Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1 - JOVA
PRESENT DAY

The sun is high in the sky as Simon approaches the first town: the quaint village of Jova. He slows his steed to a leisurely trot as they approach the town gates.

Once there, he dismounts, and leads his companion to a stable. Simon promptly pays a fee in coin to keep her there so he may wander the town freely. Before he goes, Simon is warned to retrieve his horse before dusk. An odd warning, but one he heeds: he hasn’t time to waste.

Simon adjusts his cloak over his head to better conceal himself from the rising sun above. The warmth granted by it lacks depth and comfort—no doubt the result of the darkness that continues to permeate the land. The sun offers Transylvania little respite.

Simon has not ventured into town for some years. There are few among the townsfolk who can measure up to his stature. Even if cloaked by fabric, fortified by armour and leathers that cover him entirely, Simon worries that he stands out.

Simon laments how different he looks now compared to those prior years. He can hardly stomach looking at his reflection as he passes the window-lined streets of Jova. The face looking back is so foreign to him: gaunt, sullen, and scarred: three deep scars run over his cheek and through his lips, one on the bridge of his nose, and one by his jaw. A permanent branding to remind him of his battle with Dracula seven years prior.

To add insult to injury, his blonde hair has changed to an unnatural hue: deep red, the color of blood; it has grown long, unkempt, and thinning a bit more with each passing day.

Finally, his eyes. His irises are now a stark gold, framed by the red veins that speckle the whites of his eyes. 

In a word: he’s monstrous. He fears the combination of these traits will draw unwanted attention to himself.

Thus, he remains tightly cloaked, obscuring his face and fiery red hair from prying eyes.

Simon takes note of the chapel in the center of town. Not quite knowing where else to begin his search, he steels himself to enter it.

Simon has been inside this chapel before, years ago. But now, the air feels thin as he crosses its threshold. He’s greeted by the muttering of dozens of people, huddled together, seeking sanctuary on the pews.

They take note of his entrance, all turning their heads back to look at him. Simon tries to make himself small and non-imposing as he enters.

There are more people than he originally thought - some, who look particularly disturbed, line the walls with their heads bowed. 

He continues his ascent toward the altar, where he finds a priest lighting incense and candles. Simon notes the other’s body language: he’s steeling himself for Simon’s approach.

“Father.” Simon kneels, crossing himself. The priest returns the cross, gesturing for Simon to rise. He does.

“I bid you welcome to the church of Jova.” He begins as he studies Simon’s form—what little he can make out of it, at least.

“You look pale, my son.” He phrases delicately, hesitant, as he continues with his tasks. Simon follows behind.

“Forgive my countenance—I’ve only just recovered from illness.” Simon lies, taking note of his surroundings as they go. Candles are lit one at a time with great care.

A roughness scratches his throat as he breathes the incense in.

“What business do you have here?” The elder inquires.

Simon replies: “I am on a pilgrimage. I seek to offer my aid to those who have strayed from God’s light, so I may guide them back to it.”

Not quite the whole truth, but Simon errs on the side of caution, not desiring to reveal his true objective.

The priest hums with acknowledgement, and Simon must have said the right thing: he notes how the other relaxes a little. 

“A noble effort, my son. I thank you for it. The people’s faith has… waned, in recent time.”

The pair’s attention sweep across those in attendance once more. Some are listening in. Others are sleeping.

Simon senses that the priest is shouldering much. He allows him to continue uninterrupted.

“I fear it is because Dracula’s curse may yet plague this land, in spite of his true death at the hand of Simon Belmont some years ago…”

Simon’s stomach knots with anxiety. Stay on task. Don’t reveal yourself.

Though he finds it peculiar that the priest would have drawn such a conclusion. For what reason does he suppose this is related to Dracula, and not a phenomenon of nature?

The priest continues: “When night falls, even we cannot open our doors to those who seek refuge.”

“For what reason?” Simon inquires.

“You mustn’t be from this area,” the priest almost laughs, “and it is better that you don’t know.”

Simon presses: “I implore you.”

The priest hesitates, trying to get a better look at the cloaked Simon before he continues:

“There is a plague of darkness that comes into town during the night.”

“Creatures of the night?” Simon echoes, which earns a nod from the elder.

“Yes. The most we are able to do to defend ourselves is to stay inside, quiet and out of sight. We stay together, burn incense and sage, and pray for the morning sun to come quickly.”

Simon understands now, brow furrowing as he processes this information. He does what he can to ward off night creatures that threaten the Belmont estate, and by proximity Jova, but… he didn’t know they had to go to such lengths within the town walls.

Is this a result of his inadequacy? His illness making him less efficient at his duty to fight the darkness?

“We are powerless when night comes. No matter how we pray, it seems as though God is struggling to rid us of this evil. It is for this reason that the people are losing their faith.” The elder explains as he moves to take a seat upon a pew, closest to the altar.

He continues: “God has not abandoned us, this I know. But it is not only here in Jova where we are challenged.”

Simon moves to take a seat as well, still listening attentively.

The priest explains: “Most people you see here have fled from Aljiba.”

Simon looks at those in attendance again. 

“I beg your forgiveness for thrusting this upon you. I can only hope that it will help in your mission to return people into the warmth of God’s light. I fear that I cannot do more for them. I must stay here and help those who enter our doors.” The priest confesses, moving his head into his hands.

His suspicions were correct: the priest shoulders a heavy burden, and Simon will do what he can to help.

“There is nothing to forgive, Father. I thank you for sharing.” Simon reassures. “I will go to Aljiba to offer my aid.”

“You mustn’t go to Aljiba!” Simon hears from the crowd. He turns to face the sound, and finds the source: a woman roughly his age, staring at the two of them, hard with desperation.

She buckles under their attentive gaze, nervous as she makes herself small.

Still, she tries to find the strength to continue her warning: “I can see you are a warrior, sir, but I must caution you: it is not only the night to be feared.”

Simon stands and approaches the woman. Minding that those in attendance are all staring at them, Simon inquires in a gentle, quiet voice: “Please, tell me what you know.”

She hesitates before replying, quieter than before: “there is unrest in Aljiba. God has abandoned that place.”

“Mind your words in the house of God.” The priest warns sternly. She offers a strained, apologetic look, before returning her attention to Simon.

“The people…” and she’s almost whispering her voice now, realizing too late that she has drawn attention from all in attendance. “Friends, neighbours, people I once knew, they have changed. God’s light does not warm those who stayed behind.”

Simon focuses on the woman, listening with intent. She’s being vague on purpose, and Simon’s mind works to decipher what she can’t say in this holy place.

Simon’s mind underlines the worst possible outcome: Dracula’s worship remains strong in Aljiba.

“I must stress: it is unsafe in Aljiba. Creatures roam freely outside of the town at all hours, even in broad daylight.”

Creatures roaming in broad daylight? That’s unheard of. Simon’s mind works to piece together her careful emphasis.

She concludes: “Please, be on your guard.”

With a nod, Simon moves to walk past her, promptly exiting the chapel. Knowing his next objective, he’s quick to retrieve his horse. 

Aljiba is to the east, and so he exits town while the sun still offers protection.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

Today is the day Simon Belmont will meet his arranged wife-to-be.

The thought is nauseating. Arranged marriage doesn’t sit well with him, even if it is part of God’s plan for his lineage, and his role in life.

…But, he understands that it is necessary, even if he doesn’t like it.

So there he stands, enrobed in his best attire, freshly laundered and cleaned, in an attempt to make the best first impression. Simon’s muscles strain against the tight fabric, and staring in the mirror, he feels utterly ridiculous in this costume that is simply too small for him.

A knock on the door.

Simon’s attention is torn away from scrutinizing his appearance in his bedroom mirror. Only a few paces and he reaches the door, opening it. He’s greeted by Gabriel.

Gabriel, while not related by blood, is Simon’s closest companion. A long-time family friend to the Belmonts, he has imparted his knowledge in combat to Simon - namely, his expertise in close combat with a sword. An essential skill that rivals Simon’s governance over the Vampire Killer whip.

He is to Simon like the brother he never had, and the two are nearly inseparable. 

“You clean up well!” Gabriel beams, and Simon has a hard time telling if he is being genuine or merely teasing him. He scoffs in reply, taking a moment to scan the other. The same could be said of him - Simon can’t recall a time Gabriel looked this put together.

At least this wasn’t something that he has to endure entirely alone: Gabriel is taking the burden on himself, too. And surely Gabriel will paint the family in a better light than Simon could hope to. He’s all nerves.

“Not too bad, yourself.” Simon returns, genuine.

“Shall we? They should be arriving shortly.” Gabriel gestures, and Simon follows.

“You sound optimistic.” Simon replies as they begin their exit outside of Simon’s home, towards the gates of the estate.

“Well, it takes a lot of the pressure off, doesn’t it? Having an arranged partnership with a clan who understands the fate of the Belmonts.” Gabriel reminds.

Gabriel is right, of course. Both parties understand the need, and it is the need to vanquish darkness that will give them strength to endure this union. It is the will of God—and in the best interest of the people—that the Belmonts continue their legacy.

Simon can only hope that there will be no expectation beyond conception for the benefit of their clans. Even then, the thought of conceiving under this pretence was unpleasant enough.

Not fully satisfied with that, Simon remains quiet as he’s led outside of the Belmont hold, instead focusing on calming his buzzing nerves.

There he would stand, awkward, alongside his family comprising of his grandfather, Laurent Belmont, and Gabriel, to welcome the guests of honour. 

They’re a ragtag group - Simon’s massive stature dwarfs that of Gabriel by his side, rivalled only by his grandfather Laurent, who could be best described as inherently imposing.

Naturally, the three are taking this exchange very seriously. Simon doesn’t even need to look at his grandfather to feel his sternness emanating from him.

Arriving by carriage, the horses promptly halt at the gated entrance to their estate.

The coachman descends and hastily opens the carriage door. Gabriel takes that as cue to approach and assist in the maiden’s descent, but Simon doesn’t quite clue into the courtesy right away. Instead, he stays behind, awkward, and pensive.

“Thank you.” He hears from the carriage as Gabriel assists a woman down the steps. Next, another—older—helps himself out of the carriage.

Gabriel, all smiles (he’s always been more adept to these social situations, and it’s painfully evident here), leads the newcomers to the gates of the Belmont estate. Simon watches in silence as its structure is scrutinized.

Anxiety wells in his stomach as Gabriel gestures to Simon and the pair finally notices him. They approach.

“Simon Belmont, I presume?” The older gentleman inquires, with an accent unfamiliar to Simon’s ears. Simon nods once in reply, bowing his head, hand on heart.

“Enrique Velnumdes,” the man clarifies warmly. “Please allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Selena.”

Enrique gestures to the woman at his side, who curtsies deeply to Simon with a bow of her head. 

Simon swallows the anxiety welling in his throat.

It’s her.

…

Say something, Simon.

“It’s an honour to meet you.” Simon smiles through the discomfort, his tone of voice concealing his anxiety well. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

The woman, petite and blonde, lifts her head after a moment, and only steals a glance of his face before looking down again, hands folding neatly in front of her. She doesn’t reply.

It’s so awkward. Is it possible she doesn’t speak the same language as him?

Gabriel, swinging in to the rescue, gestures to lead the party of two: “Come, allow us to give you the tour.”

“Oh, our things…” The woman inquires, looking back.

Simon perks up. They share the same language after all - that’s a relief.

“I’ll bring them inside for you,” he begins before hastily adding “with your permission.”

Selena exchanges a look to her father, who then nods to Simon and gestures for him to help himself.

Eager to leave the tour to Gabriel and Laurent, Simon works with the coachman to bring in the party’s luggage.

After emptying the coach of their items and seeing to it that they’re stored properly in his home, Simon exits to greet the party as they’re led around the Belmont estate. When he joins them, he finds that his grandfather is taking them through the estate’s library. 

After a short time, the tour concludes. The estate is not wildly large, and the Belmonts are not vastly well-off, so there is little to show. The foreigners are then led to the meeting hall, where they are seated at the table.

Simon watches as Enrique pulls out a chair for Selena, and she carefully takes a seat in it. He sits beside her.

Simon and his grandfather sit opposite of them. Gabriel takes the opportunity to dismiss himself, knowing that they will be making arrangements from this point. He shuts the door as he goes.

There’s a tension in the air, and Simon allows his grandfather to take the lead on the conversation. He sits, attentive and quiet, with his head bowed. He struggles to make eye contact with either of the strangers.

The caretakers echo sentiments Simon already knows: why they have been arranged, the expectations of their union, and Enrique speaks on Selena’s behalf to upsell her qualities that would make her a suitable wife and progenitor. 

Simon knows why it is that Selena was selected to be his wife: the Velnumdes family are often mistaken for the Belnades, as both groups harness incredible magical powers and have historically supported each other in the fight against darkness. Despite being a distant descendant of the Belnades himself, Simon has shown no proficiency to magic. Therefore, the intention in this union is to re-inject the bloodline with magical prowess by bearing offspring who they hope will harness the elements.

The Velnumdes family heeded the call, driven by the desire to defeat the darkness.

It is noble and honourable, and Simon is grateful, in a small way. There’s an understanding between the families. Even if unpleasant.

Despite that, he can’t help but sense that Selena is none too pleased to have been selected. He can’t fault her for that, though. Should she accept, it will require her to uproot her life to be… well, here.

Upon a plot of land that is inelaborate and roped into a lineage of bloodshed. Ostracized by the communities in Transylvania just for being associated to the Belmonts, who are said to attract evil irrespective of their God-honouring ways.

…Selena Velnumdes.

Simon can’t help but sneak glances at her, now. 

She is stunning, certainly. Her skin a soft, warm hue, contrasted by her striking flaxen hair that frames her face with beautiful curls. She is petite, but holds herself well - Simon can tell that she has been hardened by training. By candlelight, she looks ethereal, donned in a beautiful dress with flowing sleeves. She is corseted, and Simon wonders if she’s as uncomfortable as he is to be restricted in such clothing.

On looks alone, Simon is far less beautiful. He is hardy, thick - more muscle than man with strong, angled features, and dark blonde shaggy hair. He’s almost barbaric by comparison in stature. Yes, Selena is certainly more beautiful on all counts.

His attention is pulled back as his grandfather is explaining the terms and conditions of their arrangement.

“You will be given one month to decide whether you consent to this union.” Laurent explains to Selena. Simon watches her carefully for her reply, which starts with a polite nod of her head.

“I understand.” She adds.

“After which, should you consent, you will be wed and expected to consummate as soon as possible.”

There’s a harrowing silence that follows, and Simon fights the frown that threatens his stoic features. His jaw only tightens at the implication, unable to show anything else.

It’s phrased so indelicately… 

Laurent continues: “The calculated resurrection of Dracula draws near: it has nearly been one hundred years since he was last resurrected. Before Simon is sent off to defeat him, we must ensure he has an heir, should he perish in the fight.”

Simon’s looking away, now. He can’t bring himself to look the foreigners in the face as they’re saddled with the awful truth of the matter.

“I know this is a difficult request.” Laurent adds. “Thank you for your consideration.”

Selena lifts her head, and offers a polite smile: “It is my honour, my lord.”

Simon senses that she’s not being truthful. He holds his tongue.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 3 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

Sunlight streams through the window and awakens Selena from her sleep. She blinks the tiredness from her eyes as she scans the bedchamber. She was unable to appreciate it the evening prior when it was illuminated only faintly by candle light. She takes in the sight now:

it is a simple room. A wooden desk for writing, paired with a chair that appears to be repaired by hand (is Simon a craftsman, she wonders to herself).

A solitary and large potted ivy plant has worked its way from the corner and up the stone walls that made up the home. Some would call it unkept, but she is grateful to observe the climbing plant as it reaches the ceiling from the wooden beams that support the walls and roof. To witness greenery in stamped out estate grounds has been a welcomed change.

Her attention moves to the bed she's tucked into. Wooden frame, incredibly sturdy. She sits on a bed of dried grasses tucked underneath thick, rough sheets of a dark hue. It's fragrant, full of dried herbs—not unpleasant, but earthen. A smell she is beginning to associate with the Belmont who may become her husband.

Draped over her is a heavy blanket, plush compared to the bed she's seated upon. Perhaps it's filled with feathers, Selena remarks quietly to herself as hands trace the fabric. It’s been repaired and patched imperfectly. The Belmont’s handiwork, she muses.

She cannot help but allow her mind to wander. How many lives have lived in this home? In this room? Is this home given to the chosen Belmont? It’s separate from the estate, but not far: still within the gates.

In preparation for her journey to Transylvania, Selena has studied what she could of the Belmonts. It wasn’t enough to inform her of what she can expect from her husband-to-be, though.

Selena grapples with her conflicted feelings about being uprooted to stay here, far from her family. On one hand, she understands the necessity of it, and some part of her (larger, she thinks) is honoured to be selected. On the other, she is saddened at the trajectory of her life. Strung into this cursed existence.

But, it is not set in stone just yet. Selena still has a month before she’s expected to give her answer. For the moment, she decides it will be best to play the role expected of her and avoid getting attached. Whatever the outcome is.

Selena finally rises. She tidies the bed before exiting to examine the rest of the house in the daylight. She stops only for a moment to look at herself in the standing mirror in the far end of the room. Its surface is imperfect, with a crack running through the corner, but it is functional.

Selena takes the opportunity to dress herself in garments that are not as restrictive as the ones she wore yesterday. She’ll return and change if she has to. She grooms herself carefully before exiting the bedchamber.

Fortunately, Simon Belmont isn’t anywhere to be found. She relaxes a little bit in her perfect privacy as she wanders the rest of the home, floorboards creaking softly under her weight as she goes.

The other rooms, much like the bedchamber, are small and unassuming. The main room of the home is the dining area. In the center of it is a dining table, only large enough for four. Despite that, only two wooden chairs are posed there. 

A fireplace spans the wall opposite of the bedroom. It’s well-used, well-loved for what could have been centuries. An iron-clad pot of sorts hangs from within its maw. Just in front of it rests a small couch and matching chair. Beneath both is a fur pelt—warg fur, if she had to guess. Selena wonders if Simon killed and skinned the beast himself.

Her attention turns to the two remaining rooms in the home. Both are closed, and she isn’t comfortable with intruding in closed off areas.

Instead, she decides it’s time to walk outside.

Selena exits Simon’s small home and takes in the morning sun. Draping her shawl over herself, she walks around the premises, and is quick to alert to some commotion. She turns the corner of the Belmont estate to find Simon training in the outdoor training area.

He’s masterfully whirling his whip to small, insignificant targets—so small, in fact, Selena didn’t see what he was aiming at straight away.

Onlooking him as he toils are Simon's grandfather and Gabriel.

Sticking to the shadows around the corner, Selena merely watches as Simon exerts himself expertly.

His hair is tied up and out of his face to aid in visibility - a nice change from the sullen curtains that he hid behind yesterday. Selena takes a moment to secretly observe his face, features hardened with focus, beaded with sweat. She ponders how strenuous his regime must be in order to maintain his massive form.

Her eyes wander to the rest of his body, studying how he holds himself. How he contorts. How his muscles contract. The various scars that mar every inch of his exposed flesh.

She hums as she notices he leans on one leg. It isn’t an advantageous stance—he relies on it too much.

Suddenly, Simon slows, panting. As he’s terminated all of the current targets, the trio of men are quick to stand them up again. Tedious, Selena thinks, as they change their position. She watches as Simon dutifully nods as his form is critiqued by Laurent. They chatter among themselves as they re-establish the course, and the routine continues.

“Good morning.” Comes a voice from behind Selena, and it does not startle her.

“Good morning, father.” She begins, turning over her shoulder to look at him.

“Did you sleep well last night?” Enrique asks. “With Simon?”

“I slept well. Lord Belmont was not with me.” She explains.

Enrique’s brow quirks at that. “Oh?”

“His insistence.” Selena clarifies gently.

Enrique hums as he ponders. His attention shifts to the training area.

After a moment, he notices: “Hm, his leg.”

“Yes, I noticed it too.” Selena judges, arms folding over her chest.

Enrique, suddenly feeling inspired, chuckles softly as he summons a small fireball at the tip of his fingers. Realizing what he was doing, Selena opens her mouth to interject, but it’s too late: the fireball grows in size and is sent blitzing in Simon’s direction.

To the pair’s surprise, Simon senses as it approaches, and jumps back and out of the way.

Quizzically the Belmonts look to the direction of the blast, and the foreigners reveal their presences.

“Impressive, Simon Belmont!” Enrique greets warmly, clapping his hands as they emerge from the shadows. Selena follows behind sheepishly at their imposition.

The training is paused as Simon bows in greeting to them. He battles embarrassment as he stands before them a topless mess of sweat, looking even less presentable than yesterday.

Unbeknownst to him, Selena is also worried that she doesn’t look presentable enough, donned in garb far more comfortable than the day before.

“May we observe?” Enrique asks boldly.

Simon, hesitating, looks to his grandfather for permission.

“Of course.” Laurent speaks for him. “Stay sharp, Simon.”

Concealing his nervousness, Simon nods firmly and readies his stance to continue his onslaught on targets. Feeling pressured to perform at his best, he demonstrates masterful governance over his whip as the remaining targets are snapped to pieces in record time.

As the final target is sent flying, Simon returns the whip to his side.

Enrique, ever-enthusiastic, claps once more.

“Truly remarkable. As expected of a Belmont.” Enrique looks to Selena, expectant. In reply, she offers what she can of a bashful smile:

“You are quite skilled, my lord.” She says at last, if a bit awkwardly. Simon’s mouth twitches as he processes her forced reply, giving her a brief nod of thanks.

“Perhaps it would be beneficial for them to train together. Would you be open to trying?” Enrique inquires suddenly, and both Selena and Simon’s mouths fall open in reply. They resist the urge to protest, but they say nothing.

Instead, they all look to Simon’s grandfather for permission.

Who only offers a smile before replying: “I am not opposed.”

“Well then, Selena,” Enrique turns to her, and she is none too pleased to be volunteered. “If you would please demonstrate to the Belmonts what you’ve mastered.”

“As you wish, father.” Selena’s voice is low as she, too, fastens her hair back. She discards her shawl for increased mobility, and her father takes it readily from her.

As Selena rolls up the sleeves of her dress, Simon exchanges a desperate look towards Gabriel. He is well aware of the Belnades’ power, and if the Velnumdes are anything as powerful as them, then surely Selena will be incredibly strong.

However, prejudice blinds him. Simon doesn’t want to risk hurting her, so small by comparison…

Selena approaches Simon, and once a respectable distance away, their eyes connect with a look. They lower into their respective stances.

Simon waits for Selena to begin.

Selena readies fireballs at the tips of her fingers and flashes them towards Simon. He’s quick to snuff them with his whip.

Hands twitching in a different manner, Selena leaps backwards, thrusting ice shards instead which come screeching towards Simon. He is quick to deflect those as well in one fell swish of the Vampire Killer.

Sensing that she can increase the difficulty, Selena sprints straight towards him, and it causes Simon to stagger with surprise. All he can do is cross his arms in front of him—a defensive maneuver—as she appears before him.

She notices him bracing with the same leg to support him. She will use that to her advantage. But first, she must ascertain his weight.

Crouching suddenly, Selena attempts to strike his calve with fire in her hands. He doesn’t yield. Instead, he swiftly jumps backwards and out of harm’s way. A marvel, really, considering his heft.

It’s his turn now - he flicks the leather whip, gently, so it wraps around her wrist. Realizing what he was doing, he hesitates, and does not follow through with the gesture that would send her to the ground.

Selena, unaffected by the Vampire Killer, takes advantage of Simon’s hesitation. She wraps her hand around the leather, and pulls with all of her might.

This disarms Simon, and the Vampire Killer slips from his grasp.

The onlookers gasp as Selena has the upper hand.

But it’s not so. As Selena is distracted with the whip as it slacks, Simon retrieves a dagger from his belt and hurls it in her direction - intentionally missing, but it snaps Selena back to reality as she narrowly dodges it.

He’s running towards her, now, and Selena again summons icicles and flings them his way. Simon ducks, sliding past her, and retrieves the whip from it’s place on the ground beside her.

Rolling onto his knees, he’s now able to rise up behind her. Selena is a step ahead as she reaches her hands back and shouts as fire ignites from them in a flurry. Simon’s bare torso is too close for comfort as he jumps backwards again, narrowly avoiding the burns.

Selena whirls around to pursue him, using her icicles again. Simon already knows this trick as he snaps each one away before it can get close enough.

What he didn’t anticipate, however, is that Selena would run straight for him following that attack. He staggers back, and she uses his surprise to her advantage. She sweeps a kick and aims behind his right knee—the one on the leg he relies on too much.

Simon fights the sensation of falling backwards, failing to catch himself in time as he tumbles to the ground. While there, Selena sends ice shards from her hand to strike him on the ground. He rolls out of the way, once, before using his whip to snag her ankle, and take her to the ground with him.

Before she can collide onto the ground, he rushes to support her shoulders and head, holding her before she connects.

The pair is panting from exertion, and Simon looks down at her, mortified he may have gone too far. Would it have been better if he let her best him? She’s looking up at him, eyes wide.

“If I may—your right leg,” she breathes, stunned as she’s held by him. “You rely on it too much.”

Simon blinks, processing her feedback. He nods, once, with understanding.

“Additionally,” she begins, and she’s placing her fingers at his throat. A pointed ice shard makes contact with his skin, cooling him.

“You mustn’t let your guard down.”

Simon half smiles as he concedes, promptly hoisting them both to standing. Gabriel looks to Simon, and blinks before raising his eyebrows, looking to Selena. She is impressive. But Simon is fixated on Selena as she returns to her father’s side and pays no mind to Gabriel’s silent commentary.

“Magnificent.” Enrique beams, ever the champion of his daughter. Selena smiles a bit as she returns to his side. She bows her head, apologetically, to Simon and his family, resuming her role as the meek wife-to-be.

Simon is still staring at her with a soft expression, watching her as she tries to conceal her exhaustion.

“A perfect pair, wouldn’t you say?” Enrique looks to Laurent, who placates:

“Yes, I think it would be beneficial for Simon to continue to train with her,” and he looks to Selena now “if you’re willing, of course.”

Selena blinks, feeling a bit sheepish before she nods once. “If my lord wishes it, it would be my honour.”

Simon opens his mouth to protest—if only for not wanting to injure her—but he stops himself promptly, worried his concerns might be misinterpreted. He already felt he was making a bad enough impression. Best to keep quiet.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4 - VEROS
PRESENT DAY

As Simon approaches Veros on horseback, he’s greeted by a scene that paints a picture like that of those seeking refuge in Jova:

dozens of people, clamouring and pounding upon the chapel’s doors. They are sealed tight. Simon squints, making out a sign that reads to go to Jova, that they are at capacity here, and cannot let anyone else in.

As the sun moves through the sky overhead, Simon cannot help but think of the next course of action: the crowd will inevitably have to travel to Jova.

The woman’s warning stays with him: if what she says is true—that creatures of the night are beginning to roam during the daylight—Simon loathes that civilians searching for sanctuary may not survive the journey, even under the warmth of the sun.

If they leave now, they should be fine. Simon did not encounter any monsters between Jova and Veros en route here.

Simon dismounts his horse, leading her through town as he trudges on. Only listening in for the moment.

Lethargic villagers bemoan and weep over the consequences of the chapel closing its doors to them. Desperate hands slam upon the door in vain, crying and pleading for sanctuary from evil.

Simon’s eyes sweep over the crowd, and there are a few that stand out among the masses:

a group of three appear to be chatting among themselves—and they are the only ones who are not encumbered by a load of items on their back. It can be presumed that they are not refugees from Aljiba. Simon musters the courage to approach and inquire.

“Excuse me,” he begins, and the three look up at him. He can only hope his cloak is concealing himself well. “I have heard there is unrest in Aljiba. Do you happen to know anything concerning that?”

Simon is scrutinized by the group of three before one dignifies him with an answer: “Aye, I suppose they’re distressed on account of the Berkeley family abandoning their mansion to the north.”

Hm. Simon hasn’t heard that family name for some time. From what he recalls, there are a few prominent families around the area: ones with religious influence, mostly. Very wealthy from it. Simon counts his blessings for never having the good fortune to become entangled in their going-ons, with the Belmonts being estranged.


Still, if they are a well-off, prominent family, clearly held in high regard by the people here, why would they leave that behind? Could the creatures of the night have driven them away?

“Do you happen to know the reason for their departure?” Simon inquires, staying his horse as she shakes her mighty head.

A different person speaks instead: “Are you a God-abiding man, sir?”

“I am.” Simon replies sternly.

The trio exchange a look. They can be honest, then:

“The Berkeleys are in possession of a most sacred artifact,” the first man explains, quiet. “It’s said that they hold the literal body of Christ: a tangible part of His body.”

The literal body of Christ? Could it be true?

Simon says nothing, only listening with intent.

