red eyes. "No..." he replied quietly. Lifting his hand, he covered hers, still resting on his cheek. "But it feels like it."
Eve fell silent as the moonlight bathed them in its soft glow. A gentle breeze stirred, swaying their hair as she stepped closer and placed her other hand on his chest. "What does all this mean, Ivan?" she whispered.