The stranger continues: “Something threatened to take it, and they fled. Nothing is worth more than the body of Christ, so the mansion and its belongings were left behind.”

“Where is it the Berkeleys fled to?” Simon presses.

The trio exchange another cautious look. The third finally speaks: “We’ve heard that they have joined the Rover family in their estate, across the lake to the east.”

The person points forward, behind Simon’s shoulder. Tired eyes follow the gesture, looking up and away in that direction.

Simon vaguely recalls the region: beyond the mountains, near Aljiba, stands the solitary Rover mansion. An imposing fortress protected by water. An ideal place to protect from monsters and humans alike.

Most of all, vampires, who would struggle to cross that water.

Simon turns back to the trio. “Your information has been valuable. Thank you for your time.”

“May God protect you, sir.” One of the three sends off.



“And may God protect you and yours.” Simon replies with a bow of his head before leading his horse away.

All signs point to continue to Aljiba. Losing precious daylight, Simon departs once again.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 5 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

They had a daily routine: after Simon’s hours-long morning training, he would get cleaned up, eat breakfast, and court Selena around the Belmont estate.

This routine would continue daily for the month’s duration of Selena’s visit to Transylvania. By the end of which she will need to come to a decision about whether or not she consents to proceeding with their arranged marriage.

It has nearly been a month now, and anxiety paralyzes Selena. She hardly knows Simon, even after spending time with him each day. But there is an urgency to their arrangement that weighs heavily on both: the time of Dracula’s calculated resurrection draws near. The Belmonts need an heir, and soon.

Despite that necessity, Selena has never felt pressured by Simon. Actually, she doesn’t know much of Simon’s feelings on the matter at all. He has been polite, certainly. Courteous, too. But he is incredibly private. Selena wonders, if she chooses to marry him, if she will ever learn about his true intent. What goes on in the mind of a man shouldering the burden of Dracula’s impending revival?

What kind of man will he become after they’re wed? Will he change from who is he now? For better, or for worse?

Or will he remain a perfect stranger—no love, no tenderness—as Selena is expected to spawn an heir for him?

Who can she expect to spend her life with if she consents to this union?

She battles the nausea that threatens her as Simon approaches, bowing his head to her in greeting. She curtsies in reply.

“Good morning, my lord.” Selena greets in her usual way.

Simon still isn’t used to being referred to with that title. Selena can tell that much. But she cannot bring herself to call him by his first name. Not yet.

He gestures for her to walk ahead, and she does, starting on their usual route through the stamped out earth around the perimeter of the Belmont estate.

Courtship is awkward for both. Silence hangs heavy, as usual. Simon has done a terrible job of selling himself. He has not boasted about his accomplishments to earn her favour, nor tried so much as to kiss Selena’s hand.

A month isn’t enough time to truly get to know a person. Selena feels Simon’s resistance. Sometimes, she wonders if he finds her undesirable. That would be a blessing—it may spare her yet of being wed to him.

But it is also humbling. Is she not to his taste?

Selena’s attention is pulled from her spiralling thoughts as Simon, at last, has asked something:

“I pray you slept well last night?”

Selena offers a polite smile in reply. “Yes, I slept peacefully. Your home is very comfortable.”

That is another matter: for the last month, Simon has not slept in his own home, electing instead to sleep in the Belmont hold’s sleeping quarters with Laurent and Gabriel. He has relinquished his entire home to Selena during her stay here. Naturally, they cannot share a bed until they’re wed, but going so far as to spend as little time in his own home as possible underlines the divide between them.

Selena cannot help but feel like Simon doesn’t want this.

Doesn’t want her.

As they move through their usual path, Simon takes pause. He stares off beyond the gates of the estate, in the direction of the Jova woods.

After a moment, Simon takes the initiative in leading them off of their usual route, through the gates. Selena takes notice immediately.

“My lord?” Selena inquires, following dutifully after him. “Where is it we’re going?”

“The forest ahead,” Simon clarifies. “Rest assured, creatures of the night do not wander it during the day.”

He takes pause.

“With your permission—is that alright with you?” He asks, looking at her.

Selena has not stepped foot off of the Belmont estate for a month now. She longs for a change of scenery.

“Yes, of course. That would be nice.”

Simon grants her a small smile as they venture outside of the usual borders, and into the forest of Jova.

There’s a coolness in the air as shade washes over the pair. Selena remarks the sound of the leaves—just beginning to decay with the nearly-approaching autumn—rustling in the wind, and the various woodland creatures within, preparing in advance for the winter to come.

Serene moments like these make her forget the malevolent creatures that stalk the area at night.

But remarking the plethora of scars on Simon’s arms quickly remind her of the very real threat. She notes how his hand rests on the handle of his whip at his side. He is still on alert.

She is safe with him, she supposes. He has proven his strength, and his dependability.

The pair slow to a stop at a clearing of forest. They linger there for a moment, before Simon spots a fallen log.

He moves to take a seat upon it, and gestures for Selena to join him by patting the log to his left. She does.

The adults sit in silence, enjoying the soundscape of the forest as minutes crawl on.

Selena was just beginning to relax, when Simon’s voice interjects the quiet:

“It has nearly been a month.”

Selena’s stomach knots at the unfortunate reminder. “Yes, my lord.”

She notes how Simon shifts uncomfortably himself.

He continues, quieter: “The choice is yours to make. Please do not feel pressured.”

Selena doesn’t know how to reply to that. Is he expecting an answer now? Here?

“Thank you.” Selena tries, stilted. She is grateful to have the choice.

But she wonders something, as she pokes a fallen twig with the tip of her boot. Her eyes are downcast.

“Do you not have a choice as well?” She asks.

Simon doesn’t reply, and that only makes Selena feel worse.

She apologizes: “I beg your forgiveness if I am unworthy to be your wife.”

“My lady, that isn’t—”

She interrupts him: “Selena. Please.”

Oh, she shouldn’t have interrupted him. Selena feels the heat of embarrassment rise to her ears.

Simon tries to respect her request, awkward: “Selena.”

She thinks it may be the first time he’s ever called her by her name. It evokes a strange feeling in her chest at the sound of it.

“That isn’t the case.” Simon assures.

Selena can hardly hear him as the thudding of her embarrassed heart deafens her.

“It is simply not my choice to make. It is yours alone.” He adds with careful emphasis.

“It is challenging to make such a choice.” Selena admits at last, wanting nothing more than for this exchange to be over.

Simon nods once with understanding. He looks away at nothing in particular.

The air hangs heavy as time crawls on.

Emboldened by their perfect privacy, concealed in the thick of forest, Selena pushes through her embarrassment to timidly ask: “If I may be candid, my lord?”

“You may.” Simon replies.

She takes a moment to find the strength to admit: “I don’t feel I have a choice, even if you say I do.”

She doesn’t have to look at Simon to feel the consequences of her confession. She wishes she could suck the words from the air for stating something so callous.

She tries to elaborate, choosing honesty: “I was selected into this arrangement as an asset to strengthen the Belmont line. Should I choose not to marry and conceive with you, then I would be burdened with the weight of having done nothing to stop Dracula when I had the chance to.”

Selena still can’t look at Simon as she concludes: “There is no choice.”

“The Belmont family will find a way, as my ancestors have.” Simon reassures, but Selena senses a tension in his reply.

With a certain firmness, he underlines: “Do not let guilt influence you.”

Sensing that she has said too much, Selena makes herself small, bundling herself in her shawl. She glances to her side, remarking how Simon has transitioned his hands into his lap. He’s rubbing a thumb upon clasped hands as the silence builds between them once again.

It couldn’t really get any worse, could it? Selena was at last being honest with him, and there is one question burning to be answered:

“Do you find me undesirable?”

Simon’s reply is immediate: “No.”

Oh.

It’s Simon’s turn to be honest now: “But, like you, I feel the pressure of this union, and the necessity of its success.”

Selena lifts her head to look at him. Simon does not return the look. He’s wringing his hands together - a self-soothing gesture that she can see he’s trying to hide.

Selena feels foolish for assuming otherwise: of course Simon would be just as impacted.

His life is on the line in this fight with darkness. If he dies during the battle, then…

There’s so much at stake.

He shoulders it all alone.

“I beg your forgiveness, my lord.” Selena concedes solemnly, head bowing again. “We will share this burden.”

“Please don’t.” Simon tries, awkward. He worries that she’s only saying that out of pity. Worries that his confession somehow twisted her arm into complying.

“You have a choice.” He reminds, gentler than before. “Please, make the right choice.”

Selena processes his genuine plea in her own time. As the silence draws out, she feels how Simon shifts at her side, his hands transitioning onto his lap.

There is only one choice.

Selena moves her hand out from in front of her to land atop of Simon’s. She can feel him freeze under her touch.

Simon exhales as he closes his eyes, and even that innocuous sound is tinged with a resigned sadness.

In reply, Selena curls her fingertips around his hand to hold it.

And Simon timidly returns the gesture.

Adults sit crushed by the weight of circumstance, comforted only by the calm of the forest, and the warmth of each other’s touch.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 6 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

Selena is trying to examine Simon’s chest wound, using a candle held in hand as a light source.

Not desiring to expose her to such gore, Simon tries to protest: “You needn’t—”

“Let me look at you.” Selena commands, and Simon is quick to silence his protests.

Selena sets down the candle, moving to take hold of his clothing.

“I’m going to remove this.” She flashes a look at him that’s asking for permission, and Simon, taken aback at her forwardness, can only nod once in reply.

Hastily, Selena unfastens his leather armour—trying to delicately peel it away from his skin. It is difficult to discern what is his flesh and blood in the mess and darkness.

Simon hisses suddenly as Selena accidentally grazes his wound. She whispers an apology as she strips him of his upper layers.

Time is crucial: Simon has only just returned from defeating a creature of the night that threatened the Belmont estate. While he was able to fell it with Gabriel’s help, it was not done without him sustaining injuries.

It’s an urgent injury, for the beast’s fangs and claws were oozing with poison. 

Selena was commanded to stay indoors, and though she wanted to interject and help, she elected to respect the wishes of the Belmont clan to keep her distance. She saw the whole exchange from the window.

Saw as Simon’s chest was pierced through as he was pinned to the ground by the beast.

After the fight, Simon insisted that he would be able to tend to his injuries on his own—he has anti-venom on hand, and can sew wounds closed himself. But his words betrayed his state—he’s already hot to the touch, struggling to keep himself upright as Selena is examining him.

Illuminated only by candlelight, she can see the ebb and flow of Simon’s breath as his torso is naked before her, soaked in his blood. His breath is faster than usual—she suspects that he’s lost his composure due to the poison. She sees plainly how he’s trying to hide his deterioration from her.

Thus, Selena elects to take the initiative in helping him when he cannot adequately help himself. She worries how this might affect how Simon sees her—as her usual polite demeanour is washing away in favour of a far more commanding authority—but that is something she can correct later.

Right now, she has to stop his deterioration at the source. Retrieving the candle again, she peers into the wound placed squarely in the center of his exposed chest.

Something appears to be lodged, but she’s hesitant to try and take it out.

It’s a dangerous location for an injury like that, so close to his heart…

“Lay down, please.” Selena commands next—a little softer, this time—stepping aside to allow Simon to approach his bed.

Losing the strength to resist with each passing minute, Simon does as he’s instructed, carefully, as to not aggravate his wound. He lays upon his bed, anxious as he forfeits his control—his health—to Selena.

He has always tended to his own wounds in privacy, even in the brief month that Selena has lived with him (and despite her offers to help). But, now… he can’t even see straight to try. Lack of consciousness threatens his normally taciturn composure.

There’s no choice: it’s up to Selena. Simon relinquishes himself to her for the first time, unable to do anything else.

Once he’s comfortable, Selena chooses to straddle his hips immediately.

Simon stares at her, dumbfounded. It was enough of a distraction for him to feel the warmth between them. (Under better circumstances, he may have been aroused, but with the stinging of his wound and the dizzying poison clouding his judgment, arousal is far from his mind.)

Selena is still focused on her task and pays no mind to their intimate position.

“This will hurt.” Selena barely warns as she digs her fingers into his wound. Unprepared, Simon roars in pain and thrashes beneath her, and she stills him with a firm grip of her free hand.

With fingers lodged into the warmth of his body, she retrieves what she hopes is the claw.

But it is much too small to be the whole of the object she saw. It’s difficult to tell in the mess of blood.

Simon, for all of his efforts, struggles to conceal the pain as Selena’s fingers search for remaining pieces. Gritting his teeth, he reaches a hand out and places it—firm—on her lap. A silent plea to stop. Adrenaline has long since faded, and Simon can hardly tolerate the sensation of her fingers fishing around a fresh, poisoned orifice.

“I know it hurts.” Is all Selena can reply with as she dutifully prods for the remaining fragments. Simon’s grip is harder, now, and he can’t stop himself from groaning with pain, bearing his teeth.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Selena placates gently, trying to soothe him.

“Be strong.” She commands as she plunges her fingers deep into the wound, using all of her body weight in an attempt to still the inevitable jolt from Simon underneath her. He hisses through grit teeth, gripping into her lap with increased desperation, comforted only by the warmth of her seated at his groin.

Finally, she retrieves what she hopes is the last of it before dismounting from him and hurrying to collect the anti-venom.

During that time, consciousness slips from Simon.

When he next opens his eyes he finds Selena is seated at the far end of the room, in the chair by his desk. Only the candle by her side illuminates her silhouette as she sits, and she’s a blur as he blinks exhaustion from his eyes.

Alerted by his movement, Selena is quick to go to his side.

Dizzy still, Simon looks down to see his torso bandaged. He closes his eyes and allows his head fall back onto the pillow beneath him.

What a blessing it is that his wife-to-be is skilled in these matters. He’ll live to see another day thanks to her efforts.

“Thank you.” He mumbles as sleep claims him once again.

Selena says nothing in reply, but places her soft, small hand upon his forehead. He’s damp with sweat, but his skin is much cooler than before. The anti-venom is working through his system.

Thank God. Relief washes over Selena as she heaves a breath she’s been holding onto for too long. She feels as though she can finally rest easy, and turn in for the night.

When Simon awakens again, it is nearly dawn—the warmth of the sun just barely making its appearance in his bedroom. He blinks, allowing his eyes to adjust.

Feeling a presence beside him, he sees Selena, who has fallen asleep at his left, curled into herself, but facing him.

They’ve yet to share a bed, as they’re not yet married. Simon hesitates for a moment before opting to move out of the room. Slowly, as not to jostle her, he attempts to sit upright in the bed. He’s stopped by a jolt of pain from his injury before easing back down.

So much for that. He resolves that he must stay where he is for the moment.

But ever-perceptive Selena is awoken by that small movement.

“Are you well?” Is all she asks, her voice a whisper as she studies his face. Simon nods in reply, eyes landing on her to his left.

“Alive, credited to your efforts.” Simon begins, giving her his full attention. 

“You have my deepest gratitude.” Simon continues, a more serious expression painting his face as he gives heartfelt thanks: “Thank you, Selena.”

Selena’s eyes cast down and away, unable to hide the tiny, relieved smile that works its way onto her lips. She’s grateful for his praise. It affirms that she made the right choice to take charge.

“Permit me to lay here tonight,” Simon musters the courage to request. “It’s difficult to move.”

Selena’s gaze returns to Simon’s face, and it’s brief. All she can do is nod in reply. Of course—whatever he needs.

Relieved at that, Simon can finally close his eyes again. Selena abides and closes her eyes as well. 

But only for a moment.

Her eyes open again and she softly—sheepishly—examines Simon’s bandaged torso. She watches the rise and fall of his chest—slower than before, thank goodness.

In the barely-illuminated room, she remarks the contours of his muscle. She recalls how he felt beneath her: firm muscles contracting against her weight. In the quiet of daybreak, she’s reminded that he’s a Belmont: herculean, muscular, as if carved from stone.

And Selena is grateful that he trusted her to help him. Despite his pride—despite his weight and physical strength. He could have easily thrown her off of him. But he put his life in her hands. It is the highest honour for a warrior of his caliber to relinquish himself to her, who is still a relative stranger to him.

Selena swells with honour—and confidence in her abilities—for being able to help him in such a desperate time. She takes his words of thanks to heart.

And she hopes that from this experience he may find her more dependable than before.

Silently, she looks up to see his face. Angular, but relaxed as sleep threatens to take hold of him again. She remarks his eyelashes, his strong nose, and finally lands on his lips.

It’s foreign to be laying by his side in such close proximity. The last time they were so close was when they first sparred together a month ago. Selena’s mind wanders to that time—how Simon readily held her, so she wouldn’t get injured by colliding with the ground below.

How long was she stunned in his arms before she was able to finally speak?

Her chest swells with new warmth at the sight of him now as she reminisces. Her heart races as she grapples with how to best navigate these bubbling, fleeting feelings in this private moment.

Perhaps it would be best to take charge once again.

Sheepishly, Selena raises a hand, and—no, she mustn’t.

Now is not the time.

It is the first time they’re sharing a bed. It would be far too forward to reach out and touch him, even if just an innocent, reassuring gesture as he drifts off to sleep.

Even if just a small way to reconnect flesh on flesh.

But Selena doesn’t quite think things through before she softly places her hand upon Simon’s pectoral. She’s looking up at his face, trying to gauge his expression, hoping that he may remain asleep as she does.

It’s not so - Simon’s alerted immediately to the sensation, and looks down to see her staring up at him.

He says nothing before breaking eye contact. Selena follows, looking away at nothing in particular. Her hand remains where it is, though she fights the instinct to pull it away at his notice.

Instead, Simon (minding his injury) carefully slides a hand atop of hers, and holds her hand gently against him.

Deafened by the sound of her own pounding heart, Selena hardly picks up on his thudding just as hard under her hand at their newfound closeness.

Tingling with anticipation, Selena props herself on her arm, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye, but taking in every minute movement of his. The way his eyes scan her, how his blonde hair frames his face, how his lips part slightly as he breathes, ever-careful…

Her heart races, mind a blur of what ifs and reservations.

But the moment feels right: they are engaged to be wed, and thus…

Pushing her hesitation aside, Selena cranes her chin up to kiss him.

Oh.

The gesture surprises Simon.

Sheepishly, he accepts. Eyes ease shut before Simon gently leans down, closing the distance between them, their lips pressing together with the greatest care.

It’s an awkward first kiss, ruined by the taste of blood on his lips.

But it is significant all the same, for it illustrates their shared desire to connect.

They part, breath shallow as they process what transpired. Simon, emboldened, connects their lips once more. Selena permits it and returns the gesture with equal pressure. Their hearts are beating wildly between them.

Careful, tender kissing pave the way for Selena to sit upright. She stares down at Simon, taking in his face wearing an expression she has yet to see: he is flushed.

As Simon looks away, bashful over being studied, Selena’s gaze follows downward to the chiseled curvature of his body once again. She remarks his breathing. It’s shallow. She can see plainly how his heart races.

It’s reassuring to see that he’s reacting the same way as she is.

She wonders if his mind has wandered to the same place as hers.

Selena is pulled from her budding fantasies by careful fingertips brushing on her cheek. It’s a hesitant, fleeting gesture—brimming with reservation. Simon’s hand might be shaking. Selena might be the one shaking, actually—she doesn’t know.

Her flesh runs hot in the wake of his touches, so impactful despite being so minute.

Logic and reason are beginning to wane as Selena wants to melt into those hands of his. And as his thumb caresses her cheek, fingers moving to tuck her hair behind her ear, Selena burns all over.

Invigorated by their mutual experience, Selena takes a breath before moving to straddle his hips once again. This time, she takes extra care to be as delicate as possible as she lowers herself upon him.

Selena relishes the warmth between them with a soft sigh, timid eyes landing on Simon’s face, so incredibly anxious to gauge his desire.

He’s staring at her again, half-lidded and aglow with arousal that swiftly makes itself evident beneath her hips.

Approval, then. Oh, that’s reassuring.

And in equal measure, anxiety-inducing.

Simon takes her in. The glow of the rising sun encircles Selena’s fair hair like a halo. In this private moment, she appears before him like a goddess.

The warmth between them becomes all too apparent as Simon is unable to conceal his want for her. He struggles to keep his fixation upon her, head turning away as he tries to stifle the sensation that continues to threaten his composure.

Averting his eyes isn’t for lack of want, of course: despite his injuries, Simon wants her.

Desperately.

Despite their shared, ever-growing hunger, Selena is hesitant in moving to unfasten her clothes. Trembling hands move to task, but she stops herself.

Logic overrides: is this even a good idea? Simon’s injured, and…

God, what is she thinking? Selena’s own heart beats madly as her face flushes. She battles her desire to disappear, fearing she’s taken things too far too soon.

Sensing her hesitation, Simon props himself up upon an arm (with some effort due to his injury), and extends a hand to her, placing it on her lap.

“Selena,” his voice is honey-like, low in a whisper, “you needn’t force yourself.”

Selena shudders in reply, embarrassed and disarmed by his lovely voice. Hearing it—feeling his hand reach out to touch her, even so innocently—has only worsened the ache of arousal within her.

She did not expect his war-torn hands to be so incredibly gentle. So warm. It’s a welcomed and appreciated revelation in contrast to how he held her just hours earlier in desperation. (She may be bruised—and she wants nothing more than his hands to overwrite that hurt.)

Selena tries to recover from her spiralling thoughts, electing to reprimand him instead: “Please lay back down, you’re injured.”

Simon stays as he is, his eyes searching Selena’s face. She can tell the position is hard on him, and she looks at him with equal concern.

Face burning with embarrassment over being studied in such a way—with those kind blue eyes of his that are seeing through her very soul—she places her hands on his shoulders to gently ease him back into the bed below. Simon conceals the strain on his injury and allows her to move him back down without protest.

She stays, hands on his shoulders as her fair hair falls on either side of her face. Simon looks up at her for only a moment before they’re magnetized to each other, exchanging kisses once again.

It begins soft and slow—intentional and careful. Inexperience has washed away as they have attuned to each other’s movements.

Selena is quickly reminded of the burning, all-consuming heat between them as their kisses become more desperate, more passionate.

Urgency pulls Selena away yet again. She resumes her seat on Simon’s hips.

With the greatest care, she at last finds the strength to remove her garments.

As she undresses, Simon swallows, unable to tear his eyes away from her in spite of the anxiety that wells in his stomach.

Selena discards her dress beside them on the bed. Her flesh is now entirely exposed, and she does what she can to cover herself with her arms as the morning chill flows in from the window.

Simon’s hungry eyes take her in immediately, relishing her naked, angelic form illuminated by the growing sun. Admires how her skin prickles in the cool air, with the diffused dawn scattering across her flesh. Relishes her beautiful, flushed face as she looks down at him, nervous and expectant.

Selena tries to study Simon’s expression, so foreign on his normally stoic features. His lips have parted again, as if to say something.

Selena burns under his scrutiny, shuddering, as she anticipates his reply.

“You’re beautiful.” Simon finally breathes, hushed, in total awe of her. Desperate to reach out and touch her, Simon carefully slides his hands upon her thighs, careful to gauge her facial expression as he does, to know if what he’s doing is desirable.

Selena could melt from that gesture alone, eager to feel his warm hands explore all over her exposed, cool flesh.

She says nothing, only nodding brief with approval, as she casts her glance elsewhere. Something rises in her chest at the sensation of Simon’s hands smoothing over her thighs, threatening her composure:

Selena resists the urge to hide her face as his name spills from her lips for the very first time on the softest, most vulnerable exhale.

Mutual want turns to mutual feverish, all-consuming, mind-numbing need.

Their thudding heartbeats deafen them as they move to take the next sacred step, aching with longing for their hands, flesh, mouths, and hearts to become united.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 7 - ALJIBA
PRESENT DAY

The trek to Aljiba is more taxing than Simon remembers. The mountainous terrain separating Veros from Aljiba is unfavourable on horseback. Simon notes how his horse is struggling on rocky terrain, and elects to instead walk alongside her through Dabi’s Path.

They’re only granted respite when they reach Aljiba woods, where the soil beneath their tired feet is softer.

The calm is temporary. Simon must calm his horse as she agitates to the atmosphere they’ve wandered into. The air is heavy with a foul aura.

The sun is beginning to disappear beyond the mountains.

With some urgency, Simon leads his horse ahead. The gates of Aljiba are not far. And it would be wise to station themselves in town, no matter how unfavourable those seeking refuge claim it to be. He will manage.

But Sara Trantoul’s words weigh heavy on Simon’s mind: he hasn’t much time.

The scene that Simon walks into is not one he expected to find:

all is calm in Aljiba.

Villagers don’t even notice his entrance. They busy themselves with their own tasks. There is no urgency, but it is not done leisurely, either.

On first glance, there does not appear to be any unrest in Aljiba. Simon moves to stable his horse before traversing further into town.

This time, he’s not warned to collect his horse before dusk.

Simon turns on his heel to leave, his next objective being the church. 


Sure enough, he finds it. Even more impressive, its doors are not closed. Simon is able to enter freely and without issue.

It is makeshift - it lacks the awe-inspiring infrastructure of the churches of Jova and Veros, with simple and imperfect items within. Still, it is a place of worship all the same, however flawed.

Drawing his hood tighter, Simon carefully scans the pews. Nothing out of the ordinary—just villagers quietly offering their prayers. They are not at capacity here, nor visibly disturbed.

Finding an empty seat, Simon takes a moment to sit his aching body down, clasping his hands in prayer, head bowed.

Minding that he hasn’t much time to waste, his prayer is brief.

When he lifts his head, he’s surprised to find a woman has seated herself by his side. He must have been in deep focus to not have noticed her approach.

Their eyes meet, and Simon bows his head—part in greeting, and part to conceal himself under the protection of his cloak. He’s quick to stand, moving to exit.

To his growing unease, the woman follows after him.

Once outside the church, he hesitates under her scrutiny.

“Are you a resident here?” Simon musters the strength to ask her at last.

“I am. I can tell you are not, however.” She replies, lighthearted, before she allows her eyes to wander his form. “What brings you to Aljiba?”

Simon hesitates for a moment too long, weighing on how to best answer without arousing suspicion.

“I’m on a pilgrimage. I have heard the body of Christ has been uncovered, and is honoured near Aljiba.”

There’s a knowing smile that appears on the woman’s face at that.

“Your sources are correct - the body of Christ is being protected by the Rover family, in their fortress to the east.”

As before, the woman also points to show Simon the way. Simon follows her gesture with his eyes.

“Would you like to see it?” She inquires, genuine.

Would it be so simple?

Simon offers a rote smile. “More than anything.”

Satisfied with his reply, the woman walks ahead of him. “Come, I’ll show you the way.”

Simon hesitates for a moment, noting the position of the sun on the horizon before conceding. His hand slides on the whip at his side as he follows closely after the stranger.

With some time, they approach the edge of Yuba lake that encircles Rover mansion. It’s impossible to cross without a boat. And Simon does not see a boat on the shore to take them there.

Sensing his hesitation, the woman takes the initiative to walk ahead once again

upon the water’s surface.

Oh, God.

He’s hallucinating. This isn’t real. Simon shuts his eyes, trying to shake the false image from his mind, desperate for this episode to end.

“It isn’t your imagination, sir.” The woman assures gently, her words pulling Simon from his spiral. 

Sure enough, when he raises his eyes, she still stands upon the water’s surface.

“It is God’s divine power that allows me to do this.” She explains, extending a beckoning hand to him.

Impossible.

But, if this truly is God’s work…

Simon tries to step one foot forward upon the water.

To his horror—and amazement—he can.

His other foot takes an uneasy step upon the water’s surface to join the first.

The pair begin their walk towards Rover mansion in silence. Simon proceeds cautiously, not trusting his own judgment, for he has not known peace nor abject truth since his return from Castlevania. He hallucinates often, and struggles to separate dream from reality. He had always assumed it was borne from post-traumatic stress—or from lack of sleep, lest his nightmares alter his reality further—but after learning of his curse from the spirit of the Vampire Killer, he cannot be sure of its origin.

The only certainty is that he cannot trust what he sees. He must always be on alert.

As his feet wade through the water upon Yuba lake, it just seems too outlandish. Too convenient. Why here? Why now? And why this woman?

Could she be a prophet?

Or is this another episode of psychosis?

This cannot possibly be re—

suddenly, Simon is plunged under water, and doesn’t have enough time to fill his lungs with air as he’s pulled into the depths.

In a mess of fabric, Simon’s hands desperately search for a dagger on his belt. Once he finds it, he tries to slash at whatever it is that is restraining his legs.

Another slash, and it connects - red pools the water, obscuring his vision.

Breaking free from his restraints, Simon tries to swim towards the surface as his lungs burn for air.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 8 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

“You won’t need that, come now, Simon.” Gabriel laughs as he extends his hand towards him.

In reply, Simon shares a cautionary glare—and Gabriel can tell that parting with the item makes Simon nervous.

“I’ll keep it safe during the ceremony, and I’ll give it right back to you.” Gabriel placates as the Vampire Killer is placed within his hand with great hesitation.

“There,” Gabriel smiles, “you look more like a groom, now.”

The pair turn to face the mirror to regard Simon in his wedding attire. Pressed, crisp, and bright white. Gaudy for his taste, but at the behest of his grandfather, he must do his part to uphold tradition, to ensure that his union is blessed by God.

No matter how absurd he looks.

Simon’s eyes scan his body before finally landing on his face in the mirror. He looks so out of place as he frantically finger-combs his hair and tucks it behind his ears. …No, nevermind, it looked better before.

“No need to be so stressed.” The other soothes, placing a firm hand upon his shoulder. “You look great.”

Simon can only offer a small, forced smile at Gabriel who tries so hard to ease his nerves.

“Come, we must go.” With a firm pat of his shoulder, Gabriel turns on his heel to leave. Simon tries to take a grounding breath, but it comes out as a soft sigh.

Before he exits, Simon snatches his satchel along with his usual clothing and his boots, eager to change out of his costume as soon as humanly possible.

The men exit the estate and enter the carriage waiting for them. Laurent is already within. Simon sits across from him, Gabriel at his side. 

Simon can feel Laurent studying him. Has he done a poor job of grooming himself?

Laurent leans out the window, announcing that they’re ready to depart to the driver. With a crack of reins, they begin their journey to the chapel.

It is not a long journey - the chapel they’re to be wed is on the outskirts of Jova. It has gone years without proper worship by the villagers, but it a matter of tradition that the Belmonts be wed there, away from prying eyes of Jova’s residents. 

Selena will be meeting them there. They have not seen each other all day. She’s been off preparing in a carriage of her own, accompanied by hired priestesses tasked with her preparation.

As the carriage is drawn along, Simon’s mind wanders as he looks out the window in direction of home getting farther away with each gallop.

He’s surprised that Selena consented to marriage, in the end. After they were intimate some time ago—how long has it been, Simon wonders—she has become quite impersonal with him. The two have reverted to speaking formally to each other. Selena continues to refer to him as lord, and following her example, he no longer uses her first name.

It’s as if their intimacy never happened at all.

Simon cannot help but wonder if Selena regrets it.

He wonders if he might regret his act of vulnerability, too.

It is something they will have to grapple with after they’re married, he supposes. If for no other reason than to conceive and be done with it.

So be it.

But his heart is so heavy in his chest.

An hour or so of travel and they reach their destination. The carriage is parked some distance away from the chapel, as there is a forest separating it from view.

The party of three dismount, and Laurent pays the carriage drawer in coin, instructing that they’ll return promptly.

Simon has patrolled this area before, but he never envisioned that he would be married in such a place. It is picturesque in the daylight: the chapel stands tall, with a prominent cross erected from its peak. Behind it, the river separating Jova and Veros flows. In the distance the mountainside can be seen.

Simon’s glance wanders upwards, towards the sky. There are rain clouds overhead that add to his malaise. It is foreboding, but he elects not to let a baseless gloom dampen an already unpleasant day.

The winding path leads them to the steps of the chapel. It is modest in itself (if a bit worn to time), and it is understood that the party won’t be entering its doors. The ceremony will be held on the steps. It will be brief.

So Simon waits, hands folded in front of him, for Selena to arrive. He’s all nerves. Totally rigid.

Gabriel stands near him, but not close enough, while Laurent makes small talk with the priest. Simon doesn’t listen to what they’re talking about. He can’t focus.

“She’s here.” Gabriel pulls Simon from his spiralling thoughts with a tap on his shoulder. 

And Laurent takes that as his cue to hand Simon a small drawstring bag. In it holds the rings: family heirlooms passed down for the chosen Belmont and their spouse.

Simon takes it carefully, and Laurent lands a firm hand on his shoulder before assuming his rightful place off to the side in his family company of two.

Selena exits her carriage some distance away before she’s led by the other women towards the chapel.

She is donned in a modest pink wedding gown that flatters her beautifully. Around her neck, chest, and shoulders lay layers of ruffled lace. She wears her hair half up, half down. But it is styled in such a way that is meticulous, perfected; curled hairs frame her face. Crowning her head, a veil of the same hue as her dress, with a tiara of flowers picked and woven especially for today.

She is handed off to Simon by the priestesses, and she takes her place in front of him. Facing him, but not looking at him, hiding behind the guise of her lace veil.

The priest begins to bless the couple. Simon is instructed to hand off the rings to him, and he does. Simon is the first to be blessed: the priest places the ring on each finger in a certain order while blessing him. Thumb, index, middle, and finally the fourth finger. He repeats the same with Selena, in the same order. It’s a marvel that the rings fit both well.

The priest moves to gently take either of their hands, guiding them together.

With his leave, Simon takes Selena’s hands gently into his own. She returns the touch. Both heads are bowed dutifully as the priest continues his recital.

After the pair is blessed by the priest, Simon is granted permission to lift the veil from Selena’s face. An unfamiliar sensation lodges in his throat as he does.

As the veil is lifted, Selena’s beautiful face is revealed. Her face is flushed a soft pink, her lips full and equally tinted. Paired with her dress, she appears before him as a beautiful painting brought to life.

And as her hazel eyes, bashful and timid, meet his… oh, she is simply breathtaking. His heart aches at the sight of her.

Unbeknownst to him, Selena lingers with appreciation for how Simon looks in return. Hair brushed away from his face reveals his eyes. He is such an honest man—she can read him plainly.

With the priest’s permission, Simon leans down. Selena inches up to meet him halfway.

They share their first sacred kiss as husband and wife, and they’re met with applause from the tiny entourage. Spouses part quickly, embarrassed at their outward affection under the scrutiny of all in attendance.

It is done.

Simon extends his arm for Selena to take, and she does, so he may lead her back to their carriage. The tiny party follows, a respectable distance away.

As they walk down the winding path towards their stationed carriages, Simon’s unrest returns again as he takes note of the sky.

It’s darker than before. Simon slows his lead, and Selena parts from him, taking a moment to join his gaze skyward.

“My lord?” A small voice comes from beside him, and Simon is pulled back to the present, to Selena by his side.

“Are you displeased?” She asks, quiet.

“Of course not.” Simon recovers, feigning a smile.

There’s a heaviness that he feels. His instincts are telling him something. 

He cannot fight the sensation that they are unsafe. But whatever for?

Surely it’s a fault of his melancholia. Swallow your pride and focus, Belmont.

He continues to walk ahead.

A few rain clouds cannot possibly—

a crash, too close for comfort tears Simon’s focus. He whirls around towards the sound, and it is accompanied by the chapel’s cross crumbling down. It has been struck with lightning.

Unease swelling, Simon searches to take Selena’s hand.

To his growing horror, she is no longer by his side.

In the distance, he can hear shouting from the others, indistinct.

Simon’s head snaps up, and—

oh, God.

Simon sees him, hovering a great distance above.

Dracula

with Selena in his arm.

“Well, well,” Dracula begins with his dark voice “I thought I would come and give my personal congratulations to the happy couple.”

This can’t be happening. Why here—why now? Dracula’s calculated resurrection is still—

Blindly, Simon’s hand moves to claim the hilt of the Vampire Killer at his hip—

Curse it all!

He doesn’t have it!

Simon needs to retrieve it, but if he were to run to collect it, Selena—she—

Gabriel.

“Gabriel, get the whip!” Simon commands, and Gabriel is already sprinting to collect it for him from the carriage.

Simon’s attention returns to Dracula, swelling with rage: “Unhand her!”

His barked order merely earns a laugh from Dracula as he crushes Selena tighter still.

“That would be most unwise. You see, if I unhand her,” and he does, suddenly, and Selena doesn’t have enough time to react before she’s falling.

Simon’s stomach drops as he sprints to collect her.

No such luck, Dracula has caught her before she can fall, just out of reach from Simon. He staggers back.

“Then she would die. That would ruin the whole event, would it not?”

Selena shouts, using all of her strength in an attempt to free herself from Dracula’s iron-clad hold on her. He’s unaffected by her struggle, and opts to take her throat into his hand to quell her resistance.

“Fiery one, aren’t you?” Dracula mocks with a sinister laugh as he strangles Selena, who can only gape and kick her legs out feebly in reply.

“Stop!” Simon begs as he watches Selena thrash against Dracula. He feels utterly powerless. “She has nothing to do with this!”

The vampire’s reply is a simple one: “She is betrothed to you—that is reason enough.”

“Gabriel! The whip!” Simon roars in heightened desperation, frantically searching between the carriage and up at Dracula as Selena fights for her life. 

He has to do something. Anything! But there’s nothing on his person he can use! And if he were to run to collect items, then Dracula, he—

“I will not kill her, Belmont.” Dracula reassures as he loosens the grip on the now barely-conscious Selena’s throat. He collects her in his arm as she slacks, lacking the strength to do any more resisting.

“Not yet. I have use for her.”

Simon’s eyes widen in horror as his mind runs wild with what that could mean.

And Dracula delights in elaborating: “The fault falls to you, truly, for you defied the arbitrary wishes of your precious God.” Dracula laughs at the absurdity of it all.

Simon is gritting his teeth, now - what nonsense is Dracula spouting? Simon can hardly process it as his rage burns—it’s blinding and all-consuming. He can hardly think.

From the corner of his eye, Simon can see Gabriel emerge from the carriage, running as fast as his legs can take him.

Faster, Gabriel!

“There is no mistaking the scent of your filthy Belmont blood within her. That is precisely why she will be useful to me.”

The world goes quiet as Simon stares.

Rage is quickly replaced with concern.

What does Dracula mean by that?

Oh, his agony is delicious. Dracula only smirks as he watches Simon piece it together:

Selena is with child.

And Dracula has found some way to abuse this fact.

Simon is pulled from his spiralling thoughts as Gabriel at last throws him the Vampire Killer, which Simon masterfully collects and swiftly snaps it towards Dracula, aiming for his head in a single motion.

In a blur, Dracula intercepts the attack by using Selena as a human shield, to which Simon quickly diverts the tail end of the whip before it makes contact.

Curse it all!

“Oh yes, she will be very useful indeed.” Dracula chuckles.



“My lord,” Selena tries, her voice hoarse and weak as she fights to keep herself conscious “kill him!”

Simon staggers. He can’t. Not while she’s in his grip.

Not if she’s—

“Simon!” Selena tries to scream at him, and Dracula clasps a clawed hand over her mouth to silence her. His grip is too hard, and Simon can plainly see he’s hurting Selena under his hand.

Rage comes to the forefront again. Simon tries again to swing his whip and strike Dracula, but he narrowly misses it before Dracula disappears into mist, taking Selena with him. The wind carries his wicked laughter as they fade from sight.

Simon can only stand there as he processes what has happened. Gabriel approaches, apprehensive, and the remaining wedding party is finally coming towards them now that the threat has departed.

Before anyone can say anything, the crowd is altered to a change in the distant horizon, beyond the mountains north of Jova:

Dracula’s castle has reappeared, looming in the distance.

As if an invitation beckoning to Simon.

How long has it been there, unbeknownst to the family?

Gripping his whip, Simon suddenly dashes off in the direction of it. Gabriel, at breakneck speed, intercepts.

Simon’s face is wild with rage.

Gabriel tries to talk him down: “Peace, Simon—this must be a trap.”



“I cannot sit and do nothing!” Simon roars in reply, his composure long gone.

Gabriel placates: “Yes, I know. Let us get you the proper tools—“

“I am leaving immediately.” Simon turns over his shoulder, his body moving faster than his mind.

“I need a horse!” Simon yells at the carriage driver ahead, who is quick to scramble to unfasten one for him as he charges ahead. Gabriel hastily follows behind.

Simon’s mind is racing, unable to string coherent thoughts together. He reaches into the carriage to grab his casual clothes, not caring for indecency as he strips himself down to wear them. Not the ideal protection for infiltrating Dracula’s castle, but it will serve him better than the suit he wears. Boots follow.

Gabriel hands Simon his satchel of items. Simon takes it thanklessly as he rushes past. The horse he requested is waiting, and he mounts it promptly, pulling in its reins as it adjusts to his weight upon it.

“Simon!” Gabriel calls out.

Simon stares at him, hard.

“Be safe.”

Simon replies with a chaste nod before rearing the horse with a shout, taking off in the direction of Dracula’s castle.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 9 - DRACULA’S CASTLE
ROUGHLY EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

When Selena next awakens, she is slumped against a cold stone wall. Her limbs feel incredibly heavy. She looks down to find that she’s bound by shackles around her wrists. As she articulates her fingers to regain sensation, she acknowledges that these confines will make magic use difficult, but not impossible.

She hobbles to stand, and goes straight to work on surveying the area she has awoken in.

She is in a dark room, perhaps in a basement. No - she realizes there’s a window, albeit small and barred off, and too high for her to use for escape.

It’s difficult to tell what time of day it is at this lower angle. It could be the same day, but Selena isn’t sure how long she was unconscious for. Her head aches, and she fights nausea.

As she inhales the dust-filled air, she notes the bruised sensation around her throat from Dracula’s strangulation. Hesitant fingertips move up to touch upon the spot to assess for any further damage.

Chains grind on the ground as she moves, thwarting all of her plans for stealth.

Not that she would be granted that, as a creature quickly makes itself known from the shadows, announcing itself in a low voice:

“So you’ve risen at last.”

Selena’s focus snaps towards the beast, her heart racing and threatening the composure she tries so desperately to wear. That voice can only belong to him.

Dracula.

Selena braces herself to fight if she must. It could very well be a losing battle—Selena doubts her strength against him—but she has no choice but to stand her ground, or die trying.

Subtly, as to not arouse suspicion, she tries to maneuver her hands to summon the elements as Dracula approaches her confinement cell.

“That won’t be effective,” he tuts, all-knowing. “This form is incorporeal. Your attacks will do nothing to harm me.”

Selena’s mouth twitches as she summons fire, aiming squarely for him despite his warning.

Unfortunately, he’s right. Selena’s assault seems to do nothing at all - it passes through him.

He lacks a physical body. Selena tries to think logically about the reason—but—

she doesn’t have time to think before anxiety overflows as she watches Dracula phase through her prison bars as mist, next. She cannot hope to fight him in this state. 

A moment later and he’s standing right in front of her, far too close for comfort.

Attempting to keep her composure, Selena looks up at his face as he re-materializes before her eyes.

Dracula is craning down to meet her gaze. The face he wears can only be described as nightmareish. Corpse-like, sullen, with dark, terrible eyes. Where there should be the whites of his eyes, they are instead near-black. His irises are stark red, and he bears down upon her with slits for pupils.

A snake cornering its prey.

Dracula’s mouth curls into an insidious smirk as he watches Selena take in his face, revealing far, far too many pointed teeth as he does.

Selena’s instincts tell her to run away.

Before her stands the greatest threat Transylvania has ever known.

He is darkness incarnate, whatever form he chooses to take—incorporeal or not.

Selena’s frozen to her spot in fear, completely rigid as she fights to keep eye contact with him.

“I see why the Belmont fancies you.” Dracula begins, soulless eyes breaking their fixation before scanning Selena’s body. She feels violated all over as she’s studied.

“Simon Belmont, was it? He seemed woefully unequipped to stop me.”

He encircles Selena, slowly, taking in every angle of his prize. Selena tries to not only keep her attention upon Dracula, but she tries feebly to calm her thudding heart.

“I can hear your heart beating.” Dracula chides with a chuckle as he inches closer. She can feel his aura as if he were right by her neck. She shudders despite herself, eyes wringing shut.

“Try as you may to hide it, I can smell your fear.”

Selena swallows the well of anxiety in her throat. She’s too focused on trying to keep her composure to do anything else—too fearful that Dracula could entrap her in his grip once again.

Her attention is snapped back to the immediate threat before her as his icy hand takes her chin, craning her head up to meet his gaze. Dracula’s grip is steadfast and firm. She stifles the whimper of fear that bubbles up from her throat. Selena cannot conceal her body trembling, now.

And Dracula delights in her feeble constitution. Eager, terrible eyes pour into her very soul. They study her as if she is naked before him.

What is it he’s doing? 

Dracula is searching through her. Searching for something. Selena cannot look away, it’s as if Dracula now has governance over her body.

And it is by his will that she stays, trembling and afraid as she’s scrutinized.

“Fate is cruel.” Dracula laments, and there’s something genuine in his conveyance. Before Selena can even begin to decipher what he means, Dracula returns his hand, and Selena stifles the heave of air that fills her lungs at being freed from him.

Dracula moves to encircle her again, eyes examining every facet of her as he does.

“Should you cooperate, you will be granted protection. A place to sleep. Adequate meals.”

What in the world is he talking about? Selena cannot reply—she only stares at him, unable to decipher what it is he’s doing.

Is he… bartering with her? What cooperation does he seek from her?

With a sigh, Dracula halts his movements to leer down at her again, resorting to speaking plainly in hopes she will understand:

“Should you cooperate, no harm will come to you.” He underlines, and Selena is desperately searching for the lie in his words.

She has no pull here, no strength here. Why would Dracula extend the offer of her safety in exchange for her cooperation? It doesn’t make sense.

For the moment, all Selena can do is concede. If no harm is to come to her, then she should be granted enough time to survey the area. Procure valuable intel on the inner workings of this dreadful place.

Weaknesses, too—Dracula’s body could be elsewhere, if he has resorted to taking this form.

He chose not to challenge an unarmed Simon in combat. That must mean something.

Dracula’s voice cuts her thoughts: “I have matters to attend to. A servant will bring you food.”

Before Selena can even look at him, she is alone again.

Sensing that he is no longer lurking in the shadows, Selena crumbles upon the ground, depleted from their exchange.

As she sits on the ground, she takes a few grounding breaths while she struggles to process the facts:

Dracula has her captive, but not fully restrained.

He insists that she will be well taken care of. He insists no harm will come to her.

And what was that about fate? It could be the ramblings of a madman—Dracula has lived so many years more than she could ever hope to see.

Best not to allow it to weigh on her mind.

She must instead use her focus to remember what happened earlier in front of the chapel—was it the same day? Yesterday? It all happened so quickly, and she isn’t sure how long she was unconscious for.

Selena’s mind wanders to the inevitable: the sight of her distressed newlywed husband. She’s never seen Simon so paralyzed.

She doesn’t blame him, no. Her mind instead races to the logical next steps: Simon is not the type to sit idly by and plan when there’s immediate risk. Chances are, he’s already on his way.

She hopes.

Her mind attempts to string events together, but it’s hazy, as she was not fully conscious during. It baffles her how Dracula is able to phase through attacks, these prison bars—yet he held her so tightly. His hand, even just a moment ago, felt very real, and too cold.

Selena struggles to recall Dracula’s taunts after she was abducted.

All she can remember is Simon’s face twisting with concern, affected by them.

There’s nothing more to ruminate over. Back to task - Selena drags her chains along the floor and begins to search her confines for any escape route.

It is a challenging task to conduct covertly as the hours crawl on. While Dracula has not yet made a reappearance (and Selena is so incredibly grateful for that), another man comes and goes from her confinement hold.

Illuminated by the candle held in his hand, Selena can study him: he is lithe and unassuming, dressed well, and appears human enough (but one cannot be certain of that in this dreadful place.)

In his other hand, he is holding a platter of food. The man kneels before Selena’s gated bars, and with just enough room, slides the tray of questionable “food” beneath, over to her side.

He offers a deep bow before he disappears from the room, taking the candlelight with him as he goes.

The food remains untouched as time continues to crawl, despite Selena’s growing hunger. She does not trust Dracula to accept food from him, nor his servants.

It is not long before night falls, announced by the howls of various creatures of the night. Selena’s cell is only illuminated by moonlight, now. Her eyes have adjusted as well as they can to the encroaching darkness.

Selena is seated upon the ground. She has been hard at work attempting to covertly use her fire and ice magic in alternation to weaken the shackles that bind her. It is tedious and exhausting, and her wrists have blistered from attempting to pull herself free from her restraints.

In this private moment, Selena laments the limitations of her magic abilities. Unbeknownst to the Belmont family, the Velnumdes aren’t nearly as proficient in magic as the Belnades. The Belnades, by comparison, can use various elements. But the Velnumdes can only use the two extremes—fire and ice.

What’s more, using these extreme forms of magic takes quite a toll on the user’s constitution. It’s an imperfect practice, and one that Selena is deeply self-conscious about. Her inability is a secret she was instructed to keep from the Belmonts.

Only in privacy does she heave an exhausted sigh, lacking the strength to keep her head up.

She suddenly halts her movements as she hears footsteps approach, building herself back upright.

The same man appears: the one who brought her food before.

Selena says nothing as she studies him. He crouches near her cell, and examines the untouched food confined with Selena, just beyond the bars.

“It’s imperative that you eat, my lady.” He tries. It’s the first time he’s spoken. His voice is so soft and disarming.

Selena does not give him a reply.

Sighing, the visitor reaches beyond the bars to take the food, and picks off a piece of bread. He eats it, as if to demonstrate it’s safe.

Selena sees him swallow it.

It still does not convince her.

The man sighs softly to himself before he stands again.

“I will return to check on you soon. Call on me should you require anything. I am not far.”

“And what name shall I call you?” Selena tries, and her voice comes out more hushed and depleted than she intended.

The other halts, bowing his head to her.

“Lyudmil, my lady.”

Selena does not dignify him with a reply before he excuses himself, taking the candlelight with him as he goes.

Selena wonders how the man has found himself working under Dracula. Could it be that he was thralled by Dracula into complying? If that’s the case, she pities him.

Once he is out of sight, Selena moves to work on slowly wearing down her shackles again.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 10 - ROVER MANSION
PRESENT DAY

Bursting out from under the water’s surface, Simon gapes desperately for air as he struggles to keep himself afloat.

Gold eyes flash open, obscured by his hair clinging to his face. Simon looks upwards.

He blinks moisture from his eyes, taking in the sight:

he is no longer in Yuba lake.

Simon has found himself in a dungeon of sorts. It is too dark to make out anything just yet, and he cannot ascertain if his eyes deceive him.

For the moment, he wades to the nearest ledge he can reach before hauling himself out of the water with some difficulty.

Gracelessly, he lays himself out on the surface, holstering his dagger on his belt. He takes a few grounding breaths as he tries to acclimate.

There’s no time to waste. Move.

With a groan, Simon musters his strength to rise to his feet. His cloak, soaked through, weighs heavily on his shoulders. He removes it for the moment, wringing it out before draping it over his right shoulder.

Wiping his hair from his face, Simon’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and what he sees further enforces the idea that this is merely a hallucination:

this dungeon looks nearly identical to the lower levels of Dracula’s castle.

The association nauseates Simon. What horrors will his mind plague him with next? Will he relive his fight again? How many times has he endured that pain?

He’s wasting time.

There’s no choice. Hallucination or not, Simon knows how to navigate Castlevania:

climb higher.

Simon trudges on, fighting the chill that aches his bones. He reaches a stairwell and ascends it carefully.

At the top, he’s alerted to a sound. His eyes follow the source - it is coming from beyond the walls. Along the wall are cells. Creatures of the night have noticed his presence, uttering their guttural moans.

Desperate claws reach out to seize him between the iron bars, and Simon evades being caught.

Unwinding the Vampire Killer from his hip, Simon quickens his pace as he continues upwards.

He’s only given a brief moment to catch his breath at the height of the flight of stairs before a rattling demands his attention. The source is that of skeleton bones, pulled by some magical influence to re-animate and take shape before Simon’s eyes.

A sword and shield materialize in its grasp as it sprints towards him.

Readying himself, Simon winds his whip over his head, using the momentum to crack it forward, aiming for the rib bones of the skeleton.

It blocks the blow with its shield. Simon follows through with a thrown dagger, which lodges itself in the eye socket.

That connects, sending the skeleton to a heap on the ground once again. Simon approaches, kneeling to collect his dagger, but not before twisting it in place. It has lodged itself into the core of the creature. It is not unlike a heart that beats for the body it has been inserted into, but it is one of black magic.

Assuring that the core has been destroyed, Simon crushes the skull under his boot before continuing his ascent.

Other creatures like it animate along the way, and Simon dispatches each with relative ease, now knowing where best to strike.

But it is still taxing to Simon’s weakened state. Simon requires a moment to catch his breath at the apex of his climb, an unsteady hand landing on the wall for support as he does.

Tired eyes travel downwards. There is a darkness a few steps forward, and Simon hazards a guess that the floor is broken. He retrieves a coin from his satchel to confirm, dropping it below. 

It takes some time before the sound of it hitting a surface graces his ears. One, two… three times.

It is not a straight drop down, then. Simon takes his chances as he uses the length of the whip down the darkness.

It’s difficult to tell through his gloved hands, but he ascertains a surface he can land on: the Vampire Killer catches on it not too far down.

Carefully, Simon climbs off of the ledge, into the depths below. Sure enough, he’s able to find footing.

He continues this way until he’s sure he has reached the bottom-most level.

He’s rewarded with a faint, candle-like glow just barely illuminating the lowest level. Silently, he walks towards its source, winding his whip in his hand as he goes.

Simon can make out a pedestal just ahead. Upon it shines a glowing orb. Intrigued by the sight, he presses ahead to investigate.

As his eyes acclimate to the darkness (and with the aid of the glowing light), he is now able to make out figures lining the walls: bodies, long decayed and mummified, strung up by their necks. Dozens of them, each wearing skull-like faces of agony. It’s an eerie sight that puts him on edge.

Approaching the pedestal, Simon climbs a short set of stairs to reach the object of his intrigue: the sizable, glowing orb.

He examines it carefully. It doesn’t appear to be dangerous, but he cannot be certain of that.

Retrieving his dagger once more, Simon uses the blade’s edge to prod the surface.

No reaction, but its texture is not unlike the core belonging to night creatures. It is gelatinous. 

With some hesitation, Simon extends a gloved hand upon it.

It’s pulsating and warm, confirming his suspicions.

Resolved, Simon stays the orb with one hand before readying the dagger in the other.

With intention, Simon plunges the dagger down, blade stabbing deep into the center of orb.

It resonates to the attack, turning red and scalding hot under his gloved hand. From the puncture sputters an absurd amount of liquid, coating his hands and forearms.

It can only be blood, its texture and viscosity too familiar to Simon.

As Simon guides the dagger down further, the orb reacts—it turns hard and firm, staying his dagger where it is. Simon forces the tear open with his hands, tearing the object asunder with herculean effort.

The halves are discarded. In the mess of blood in their wake rests two objects upon the pedestal.

Simon takes them in his hands. One is slender, curved, and hard. It’s difficult to tell through his leather gloves, but he wonders if it might be a bone.

The other is fleshy and fragile, but inanimate.

As he brings the items to eye-level, there’s a rattling overhead that demands his focus. Simon follows the source of the sound to see the hanged mummies swaying, clattering their bones against each other.

The walls are trembling. Debris snows downwards—insignificant at first, but, it’s just like—

Castlevania!

The castle is crumbling!

Fear sets in as he turns away from the altar, readying to sprint.

But as he turns

he’s met with an ordinary scene.

He stands by a body of water.

He looks ahead.

In the distance looms Rover mansion, protected by Yuba lake.

Simon looks down at his hands. He is no longer holding the objects.

He isn’t even soaked through.

He almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He’s losing his mind.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 11 - DRACULA’S CASTLE
ROUGHLY EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

“Is the food not to your taste?”

Selena is pulled from her exhaustion to find Dracula has materialized in her holding cell once again. Fighting lethargy, she stares at him, but says nothing.

How much time has elapsed since he last appeared before her? How long has Selena been captive in this terrible place?

How much time has she spent trying to wear down her shackles to no avail?

Dracula nudges the platter of food with his boot, and the sound is the only thing that startles Selena from her hopeless thoughts.

Again, Dracula is able to connect with objects. Perhaps now she can—

Selena extends her hands, shouting as fire erupts from them, hoping to strike Dracula in a moment of distraction.

To her dismay, Dracula fades into mist just before it makes contact.

From the other side of the prison bars, Dracula remarks Selena as she slumps against the wall, defeated and depleted of her energy.

“It’s imperative that you eat.” Dracula scolds, far less considerate than Lyudmil.

Selena says nothing as usual, only staring at him. But her look tells all: she’s defiant to his wishes.

“I am doing you a kindness, woman.” Dracula stares back, and there’s a threatening aura to his eyes.

Selena regrets trying to feign being unaffected by him, as Dracula’s authority must have felt challenged. In a moment, Dracula now has her throat in his hand.

She gapes, trying to resist him—trying to reach out and grab at him, push him away, burn him—anything! But while he can hold her throat, she cannot even touch him. Desperate hands phase through him as if he is air.

As if realizing the error of his ways, Dracula suddenly parts from her, leaving Selena to hang her head and gasp for air.

“If you do not eat, you will die!” He scolds, irritated.

“I would rather die.” Selena wheezes in retaliation, though her words betray her heart: she’s trembling, fresh tears welling her eyes.

But Dracula is leaving her no choice. To submit to his whims—to go along with whatever he’s scheming, even if it means that she may continue to live—it isn’t just.

She won’t play his game.

She has no choice. God forgive her.

Desperate to prove her threat, Selena musters her remaining strength to draw her chained hands up and under her chin. She materializes a shard of ice within her grasp, pointing it under her jaw.

Her heart pounds as she steels herself to take her life.

Dracula’s mouth twitches into a frown at the sight of her spiralling to this end.

“Your heartbeat betrays your conviction.” He tuts knowingly.

He’s right, of course. Selena doesn’t want to resort to this. She lacks the courage to see it through.

But God does she try, as ice burns her hands, to point the tip against her flesh.

Tries to will all of her might to drive it through.

Because if she cannot escape her confines, and if Simon will not come for her, then—

Dracula grows tired of her theatrics. Clawed hands reach out, gripping Selena’s arms to stay her. She lacks the strength to resist his iron-clad grip, but a leg comes up between them, trying to kick him away.

Why can he hold her but she cannot so much as connect with him? Desperate legs kick out through his incorporeal form as she grimaces.

Selena’s mind races as her hands are stilled. Why does Dracula go to such lengths to keep her alive? Will she become some bargaining tool for the Belmont family? It won’t have any weight. Simon is resolute enough to make the right choice, even if she is sacrificed.

Surely, for Transylvania—for humanity—her life is a small price to pay. It only matters that the Belmonts live.

She’s expendable. She knows that.

She’s going to die here one way or another. If not by her hand, coward that she is, then by starvation.

Dracula’s grip tightens, and Selena whimpers, battling her spiralling thoughts as moisture wets her eyes.

“Listen well,” Dracula sneers, jerking her forward, too close. “Your lives belong to me.”

Lives?

Noting how Selena’s brow knits in confusion, Dracula realizes she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. She must have been unconscious during his exchange with the Belmont.

He must be frank to reach her: “You carry the Belmont heir within you.”

Colour fades from Selena’s face.

That’s—

he’s lying.

There’s no way he could know that—he has to be lying, he—

oh, no.

Dracula finally loosens his death-grip on Selena’s forearms as she processes this news. She can’t look him in the face.

“You may willingly throw away your own life, but do you still have the strength knowing you will kill your child?”

Selena loses the strength in her arms, mind racing.

Dracula has abducted her because she carries Simon’s child.

Dracula is keeping her alive and pampered because he intends to use that child.

One she cannot possibly kill.

“Now you understand.” Dracula acknowledges, rising again. He leaves Selena crumpled against the wall, head bowed with shame.

“Eat.” His voice commands, nudging the tray of food towards Selena with his foot. It is likely spoiled, by now. Selena glances towards it uneasily, fighting the sensation to vomit at the thought.

“Servant.” Dracula calls, and his servant steps into the room. The man named Lyudmil.

“Yes, my lord?”

The vampire’s instructions are firm: “See to it that she has fresh food. Watch that she eats. Force her if you must.”

Lyudmil casts a strained look towards Selena, not wanting to resort to that. “As you command, my lord.”

With that, Dracula disappears, leaving the humans alone. Lyudmil unlocks the cell door to let himself in, retrieving the spoiled platter of food.

As he thumbs the tray in his hand, he hesitates—wanting to say something that might comfort Selena.

She’s spiralling, and it’s evident. Were she not, she would probably try to escape.

“I will return shortly with fresh food.” Lyudmil adds as he exits, locking the cell door behind him as he goes.

Selena is left alone again. She attempts to sort through the mess in her mind, trying to sift through fact and falsehoods.

Dracula could be lying. He must be.

But… he wouldn’t go to such lengths if he was. 

And that serves as confirmation enough.

Knowing that she carries another life fills her with dread.

Not knowing what Dracula intends to do with that life makes it all the worse.

She battles tears that sting her eyes. She bows her head as she processes.

A twisted thought comes to mind: she would not be in this situation had she not been intimate with Simon.

Is this a punishment for that act of vulnerability? She already deeply regrets her instigation of it, and now…

She tries to force the thought from her mind, lest she spiral further. It will not serve her to misdirect the fault towards Simon.

So she can only sit in shame, defeated for the moment.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 12 - DRACULA’S CASTLE
ROUGHLY EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

Lyudmil has returned once again with a platter of fresh food. He enters Selena’s confinement cell, locking the door behind him. 

He takes a few steps forward, bowing his head as he kneels to present the tray of food to her upon the ground.

“I beg you, please eat.” His kind voice whispers. “Do not force my hand. It would bring me no joy to force you.”

Selena, battling consciousness now, can hardly think of eating. She has used far too much of her energy, and it’s taking everything she has just to stay conscious.

Her eyes wander down towards the tray. Lyudmil takes that as a cue to pick off a piece once more. 

Selena watches him eat and swallow it again.

“I assure you, it is safe.” Lyudmil echoes, gentle. “Please, my lady.”

She has no choice. Hauling herself upright from her slumped position against the wall, Selena reaches her trembling, bound hands out to take some bread.

Lyudmil takes note of her bloodied and blistered wrists as she does.

As an act of kindness, Lyudmil reaches for the keys strapped to his belt. He retrieves the key ring, and selects a small one off of it. 

He reaches out towards her, and Selena recoils at the gesture.

“Allow me to unlock your binds.” Lyudmil offers, making a kind gesture to show her the key in his hand.

Selena says nothing, instead extending her wrists out towards him.

Lyudmil takes hold of her confines, so gently, as he inserts the key. With a twist, Selena is freed.

In one swift movement, Selena has retrieved a knife from off of the platter. She tackles Lyudmil to the ground with all of her might, pointing the tip of the blade upon his throat.

To her shock, Lyudmil does not resist as he lays there upon the ground. He only watches her as she seethes.

Selena’s wild eyes search him. Why does he not resist nor fight back?

His submission proves to her that he is merely a human under Dracula’s control.

She is in no position to offer charity—and she worries how her transgression will enrage Dracula, but—

Selena’s hand hesitates to pull through her gesture. Lyudmil only stares at her, with a soft, understanding look.

“If ending my life will ease your suffering, I invite you to do it.” He explains from the ground, closing his eyes.

Selena knows she cannot kill a human.

Still holding the point to his throat, she snatches the keys from his hand. Once firmly in her grasp, she moves herself off of him, darting for the door of her cell.

She fumbles with the key ring, trying each on the door. The room is spinning.

“If you’d like to wander the castle, I must supervise you.” She hears from behind, too close.

Lyudmil is standing right behind her as she tries different keys. She feels a gentle hand on her shoulder, and Selena startles at the sensation, whirling around to face him once again.

She can’t use her magic on him—

But, fortunately, she doesn’t have to.

Lyudmil gently takes the keys from her, selecting the necessary one and unlocking the door for her.

Selena takes off sprinting as soon as she’s granted exit. Lyudmil lingers behind, thumbing the keys in hand before darting off to follow behind her.

Trembling legs carry her feebly through spiralling corridors. Down flights of winding staircases. Past doors housing God-knows-what within.

She seeks temporary refuge in one such stairwell, gasping for breath.

She has exerted herself too much. Using her magic as much as she has in such a heightened emotional state comes with significant consequences to her constitution. That, paired with refusing to eat, has left Selena vulnerable and utterly exhausted.

“My lady.” She hears from behind, and she doesn’t think before she whirls around, readying fire in her hands.

Lyudmil narrowly avoids the blast of flame Selena summons in front of her.

It sends her to her knees, depleting her of the last of her energy.

Lyudmil kneels before her, watching her with intent. Careful hands catch her as she loses consciousness.

When she next opens her eyes, she is in another location, laying comfortably on plush bedding.

Before she moves, she allows her eyes to look around the room. It is dark, illuminated only faintly by candlelight.

She catches indistinct chatter of voices, hushed and far away.

But too close for her to make an escape without being detected. Selena stays as she is for the moment as she waits for the voices to fade. She closes her eyes, electing to lay on her side, feigning sleep.

Selena feels the presence of someone entering the room. The door is closed behind them. A few careful footsteps lead the person to the edge of her bed. She does not open her eyes again, electing to listen in.

She suspects the footsteps belong to Lyudmil. 

A few minutes elapse before she timidly peeks upon him.

Lyudmil is seated in a chair by her bedside, book in hand. He’s focused on reading. He doesn’t appear to realize she is awake…

“I have been given permission to keep you here for your comfort,” Lyudmil explains suddenly, aware that she isn’t sleeping. He doesn’t look up from his book. “But I mustn’t leave your side.”

Selena opens her eyes at that. Carefully, she hoists herself upright.

She is not bound.

She considers using her magic again, but her constitution is weakened. She will need some time to recover before she tries.

“It’s imperative that you rest,” Lyudmil explains, now offering her a gentle look. “Please do. I will be here.”

Having no other choice for the moment, Selena concedes, laying down again.

Her mind works to piece together the layout of this dreadful place so she may plan her escape. Lyudmil is only human—he will eventually need sleep, too.

When he does, she will escape.

But until he does, she must first rest, herself.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 13 - ALJIBA
PRESENT DAY

Simon trudges back towards the town Aljiba from the edge of Yuba lake. He wonders how much time has elapsed, noting dusk as it blankets the sky.

There’s an uncomfortable chill as he re-enters the town, moving to collect his horse from the stable.

There is no one stationed there to greet him. Simon tries to call for the attendant to no avail.

Anxiety begins to set in as he’s reminded of the priest’s warning: when night falls, a plague of darkness comes with it into the town. The residents of Aljiba sought refuge from this darkness in droves, leaving their friends and family behind in desperate search of sanctuary to the west.

While all seems calm in Aljiba, Simon is beginning to sense the the encroaching darkness. The town is not flourishing by any means—especially given the sorry state of the church—but now, it appears as though it’s been abandoned entirely.

Simon swallows his building anxiety as he retrieves his horse, pulling her from the stable. She resists his pull, slightly, and earns Simon’s attention.

With a careful hand smoothing upon her face, Simon tries to study her. It’s impossible to communicate with an animal, but the duo has years of experience behind them. She’s a noble and intelligent steed, and she can readily sense danger even sooner than Simon can.

Perhaps it would be best not to stay in Aljiba overnight.

But something keeps Simon’s legs firmly planted. Something doesn’t feel right.

His mind wanders to what happened in Rover mansion. It couldn’t have all been an illusion… was the woman who led him there a fabrication as well?

Furthermore, time elapsed. It was afternoon when he entered Aljiba. And when his consciousness returned by the edge of Yuba lake, it was dusk.

What was he doing during those hours between? He battles both anxiety and anger as he cannot make sense of his own actions with confidence.

Curse his mind. It doesn’t matter. Back on task.

Simon grounds himself with a careful breath before he turns to lead his horse onward. He’ll continue to investigate the area before he departs. He still needs more information before he goes.

Leading his horse with her reins, Simon passes through the now deadly quiet town. He looks into windows as he goes—both his reflection in it, and looking through to try and see signs of life within.

All is dark. There is no warmth of candlelight within the homes lining the streets.

He halts in front of the makeshift church once again. Its doors are now closed to the public. Simon peers in through one of its latticed windows, straining to see.

Something distracts him.

In the reflection of the glass, a figure looms behind him.

Whirling around, dagger in hand, Simon readies to fight the stranger.

He immediately realizes his mistake as his eyes land on the woman from earlier, who is now staring up at him with undeniable fear. She has gone totally rigid.

Simon tries to recover from his misguided aggression: “Forgive me, you startled me.” He raises his hands in submission, but—

she’s still recoiling from him.

He follows her eyes—what they’re fixated on.

His hands?

Simon glances towards them—

they’re covered in blood.

Trying to remain calm, Simon holsters his dagger, wiping his hands on his cloak.

He’s struggling to think of a lie as his mind swims in confusion.

“Creatures of the night.” He tries to reassure.

The woman seems to relax a little at the lie, wringing her hands in front of her.

“There’s no time, then. Come into the church.” She commands, brushing past him. With keys in hand, she moves to unlock the church doors before leading them both inside. Once within, the woman closes and barricades the door behind them with wooden planks.

Simon glances uneasily towards his horse who waits dutifully outside.

Then back down at his gloved hands and metal bracers, stained with blood.

His hands were clean. He knows his hands were clean. Rover mansion did not happen. He imagined it.

So, why—

Simon’s attention returns to the present, within the confines of the makeshift church. While it is dark, he can sense others present in the room with him.

The woman who granted him entry is quick to hurry to the others, offering items from her bag to them. They speak quietly among each other, no louder than hushed whispers. Simon chooses not to eavesdrop. Instead, he seats himself on the ground, nearest to the door, trying to wipe the remaining blood from his hands.

He’s disrupted from his task to find the woman standing before him once again. Hesitant eyes glance up to meet her face. He tries to offer a gentle, non-threatening expression. But he hopes that she cannot make out his sickly complexion in the darkness.

Simon grapples with how to ask her about what happened earlier. Does she even recognize him? Was it she who led him to Rover mansion? Or was that a falsehood, too?

Before he can ask, the woman crouches suddenly before him. Simon watches her as she places a finger to her lips. They must be quiet.

Simon focuses on the sounds from outside, eyes downcast.

There’s a nauseating dread that has seeped into this holy place. It’s a terrible, infectious feeling that threatens Simon’s composure. He remarks how the others covertly huddle closer together. Remarks as the woman before him transitions her hand to cover her mouth.

Her eyes glisten in the darkness, full of fear.

Suddenly, there’s a clamouring on the church doors. The sound startles all in attendance, but they promptly hush themselves.

“Help, please!” A man’s voice calls from beyond. Simon transitions onto his knees, readying to stand and exit.

The woman reaches a desperate hand out to stay him, looking at his eyes. She shakes her head as she grips at his cloak.

She’s asking him not to move. Don’t make a sound.

“I beg of you! Sanctuary!” The voice continues, heightened with desperation. 

Simon can hardly stomach it as he obeys for the moment, staying still as the desperate thudding increases.

“I don’t want to die!” The man sobs from beyond the door. “Please!”

Simon wrenches his eyes shut, unable to stomach the cries. He can’t sit by as someone innocent dies.

He’s the only one capable of battling the darkness. Of protecting the people here.

It’s his sworn, God-given duty, cowardice be damned. 

At the sound of his steed whinnying, Simon unholsters his whip in one hand, and dagger in the other. He stands, and despite the woman’s protests, moves to unfasten the door.

She tries to stop him, whispering desperate pleas.

Simon doesn’t listen her request, swallowing his growing anxiety to heed the call. He opens the door.

No man stands there.

Instead, Simon is greeted with a creature from hell. Large, imposing, bringing the stench of death and decay with it as it opens its great maw in front of his eyes.

Simon hears the church dwellers scream in terror as he the beast lunges for him. Simon stays it by plunging his dagger up and under its jaw, stilling it for a moment before kicking its towering body off of him.

As he moves from the doorway, he hears how the church doors slam behind him. Unwinding his whip, Simon cracks it forward at the creature. Leather wraps around its throat and with one awful tug sends it to the ground, decapitating it on the way down.

Simon kneels, retrieving the dagger from its place in the monster’s jaw. Stepping around the body, Simon is quick to return to his horse, trying to calm her with a gentle stroke of her mane.

Quiet is temporary before more creatures announce their presences with guttural moans. They appear before Simon as if materializing from the shadows of Aljiba’s looming buildings.

A few more are felled with relative ease, but Simon cannot calm his nerves. He continues his onslaught on edge—as if the air has been sapped from his lungs.

Darkness has now blanketed the town of Aljiba, and Simon understands with growing horror the threat the night brings.

He sees eyes glisten in the darkness. Dozens of them, staring right at him.

Squandering his growing anxiety, Simon hoists himself onto horseback. With a shout, he charges towards the group, winding his whip up behind him to strike them down.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 14 - DRACULA’S CASTLE
ROUGHLY EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

When Selena awakens again, it is midday. Sunlight streams in through the window of the room she’s being held in. A rarity, considering Dracula’s penchant for the darkness.

As if on cue, Lyudmil enters her room, bringing food with him.

Curse it all - did Selena sleep through her opportunity to escape? Her brow furrows as she processes. She will have to plan around this.

It’s frustrating, but it’s clear she needed the rest, sleeping far longer than intended.

Lyudmil carefully places the tray of food upon a small table by the window.

“Please,” he offers, his voice so genuine as he gestures for her to take a seat. “You must eat.”

Selena’s stomach aches from hunger. Truthfully, she doesn’t desire to eat at all, for fear of her body rejecting food, having been without it for days.

But Selena knows if she has any hope of leaving this place, she must try.

Seating herself upright, Selena takes a moment to move off of the bed. She carefully steps towards the small table and takes a seat at it. She tenses as Lyudmil gently moves behind her, pushing her chair in for her.

She calms herself for a quiet moment before eyes land on the food in front of her. She hesitates.

“Would it please you for me to show you it’s safe?” Lyudmil asks. Selena doesn’t reply, but merely watches him. He takes that as his cue to pluck off a piece and eat it.

Resigned, Selena takes the fork and knife in her hand, and begins to feed herself.

Lyudmil seems so incredibly relieved to see it. His relief is infectious.

Unbeknownst to him, Selena is grateful, too. The food is good. It will do well to fuel her body.

While she eats, she looks around the room, illuminated by the daylight. She wonders if Dracula will not be able to make an appearance.

Perhaps she can use that to her advantage. She sets her fallback plan into motion.

“Lyudmil,” Selena begins, and he perks up eagerly at the sound of it. “Would you please show me around the castle?” She inquires, feigning gentility.

“Of course, my lady,” he beams in reply, so genuine. “Whenever you would like.”

His genuine enthusiasm surprises Selena. It has been a challenge to decipher Lyudmil’s true intentions: he seems intent on doing Dracula’s will, but has shown that he will not resort to hard-handed tactics like his master. 

She wonders if he might be lonely, desperate for companionship from another human. How pitiful.

The tour comes after she has eaten, under the protection and illumination of the daylight. Selena plays the part she must: the submissive and timid captive as she is led through corridors. The fierceness and severity of the place have washed away with the daylight—or perhaps it was a matter of her perception and fear altering her perspective during the night.

There is no denying that she does feel a bit more at ease as Dracula has not yet appeared today.

She asks polite questions about the castle, it’s inhabitants, the rooms, its creatures—seemingly innocent, surface-level topics. During which, Lyudmil explains what he can. He evades going into too much detail with her unnecessarily.

She notes a change in his pleasant demeanour as they pass one particular room. Lyudmil has fallen quiet and rigid. Selena chooses to challenge him on it.

“What is beyond this door?” She inquires.

“I beg your forgiveness, my lady, but I cannot share that.” Lyudmil replies by rote. 

Hm. He has been so conversational up until this point. Surely it guards something of great importance to Dracula. Duly noted.

Lyudmil leads her away into a different wing of the castle. It is far brighter here, with even more windows. But it is an imperfect depiction: it seems as though the castle has not yet been fully restored to its former glory.

As Lyudmil continues to regale Selena, something catches her attention. She takes pause as she grants herself a moment to stare up at it:

it’s an oil painting depicting a woman. The woman is blonde and fair with gentle features. She is wearing a soft, subtle smile. In her arms, she cradles a bushel of beautiful flowers. The portrait is life-like, awe-inspiring in its majesty and beauty.

“Who is this woman?” Selena asks gently. Lyudmil takes pause, hesitating before he shares.

“Fair lady Lisa,” he explains with a newfound sadness to his voice. Selena notes the change immediately.

“The late wife of my master Dracula.” He concludes with melancholy.

Selena feels there is more that Lyudmil will not reveal, but it is not significant to her procuring of information about the castle itself.

Still, she finds it odd that Dracula could have taken a person to be his wife. Rather, that someone would willingly consent to such a union. Selena wonders if this woman, like Lyudmil, was thralled into complying. There is so much about Dracula that Selena has yet to learn from the Belmonts.

“My condolences,” Selena frowns, playing the part well. “She was very beautiful.”

“And so very kind.” Lyudmil adds with a soft, sad smile before they depart further down the wing.

Silence stretches on between them as Selena takes mental note of every twist, turn, and door. She will need to use this information to escape.

Suddenly, Lyudmil freezes in front of her, going so far as to extend a protective arm before her. There is nothing of note that she can see that would elicit such a reaction—the only change in the air is the stink of rot and the chill of dread.

It threatens Selena’s constitution as she freezes where she stands.

Is this Dracula’s doing? With the sunlight streaming through the windows, it’s unlikely, but—

“I understand.” Lyudmil says suddenly before turning back to Selena.

The terrible feeling leaves as quickly as it came as Selena is led by Lyudmil back towards her room. Could that have been an apparition? Was it Dracula in yet another form?

Whatever it was, Lyudmil has turned tense from the exchange. His footfalls become hurried. Selena can feel the aura of his arm around her as he stays behind her, though he does not touch her.

Is Lyudmil protecting her? From what?

It is inconvenient to be corralled back into her confines, but Selena is grateful for the opportunity she had to learn. She will use her learnings to her advantage when the next opportunity arises.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 15 - DRACULA’S CASTLE
ROUGHLY EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

Lyudmil has let his guard down. As darkness begins to dim the sky, he tends to the will of his master, leaving Selena alone for a very brief moment.

Just long enough for her to sprint out of her confinement with recovered energy. Gripping her dress, she dashes through winding corridors - the very same that Lyudmil led her through earlier that day.

Lyudmil has been anxious since that time—and there have been others who have come and gone to speak with him.

Selena suspects someone has infiltrated the castle.

She hopes with all of her heart that it’s Simon—but even if it isn’t, it has served as enough of a distraction to grant her a moment to flee.

Selena desperately relies on her memory to help her navigate this dreadful place—now changing once again as darkness falls. The corridors now feel even longer, and areas that were once filled with light carry a harrowing, deep dread. Selena cannot shake the feeling of being watched, but she can’t let it slow her down.

She sprints as fast as her legs can take her down a winding stairwell. There has been no commotion on the upper floors. The threat must be in the lower levels.

She pants from exhaustion as she exits the stairwell, sprinting towards the guttural sounds of combat that grow louder with each step.

At long last, Selena finally finds the intruder, the source of the castle’s unease.

A single man:

Simon Belmont.

A version of him she has never witnessed before.

His stance is lowered, battle-hardened and ready to strike any and all who cross him. Not vastly unlike how he appeared when sparring—but now, he appears much more fearsome. Far more lethal.

He’s a perfect weapon whose entire life has built him for this mission.

Simon is soaked in blood, whirling his whip to strike a monster that charges towards him. It is quick to keel over, but it’s evident that Simon has spent his entire time here fighting without rest. Selena can see how his breath is laborious.

Despite it all, he presses on.

Selena watches his frantic body language as he searches the sprawling lower floor.

Is he looking for her? Selena wants to say something to him—to tell him she’s here. Anxious hands wring in front of her as she watches him.

She doesn’t need to say anything. Simon has finally noticed her.

Selena’s legs move her faster than she can think to reunite with him, Simon meeting her halfway.

With no time for pleasantries—and Simon still very much focused—he grabs at her hand and they’re suddenly sprinting. Selena struggles to keep pace with him as he tries to lead them out of this dreadful place.

Suddenly, the pair is alerted to a sound down the corridor, and Simon silently snatches Selena up against his body as he uses a wall to conceal them both. The pair hold their breath as they wait for the threat to pass.

Selena is pressed with her back against Simon’s torso, and his arm is fiercely and tightly around her.

She can feel Simon tense under her as the groan of a monster can be heard too close for their liking. She can feel his heart pounding from his effort—surely he can feel how hers races, too, as they wait with bated breath for the monster to pass.

Once in the clear, Simon then takes the opportunity to grab Selena’s wrist and pull her along before they take off running again.

Simon is not overtly conversational under normal circumstances. But especially now—he hasn’t said a single word to her. Selena understands, but it is unnerving. It underlines the very serious threat of their situation. The razor-sharp focus that Simon needs to navigate this dreadful place.

With a sudden jerk of her arm, Selena’s attention returns to the present. Simon staggers to a halt as their path is obstructed by something.

Simon is already readying to strike the enemy when Selena notices—

“Wait!” She pleads, and Simon is following through with the motion despite her protests.

Selena stands in his way, staying his arm with a grimace for the strike that never comes.

Simon pauses in time.

Their eyes meet and it’s

terrifying.

His gaze is so intense, darkened with focus. Selena fears she has crossed a line by staying his hand.

Simon says nothing in reply, but instead redirects his piercing gaze up towards the figure obstructing their exit ahead.

“He is human, my lord.” Selena explains, looking over her shoulder to join his gaze towards the person in question.

Simon is not convinced as he stares daggers at the being before them.

“My lady,” the man begins “thank you for your mercy. However, I cannot allow you to leave this place. Please understand.”

Even if this person is in fact human, and not a beast under a human guise, he is surely evil, if desiring to keep Selena here for Dracula’s benefit. Simon will not let his guard down, and will not allow Selena to take even a step closer to him.

Simon stands protective around Selena as she turns to confront her captor.

“It’s not just, Lyudmil.” Selena reprimands where she stands, close to Simon. “I refuse to stay here.”

Lyudmil placates, with a certain sadness: “No harm will come to you, I swear on my life. Please, stay.”

They’re wasting time. Simon steps ahead, standing squarely in front of Selena now, with an arm outstretched in front of her in a protective stance. He says nothing but stares daggers at Lyudmil as Selena obediently clings behind Simon, hands on his back.

If looks could kill.

“The Belmont, I take it?” Lyudmil sneers. “Forgive me, I cannot say it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

Out of all of the horrors of this place, Selena had a small hope that Lyudmil could be pulled from Dracula’s grasp. It is not so. His loyalty to Dracula is resolute.

Selena can feel how Simon tenses under her hand.

A sound comes from him and it is unlike anything Selena has heard from him before. His voice carries unrestrained rage as he roars:

“How dare you taint her perception, you wretched incubus!”

Selena looks up at Simon, and then back towards Lyudmil.

Lyudmil’s attention has fallen downwards. A smirk crawls its way onto his mouth.

“You’ve gone and spoiled my fun, Belmont.” Lyudmil chides as he lifts his gaze upwards. His demeanour changes entirely before their eyes. “She was none the wiser.”

Selena’s hands come up over her mouth as she takes in Lyudmil’s true form: an unmistakable, unforgivable spawn from hell.

An incubus. A sexual deviant who preys on women

as they sleep.

And Selena—she—she felt pity for him for being under Dracula’s rule! Spared his life!

And he—she doesn’t know if he—when she was sleeping—

“Look at how you’ve upset her.” Lyudmil goads with a wicked laugh, his voice changing to something far less kind. “Would it not have been better to let her remain ignorant?”

Simon offers no reply, instead charging ahead and using all of his strength to whip Lyudmil. He takes to the air on his revealed wings, evading the blow with a sinister laugh.

“I will be your opponent! Lord Dracula won’t need to lift a finger—he’s allowed me the honour of taking your head!”

As Lyudmil dives to strike Simon down, Selena stands behind, readying ice in her hands.

She should have done this from the start.

With great effort, she hurls icicles towards Lyudmil, aiming to puncture his wings.

Two connect—it’s enough to slow his momentum as he hisses in pain.

Simon takes advantage of the opening, aiming his whip to strike Lyudmil’s neck. Leather wraps around flesh, and with a ferocious pull, Lyudmil is sent to the stone floor with staggering force.

As Lyudmil tries to recover from the trauma to his head, Simon is already sprinting to close the distance between them. Lyudmil relies on his damaged wings to hoist him up into the air again with some difficulty. This does nothing to deter Simon as he snaps the whip towards him once again to intercept.

But Lyudmil’s target is not Simon.

Selena, struggling to recover from using her magic, watches in fear as Lyudmil charges towards her. She takes in his true face—far more menacing than that of his gentle guise—as it screeches towards her.

She can do nothing but brace herself for the inevitable crash, wincing in preparation.

Selena is alerted to a whip crack so deafeningly loud it stuns her senses. She watches as Lyudmil is pulled from the air, crashing on the ground before her.

At the end of the whip is Simon, fuming as he drags the bound Lyudmil towards him with incredible strength. Lyudmil’s mighty and punctured wings flap in opposition, nails grinding on stone as he’s pulled against his will towards the hunter.

Summoning the last of her strength, Selena readies shards of ice, sending them down with all of her might. The ice pierces through Lyudmil’s wings, pinning him upon the ground. Selena loses her remaining strength and falls to her knees from the gesture, catching herself just before she collides with the stone floor.

The incubus screeches with agony—and yet, he still has the audacity to laugh as he watches Simon tower over him from the ground.

Watches with a wicked smile as Simon brandishes a dagger in his hand as he closes the distance between them by stomping hard on Lyudmil’s arm to keep him where he is.

Lyudmil's other clawed hand moves up to lodge itself in Simon’s leg. The hunter is all rage—he does not even process the injury as his flesh is torn to shreds.

Simon kneels, freeing his hand to reach out and grab at Lyudmil’s jaw. He jerks his head forward, staring down at him with unrestrained loathing.

“You’re no different than us, Belmont.” Lyudmil cackles from the ground. “You desire our suffering just as we desire yours.”

Simon says nothing as he plunges the dagger into Lyudmil’s mouth, making a terrible mess of severing his tongue.

Lyudmil sputters blood from the injury, eyes wide as he takes in Simon’s face above him, whose teeth are grit as he thrusts the dagger deep into Lyudmil’s mouth. Simon releases his tightened grip on his jaw to join his other hand as he plunges the dagger further with all of his weight behind it, driving it through. Lyudmil hardly has the opportunity to resist as frantic hands try to push the hunter off of him before limbs slacken.

When Lyudmil dies and begins to crumble to dust, Simon wastes no time. He stands, holstering his dagger and collecting his whip.

His eyes land on Selena, some paces away.

She is crumbled on the ground in a heap, completely depleted. 

She can’t even look at Simon as he jogs to meet her.

She has to get up. They have to leave.

She lacks the strength in her legs.

Suddenly, Selena feels a firm hand on her upper arm—too rough as it pulls her to stand. She obliges quickly, rewarded with the same hand grabbing her blistered wrist and pulling her along.

Selena struggles to keep pace with Simon as he sprints. In part due to her exhaustion, but a larger part due to her shame.

Unbeknownst to the pair, Dracula has watched the entire exchange unfold from the safety of his confines.

A distorted, inhuman voice echoes in the room: “Would you like me to intervene, master?”

“No, let them go.” Dracula replies. “I have learned all I need to.”

His eyes follow Selena as she’s guided out of the castle.

Then land on Simon Belmont, pulling her from it.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 16 - ALJIBA
PRESENT DAY

Morning does not come soon enough. Simon has fought tirelessly for what feels like days on the perimeter of Aljiba, but in actuality, it must have only been a few hours.

The morning sun begins its eventual ascent high in the sky, signalling the end of a seemingly never-ending night.

Creatures of the night retreat into the shadows, and Simon crumbles to the nearest wall, unable to stop himself from easing down to take a seat.

He hasn’t the strength to fight as he once did. There was no other option but to fight. He stood his ground. Fought tirelessly to protect the people of Aljiba.

His reward is the morning sun warming his aching body. He rests his head back, closing his eyes as headache paralyzes him. He succumbs to a brief sleep where he sits.

Simon is startled to consciousness as he senses the presence of someone by his side.

The woman from before.

“We cannot thank you enough, sir.” She begins, speaking to him, but not looking at him. “We haven’t much to offer, but we are in your debt.”

Simon offers no reply, only electing to study the woman.

In daylight, there is no mistaking it: she is the one who led him to Rover mansion.

He still has much to ask her.

For the moment, he takes her up on her charity: “My horse must be stationed and fed. Would that be possible?”

“Yes, of course.” She replies as she stands. 

Simon conceals his agony as he rises to join her. He collects his horse, weary from the fight, and they begin their unsteady trek towards the stable at the edge of town.

“May I ask you something?” The woman hesitates as they walk.

“You may.” Simon replies.

“Are you Simon Belmont?”

He has to lie, but before he can, she adds: “I know of no other veteran hunter who uses a whip to fight.”

This is troublesome.

“Your silence speaks volumes.” She almost laughs.

The party says nothing more as Simon is led to the stable. He fishes around his satchel for coinage to pay the handler, and the transaction is brief.

He can’t afford to dawdle here—but he acknowledges that he won’t get far without his horse.

Simon could afford a meal and rest, himself. It will be brief.

As the adults step away, Simon grapples with the best way to ask the woman about what happened. But first he must ascertain what she knows.

“Last night,” he begins “how is it you knew that it was a night creature outside the door, and not a human?”

His interrogation causes the woman to take pause. She says nothing, but casts him a look as she leads him on through the streets. He follows behind, sensing that the explanation is not appropriate within earshot of others.

She leads him to the cemetery north of town. It is small and unassuming, much like the rest of Aljiba. 

Simon conceals how he struggles to stay upright, folding his arms over his chest.

Assured that they are alone, the woman begins her explanation: “I ask for your patience and understanding as I explain: all is not what it seems here in Aljiba.”

She steps closer, minding her volume: “Aljiba houses creatures of the night masquerading as humans.”

That isn’t possible. These lesser monsters cannot possibly harness shapeshifting abilities. That is reserved for incubi, succubi, and… vampires.

But Simon is reminded of what the refugee in Jova told him: that friends and neighbours changed. God’s light does not warm those who stayed behind in Aljiba.

And, finally… that creatures roam freely outside of the town at all hours,

even in broad daylight.

“They have grown cunning. I cannot be sure of friend or foe. It is not the first time that they have used a human’s voice to beg for sanctuary at our doors.”

Simon’s jaw tightens as he realizes this woman may very well be of their ilk. But, surely not—she would not be able to enter the church.

Assuming the church is truly God-honouring, and not a farce, too.

The woman senses the intensity radiating from Simon as she tries to explain: “I assure you that I am human. I swear on His name that I speak the truth.”

Trembling hands are quick to fish for a cross on her person, and she clutches it.

Simon watches as she holds it close to her chest. It does not burn her.

She speaks the truth.

A breath to ground himself as he processes this information. He elects to direct the conversation elsewhere for the moment:

“Tell me what you know of the Berkeley and Rover families.”

There’s a change in her demeanour. She thumbs the cross in hand, nervous.

“The Berkeley family fled their estate. It has been abandoned and pillaged.”

“Why is it they fled?” Simon interrogates.

To that, the woman steels herself: “I sense you know more than you let on, sir Belmont. What is it you’re really asking of me?”

“Do you have any connection to those families, as I assume you own the church in Aljiba?”

With her eyes downcast, she shares at last: “I am the eldest daughter to the Berkeley family.”

“And you are alone? What of the rest of your family?” Simon presses quizzically. 

The woman hesitates to answer, and with budding sadness, manages: “They’ve disappeared. It has been weeks. I fear they’re dead, having not survived the night.”

Simon casts his glance downwards, struggling to tie this information together.

“Why did your family flee?” He manages to ask, needing to stay on task.

The woman shifts, visibly uncomfortable at his interrogative questions. “We were threatened.”

Simon presses: “By who?”

“The Rover family.”

It’s not adding up. The residents of Veros explained that the Berkeley family joined the Rover family to protect the body of Christ. Perhaps it was just baseless rumours between townspeople, but… 

it still doesn’t explain away what happened at Rover mansion.

“Are you not in an alliance with them?” Simon asks, and there’s a flash of recognition on the woman’s face.

“How have you come to that conclusion?”

How, indeed. Simon hesitates, desiring not to reveal too much: “It is known that the two families have prestigious influence over Aljiba. Perhaps it was wrong of me to assume that it was a joint venture?”

“Your assumptions were correct, for a time. But greed taints the hearts of all men. The Rover family was not immune.”

Greed?

Simon presses: “Did they take something from you?”

It’s with resignation that the woman finally tells all: “We came to possess a holy artifact and kept it in our estate. The Rover family insisted that it should be kept with them, as their land is better protected. They were persistent, resorting to threats on our lives if we did not comply.”

Still thumbing the cross in her hands, she concludes: “I fear darkness has possessed them—it is not Christ-like for them to act this way otherwise.”

Simon must be plain to uncover this mystery: “Have you been inside the Rover estate?”



“No, I haven’t. It’s not possible to cross Yuba lake without a boat helmed by the family.”

Exasperation building, Simon tries: “I beg you to tell me the truth.”

The woman meets his eyes, blinking with confusion apparent on her face: “What reason would I have to lie about that?”

Simon’s head aches. He’s wasting time talking in circles. It’s clear that he was having an episode. The events of Rover mansion did not happen.

…But, the blood on his hands, and news of shapeshifters—

The woman interjects his spiralling thoughts: “I now must ask you to tell me the truth, sir Belmont: what is it you’re trying to uncover? I beg you, speak plainly.”

Simon relies on his vague truth: “I only wish to put an end to the darkness that plagues this land. Your information has been valuable in that effort. I’ve learned much from you. You have my thanks.”

The woman relaxes a little, offering him a polite nod.

Simon takes the quiet moment to scan over the cemetery. It is peaceful, illuminated by daylight. But it is not flourishing by any means.

North of Aljiba, the vast expanse of Joma once prospered. It was delegated as farmland. However, Simon has never known it to be fruitful in his lifetime.

“The toxicity of Joma marsh continues to spread,” the woman interjects the silence. “I advise you not to venture north.”

Her words ring true - it isn’t hard to see that beyond Camilla cemetery that the only remnants of foliage northwards have long decayed. 

It is a vast, toxic swamp. But Simon knows that it is not the will of nature that has caused its ruin. No, such destruction can only be ascribed to Dracula’s terrible influence over the land. It is especially potent north—and it is in the direction that the monsters spawned.

Simon must venture northwards to uncover the answers he seeks. He doesn’t have any more time to waste.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 17 - DORA WOODS

ROUGHLY EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

Simon, with Selena firmly in his protection, departed from Castlevania on horseback some time ago. They are carried as fast as Simon’s steed can manage through the pitch black night.

Evasion is paramount—while they have not been followed by any creatures from Dracula’s castle, the night is still treacherous.

Simon’s priority is getting Selena to safety.

But it will still be a few days until they return to the Belmont estate. Lamentably, Simon’s borrowed steed is also struggling to keep pace, having been worked to nothing over these last few days en route to Castlevania.

Once a safe enough distance away, and once he was certain that no monsters stalk the shadows, Simon finally reins the horse to a halt in the thick protection of Dora woods. Selena, seated behind Simon, can at last unclasp her death-tight grip around his abdomen.

He dismounts swiftly, and helps Selena dismount as well.

Still overstimulated with adrenaline, Simon’s grip on her is steadfast as he holds her shoulders, studying what he can make out of her in the darkness.

“Tell me what the incubus did to you.” Simon commands, voice firm. She’s here—she’s alive, and yet Simon can’t shake the unease from the ordeal. His heart is racing, adrenaline still soaring. The incubus could have defiled her—Dracula could have bitten her, bestowed his blood to her—she could turn, and it’s all his fault—

“He did nothing,” Selena stammers, taken aback at Simon’s lack of composure—his too-tight grip on her arms. “I’m fine.” She tries to reassure him, though she is not wholly certain, herself.

She swallows the feelings that are finally beginning to bubble over as she’s studied frantically by him.

“What of Dracula? Did he hurt you?” Simon asks next, unrelenting in his intensity. His grip tightens as Selena struggles to reply in a timely manner, needing to be more specific: “Did he bite you?”

Their eyes meet at last, and she can plainly see his distress even in the darkness.

And that look makes Selena second-guess everything. Her bodily pains become woefully apparent—the bruising on her neck, the blisters on her wrists, the aching of her weary muscles.

The desperation and fear that drove her to threaten her own life, believing that Simon had abandoned her. How shameful.

“He didn’t—I’m fine.” Selena repeats, though her tone of voice comes out unlike she had hoped it would. It comes out nearly a whisper, fragile and trembling.

She feels her throat tighten, and the warmth of tears sting her eyes.

She was in hell. It’s a miracle that she left with her life. It’s a miracle that she left largely unscathed.

…Right?

Or did something happen, unbeknownst to her?

Dracula—did he—

Lyudmil, too—oh, she feels so much shame for not realizing Lyudmil was—

it’s too much. She bows her head in an attempt to conceal how her face overwhelms with flush.

She can’t look at Simon. She doesn’t want to be seen this way, with her face twisting with sorrow she can’t conceal.

Simon watches Selena—usually so stoic and self-assured—crumble before him.

In reply, Simon loosens his grip on her arms at last. As if it is his wrongdoing that is causing her to react in such a way.

Watches with overwhelming sorrow as Selena sheds tears in front of him for the very first time.

With newfound delicacy, those same arms that fought for her wrap around her petite frame, holding her tight against his body. Selena gasps, trying to stifle her tears from flowing any more.

But in his arms, she’s honest with him at last:

“I was so frightened.” Is all she can manage before she burrows her face against him, trembling as she weeps.

The sound guts Simon, hardly able to breathe as he can feel her shudder against him. His composure is challenged. Simon swallows the sensation in his throat, desiring to remain a pillar of support for Selena.

Trembling hands smooth over her body, one sliding up to support the back of her head as he holds her tighter still.

Selena, too, winds her arms around Simon, gripping hard at his back as she sobs unrestrained against him. Weakness overcoming the both of them, they crumble to the ground, holding onto each other with such ferocity as if they could disappear at any moment.

“Forgive me, Selena,” Simon repeats, soft, his own voice having lost its strength. “I came as fast as I could.”

“I know,” Selena weeps in reply. “God bless you, Simon.”

They sit cradled in each other’s arms as they take the time they need to come down from their adrenaline high.

They remain that way for as long as needed. Even after the tears have been spent, Selena lingers in Simon’s embrace as he carefully shields her in his arms.

Only at the sensation of feeling Selena try to pull herself upright does Simon finally release her. They don’t look at each other.

Instead, Simon carefully stands, leaving Selena seated on the ground. He takes a moment to survey the area around them. His attention first turns to his loaned steed, whose reins he takes in his hands to lead it to be stationed fastened to a tree branch some paces away.

Anxious, he keeps his attention divided to Selena on the ground.

He won’t let her be taken again.

Once that task is done, he gets straight to work on selecting branches appropriate to use for making a fire. As before, never too far from her.

It is much too convenient that the forest is so quiet. Thus, Simon will stay on guard overnight.

He laments that Selena will have to sleep upon the ground outside, but hopes that the fire he’s fashioning might make her slightly more comfortable.

Once the branches have been placed, Selena offers to ignite them from her place on the ground. Trembling hands reach out, and fire is summoned from them, yes, but…

Simon can plainly see that Selena lacks the energy to manage her magic.

And Selena tries to hide this inadequacy, stifling her sway as she successfully ignites the wood.

Simon takes a moment to kindle the fire, waiting for it to catch steadily before he rises. He watches as Selena scoots a little closer to the warmth, extending her hands towards it.

As Selena warms by the fire, Simon’s attention next turns to the stream that runs through the forest.

Exhausted feet take him towards its edge. He kneels, taking the opportunity to cup the cool water in his battle-torn hands, relishing the sensation before splashing it onto his face. He repeats this a few times until the grime from battle has been rinsed away.

Ugh. His head hurts. Simon wipes his face with his hands, brow furrowing. Damp hands brush his unkempt hair from his face, and he takes the quiet moment to breathe and ground himself.

But he mustn’t linger. Even if they’re a great distance away from Castlevania, that didn’t stop Dracula before. And Simon must be prepared for it not to stop him, now. He hauls his mighty body up again, returning to Selena.

He finds her seated upright before the fire. He cuts the silence with a command, softer than before: “I will stand guard overnight. Please, sleep. You need your rest.”

Selena knows. She knows, and yet anxiety grips her so intensely that she cannot possibly think of closing her eyes.

Simon watches in silence as Selena bows her head, notes how her hands wring in her lap.

What a terrible situation. Simon doesn’t know what more to do to give her relief. He senses that she has had enough physical comfort.

So he stands, awkward, just trying to appreciate the peace of night while they have it, however temporary it may be.

Selena, meanwhile, sneaks glances towards her hero. She remarks his injuries—the dried blood and dirt and God knows what else speckling his skin and clothes.

She notes a particularly large wound to his upper arm, and one still actively bleeding from his leg. Neither seem to bother him, but she will tend to both once they return home.

Her mind wanders to her own injuries. She tries to go through the list in her mind: her head aches, but there is no trauma to it. Her body aches, and her stomach hurts—that’s probably due to hunger and anxiety, and from sprinting with Simon on uneven castle grounds.

On a soft inhale, she’s reminded that her neck is bruised from Dracula’s strangulation. Timid hands reach up to prod the area with her fingertips.

Selena’s fingers graze the spot—oh, it hurts more than she expected.

Was she bitten after all?

Anxiety flushes her entire body as desperate fingers feel along the side of her neck. And just as before, her bodily aches surmount in intensity. Selena fights off the sensation to burst into tears as she finally allows herself the space to process what happened.

She doesn’t want to cry in front of Simon again. And so she breathes, careful, in an attempt to ground herself from her growing anxiety attack. She doesn’t feel any raised flesh, but—but—

“Are you hurt?” Simon asks, gentler than before.

Selena lifts her head, and finally looks him in the face. She wants to say no, but, there’s something about the concern in his eyes that makes her second-guess that reply.

She shakes her head, but Simon is already kneeling before her.

“May I?” He asks, and Selena gives him a nod of permission to examine her.

She shudders as his calloused fingertips connect with her hands. Simon gently takes one into his, examining it to start, by the fire.

He takes the sleeve and delicately peels it from her wrist. He notes how her wrist is raw, and Selena explains dutifully: “Dracula had me shackled at the wrists. I’ve blistered them trying to break free.”

Simon says nothing, merely processing this information in silence as he examines her. He appears much calmer, now. His touch is far gentler than before. Selena is grateful for that.

But as she studies him, she can see how Simon’s jaw is tight, brow furrowed with focus. With displeasure.

Selena wonders if Simon is blaming himself.

He mustn’t. He saved her, after all. A lesser man would not have pursued her—would not step foot in Dracula’s castle as soon as he possibly could without hesitation.

Simon is her hero.

Selena instead elects to focus on where Simon’s skin connects with hers—relieved and comforted by his touch.

He has gently drawn her hands back into her lap. He’s hesitating, a careful thumb rubbing on her hands.

“Did Dracula speak the truth?” Simon interjects the quiet at last.

Selena needs a moment to process what Simon is asking.

Sensing that, Simon clarifies, a bit awkwardly and still not looking at her: “He implied you are with child.”

The air feels heavier than before, and Selena tries to hide the tension that stiffens her limbs.

“Is that true?” Simon asks again between them, voice hushed.

Another long pause as Selena weighs the best way to answer him. She isn’t sure—there’s no way to confirm with certainty, but…

her mind continues to loop back to the truth: Dracula would not go to such lengths to accommodate for her were she not. He would not have abducted her in the first place had she not carried an heir of Belmont blood within her. Would not have appointed an incubus masquerading as a human to lure her into a false sense of security, so she might stay in the castle.

It’s the unfortunate consequence of their fleeting intimacy. It can only be true.

Selena can’t look at him as she musters the strength to finally reply: “Yes.”

She can feel how Simon tenses at this news. His idle gesture has stopped entirely.

Selena swallows the anxiety in her throat, realizing a moment too late that she’s been holding her breath, anxious. She carefully inhales.

Neither person knows how to best navigate this fact. It is the reason for their union—naturally, this should be good news.

But both adults grapple with regret. Had they waited as they were meant to after marriage, Selena may not have been abducted at all.

The inevitable and terrible thought that follows in Simon’s mind:

will Dracula try to take her again?

Best not to distress Selena by sharing that thought aloud. Simon keeps quiet, knowing full well what he must do henceforth: keep her safe. Even more than before.

Protect her with everything he has in exchange for saddling her with this burden.

The silence is drawn out between them for too long. Selena breathes at last, mustering her strength to take action.

She carefully takes Simon’s hand into her own. Simon does not resist, only watching her carefully for the moment.

She guides his hand onto her abdomen, placing it there.

“Dracula threatened this child,” Selena’s voice regains a bit of its strength: “our child.”

Simon lifts his head at last. Their eyes meet, illuminated by the fire at their side.

“You must defeat him, Simon. So he may never rise again.” Her hand tightens on his, now.

 “So that our child won’t ever have to face him.”

Her words are a command. A plea. It will serve as Simon Belmont’s guiding compass. It is his God-given duty to protect the people of the realm.

Among them, his wife.

And his unborn child.

Strengthened by resolve burning deep within him, Simon’s hand gently slides over her midsection as he leans in closer to her.

Heart racing, he pushes aside his embarrassment to meet her eyes as he vows wholeheartedly: “I swear to you I will. With God as my witness, I will end this.”

Selena’s heart pounds as she watches Simon regain himself. She can feel his fiery passion - a magic all his own. His promise, resolution, and the warmth of his hand has been such an incredible comfort to her.

And for the first time, Selena has the complete and utter confidence that he can.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 18 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

Upon the newlywed’s return through the gates of the Belmont estate, Simon is immediately summoned to the hold to speak with Laurent about what happened in Dracula’s castle. Simon manages to encourage Selena to accompany him, stating that her first-hand experience in the higher levels would be invaluable information that must be documented for the success of his expedition.

But spouses feel the severity of the situation as they cross the threshold into the Belmont hold.

There stands Laurent Belmont, and beside him is Enrique Velnumdes, who has likely been summoned after receiving news of what happened on their wedding day.

Simon can only watch as Selena is embraced tightly by him. Simon bows his head, fully expecting that he will be reprimanded for allowing her to be abducted. Any rage directed towards him is deserved, and he prepares for it with great humility.

Foreigners exchange hushed words privately between them, and Simon tunes it out.

Instead, his attention is drawn to the eyes belonging to his grandfather that burn into him.

He’s furious. Of course. This does not surprise Simon, but it unnerves him.

“Simon Belmont,” Enrique’s voice breaks the quiet, and Simon lifts his head to give him his full attention.

He’s prepared to be reprimanded for his inability, for allowing Selena to be endangered in such a way—

“Thank you.”

Enrique separates from Selena. His hand covers his heart as he expresses his deepest gratitude.

“I cannot thank you enough for rescuing my daughter. I was told that you departed right away. A bit reckless, yes. But it shows your true character.”

Simon doesn’t even know what to say. What would be appropriate?

It should never have happened, and yet, Simon is grateful to be shown kindness even in the face of tragedy. Selena, too, stands by Enrique’s side, with her head bowed in thanks towards him.

They’re interrupted by a much firmer voice who calls on Simon’s attention:

“It’s imperative that we document Dracula’s castle. If you’ll please excuse us for the time being.”

Laurent is dismissing them.



“Grandfather,” Simon tries, and he’s already up against his foul mood. “I think it would be advantageous for the lady to share her findings, as well.”

Laurent can hardly hide a scoff, which takes both foreigners by surprise.

Eyes land on Selena, and she fights the instinct to crumble under his scrutiny.

“It would be my honour to provide insight into Dracula’s castle, my lord.” Selena explains, trying to speak with confidence, bowing her head towards the patriarch of the Belmont clan.

Laurent concedes without a word more, and it’s likely only because they are in the presence of Enrique, who elects to wait outside of the meeting room until their conversation has ended.

Newlyweds are led beyond the doors, into the meeting room. Simon takes the initiative to pull out a chair for Selena, and she accepts it gratefully.

Simon sits by her side, and Laurent across from them after retrieving parchment, quill, and ink.

Laurent begins the interrogation of questions, and Simon struggles to answer them to his satisfaction. They’ve only just returned—haven’t even had the opportunity to change out of their clothes—needing to share their findings while it’s still fresh in their minds.

But Simon is running on fumes, as he kept guard over the last few nights en route home. Selena knows this, but wonders if Laurent might be unaware.

He’s acting especially callous towards Simon. Selena’s opinion of him only continues to worsen with his blatant judgment towards his grandson. Simon navigates it expertly—he does not crumble. He dutifully illustrates the layout of the first few floors, annotating what he saw to Laurent during.

“That is all I recall. I did not have the opportunity to explore beyond the first few floors.” Simon explains before looking towards Selena. “Could you please share with us what you saw in the upper levels?”

Selena steels herself, feeling Laurent’s cold gaze fixate upon her. Simon slides her a fresh sheet of parchment, and hands her the quill. She takes it carefully from him.

“The upper levels were not fully restored,” Selena begins “there was a wing of it that was completely exposed to the elements. During the day, Dracula could not wander it.”

She scratches the tip upon parchment, crudely illustrating the area of the castle that she was led through by Lyudmil.

“However, while I was led by Dracula’s servant towards this wing, there was a room here,” and she taps the place with her fingertip, “that I was barred from entering.”

Selena lifts her gaze to find both Belmonts staring at her with focus.

“I have reason to suspect that Dracula holds something very important in this room.”

“And for what reason do you suspect that?” Laurent interrogates.

“Dracula was incorporeal.” Selena replies, grounding herself under his scrutiny. “Even within the castle, he took the form of mist each time I saw him.”

Selena hesitates before sharing, next: “Furthermore, were he not, he could have easily enthralled me into complying with him, or bitten me. He did not—I believe he could not.”

Simon’s hand has moved to cover his mouth as he ruminates. He casts a focused look towards his grandfather.

“He is not yet resurrected,” Simon pieces together. “Could his coffin and grave soil—or perhaps his remains—be in that room?”

Selena’s eyes widen.

Had she just pushed a little harder, she could have destroyed Dracula before he was fully resurrected?

Curse it all!

Laurent’s command is firm: “Simon, you must return to Castlevania immediately.”

Simon is already standing. Selena casts him a strained look.

“Finish what you should have done the first time.” Laurent adds with a glare, and Selena fights the rage that boils within her at his blatant disrespect. He has no idea what Simon endured. It isn’t so simple as running an errand.

Simon says nothing, only offering a clipped nod before he goes.

“Please wait—” Selena cannot stop herself from speaking up, and Simon casts her a cautionary glance as he halts where he stands.

“My lord, would it not be advantageous for him to rest before he goes?”

Simon’s brow knits at that, and Selena senses that she has spoken out of turn.

“Time is of the essence, woman,” Laurent replies, oozing with malice. “You would do well not to assert dominance you lack.”

Oh, she has definitely gone too far. All Selena can do is bow her head as she crumbles under his reprimands. “Please forgive me for speaking out of turn, my lord. I meant no offence.”

Simon has taken a step by her side, facing Laurent.

“I beg your understanding, grandfather, she only meant well. I have hardly slept for a number of days, keeping watch overnight.” Simon explains, and Selena is mildly reassured at his explanation as he reclaims the space with calm.

Simon knows well how to diffuse Laurent: “I will be brief in collecting the tools I need and depart again.”

“Don’t dawdle.” Laurent commands, and Simon offers a nod before he moves to pull out Selena’s chair for her. She rises, bowing her head apologetically to Laurent before Simon leads her from the room.

Once outside, Simon hands off Selena to Enrique promptly. Fortunately, Gabriel is already making conversation with him. This will make Simon’s next task easier.

Simon explains to the men: “I must depart again. Gabriel, I am entrusting the Velnumdes’ safety to you until my return. Use my home as you see fit.”

Gabriel stands a little taller, nodding firmly. “Leave it to me, Simon.”

Simon doesn’t have time for goodbyes before he hurries off to collect his things. The foreigners start in the direction of home, lingering behind as to not get in his way. Gabriel follows closely, already starting his duty of keeping them under his watch.

“You must be tired.” Enrique placates carefully to Selena, electing not to inquire about the private discussion the Belmonts had. Gabriel tunes out their private conversation.

“Yes.” Selena breathes, bracing her arms around her body.

Not as tired as Simon must be, she thinks to herself as she watches him jog in the direction of home.

What will await him in Castlevania? Will Dracula materialize? Challenge him?

Will they fight?

Can Simon win?

Selena elects to make light conversation with Enrique after sensing his eyes are still fixated on her: “I’d like to change out of my dress.”

Enrique cracks a smile at that. “For what it’s worth, you look beautiful in it.”

Selena stifles a scoff, concealing the smile that warms her face at his genuine praise. “I’m absolutely filthy, father.”

“I shudder to think how radiant you were before.” Enrique fawns, and Selena can only laugh, totally bashful.

But always so grateful for her father’s good humour lightening the mood.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 19 - LARUBA MANSION
PRESENT DAY

After giving himself and his steed a few hours of brief rest in Aljiba, Simon has set off northward with the sun’s protection still overhead.

Joma marsh is treacherous even with the sun beaming down upon them. Simon’s only hope to not be done in by poisonous fumes has been to take a winding route off course. Here, the ground is tainted all the same: dead trees stand as mere remnants of their past glory, sapped of all life. The ground his horse steps upon is parched and laden with bones—lesser creature, animal, and human alike. Residents of Aljiba and other towns in the vicinity would not dare venture northwards to collect their dead, lest they join them in agonizing decay.

And Simon, despite avoiding the epicentre of the marsh, struggles to maintain himself atop horseback.

He has made a makeshift mask of one of his elbow guards, held in place by fabric tied behind his head. Between the mask and his face rests torn laurel leaves serving as filtration and anti-poison—which has certainly helped to get him this far. (Moments like these make him especially grateful that Selena insisted he take herbal medicine with him.)

He has made a similar makeshift mask for his horse—instead needing one of his pauldrons to cover his great steed’s muzzle.

Despite all of his precautions, the poison has well reached them by now. But Simon cannot afford to waste any more time. The creatures of the night that infiltrated Aljiba overnight originated in this direction.

Simon wonders how those among them who lack the ability to fly managed to traverse into Aljiba without dying en route due to poison. Could it have been the shapeshifters within Aljiba that the Berkeley woman mentioned? Simon must uncover the truth in it.

As the hours crawl on and the sunlight begins to wane, Simon takes note of a fortress in the distance. As lethargy gnaws at him, and as poison takes hold, Simon trusts his judgment less than before. Thus, he proceeds with caution until they are just outside of its gates.

Once at the gates of the fortress, Simon is quick to dismount his horse, but a dizziness takes the strength from him. He’s sent to the ground, wheezing behind his mask. An uneasy hand holds his mask in place, trying to breathe in the scent of torn laurel leaves.

He can only linger like that for a moment before a far more unpleasant sensation rises from within. Gloved hands are quick to work to unfasten his mask from behind his head, giving him just enough clearance to vomit on the ground in front of him. An unfortunate tell of poisoning.

He needs to make this brief, lest he deteriorates further.

Simon tries not to breathe in poison, now completely exposed to it. Instead, he catches a few laurel leaves in his mouth, electing to grind them between his teeth: partially to rid him of the taste of bile, but larger to assuage the poison as it works through his system.

He has to fasten his mask back on promptly. He does before he tries to haul himself off of the ground with growing difficulty.

Wasting no time on pleasantries, Simon approaches the large and imposing doors of the fortress. It would simply be impossible for anyone to live here, but he still tries to knock upon the door with the metal knocker.

A few seconds elapse. He tries again.

No reply, of course. Whoever would live in the toxicity of Joma marsh willingly would be a fool with a death wish.

Desperate, he attempts to open the doors himself. 

Miraculously, they open with relative ease, creaking on their hinges as they go. Simon scans the entryway cautiously before he crosses beyond its threshold.

He manages a few careful footsteps inwards before the doors slam behind him. Simon whirls around to face the source of the sound, unwinding his whip from his hip.

Nothing is there.

With growing concern, Simon turns over his shoulder again, facing within the mansion.

And with ever-growing weariness, he’s greeted with a scene from his nightmares:

once again, he is inside what appears to be Dracula’s castle.

Not again. Please, not again. Not now. He can’t stomach his psychosis. This can only be because of his psychosis. It isn’t real. It isn’t real. Dracula’s castle has crumbled. 

With a weakened constitution—and a fragile mind—Simon fights his instincts that scream at him to run. But where can he go? There has been no relief for these episodes.

For the moment, all he can do is face it. He must re-live his trauma again and again until his mind decides to accept it as a falsehood and move on from it.

All he can do is trudge forward, one uneasy foot before the other, as he waits for this episode to pass. He hopes it will not be long—if his body is still in Joma marsh, he may succumb to poison before he pulls himself from it.

He listens for any sounds from beyond. It seems he is entirely alone for the moment. He would rather that over fighting creatures of the night, he supposes.

Simon hauls his body up the first flight of stairs he finds, and the task is far more taxing than it should be. He feels a certain heaviness weighing upon him—sapping the oxygen from his lungs. Is it the poison?

He catches another laurel leaf in his mouth to chew beneath his mask.

His ears strain in the quiet, listening in.

To his growing unease, he hears something. It’s indistinct, and hushed—but it is assuredly human voices.

He proceeds with caution, gripping the length of the Vampire Killer in his hand as he marches deeper into the confines of this dreadful place. The darkness permeates—and he continues to stumble on nearly blind, eyes unable to acclimate after a point.

The voices come and go, hushed and passive. Simon cannot make sense of the sentences uttered. 

After a few more paces, the voices becomes a bit clearer.

A few more paces, and one rings truer than the others, its origin just ahead of him.

Eyes search the darkness, and as if lighting the way, the glow of candlelight illuminates the room ahead of him.

He stops dead in his tracks as a familiar silhouette comes into view, their presence announced with a soft melody on the wind:

Selena.

Simon’s mind is cruel to have her appear to him in this dreadful place. He cannot—should not—interact with this fabrication.

But as she turns to notice him, she offers the kindest, warmest, most sincere smile.


So rare in recent time, but still so undeniably hers.

“My Simon.” She breathes, reaching a hand out towards him.

As if governed by a will that is beyond his logic and reason, Simon goes to her. His grip on whip in hand slacks.

Just in front of her, Simon stands.

Then crumbles upon his knees, weakness overtaking him.

Selena’s hands slide onto his shoulders, then wind around his head, holding him close to her abdomen.

“You must be so exhausted.” Selena hushes knowingly, stroking his hair. Simon says nothing, just allowing himself to be held for the moment.

Just a serene, peaceful, fleeting moment.

Simon feels as Selena kneels to join him on the ground. Her delicate hands move to unfasten his makeshift mask from behind his head.

“You won’t need this here. It is safe, I promise you.” She explains, and Simon does not resist as she removes it from his face.

He takes it from her, resting it on the ground beside them.

“I’ve missed you.” She breathes. “Won’t you please kiss me?” Selena asks next, so timidly as her arms wind around his shoulders.

Simon flashes her a gentle look, wanting nothing more than to oblige her innocent request.

They lean in to share a kiss,

but it is interrupted by Simon thrusting a dagger into Selena’s abdomen.

And as their eyes meet,

Simon regrets with all of his heart that he’s done that.

Before him stares Selena, face twisted with confusion—fear—hurt—

oh, God. What has he done? Isn’t this an illusion? Simon’s face flushes hot with anxiety—his stomach churning—limbs tingling.

She has appeared before him in this way, in his nightmares. Simon cannot allow his mind to overtake him. He must calm himself. This is a hallucination. It isn’t real, this has happened before—

But as tears spill from Selena’s eyes, he doesn’t know what to believe anymore. He watches as her head bows down, hands trembling to touch upon the hilt of the blade as it protrudes from her.

Watches as her eyes, full of fear, search his face for an explanation as blood pools from the wound.

It isn’t stopping.

This—this is real.

This is real!

What has he done? God forgive him. Selena forgive him.

What can he do? His worst fears have been realized—

Selena’s desperate hands reach out to grab at Simon, to still him as he’s pulling away.

Do something.

Help her!

Run.

Help her!

Run!

Trembling hands cradle Simon’s cheeks, and Selena urges him closer.

She connects their lips as she weeps, and Simon succumbs at last, crushing arms around her, kissing her with intention. As if the gesture, so full of remorse, could undo the terrible thing he has done.

He can feel the warm and wet of her blood flood onto him as Selena presses herself against him, taking him to the ground upon his back. Simon does not resist, electing to hold her as close as he can without aggravating the injury he inflicted.

When they finally part, Simon musters the courage to look her in the face—to take in what he has done before he, too, must end his life for his transgression.

A trembling hand reaches up to brush the hair from her cheek—

a terrifying mask has replaced Selena’s face.

The flesh of her mouth is peeled back—as if stretched beyond capable from the corners—to reveal pointed teeth.

From her eyes, now entirely white, tears of blood flow.

All Simon can do is recoil from his place beneath her, a desperate hand searching on his person to retrieve a cross.

He holds it out in front of him, and the creature recoils just enough for Simon to part from her, collecting his whip as he does.

The woman bows her head, laughing from her slump on the ground, still wearing Selena’s voice.

“Wretched succubus!” Simon barks, struggling to stand as his energy has been sapped from him. “How dare you!”

She only laughs harder at that, looking up at him from her place on the ground.

“Men are so easily fooled, and it seems the oh-so powerful Simon Belmont is no different. It’s adorable, truly.” She goads, head twisting at an inhuman angle as her horrifying mask is once again replaced with Selena’s face.

It is a difficult image to stomach, as she still wears all of Selena’s features as her neck twists.

Simon watches as she pulls the dagger from her stomach at last, discarding it by her side. It clinks against the stone floor as she rises to stand before him.

The woman takes a confident step towards him as she explains: “I am Vampira, and you will do well to remember my name. I am far more than a lowly succubus.”

Simon fought no such character during his first siege on Castlevania. His brows knit—his hallucinations are becoming richer and are deviating from the norm.

Is it a fault of the curse? Post-traumatic stress?

Ugh—he can’t think—the room is spinning—

“You have become quite dense over these years, haven’t you?” Vampira chides with a chuckle. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

Simon refuses to comply, instead readying a cross in one hand, and whip in the other, bracing into a defensive stance.

The air is so thin—his vision wanes—

“Oh, that’s right. The poison of Joma marsh is deadly to humans.” Vampira states as if a minor inconvenience. “Well, we could just wait for you to die quietly, if that’s what you would prefer.”

Curse it all. The poison. Of course. He hasn’t been wearing his mask.

Uneasy eyes glance to it upon the floor.

In his moment of distraction, Vampira darts in his direction upon her exposed wings, brandishing her claws. She grabs him by his throat, sending him to the ground again. Simon’s head collides with stone beneath, momentarily blinding him as the pain radiates from the spot.

Vampira assumes a seat on Simon’s hips. She watches in glee as Simon bears his grit teeth—how his face twitches in opposition as air cannot fill his lungs under her iron-clad grip.

“Ah, that look!” Vampira trembles with delight, biting on her lower lip as she watches Simon struggle beneath her. “You look good enough to eat.”

She forces his head to the side with inhuman strength, exposing his neck—just enough space between his collar and jaw—throbbing with blood.

Salivating, Vampira inches downwards, wanting nothing more than to drink the fabled vampire hunter Simon Belmont dry.

With a thrust, Simon has used the crucifix in his hand as a weapon, driving the length of it into the base of Vampira’s throat.

She hisses in opposition, moving off of Simon as holy flames engulf the point of impact. Simon rolls to his side, gasping feebly for air that continues to taint his lungs before he pulls himself upon his knee.

Through a curtain of blood-red hair, he stares daggers at Vampira before revealing a flask of holy water in his hand. He hurls it ahead. It crashes upon the ground at her feet, summoning holy flames that rise up to claim her body.

She screeches in agony. Sobs in pain with a voice that is (woefully) too familiar to Simon’s ears. Even engulfed by flame, Vampira still impersonates his Selena with her cries of agony.

With a crack of his whip, Simon directs it forward. It wraps around Vampira’s throat, and he stays her there as her mighty wings attempt to fly up and away from the flames as they continue to climb.

“My lord Dracula,” she gapes against the leather that burns her flesh, “he can still use holy power!”

Simon pulls the whip toward him at that.

“What did you just say?” He demands, pulling her closer. “Explain yourself!”

It is too late.

The flames have consumed Vampira, leaving only ash in her wake.

As the fight ends, Simon collapses onto his knees. In perfect privacy, he lands on his palms, breathing laboriously.

After a moment, he crawls to collect his dagger, and then his mask. After holstering his dagger and whip, he carefully replaces the makeshift mask over his nose and mouth, breathing in hard the scent of torn laurel leaves.

It isn’t helping. His lungs burn, and his vision is failing him.

Uneasy hands comb through his bangs as he tries to process what Vampira said.

Does Dracula yet live? Does his subconsciousness confirm it?

No, this is just an episode, like the others he’s had before. Dracula himself has appeared to him during episodes of psychosis. It means nothing. He must ground himself.

From the corner of his eye, he catches a glimmer of light from the next room. It is warm and inviting. It is not unlike what he witnessed at Rover mansion.

Dagger now in hand, Simon requires all of his strength to pull his body onto his feet, making his way unsteadily towards it.

As before, he’s greeted with an altar room. In the far end stands a pedestal with a glowing orb upon it.

Just like Rover mansion.

Knowing what he must do to pull himself from this episode, Simon surmounts the steps leading to the altar, taking in the pulsating warmth of the orb before him.

A hand stays it in place as he plunges the dagger into it, using his remaining strength to pull halves apart.

In a mess of blood shines a single, tiny object in its wake.

Gloved hands take it, raising it to eye-level.

It is a ring with a green jewel seated upon it.

He clutches the item in his hand—making absolutely sure he holds it—as the walls of the dungeon begin to tremble.

Simon elects to fight his instinct to run, this time. He stays where he is as debris rains from above.

It is relentless as bricks tumble onto the ground beneath, shuddering the footing beneath him.

And it isn’t stopping.

Uneasy eyes glance upwards just in time to notice the roof come crashing down. He narrowly avoids being crushed by the stone that destroys the altar in front of him.

This is real. This isn’t like Rover mansion. Panic begins to set in as Simon moves to sprint out of the room as fast as his weakened legs can take him.

When he crosses the threshold back into the room where he encountered Vampira, the air around him changes.

His surroundings follow.

He then stands in a foreroom. It is difficult to discern in the darkness, but it is ornate, beautiful, too large—but long abandoned. Dust cakes over each item.

Uneasy feet step forward, taking in his surroundings lit only faintly by moonlight streaming in from shattered windows.

More importantly, he opens the palm of his hand.

The ring remains firmly in his grasp. He can see how it shines in a moon beam.

Lifting his weary head, Simon approaches what he assumes is the exit.

He opens the door carefully.

He’s greeted with the black and cold night.

And with it, a horde of creatures of the night, alerted immediately by his presence.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 20 - DRACULA’S CASTLE
ROUGHLY EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

Upon his usual steed, Simon had departed from the Belmont estate some days ago at the request of Laurent. While he is far better equipped than his first visit, his body is worn with exhaustion. He pushes his throbbing headache aside to focus on the immediate task before him as his horse guides him ahead.

He doesn’t even need to set foot upon the tainted earth surrounding Castlevania to see that there has been a change:

Castlevania no longer stands.

From beyond the outskirts of the stronghold town of Yomi, Simon has a good vantage point to see where the castle assuredly was standing just a few days—perhaps even a few hours—ago.

Some time later and he’s able to confirm it firsthand, dismounting his horse promptly at its undone gates.

There is an unmistakable evil tainting the air. Simon will remain vigilant as he investigates the ruined Castlevania, leading his horse by his side.

Simon has traversed this area before, even before Selena’s recent abduction. It is as if the terrible event didn’t occur at all.

He can’t make sense of it as tired eyes examine the rubble. He nudges a rock with his boot before kneeling. Calloused fingertips touch the earth below. It is dry, sapped of nutrients. Long dead.

Simon’s brow furrows as he processes. With the castle in this state—and Dracula’s associates not making an appearance—he resolves that he will not have the opportunity to destroy Dracula at the source.

Still, he searches through the rubble, resolving that he will stay in the area overnight. It’s possible that nightfall may change things, or give Dracula the power he needs to appear.

Simon is equal parts frustrated and relieved that the night is a peaceful one. Nothing arouses suspicion - all is quiet. Not even creatures of the night, normally so potent in this region, announce themselves.

Given ample time to ruminate overnight, Simon does: his mind wanders to try and uncover why Dracula appeared as he did.

Simon can only assume it is because he was unarmed and unprepared. But, no—that doesn’t quite explain it away. If that were valid, Dracula could have abducted Selena as they slept; Simon is unarmed then, as well. They hadn’t even shared a bed consistently, so in theory it could have happened without alerting him at all.

Furthermore, Dracula appeared during daylight. Granted, he brought with him darkness to cloud the sky above, but, perhaps it is something he was only able to do because he lacked a physical form?

Therein lies another puzzling fact: Dracula was able to abduct Selena—injure her—without needing a physical body to do it. Yet he did not thrall her, nor bite her. He could not.

Simon has been able to surmise why Selena was abducted—Dracula’s taunts, and Selena’s first-hand account, has made it abundantly clear that Dracula’s objective lies in their child yet unborn. But why? Did Dracula truly expect Selena to comply with him and offer their child? The incubus, too, lured Selena under a guise of human companionship.

Anxious hands wring as Simon feels especially uneasy leaving Selena alone for this long. His only comfort is that Dracula’s castle does not stand.

…But, perhaps, 

it doesn’t need to.

He swallows the anxiety in his throat. Dracula had let them go too easily. The castle disappeared too easily. What on earth is Dracula scheming?

Are his plans already in motion?

Simon is seated on the ground, uneasy hands raking through his hair as he grapples with the situation. He has studied all he can of Dracula, there has to be something he’s not thinking of.

Dracula cannot normally act in the ways he demonstrated unless he is fully resurrected. It is not yet time - they still have nearly a year before the calculated time of his revival. 

His mind wanders to Selena’s account. How can she be so certain that she was not enthralled by Dracula? Not bitten by him? It would be simple for her to lie—and be lied to—if she is under Dracula’s control.

It would be simple for her to prompt Simon to investigate,

far away from the estate—

a fool’s errand.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 21 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY EIGHT YEARS PRIOR

Simon strains his ears to listen on the wind as his horse gallops onward. The Belmont estate is just coming into view after days of travel.

With a firm command, he pushes his horse ahead, faster still through the forest of Jova, darkened by nightfall. He unwinds the whip at his side, readying himself to fight upon his return.

As he crosses the gates, he rears his horse to a halt, taking in the surroundings.

All appears calm for the moment.

Gabriel is the first to notice his return, emerging from Simon’s home. He jogs to meet him.

“Is it done, then?” He asks as he approaches, looking up at Simon on horseback.

Gabriel is quickly aware of Simon’s rigidity, and the whip firmly in his grasp.

“We saw the castle fall from here,” Gabriel explains carefully as he studies Simon. “Is that not your doing?”

Simon’s features harden further as he dismounts his horse. He brushes past Gabriel, electing to go straight to the source:

he opens the door to his home. It doesn’t take him long to find Selena, who is seated in his bedroom, book in hand.

She stands at his arrival, and she needs only a moment longer to sense the tension emanating from him.

He’s imposing and downright frightening as he studies her.

But he doesn’t know what to say. Would interrogating do anything? 

“What has happened?” Selena finally manages to break the silence, eyes glancing uneasily towards Simon’s hand as it grips the Vampire Killer.

He has to be cautious. If she is enthralled by Dracula—or worse yet, a vessel that Dracula now governs—he would do well not to arouse suspicion.

“Husband?”

Simon is pulled from his spiral at that—it is the first time that Selena has called him by that title.

He swallows, carefully reattaching the whip on his left hip. 

“Were you able to stop him?” Selena gently asks as her hands clasp in front of her chest, budding with hope.

What can Simon say to that? He can’t look at her. There’s still so much he doesn’t understand.

“No,” he tries “the castle was in ruins when I arrived.”

Simon doesn’t need to look at Selena to feel the weight of this news bearing down upon both. 

Selena doesn’t say anything in reply. They both stand, awkward, as seconds elapse.

It is only when Selena speaks in a defeated, hushed voice that the silence is broken: “You must be exhausted.”

Simon doesn’t reply to that. Instead, a knocking at the doorframe pulls Simon’s focus.

“Simon.” Gabriel calls, gesturing with his head to follow him outside.

Simon dismisses himself with a brief bow to Selena, following after Gabriel and closing the door to his home on the way out.

The men meet Laurent just outside. “Tell me it’s done, grandson.”

Simon bows his head in shame as he has no choice but to be plain: “No, grandfather. The castle was in ruins on my arrival.”

Laurent’s demeanour changes at that. His brows knit. “Was there anything left behind?”

Simon shakes his head. “Nothing. I searched through the rubble.”

Laurent presses: “Be specific about what you saw.”

His interrogation irritates Simon, so incredibly tired from his task. “It was unchanged from our previous surveys, as if it did not stand at all in recent time.”

This doesn’t seem to satisfy Laurent, who now crosses his arms. 

Simon’s head aches as he tries to be more specific. “The ground was still dead, the rubble in the same places, no signs of life nor creature—”

Laurent’s voice comes next, stern and low, as if a parent catching a child in a lie: “Did you go to Castlevania, Simon?”

What on earth does that mean?

Simon frowns, brow creasing as he struggles to conceal his growing irritation. “I did, grandfather. Do you doubt me?”

“Did you confirm with your own eyes that the castle was in ruins?”

Laurent doesn’t believe him. This lack of faith teeters Simon over the edge of anger and utter exhaustion as he gestures his hands up.

“Yes!” He underlines, gesturing a hand northward in irritation, taken aback that he must resort to this. “Venture north: I invite you to see for yourself. It doesn’t serve me to lie.”

“Fear is a powerful motivator.” Laurent thwarts his explanation expertly, taking a commanding step towards him. “And I find it peculiar that you went to your woman before reporting to me.”

Simon grits his teeth at that. Laurent doesn’t know the reason why he did that. If he knew—but he can’t know that Simon suspects Selena is under Dracula’s control.

Not until Simon uncovers the absolute truth in this. Alone.

All he can do is bow his head and swallow his pride as he relies on a half-truth: “I beg your understanding. I only wanted to confirm she was safe.”

“Do not let her cloud your judgment again.” Laurent reprimands, and it takes all of Simon’s control to merely bow his head at his instructions as he fumes.

“Your priority is, and will always be, your responsibilities as a Belmont.” Laurent feels it appropriate to add.

He knows that. Simon can’t help but feel his grandfather is being especially callous.

He’s so damn tired. It’s been nearly a fortnight without adequate rest, and to be interrogated and doubted for all of his efforts—ugh. It doesn’t matter.

God grant him patience.

“Yes,” Simon exhales. “I understand.”

“Document what you saw after you rest.” With that, Laurent turns on his heel and departs back to the Belmont hold. Simon is left with Gabriel outside of his home.

A firm hand on Simon’s shoulder from his friend. Gabriel tries to placate him, but doesn’t know what to say aside from “I’m sorry.”

Simon only shakes his head in reply, sighing as a hand rests on his hip while the other pinches the bridge of his nose. He wipes his face down, needing a moment to calm himself from the exchange.

“I’ll take your horse to stable. You should rest.” Gabriel pats Simon’s shoulder before taking the reins in hand, doing just that.

“Thank you.” Simon expresses as he goes. Once given a private moment, Simon grants himself a grounding breath before turning on his heel to return home.

His work is far from done. He must monitor Selena’s actions, next, to ascertain if she is under Dracula’s control.

He re-enters his home to find Selena in the foreroom, arms crossed and looking none too pleased.

She must have heard their exchange. That’s unfortunate.

Saying nothing, Simon walks past her to take a seat at the dining table. He unfastens his whip, thumbing it before it goes onto the table before him. Still within arm’s reach.

His metal-clad bracers follow, and Simon takes a moment to rub hands upon his weary forearms.

Simon feels Selena’s eyes on him, but she says nothing. It fills him with unease. He wonders if she questions his truth, having heard Laurent do the same.

He wonders if Dracula can see through her eyes.

“I want to apologize to you.” Selena’s voice cuts the silence, and Simon looks over his shoulder at her quizzically while he’s mid-task removing his circlet.

She isn’t looking at him. Her eyes are to the floor.

“Had I not shared what I saw in Castlevania, Lord Belmont would not have sent you off without rest.”

Simon is quick to reassure her: “You needn’t apologize. It was necessary for me to investigate after returning you here.”

Selena holds her tongue for the moment. The air between them lingers as Simon unfastens the circlet from his head. It joins his other items on the table. The relief is immediate.

Sensing that Selena might want to say more, Simon tries: “What has you troubled?”

He watches Selena carefully as her fingers twitch before grabbing at the fabric covering her arm.

“I am glad you’ve returned unharmed, truly.” She tries with hesitation. There’s a brief pause as she weighs speaking truthfully.

“Forgive me, I’m only a bit frightened.”

“Are you concerned that Dracula will abduct you again?” Simon asks plainly, and he’s given his answer in the form of a small nod from his spouse.

Ah. It isn’t really about his assured safety, then. Well, he understands why her own self-preservation is paramount. It is significant to him, too. Therefore, he will take the necessary precautions:

“As a preventative measure, you will stay by my side at all hours.” Simon commands next, feigning the confidence from his newly-acquired title as her husband: “We will share a bed henceforth. You will accompany me during my training. When I am off of the estate grounds, your protection will be entrusted to Gabriel until my return.”

He’s searching her expression, now. Selena’s eyes are still to the floor. She offers a nod of understanding. She will do exactly as he demands. 

She understands that she is safest by his side.

“I won’t allow him to take you again.” Comes a vow from Simon, and Selena lifts her head at that, eyes finally meeting his.

But can he really say such a thing, if he isn’t sure Selena is already under his control?

He has to ascertain for himself. He should have done this from the start:

“Forgive my forwardness,” Simon begins, still relying on his facade of confidence to conceal his overwhelming lethargy “I didn’t have the opportunity to check your body for injuries. May I do that now?”

Selena doesn’t react for a moment, and that arouses Simon’s suspicions immediately. 

He chooses to explain: “Incubi are known to mark their targets to drain their energy. I would like to confirm if you’ve been marked by him, so we can work to dispel it.”

It’s a half-truth: with the incubus dead, he has no ability to drain the energy from his victim. But Simon elects to give that explanation over the alternative: that Dracula could very well do the same.

Far worse, that he can influence her with so much as a bite, forcing her loyalty to him.

Unfortunately, that explanation seems to make things worse. Selena goes totally rigid.

She doesn’t look at him as seconds crawl on before finally giving a nod of consent. Her timid hands idle on the strings that fasten her dress closed.

There’s a bit of an awkward hesitation before she breathes: “Here, in the foreroom?” Her eyes glance towards the windows, with their curtains still open.

“Ah, no,” Simon replies, realizing she’s taking his request literally. “The bedroom will be fine.”

It’s an awkward few paces into the room. The pair take the opportunity to light candles once within, to help Simon see in the dark.

Once confirming that the curtains were drawn closed, Selena moves to task of discarding her dress before carefully taking a seat at the edge of Simon’s bed.

Kneeling upon the ground before her, Simon goes straight to work, not desiring to keep Selena exposed for any longer than necessary. With the warm light from the candle holder in hand, Simon begins his search at her feet. He can’t help but notice how her skin prickles under his touch, as a calloused hand moves up calves, feeling for any raised flesh of injury.

His eyes follow, moving up from her knees, to her thighs.

There is something strangely intimate about this task. It isn’t Simon’s intention at all. They are wed—they’ve already consummated. It is not—it should not be—unusual for Simon to feel his wife’s body.

But as his eyes timidly glance to gauge Selena’s expression, he can see that she isn’t looking at him, too occupied with concealing her haphazard and nervous breathing.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Simon dares to ask, breaking the quiet as his search pauses for the moment.

Selena shakes her head in reply.

Is she hiding something from him? Why else would she be acting this way?

Simon must ask plainly: “Did the incubus do anything to you?”

Selena tenses again, brow furrowing. Simon halts his search for the moment, electing to give her space to reply.

“No,” Selena tries, but the sound is caught in her throat. “I don’t think so.”

That’s a different answer than she gave Simon the first time he asked.

Simon’s eyes scan to areas that she is trying to conceal. Her thighs are pressed tightly together, and arms are crossed over her chest. Understandable places to hide from prying eyes.

But now is not the time to hide.

Careful fingertips encourage Selena to open her legs. Simon makes quick work of his examination in that area to grant Selena respite. The poor woman is trembling.

“I’m not certain.” Selena finally breathes, full of shame. Simon halts his search again, careful eyes peering up to gauge her expression.

He sees Selena, evidently repressing an emotion she doesn’t want to show. It’s difficult to watch.

“Incubi act while their victims sleep, correct?” Selena’s voice is feeble, unable to look at him. “I wasn’t conscious. I don’t know what he could have done. I’m afraid to know.”

Perhaps it would have been better for Simon not to rely on this half-truth, after seeing the distress it’s causing her.

“Permit me to continue to search.” He requests, softly, not knowing what else to do to give her relief. Selena gives him a brief nod, steeling herself as Simon examines her thighs and most intimate area.

Nothing of note as he travels up her body, hand smoothing over her flesh.

Now that he’s at her torso, he can feel her haphazard breath under his hand. Her heart thudding loud, and far too fast.

Simon carefully moves one of her arms away from its rigid position against her body, revealing one of her breasts. He makes quick work of examining such an intimate area before his hand moves to slide down the length of her arm.

He repeats the same for the other arm. The only noteworthy injuries are that of her blistered wrists—still tender after having only a few days to heal.

Finally, Simon reaches her neck.

Careful fingers brush her hair from off of her shoulder, and Selena cranes her chin upwards to grant him access.

He can see how her pulse thuds on the side of her neck as he studies her.

She has an injury there, yes—there are still remnants of bruising from Dracula’s strangulation. Deft fingertips graze over the area, and Simon remarks how Selena visibly flinches at that minute gesture.

“Does it hurt?” His question comes out quietly. Selena shakes her head in reply.

Simon examines the other side of her neck.

Nothing.

“Turn, please.” He commands, and Selena obliges, lifting her hair from her shoulders and turning her body so Simon may search the nape of her neck, down her shoulders, along her back, and so briefly at her backside.

Miraculously, there are no puncture wounds.

Thank God. While the absence of a vampire bite does not certainly mean she is not influenced by Dracula, it at least affirms that she told Simon the truth: he did not bite her. He could not bite her.

He will continue to monitor her henceforth. It is fortuitous that she won’t leave his sight.

Simon pulls away from her before standing. His eyes no longer look upon her.

Selena turns over her shoulder to look at him. She finds the strength to ask: “Is all well?”

Simon meets her eyes, giving her a nod. “You’ve not been marked. All is well.”

Overcome with relief, Selena relaxes with a notable exhale, resuming her seat on the bedding beneath her. She crosses her arms over her body, concealing herself once again as she comes down from her anxious spell.

Simon takes that as his cue to grab her discarded dress, handing it to her. Selena takes it from him carefully before re-dressing herself.

As she does, Simon sets to task on setting down the candle holder in hand on the bedside table. Next, he unclasps the first buckle of his breastplate.

The gesture causes Selena to take pause, carefully studying him.

Desiring not to be misunderstood, Simon is quick to retrieve the item he sought. He unfastens it from behind his neck before collecting it in his palm.

He holds it out towards Selena.

She hesitates before opening her hands, ready to receive the item.

Simon carefully places a crucifix in her grasp.

“Wear this at all times.” He commands. “Do not take it off under any circumstance.”

Selena thumbs the item in her hands—now heavier than before—before she goes to fasten it around her neck obediently.

Dainty fingers feel along the chain. Once adequately positioned, she takes a moment to feel the metallic depiction of Christ on the cross between her fingers. The metal is rough, imperfect.

This item has no doubt been with Simon through all of his battles with darkness. On reflection, in the rare moments where Selena has been close enough to Simon to see it, he has never been without it.

Selena almost wants to ask if she could take such a thing from him. But selfishness overrides: Simon has other means to protect himself. If this unfortunate event has proved anything, it’s that Selena is not as adept against the lord of darkness as she might have hoped.

She accepts the item gratefully, holding it close to her chest.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 22 - BORDIA MOUNTAINS
PRESENT DAY

Unable to stay in the ever-thickening toxicity of Joma marsh, Simon is quick to collect his horse and flee from the area upon his exit from Laruba mansion. Creatures of the night clamour after them in droves, and Simon hardly has the strength to fend them off as he tries to steer his steed to safety.

It is not only Simon who has become undone by poison: his steed, too, gallops blindly ahead with growing weariness anchoring each of her footfalls. Limps onward as Simon tries to swat away the monsters that attack her hind legs. This continues for hours as they trudge through Joma marsh in the dark of night.

It is only when the duo reach higher ground that the creatures cease their aggressive pursuit of them.

And it is only when they reach higher ground that Simon’s steed collapses, sending Simon to the ground by her side, leg pinned beneath her.

He requires a moment to recover from the collision, needing all of his strength to pull his leg out from beneath her mighty weight.

The air is clearer at this higher altitude, now some distance from Joma marsh below. Simon crawls to examine his steed, gloved hands moving to first remove the makeshift mask to allow her to breathe the clean air. His own follows.

The lifted restraint does nothing to offer his companion relief. Simon is quick to examine her for injuries, and while it is difficult to see in the dark, he notes how her hind legs are torn. He did not do an adequate job of fending off the monsters, and they’ve severely injured her.

Electing to leave her on the ground for the moment, Simon removes the burden of her saddle, as well as his satchel of items from her back.

He tries to encourage her upright, next. She lacks the strength to abide his wishes.

Lacks the air in her lungs to manage more than feeble wheezes.

With surmounting sorrow, Simon acknowledges the truth: his steed will not survive these injuries, nor the poison that taints her lungs.

All he can do is kneel by her head, a careful gloved hand moving to stroke her face, her neck, her mane.

He can’t bear to look her in her eyes.

They have years of history behind them. She has been Simon’s ever-faithful companion in his fight with darkness. She has always been on the frontlines with him. She carried him to Castlevania—twice. Carried him back home when he could not manage a single step on his own.

Accompanied him through it all with incredible courage and strength.

And, now, to be at death’s door due to Simon’s own negligence… what a terrible reward for all of her efforts.

“I beg your forgiveness,” Simon breathes unsteadily, poison still coursing through his own body as he strokes his companion’s mane. “I am so sorry.”

He swallows the unfortunate sensation in his throat, desiring not to distress her with his slipping composure in her final moments.

She is suffering. This Simon knows, and he grapples with how to offer her relief.

He considers ending her life as an act of mercy, but his hands tremble at the thought. But to see her continue to suffer in this way is especially cruel to her.

If only he could speak to her directly. He cannot make such a choice on her behalf.

But he does try to send her off with kindness:

“How many years has it been, old friend?” Simon tries to speak, gentle. “Do you remember when we met? I was only a boy. I was intimidated by you at the start. Did I ever tell you that?”

A few gentle strokes as he continues: “It is a loathsome duty, to be the Belmont’s steed.” He almost laughs, trying to be lighthearted: “I know you didn’t like me, in the beginning. I cannot fault you for that.”

Pleasantries fade away as all Simon can focus on his her laboured breathing.

“Did you know the weight of what you were tasked with? Do you know your incredibly significant role in bringing peace to Transylvania?”

Simon almost has enough strength to look upon her face. He resists, not wanting to lose his composure.

Instead, his eyes remain on the ground as he continues: “You were the only one brave enough to shoulder that fate with me. Even now, this task… you took on readily, all of these years later.”

His hand stills.

Look at what her nobility and devotion has earned her. It’s tragic.

“My dear friend,” Simon breathes, and his hushed voice is now trembling “I thank you with all my heart for what you have shouldered with me. I could not have hoped for a better companion.”

The atmosphere changes at that, and Simon finally musters the strength to confirm his steed is no longer breathing.

Simon returns his hand, head bowed, as tears threaten to flow. He clasps his hands in front of him, offering a prayer to God, ever-watching above.

Simon prays, with all of his heart, lingering for a long moment.

The terrain is unfavourable to bury her, and Simon lacks the tools and energy to see it done. Once this quest is over, he vows to return to these Bordia mountains to collect her bones and give her a proper burial. For now, all he can do is allow mother nature to reclaim her flesh.

Desiring that she be honoured in the warmth of God’s light, Simon collects his satchel. He rummages within, wanting to leave her with a rosary, if nothing else.

But as his hands search the walls of the bag, gloved fingers collide with foreign objects.

Simon elects to take the first one out, bringing it before his eyes.

In the glow of moonlight, Simon realizes with growing horror that he is in possession of the objects he held in Rover mansion:

the body of Christ.

How? That was an episode of psychosis. Rover mansion did not happen.

But—

frantic hands search the bag for the other object to join the first. Then on his person to retrieve the ring just acquired from the Laruba fortress just a few hours earlier.

What is the truth? 

Is this too an illusion? 

Does his companion yet live? 

He questions everything.

He really, truly needs to rest.

How many days has it been since he departed? How many minutes has he been able to sleep in that time? What is his body doing when he’s experiencing these episodes? Is he sleeping during? He doesn’t feel rested. In fact, he feels assuredly worse when he returns to the realm of reality.

What is real?

Weary eyes wander downwards, to the objects that Simon has now placed in front of him.

No. Back on task.

He rummages about his satchel, retrieving the rosary he was in search of. He thumbs the item in his hand, remarking an unusual warmth about it. Even if it is just a fabricated warmth, Simon elects to believe that it is God’s warmth giving him comfort and strength to raise the heavy head of his companion in order to drape the rosary around her neck with so much care.

Only when that task is done does Simon collect his satchel and three foreign objects, placing them within. He moves slowly to collect his shoulder pauldron and elbow guard, setting them right in their usual places on his body, torn laurel leaves discarded on the ground.

Weary legs manage to take him only a few paces forward before his body reminds him of his poisoned state. He lacks governance in his limbs as he resigns to stay still as it works through his system.

He has endured worse poisons than this. But unless he medicates, he cannot hope to recover in a timely manner. He will have to move ahead once the sun rises, regardless of his state.

Resting his weary bones, Simon retrieves the remaining of his laurel leaves from his satchel, electing to chew them. He rests the back of his head on the mountainside, exhausted eyes looking towards the sky.

He looks upon the moon, large and aglow, as he tries to piece together this puzzle in now absolute solitude.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 23 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY SEVEN AND A HALF YEARS PRIOR

Like clockwork, Selena stirs. She lifts her head, eyes first locating the oil lamp at the far end of the room. 

It’s still lit, the only source of light in their otherwise entirely dark home.

The routine continues: Selena next looks towards the window. Its curtains are drawn closed, and she can hear no howl of wind. The window is still closed, then. (She fights the urge to rise and confirm it’s still locked and barred.)

Tired eyes land on the bedside table to confirm that the vase of wolfsbane and sage is still present. The two herbs are staples in their home: strung over door frames as decorations, both dried and fresh. Sage is imbued in their cooking, tea, the water they use to bathe…

Selena’s hand wanders to her clavicle, next, quick to locate the crucifix ever-present around her neck. She feels the metal between her fingers in an act of self-soothing.

The final step of her routine: she looks to her right.

Simon is not with her.

This is not unusual, but it always causes Selena to take pause. 

With the anticipated revival of Dracula fast-approaching, he has been especially occupied with his studies and preparations. But he is never far—always within earshot of Selena, lest Dracula try to abduct her again.

And with Selena’s ever-changing constitution, she wouldn’t be able to put up a fight even if she wanted to.

With a calming breath, Selena closes her eyes again. She resists the urge to listen in—to try and hear where it is Simon is located in their home.

It’s best to return to sleep. The morning will come sooner if she does. And she must ensure that she takes every opportunity to care for her body, for the life that she carries within her.

But, winters in Transylvania are unkind, and Selena is not at all accustomed to them. As time crawls on, she’s unable to return to sleep, alone in their bed in the bitter cold. The blankets piled atop of her offer her no relief to the winter night’s chill.

Too cold to go to back to sleep—and in equal measure, too nervous to be alone any longer—Selena resolves to use their fireplace in the foreroom. She gently eases out of bed before softly stepping through their home.

It’s with relief that she finds the familiar silhouette of Simon seated at their dining table, focused on reading by candlelight. Before him are sprawled books and papers—old tomes belonging to his forefathers, no doubt. Beside them, he’s transcribing his own notes, and possibly drawing a crude map. It’s difficult to discern in the darkness.

He hasn’t noticed her standing by the bedroom doorway. Selena lingers in silence as she watches him.

Watches as Simon huffs with frustration, rapping his quill rhythmically with his finger. He then strikes the page, twice, turning it over to start a fresh drawing.

He’s particular and agonizes over details. Selena can’t fault him for that, though. He’s preparing for his departure. Every bit of information is crucial in his success. 

But she can see his exhaustion plainly as his fingertips rub upon his brow, exhausted eyes falling closed for the moment.

Just how late is it?

“Husband?” Selena breaks the silence at last in a hushed voice, and Simon startles before looking at her. She stands in the doorway of their bedroom, one hand upon the door frame while the other holds the crucifix at her chest.

“Forgive me, did I wake you?” Simon inquires immediately. He seats himself a little taller, as if to conceal his exhaustion, as he studies her.

Selena is donned in a nightgown, and while it’s long, it mustn’t keep her very warm. By comparison, Simon is wearing thick layers of clothes, and his usual boots—he’s accustomed to the frigid cold, and his body produces plenty enough heat on its own. (His presence in their bed is sorely missed on frigid nights like these.)

“No, you didn’t.” She replies, shuddering despite herself as she lingers. “May I please light a fire?”

“Allow me.” Simon pulls his chair out to stand, and Selena stops him.

“Please, don’t let me disturb your work.” Selena adds politely as she steps past him.

Simon obeys for the moment, lingering awkwardly, only watching where he stands as Selena moves to attempt to light the fireplace using her fire magic from her hand.

Except that it drains her to do so, taking even more warmth from her body. An unfortunate side effect of her pregnancy (she thinks): Selena struggles to use her magic, and it seems to only be worsening as she progresses. It is nearly impossible, now.

Selena hopes with all of her heart it’s temporary. She will have to ask her father when he next visits if this is a normal occurrence for expecting magic users.

It’s humbling and frustrating for her to hear as Simon approaches from behind. It’s with soft, resigned thanks that Selena places her hand in his before he leads her to take a seat on the couch in front of the fireplace.

Once Selena is seated, Simon moves to light the fire for her the traditional way. Understandably, it takes a bit more time for it to be done.

When the flames begin to catch, Simon disappears into their bedroom, and is quick to return with the blankets from their bed.

With great care, he drapes them over her. Embarrassment begins to wane as Selena nestles into the warmth.

Quiet moments like these fill Selena with growing appreciation for her husband, always so meticulous in her comfort. More so now that she is with child. He has proven himself to be far more considerate than she initially judged him to be.

She thanks him, soft, and relaxes in her seat as the fire grows. Tired eyes watch as the flames dance, the warmth of them radiating onto her exposed face. She deeply appreciates its warmth and how it soothes her.

Simon takes it as his cue to return to his studies a few paces away. Selena hears how the floorboards creak in a familiar way under his weight before he resumes his seat.

Selena rests her eyes closed, taking in the sounds of their home: the fire burning, the snapping of the wood, Simon’s quill scratching against parchment, dipping into ink with a soft tink of glass. Paper rustling as Simon turns through pages.

Selena may be able to return to sleep, with the comfort of Simon being in the same room as her. He has the Vampire Killer strapped to his belt at all times while awake—and it is always within reach even as they sleep.

And just as she begins to succumb to sleep, she catches another barely-there sigh, and the sound of Simon striking out something with his pen. Once. Twice. Selena wonders if he’s made another mistake in his drawing.

She wonders how long he’s been pouring over his work.

“Husband?” Selena’s voice is soft, and Simon lifts his head in reply.

“Yes?”

“Would you like to sit with me?” She asks.

In reply, she can hear Simon rise from his seat, legs of his chair gently scraping at the floor. Familiar steps approach, and he stands by her side, looking at her for only a moment before he concedes, carefully taking a seat beside her.

The couch moves under his weight, and Selena adjusts to accommodate for the welcomed change.

“What is it you’re working on?” She inquires politely as she adjusts herself to sit a little taller.

“Drafting maps.” Simon replies simply, his attention wandering towards the fire.

Selena hums thoughtfully, brief.

It’s rare that he has the opportunity to speak on his work. Simon seizes the opportunity to make conversation: “The notes are conflicting. As if penned from different locations.”

And with some hesitation, he concludes: “I am struggling to make sense of them.”

That explains the striking of his notes. Selena lingers in thought before she she realizes something.

She looks at Simon with an apologetic expression: “Perhaps my account was incorrect?”

“No,” Simon is quick to reassure her. “I’m beginning to think the castle can change its layout.”

Ah. That’s possible. Selena herself has witnessed first hand how the corridors changed with the night. Lengthening, darkening, winding. She faulted it to her own anxieties at the time, but there may be truth to it.

No wonder Simon’s frustrated. If true, that will be incredibly disadvantageous.

And at the ever-looming reminder that the task of laying siege on Castlevania will not be an easy one, Selena must bury her worries down.

She wonders if Simon can sense it, as the silence stagnates between them. She can see the exhaustion in his face. He blinks the tiredness away, fingers combing through his bangs as he looks towards her again.

“Are you comfortable?” He changes the subject, tired eyes falling on her. She gives him a polite smile, soft, as she nods.

“I am not accustomed to the cold.” Selena relies on her half-truth to make conversation, and Simon hums with affirmation.

“I will keep that in mind. I’ll see to getting you more clothes appropriate for the weather.”

He’s ever the problem-solver. Selena nods, grateful.

“You seem unaffected.” She remarks, lighthearted with envy as she continues with surface-level conversation.

Simon is receptive to it, nearly chuckling as he shares: “I run warm. Perhaps I’m used to living here.”

To that, Selena chooses to continue to steer their conversation, so rare between them: “Your family migrated here, correct?”

Simon nods. “France. Generations before me.”

“Quite a ways away.” Selena remarks quietly in reply, processing this new information.

The conversation dies down at that, as Simon’s mind wanders towards the truth that Selena herself was uprooted to stay here, away from her own family.

In a foreign land, rife with creatures of the night, plague, and decay.

To add insult to injury, they have both been anxious, going to great lengths to keep their home safe from the ever-looming threat of Dracula who could make another appearance at a moment’s notice.

He knows well the answer, so Simon doesn’t quite understand why he feels the need to fill the air with this quiet and vulnerable statement:

“I pray you’re not unhappy here.”

What an awkward thing to say. Of course she’s unhappy here. Simon knows that.

She hasn’t been sleeping well. He knows how she stirs multiple times per night. He knows of the routine checks she feels compelled to do each time. And Simon himself puts off sleeping for as long as he can manage to keep guard over her.

Even tonight, he continues to rely on his half-truth of his preparations keeping him awake and occupied.

Neither person has known a peaceful night since their wedding day.

To add insult to injury, the resounding silence that follows his statement tells all. The silence paints a clear picture of Selena’s unhappiness in all of this.

He wishes he hadn’t said anything as the silence crawls—

“It’s cold, but,” Selena tries to interject his thoughts at last. “You try very hard to accommodate for me. It is appreciated. Other lords are not as kind.”

It may be a pretty lie, but Simon chooses to allow her words to temporarily ease his heavy heart.

He can only ask: “Is there any more I can do for you?”

His acts of service are so well-intended. He’s proven himself to be gentlemanly well after courtship has ended.

Selena may be growing fond of him.

But it’s best that she doesn’t become attached.

“Rest.” She commands gently.

Simon hesitates, uneasy eyes looking to the mess on their dining room table.

“I haven’t much time to solve this.” He resists.

“Nothing good will come from you exhausting yourself.” Selena attempts to assuage him by clarifying: “For either of us.”

Simon takes pause at that.

“Rest, husband.” Selena emphasizes, her voice softening.

When she phrases it in such a way, Simon would be remiss not to respect her wishes, if it affects her, too. At last, he concedes before settling into the couch by her side, leaning his head back. His eyes close as his arms cross over his torso.

They say nothing, only appreciating the quiet. Selena sneaks a few glances in Simon’s direction, remarking his relaxed features highlighted by the warm glow of the fire before them.

Sensing her stares, Simon opens his eyes, and Selena is quick to look anywhere else.

Something steals Simon’s attention outside of their window.

“It’s snowing.” He remarks softly. The first of the season. Selena follows his gaze.

“Oh.” She breathes, her attention joining his to watch as gentle flurries flutter in the wind. 

Selena is transfixed with fascination. And unease. It’s going to get colder, isn’t it? Miserable climate.

But, as she sits beside Simon, perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad.

He is warm. Firm. By her side.

At least, for now. (Selena thwarts the thought of his potential demise from her mind as soon as it comes. Now is not the time.)

Simon is the first to fall asleep, Selena remarks as his breathing changes. Good, he needs it.

And with the reassurance that he is beside her, Selena is able to sleep shortly after.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 24 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY SEVEN YEARS PRIOR

Careful to rise, Selena remarks that Simon is not beside her. This is not unusual; while Selena cannot join him now, Simon still dutifully continues his early-morning training regime in preparation for his journey to Castlevania.

Or, that’s what she had assumed, until she hears an unfamiliar sound outside of their bedroom window.


Carefully, she stands and walks to the window. Taking the curtain in hand, she opens it to take in the dawn as it warms the earth.

From beyond the window, Selena can see Simon chopping wood outside. In these solitary and private moments, she takes the time to admire her husband as he toils. Sleepy eyes watch, full of appreciation for his laborious task.

She wonders what it is he’s doing. They have more than enough firewood—and fortunately, with spring nearly here, they won’t need to use it for too much longer. (She has had enough of Transylvanian winter to last her a lifetime after only one season.)

Desiring not to be noticed by him, Selena slinks out of view from the window to tend to her own morning tasks. Only after she’s completed her tasks does she don her shawl, returning to peer out of the window. She watches Simon covertly as he crafts an item with the wood he’s chopped.

Living with him for nearly a year now, Selena has come to understand Simon only a little more than before. Their relationship and conversations have remained superficial and impersonal, but Selena has learned that Simon has strengths beyond his physical prowess. He’s a problem-solver and fixer-upper, attentive and considerate with a unique passion and skill for woodworking.

So when he spends his time toiling outside on a project, Selena admires him from afar, hoping that it will give him temporary respite from the ever-looming responsibilities of his bloodline.

And there’s an element of selfishness, too: Selena takes comfort that he is not too far from her, and is likely crafting something that will help her around the home.

Early on, Simon took note that Selena—far shorter than him—struggled to reach things in cabinets. Without saying anything or expecting thanks in return, Simon fashioned her a few stepping stools to make that task easier. They’re tucked into various parts of the home, easily accessible for her.

It’s the little things, really.

Simon has not been off of the estate grounds too often in recent time. Which, on reflection, is a bit unusual.

Selena is aware that the calculated resurrection of Dracula is drawing near. Because of that, she would have expected more creatures of the night to stalk the earth by nightfall the closer it is to that time, and for Simon to have to defeat them. It is not so—certainly not in the way she expected.

Because of that, Gabriel stands in as Selena’s guardian less frequently than before. He is a kind man. Honest, with good humour and lightheartedness in spite of circumstance. She knows that he is a swordsman, but she recently learned that he is the one who primarily tends to the animals on the estate. Namely the horses, and their stables.

She learned from him that none of the horses have names. It is understood that to give names to the animals would strengthen attachment towards them, when they are expendable tools. With that in mind, it is understandable that the Belmonts would insist on keeping them unnamed.

Once they become more familiar with each other, Selena would like to ask Gabriel if he has given them any names in his mind. Or if Simon might have—he treats his horse very well, and she is receptive towards him as her owner.

But in the rare moments where Selena has accompanied the men to the stables, Simon’s horse has been a bit standoffish towards her. Selena finds herself wondering if she sees her as a threat.

Perhaps she will ask her directly someday, knowing full well that they cannot communicate so straightforwardly. She will see if Gabriel can be intermediary (or translator) to such a conversation.

It’s a silly thought, and Selena finds herself smiling at the absurdity of it while she takes a seat in the chair in Simon’s bedroom.

Given a quiet moment to reflect, Selena acknowledges that living on the Belmont estate grounds could have turned out far worse for her. 

Simon is a good and just man.

Gabriel is kind and warm.

Both men would speak kindly of the other when given the chance. It’s pleasant that they have support in each other.

She wonders if there may come a time when she will learn more about the whole family here. Both past and present members - she knows little about the Belmonts who came before Laurent and Simon.

Selena’s mind wanders to the last family member: Laurent.

As for Laurent, well… Selena has already established where it is he stands in her mind. She is not fond of him. It’s a blessing he doesn’t come by Simon’s home too often. She’s grateful to be spared the necessity of speaking directly to him, as conversation goes through Simon at all times.

It’s of no consequence to Selena - should Laurent want to keep his distance, so be it. Selena’s energy is better spent not fretting over how he chooses to reign as patriarch.

Another thought comes as she reaches for the book she’s been reading:

assuming Simon lives through his encounter with Dracula, what kind of patriarch will he become to the clan?

Will he take the same stance as Laurent, ruling with callousness? (Where is it that he learned such behaviour, especially given how subservient and agreeable Simon has been? It seems out of place, given that.)

Selena finds it hard to envision Simon following Laurent’s example, for Simon has proven himself more considerate than him.

Selena takes pause as she ruminates on one final point:

if Simon is victorious and returns home (and she must always preface these questions with “if”s)

what sort of father will he be to their child?

It’s a waste of energy to speculate. Selena will not build up her hope one way or the other. She must be prepared for any outcome.

And to distract the unpleasant reminder, she chooses to open her book and continue reading where she’s left off.

It is hours before Selena is pulled from her focused reading to the sound of her husband gracelessly entering their home. He’s knocked something against the door frame, and she can hear him grumble under his breath.

Carefully, she stands, and peers her head beyond the door frame of their bedroom to see him.

“Are you well?” She begins to ask before taking note that Simon was carrying his wooden—and large—project.

“Just fine.” Simon replies readily, and he’s moving through their home with the item carefully, as to not bump into anything else as he makes way to their bedroom. Selena, noticing this, steps aside and watches him.

Simon, careful to move around her, takes the item into their bedroom. Thoughtful eyes scan the room for a moment before he finds the appropriate place to put the item - beside their bed.

He steps aside, and sheepishly reveals the item he’s toiled all day crafting.

Selena recognizes it right away.

It’s a crib. Entirely hand-crafted by Simon, by the looks of it.

Thoughtful, she moves to approach it and admire his handiwork.

“It’s not pretty, but it is sturdy.” As if to demonstrate his point, Simon places a hand on it, shaking it with gentle force. It does not move. No wonder it’s so heavy. Selena replicates the gesture with a soft sound of acknowledgement.

Her lithe fingers trace over carved embellishments—a trademark of Simon’s work, she muses. It’s something she noticed on the chair she spent the day in, as well.

Its surface is smooth. No hard edges that could be a danger to the child they’re expecting. Easily accessible, just the right height for Selena to lean over.

Crafted with so much consideration, as usual.

“Is it to your liking?” He asks at last, voice hesitant, and Selena is torn away from her focus.

“Yes, of course.” She replies readily before finally looking up at him.

Despite his normally sullen features, hardened and battle-ready, Simon often wears a look of trepidation when it concerns Selena. He seeks her approval, and it’s clear that he has only the best intentions. He only wants to help. He’s gone to great lengths to accommodate for her needs, and Selena appreciates him a little more each day.

He has a good heart.

“It’s perfect, husband.” She underlines, smiling softly at him, before moving to place a timid hand gently upon his chest. 

Appreciating the minute gesture, Simon slides his hand atop of hers, holding it close.

Despite being married, and despite their intimacy in conceiving their child, they’re not affectionate. Simon does not want to push any boundaries, and Selena doesn’t want to get too attached.

Still, they linger, connected by their hands.

“Thank you.” Selena expresses, heartfelt. Grateful, Simon nods.

Her timid thanks and the touch of her hand has made the effort well worth it.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 25 - BERKELEY MANSION
PRESENT DAY

Simon only grants himself just enough time to sleep before it becomes deep. He repeats this a few times—giving himself just long enough to get a couple of cumulative minutes to take on the morning as it comes.

But it is challenging to function on fumes. Simon’s body is screaming for respite, but his fear stops him from sleeping for more than a couple of minutes at a time, lest his nightmares plague him.

The heels of his palms press against his exhausted eyes. He is still poisoned, for even that small gesture takes all of his strength.

He can’t waste time. With a groan, he struggles to get onto his feet, taking his satchel with him.

Not looking back at his companion decomposing some paces away, Simon begins his descent across and down the Bordia mountain range. It takes him an excruciatingly long time to achieve this, hindered by poison and his aching body.

Human needs come to the forefront, as well: he needs to eat. He needs water.

As Simon moves slowly down the mountainside, he looks ahead, taking in the surroundings that await him below. There is a thick of woods that he will likely find himself in. He wonders for a moment if it’s the forest of Jova—and the thought that he may be able to walk home for respite crosses his mind.

But something catches his attention that informs him he is farther than home:

a fortress stands ahead, small and unassuming at such a great distance. Judging from proximity alone, he wonders if it might be the Berkeley estate.

It takes him a few excruciating hours before he is able to confirm it first-hand as he carefully encircles the building.

It is as the woman said: it has been pillaged and abandoned. Its windows are broken, and Simon can see that the objects inside have been handled indelicately. 

The elements—and monsters, too—have made a mess of what was once a very prestigious plot of land.

Curiosity weighs on him as he peers into a broken window. From the outside, it is as all of the other family manors have appeared: unassuming.

But if he crosses its threshold, he wonders…

might that uncover some truth in what he’s experienced so far in the other mansions?

It’s illogical, and Simon faults his lethargy for his thought process.

Given that it is assuredly abandoned, however…

he has no trouble opening the fortress doors.

But he hesitates to step inside, lest he experience another episode.

He swallows his fear, resolving that it has been purely coincidental as one uneasy boot moves inside.

A few paces inwards.

Nothing happens.

A few more paces before Simon realizes he’s been holding his breath in anticipation for the change that never comes. He allows himself to wheeze fresh air as his tired eyes examine the destroyed Berkeley mansion in the daylight.

Progressing onwards, Simon’s boots crunch upon shards of glass with each step. Looking down, he swipes shattered glass away.

At his feet, he finds a tarnished carpet that has been cast aside, folded onto itself. And just a few paces ahead, where it once laid, Simon finds something of note:

a trapdoor leading to the lower levels. Innocuous in itself, but it is the markings that encircle it that pique Simon’s attention.

He kneels to get a better look. Fingertips touch into impressions left behind by claws desperately trying to get to the floor below. The work of creatures of the night, no doubt.

Simon reminds himself of what the woman in Aljiba shared with him: the Berkeley family came to possess a sacred artifact—what he understands is the body of Christ—and that the Rover family threatened their lives if they did not comply in giving it to them, forcing them to flee.

Their actions are not Christ-like, but Simon wonders if creatures of the night acted of their own accord or if they were controlled to do the bidding of the Rover family to this end.

It is still unclear if the artifact was taken from the estate, or en route when the family fled. The eldest daughter did not specify.

Simon grows increasingly weary of the prestigious families welcoming the darkness into their hearts, even if in pursuit of protecting the body of Christ from a greater evil. It means nothing if they turn to darkness to do it.

Focusing again on the door, Simon remarks that its lock has been torn off. Grabbing ahold of the latch, Simon steels himself for what he will find when he pulls the door open.

A familiar stench greets his senses as he does: decay.

Something died below.

Simon needs a long moment to steel himself before he begins his descent below. The afternoon sunlight illuminates the stairwell just enough to aid in Simon’s visibility in the basement.

As he steps off of the stairs, his boot squelches upon something fleshy.

Eyes glance down to confirm he stands upon a corpse, long dead, but festering with maggots. He swats flies away as they are disturbed from their meal, flying upwards towards his face.

It is difficult to discern what manner of creature died here. It might be a human body—but Simon cannot distinguish clothing in the mess.

If the claw marks are any indicator, however, this is most likely a lesser creature of the night.

Stepping off of the corpse deeper into the basement, Simon’s eyes scan what remains. There is an altar of sorts in the far corner. It is not extravagant by any means, but it is likely the place that once protected the body of Christ. 

Simon kneels at the base of it, eyes needing a moment to adjust in the dark.

Upon the ground, Simon squints to make out patterns that encircle the altar. Gloved fingertips brush against the symbols—they are dried, but raised from the ground. As if penned using a paste of some kind.

Simon does not recognize these characters.

But there is one way that he can confirm if they are an act of devilry. Searching on his person, Simon retrieves a flask of holy water from his belt. He uncorks it before pouring its contents over the symbols.

They ignite in brilliant and holy flame before his eyes, giving him the confirmation he needs:

the Berkeleys turned to dark magic in order to guard the body of Christ.

And at this harrowing confirmation, Simon wonders:

how can he be sure that these items are in fact the body of Christ

and not body parts of something far more sinister?

The cellar offers no other information for him, and Simon is quick to ascend back onto the main floor. Closing the door behind him, Simon heaves fresh air.

He stumbles to the nearest chair he finds, resigning his crumbling body into it as he combs through what he knows under the protection of the daylight.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 26 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY SEVEN YEARS PRIOR

The plan is set. His things packed, maps drawn and stored.

In the coming weeks, it is calculated that Dracula will be resurrected, and Simon will fulfill his part in the Belmont family legacy by confronting him.

But, as is tradition, Simon will not leave without a proper send-off. This evening, he will partake in a banquet of fine food and drink—simple human pleasures—before he departs. The Belmont family and few allies of them go to such lengths on the pretense that Simon may not return from his fight. Thus, they make his final days the best they possibly can.

At the designated time, Simon enters the Belmont hold, greeted with thunderous applause by his relatives—and Selena’s, too, have come from far away to share in the milestone.

They are trying to make it merry, and Simon buries all doubts as he plays along dutifully. This evening will be to celebrate him, his strength, the culmination of his training, and the confidence that he can, and will, put an end to Dracula and the curse that he’s put on the land.

There is no room for fear. This is just as much of a send-off for Simon as it is a demonstration of the Belmont family’s ability and trustworthiness. Thus, Simon smiles warmly—confidently—at his reception.

Those in attendance consist of his family of two in Laurent and Gabriel, Selena’s father and her younger sister, four representatives from both the churches of Jova and Veros, and two members from the Berkeley family.

The gathering is larger than he anticipated, and he can sense that there are some in attendance who are not here out of good-naturedness. They are here likely to scrutinize. The Belmonts are not viewed favourably, even after all of these years. (In spite of Simon’s efforts to patrol and offer his aid to the towns of Jova and Veros by proximity.)

Simon stands a little taller, desiring to show his dependability in this task on behalf of all of the Belmonts who have fought before him. He hopes with all of his heart that his success will win their favour at last.

He is led to the meeting table which has been converted into a dining room table. Lacking grandeur by most standards, but it is adorned with fresh foliage, illuminated by a plethora of candles.

Simon smiles, grateful, as guests come in and take a seat at the table with him.

When Selena enters, Simon takes note immediately, and is quick to pull out a chair for her at his left. She expresses timid thanks before she takes a careful seat in it.

To Simon's right, there are two chairs reserved for Gabriel and Laurent. Gabriel takes his seat, but Laurent and Simon remain standing as guests seat themselves.

Once they’re settled, they all look to Simon, expectant.

But it is in fact his grandfather who shares the first speech:

“I must first thank you all for being here.” Laurent begins, nodding to the crowd, totally calm in this situation. Simon swallows his budding nervousness in order to give Laurent his full attention.

Laurent wastes no time:

“Following the untimely death of his father, Claude Belmont, Simon has shouldered the duty of a Belmont from a young age—younger than any Belmont before him. He has trained and studied diligently each day since in preparation for this expedition. He is a skilled fighter. Strong, hardy, with an immaculate sense of justice, driven by unwavering faith in our family’s God-given mission.”

Laurent raises his chin with confidence as he continues: “To say that he is the product of my life’s work is an understatement. He is that and more, for he stands as the combined force of all the Belmonts who have fought before him. I have reared him to be as strong as possible with hopes that we will at last vanquish Dracula forevermore. May God protect him.”

He turns to Simon, who is looking at him with a serious expression.

“May our ancestors guide you to victory, my grandson. Should you find yourself in doubt, offer a prayer to the Belmonts who came before you. Never forget that you stand as the sole warrior of justice in this fight against evil. We’re counting on you.”

Laurent extends a hand, and Simon takes it, firm. They exchange a focused look as Simon soaks in the weight of his grandfather’s words.

The attendees clap.

It is now Simon’s turn to give his speech; his grandfather sends him off with a firm pat on the shoulder before taking his seat. Selena watches Simon carefully as he steels himself before speaking:

“I stand before you all as one of many Belmont men who readily lay their life on the line for the good of the realm. To be relied on to accomplish this mission is the greatest honour as a son of the Belmont family, and as a devout student of God.”

With a grounding breath, Simon’s eyes sweep over those in attendance as he continues, voice warm: “We of Transylvania have been challenged. Our nights are dark and rife with monsters. Our land has been torn and tainted. We face famine and illness. As Belmonts, we are not exempt from this. We suffer alongside you. We grieve and mourn with you. We all sleep under the same night sky and we all long for the warmth of the sun to grant us respite.”

Standing a little taller, Simon continues: “The sole purpose of my life is to vanquish Dracula and his darkness that plagues this land. I will fight with every ounce of my strength, until my very last breath, to see this completed.”

With hand over heart, Simon’s voice commands the attention of all those who fixate upon him: “I give you my solemn vow that I will emerge victorious, and that this centuries-long blood feud will end with me. I vow that Transylvania and her people will finally know true peace.” 

Simon’s tone of voice changes slightly to something gentler: “This vow is as much for Transylvania as it is for my own family, sown and raised upon her very earth. It is my sincere hope that no Belmont to follow will have to endure such hardship. I will earn honour for our family when the world has doubted us for so long. I ask for your faith in us. I ask for your faith in me.”

With his head held high, Simon concludes: “Daybreak never fails to follow even the darkest of nights. In the warmth of God’s light, I will slay Dracula, and reclaim the night!”

The crowd cheers in reply, clapping with enthusiasm. Simon breathes, a steady smile on his face as he successfully delivered his speech. 

He casts a hesitant glance towards Selena, who is staring at him in total awe.

Battling his bashful feelings, Simon concludes:

“Allies of the Belmont family, you have my eternal gratitude for being here.”

The crowd goes to pour themselves beer. Selena rises and carefully retrieves a pitcher, which she then pours for Simon.

While those in attendance prepare their drinks, Simon receives a firm pat on his back from his grandfather, and Gabriel leans over to congratulate him on a powerful speech as he prepares drinks for both.

Selena places the prepared beer stein in front of Simon, offering him a soft smile.

She hesitates for a moment too long, wanting to say something to him, but failing to find the words before Simon takes the glass with thanks.

Once all attendees are ready, Simon hoists his drink up, still standing.

“To the morning sun that will vanquish this horrible night!”

“To the morning sun, Simon Belmont!” The crowd repeats before they all share a drink. All save Selena, who merely watches as Simon downs the glass. He places it on the table with a satisfied exhale, and shares a laugh among his family, so relieved that his speech is over.

Selena offers to pour him another glass and he happily obliges, giving her thanks, and pausing to gesture for her to sit. With a bow of her head, she does.

As those in attendance drink and mingle, various members approach Simon and offer their thanks, their blessings, their prayers—taking his hands, kissing his knuckles. Bashful, Simon thanks each of them for their generosity and kindness.

Then come the Velnumdes, and Selena can’t help but stand for them, happy to see her father and sister.

Simon is still standing, and he offers a notably heartfelt bow towards them.

“May God protect you, Simon Belmont.” Enrique says as he takes Simon’s hands into his own. He bows his head upon them.

Simon gently reciprocates the gentle touch of their hands with lingering appreciation.

Once Enrique stands, he looks between Selena and Simon. Smiling, he adds: “I’m relieved to see you two getting along.”

Selena can’t help but smile awkwardly at how transparent her father is. She looks down and away.

“Your daughter is my strength and my greatest ally.” Simon compliments, and it shocks Selena to hear him return the forwardness. His compliment pulls her attention back to him. She cannot help but look up at Simon by her side as he adds:

“She has been a wonderful wife to me. Thank you for entrusting her to me.”

Satisfied with that, Enrique smiles at him. “Thank you for taking good care of her.”

Simon offers a gentle smile and looks at Selena at his side, who is already looking at him bashfully. At the eye contact, Selena looks down and away again.

Selena’s younger sister, Sofia, extends a hand to Simon next.

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last, lord Belmont.” She offers a curtsy, and Simon takes her hand into his own and dips down to kiss her knuckles delicately.

He replies as he stands again: “Likewise, it’s an honour. Thank you for coming all this way.”

Sofia smiles warmly at him and returns her hand. She then looks to Selena, battling the smirk that works its way onto her lips.

“Please, don’t let me keep you. Enjoy yourselves.” Simon adds and gestures to the family to mingle. With his leave, they do.

Once a fair distance away, Sofia crushes Selena in a careful hug.

“I’ve missed you, sister!” She exclaims with glee. Selena wraps her arms around her in reply, relishing the heartfelt embrace.

As they part, Sofia then scans her body and remarks her enlarged midsection.

“Wasted no time, eh?” Sofia teases, raising her brows with a knowing smirk. Her voice hushes as she leans in: “He’s a handsome man, that Simon Belmont… can’t blame you! Those muscles—”

“Sofia!” Selena balks, swatting her on the shoulder, totally mortified at her forwardness. Sofia only beams in reply, and the duo erupt with giggles after confirming that nobody else heard that.

Jokes aside, Sofia elects to take a gentler, more serious tone: “He’s treating you well, I hope? Father told me about what happened on your wedding day…” 

Enrique merely watches the exchange in silence.

Selena takes pause before replying. She has not given herself enough time to really introspect, but a truth comes to the forefront:

“He has been very good to me.” She’s casting a bashful look at him as he mingles, now. “Better than I expected, if I’m honest.”

Satisfied with that reply, Enrique approaches and gives Selena a heartfelt and careful hug.

Softly, he adds: “I am very proud of you, Selena. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

Selena needs a grounding breath to process her father’s words. They resonate with her so deeply.

Settling into the embrace, Selena returns it with a soft sound. “Thank you, father.”

Sofia joins in, embracing both. “It’s so nice that the family is together again!” She adds with enthusiasm, and Selena laughs bashfully.

Embarrassed as she is—worried that these gestures of affection might affect how those in attendance see her, and by extension, how they see Simon—she’s just so grateful to be held by her loved ones.

She cherishes this moment, fleeting and wonderful, before her family parts to take their seats again, and Selena once again returns to her rightful place at Simon Belmont’s side.

The man of the hour looks at her, offering a sincere smile.

And Selena, still warm with affection over seeing her family, can only return the gentle smile.

“Would you like another glass, husband?” Selena inquires, leaning over to reach for the pitcher.

“Please, wife.” Simon collects and extends his glass to her. She tops it up, and Simon gives his thanks as usual as he returns the glass in front of him.

“Please, sit. You mustn’t strain yourself.” Simon gently reminds.

Mindfully, Selena obliges as she resumes her seat at his side.

Soon after, Gabriel and Laurent slip away to help bring in the food.

With another swig of beer, Simon puts on a great show of enjoying the food that is presented to him. All guests in attendance continue their conversations, delighting in food and drink.

Selena rises and pours Simon another stein of beer and he gratefully chugs it down. Due to his massive stature, he must have a very high tolerance to alcohol, but even Selena can see that he’s drinking a lot.

He must be nervous. Anyone would be, in his position. She can’t blame him, and wants him to enjoy his last few nights however he sees fit.

Come a few days, he may not survive.

Selena’s eyes downcast as the unfortunate thought enters her mind. Her hands graze her stomach. If Simon were to perish, she alone would have to continue to rear an heir worthy of succeeding him.

Back to reality, Selena notices Simon’s eyes are on her, brow furrowing with concern. She almost feels as though he can read her thoughts. Desiring not to taint the event, she squanders her bubbling negativity, in favour of smiling gently at him.

“I’m fine.” She mouths, and he nods with acknowledgement once before sliding a hesitant and gentle hand on the small of her back. It’s barely-there.

She appreciates the subtle gesture of support, lingering in it for a fleeting moment. 

It’s pleasant to be the recipient of such a gesture, from the man of the hour.

The one who will save the world.

No, best not to linger—back on task.

“Shall I pour you another drink?” Selena inquires cheerfully as she stands, and Simon takes that as his cue to return his hand.

He says nothing, but nods. Selena can tell he’s getting a bit drunk, now. His face is flushed and his eyes seem far away. Selena pours him another drink anyway before lingering by his side.

Before resuming her seat, Selena battles with herself to offer her own words to him.

Battles with herself to return his gentle touch. Now, more than ever, would it be appropriate?

As Simon brings the refilled stein to his lips, he feels Selena’s timid hand land on his shoulder. The gesture causes him to take pause.

He doesn’t look at her.

Selena steels herself, moving her hand behind and across his shoulders. Her second hand comes up to join.

Her timid hands then slide down, resting lithe fingertips on his collar bone.

She feels Simon relax and recline slightly in his seat, receptive to such a gesture as he places the glass down on the table in front of him.

In a private moment, Selena leans down, speaking gently and only within earshot of him:

“I have faith in you.”

Simon closes his eyes, lingering in Selena’s words before placing a hand upon hers. Their fingers curl and hands are held, Simon’s thumb gently rubbing idly upon their connected skin.

They linger for only a moment before Simon’s eyes flutter open, and he musters the courage to ask:

“May I kiss you?” 

It comes out in a mumble, sheepish.

How long has it been since they last kissed? Selena would be remiss not to respect such a simple wish of the man who shoulders the burden of the world.

Consenting, Selena leans down, and Simon turns his head to meet her.

They share a chaste, gentle kiss. 

The drunken crowd hollers enthusiastically (and they can hear Gabriel and Sofia cheering the loudest) and the pair balks, quickly parting with embarrassment. They’re laughed at and they join in the laughter, so incredibly bashful at their outward affection.

As the hours sprawl on, the various groups are led to their areas of sleep in the estate (it’s better they don’t travel off of the estate during the night), and Simon and Selena begin their trek back to their home.

As they walk (well, Simon stumbles) through the dark of night, Selena is guiding him home. They say nothing to each other during their walk, and the silence is heavy.

Once inside their home, Simon sighs, leaning his head on the door behind him. The room is spinning.

“Are you well?” Selena, sober, inquires.

“I’m fine.” Simon mumbles.

“Come, let’s get you to bed.” Selena proposes, taking his hand into her own. Simon blindly follows as he’s led to their bedroom, curling his fingers around her hand.

Cherishing the fleeting moment of connection for as long as he’s granted it.

Once within, Selena parts from him to light some candles. Simon only lingers, not watching her as she moves to task.

“Tell me what it is you’re thinking about.” Selena inquires softly as she does.

Simon does not reply before moving to discard his outerwear. Selena assists. She chooses not to push an answer out of him. She can sense what it is he’s feeling without words.

After Simon’s outerwear has been discarded on the chair, Selena allows her hands to slide up his torso, and land on his chest. He can’t help but look down at her with a soft, far-away gaze.

It’s warm where her hands connect upon him.

“Tell me what I can do to support you.” Selena asks boldly, but isn’t able to meet his eyes.

In reply, Simon’s hands hesitate before resting on her hips, too-gentle and barely-there, as before.

But he musters the courage to take her up on her charity:

“Kiss me again,” he mumbles abashedly. “Please.”

Selena obliges as she stands on her toes and leans up to make careful contact with their lips. Closing his eyes, Simon returns the kiss—so soft. Too delicate.

Selena’s hands snake up on either side of his neck, fingers threading through the base of his hair. Simon makes a soft, approving sound, and Selena kisses him with intention, firmer than before.

He melts into it, so incredibly touch-starved.

She’ll give him whatever he needs.

“Be brave,” Selena comforts, voice gentler than usual as they part. “You have nothing to fear.”

Simon’s brows knit at the pretty lie. He tries to process it. He chooses not to think too hard about it. He only wishes to ground himself with her fleeting and rare gestures of affection.

Simon chooses to say nothing and they kiss again, harder still. 

He focuses on the warmth of their lips, their soft breath and hushed sighs between them, the taste of Selena on his tongue. How her fingers thread in his hair.

He only cares to relinquish himself to this beautiful and intimate moment for as long as he is granted it.

Simon’s hands have slipped to the small of Selena’s back, now, ever-careful not to put any undue strain on her.

But as her prominent midsection presses against him, his concerns flood to the forefront of his mind.

Curse it all.

Simon cannot help but part from her, returning his hands.

“Let us sleep.” He instructs before walking past her to go to the bed.

Worry and shame weighing on Selena (has she gone too far again?), she tries to reach him: “Forgive me, I meant no harm.”

Simon doesn’t reply. His head aches. If only she understood that it is not her who is causing him harm.

But he cannot share his concerns with her.

“Talk to me.” Comes a soft voice from behind him.

He can’t.

When he doesn’t reply, Selena tries one more time, quieter still: “Simon.”

Softening at the rare sound of his name, like honey on her lips, Simon turns over his shoulder, but isn’t able to look her in the face as he tries to explain:

“I have much on my mind. Drinking did not quiet my thoughts as I’d hoped.”

His eyes then land on the crib he constructed just a few days prior. His stomach knots.

He could die. If he fails, then their child… the cycle will never stop.

It has to end. He wants nothing more than the cycle to end.

And at this moment, it’s simply too much for Simon to think about.

Suddenly, he feels Selena hold him from behind, hands gently smoothing over the center of his chest.

“I know firsthand how frightening Dracula is.” Selena tries, soft. “But have faith. You are strong, and just. God will be on your side. He will give you the strength you need to see it done.”

Selena’s voice trails off. She doesn’t feel like anything she can say will make him feel better. She struggles to find the words to give him relief, but she tries:

“We’re counting on you.”

Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say, as Selena feels Simon tense under her touch.

He knows that.

Of course, he knows.

He knows.

It’s too much.

“Thank you.” Simon breathes, and parts again for the bed. He resigns into it, and opens the blanket for Selena to join him. 

Resigned, she does, carefully.

After they’re settled, silence befalls their bedroom as both adults lay on their backs.

Selena sneaks a glance at Simon’s face. His eyes are closed, but he’s not sleeping.

There’s a wall between them - distance created from both to prevent either from getting too close.

Selena feels there truly is nothing she can offer to give him relief. Likewise, she—and all of Transylvania—are putting all of their hope onto one mortal man. She cannot sleep easy until this is done.

But it’s unfair, and too solitary.

What a terrible, lonely burden to bear.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 27 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
SEVEN YEARS PRIOR

There is joyous music and revelry being carried faintly on the wind. Its origin is likely from Jova to the east, Simon notes as he patrols around the Belmont estate on foot.

There’s a twinge of sadness that ruins an otherwise joyous occasion, for today celebrates the resurrection of Christ. Those in the Belmont estate have celebrated in their own way, of course—but it is isolated, lacking community and the warmth it could bring. (The family would likely be unwelcome in the village of Jova, even if they could be united by sharing the same faith.)

Simon’s job is a thankless one: on the rare occasions he does venture into Jova for provisions, it is hurried, transactional, and without drawing any attention to himself. Those who realize that he is a Belmont descendant turn cold and callous. Is it due to his stature? Simon does what he can to make himself unimposing as he navigates town, speaks gently, kindly, and with humility.

Despite Simon proving all he can that he is a good, honest, God-revering man… they still keep him, and all associated to him, at arm’s length.

For the Belmonts are likened with the evil they’ve devoted their whole lives to fighting.

Thus, the Belmonts live on the outskirts of the village, beyond the forest of Jova, keeping careful and dutiful watch, but rarely close enough to cause Jova’s residents distress.

It’s a lonely, thankless existence.

But as night begins to blanket the sky, and Simon conducts his nightly watch, he reminds himself that it is the same faith that drives his family to conduct themselves as they have for centuries, regardless of the villager’s favour: for it is God’s will that the Belmonts be selected to undertake this monumental task of fighting evil. That is honourable enough, and it serves as Simon Belmont’s guiding compass for evenings just like these, when loneliness weighs heaviest on him.

It is a challenge willed by God, and Simon accepts that challenge readily.

There’s a darkness that washes over the sky—odd, it is still early for nightfall—and Simon listens carefully for any change on the wind.

Something’s not quite right.


As if on cue, Simon’s attention is drawn to the Vampire Killer strapped to his left hip. It does not move, but he can feel the pull of it: some magical force weighing it heavier in place. Something to get his attention, maybe.

Unease fills Simon as he retreats back to the Belmont estate to collect his horse. But before he can, he notes Selena standing in the doorway of their home.

He pauses to go to her first.

“Stay inside.” Simon commands, voice firm. He looks over her shoulder into their home, next: “Gabriel.”

Summoned, Gabriel is standing right behind Selena, acting as her guardian when Simon is too far from home on his patrols.

The men exchange a look, and Gabriel takes that as his cue to gently encourage Selena back within: “Lady Belmont, please.”

Selena steps back into their home obediently, unease washing over her features. 

“What has happened?” She dares to ask Simon.

Simon fights a frown as he grapples with being honest with her.

He relies on a vague statement: “There is a change in the air. I’m going to investigate.”

Selena nods with understanding, not desiring to keep him longer than needed, but…

she looks past him, towards the sky looming over the Jova forest.

Simon follows her glance and notes what has caught her attention:

billowing storm clouds have appeared, unnaturally dark in hue.

Simon’s attention returns to Selena when he hears her speak, hands wringing in front of her chest:

“Be safe.” She requests, looking up at him. 

Simon only offers a nod in reply before exchanging a look towards Gabriel. His friend takes the silent instruction to reach over and close the door to his home while he promptly rushes to collect his horse from the stable. He works quickly to prep the saddle on his horse’s back.

As he’s leading his faithful companion out from shelter, Simon’s focus is stolen by lightning as it tears through the dark clouds in the distance.

Emboldened with purpose, Simon mounts his horse, taking off towards Jova forest, in the direction where the sky has turned black.

As his horse carries him dutifully through thick forest, Simon’s throat tightens as they get closer still: an unfortunate sensation that Simon can only fault instinct for.

Another crash of lightning rips through the sky, too close for comfort, and it startles Simon’s companion. She rears up and away from the source. Simon does what he can to rein in the mighty animal, struggling to maintain his balance upon her back.

“Easy!” He calls out, transitioning the reins into one hand, while the other moves to gently stroke her mane until she calms in her own time.

“Just a little further.” Simon hushes, commanding the horse to continue ahead towards the overflowing darkness.

The two locate the source:

the abandoned chapel where Simon was wed. Its foundation is hardly more than rubble undone by time, looking more dilapidated than months prior.

But there is an undeniable evil present, seeping through its bricks, tainting the very earth it stands upon.

Simon stations his horse, wasting no time in unfastening his whip. As he clutches it in his right hand, winding it’s length twice in his grip, he feels its weight, and the heat emanating from it.

It is a silent warning, one Simon himself can sense:

this is the work of darkness.

Swallowing his fear, Simon surveys the place of worship, looking to find a point of entry.

Another rupture of lightning illuminates the scene,

and it is not followed by thunder, no.

It is announced by a sound infinitely more chilling:

a woman’s scream, loud, and far too close.

Simon does not think before kicking down the monastery’s doors and sprinting inside.

Colour fades from his face as he takes in the horrible sight:

a black mass, so very far from God’s light, conducted on Christ’s own date of resurrection.

Sacrilege. 

Hooded members encircle a young woman, naked, whose limbs have been strapped down against her will onto an altar.

Simon meets this woman’s eyes as her head falls back.

It is already too late: there is no life in her eyes. Her life has been taken by those in attendance, by the very dagger that sits squarely in her chest.

A ritualistic sacrifice.

Rage boils over as Simon sprints towards the members—who appeared to be human in stature, but the Vampire Killer reveals them for what they truly are.

Or, so Simon thought.

He has the opportunity to only grab one by the cloak, hard, before the others disappear in a cloud of dark mist.

“What have you done?” Simon shouts at the hooded figure in blind rage, readying to strike them with the whip in his hand.

“It is a humble offering to Christ on this, his day of resurrection.” The other replies plainly, totally calm.

Simon takes note of his face: even illuminated only by candlelight, he can see that the stranger is gaunt, sullen. Almost corpse-like.

“How dare you conduct a black mass in Christ’s name!” Simon shouts, his grip on the other tightening further still.

His rage only earns him a laugh.

“You’ll be enlightened in time, to the true form of Christ. He is risen, and now, He has the strength to walk among us once again, thanks to our efforts!” The stranger explains, making light of the fresh tragedy in this room.

Simon is heaving with rage, now. “Sacrifice is not His will!”

“You know nothing, Belmont.” The other tuts disapprovingly. “You’ll meet Him in due time. He’s waiting for you.”

Simon takes pause, eyes searching the other’s face, trying to unfold this terrible situation.

Christ is waiting for him?

That’s impossible.

“Go to Him.” The other commands, malevolent. “Go to Castlevania.”

Recognition flashes across Simon’s face:

Dracula has been resurrected.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 28 - YOMI
PRESENT DAY

Simon has learned that the darkness is most potent in the regions to the north. His uneasy footfalls lead him through the once flourishing town of Yomi. It, like everything else, appears to have been abandoned—tainted by Dracula’s curse that continues to ravage all of Transylvania.

The windows lining its streets have all shattered. Doors left open ajar with their homes ransacked carelessly. The dirt paths and gates have been torn asunder by ravenous creatures of the night.

Simon remarks scraps of clothing that cling to long-dead tree branches as he steps further inward. Remarks the now too-familiar sensation of brittle human bones that crunch under his boots.

Yomi being the nearest town to Dracula’s castle, separated only by a bridge, this end does not surprise Simon. But it deeply upsets him, especially when he recalls Yomi’s former governance over the land. Flourishing in spite of Dracula’s evil at their door.

Truly, Yomi once stood as an homage to the strength and resilience of Transylvania and her people.



Yomi once stood as a beacon of humanity’s hope against the dark. 

As he stumbles exhausted legs through the town, Simon grapples with his sense of responsibility. He is only one man—and while he did venture out to support the neighbouring towns, he really only had immediate jurisdiction over Jova and her residents.

Yomi was just out of reach. He wasn’t aware she had fallen.

It is so sorrowful to step through the town, now entirely devoid of life under the hues of the encroaching twilight.

Simon wonders if he could have done more to prevent this end. But over these last months—or maybe even years—he hasn’t had the strength. Hasn’t had the courage to venture outside of his usual jurisdiction.

Simon is only one man, but, he cannot help but feel this is his fault. He did all he could in spite of his faltering strength.

But Dracula’s influence still hangs heavy overhead—

A sound steals Simon’s attention, towards the ruined homes. He hesitates for a moment, needing time to know if his mind is deceiving him.

But, it almost sounded like—

“Is someone there?” A trembling, feeble voice calls out. 

A woman’s voice. Weak.

Frightened.

Simon’s legs move of their own accord to follow the sound. He chooses not to reply with words—this could be a shapeshifter, like in Aljiba. Best not to reply.

He unwinds the whip at his hip, gripping its hilt as he trudges ahead in silence.

“Hello?” The voice calls, weaker this time. “Please, say something.”

A few more paces, and Simon is just outside of a dilapidated home.

He hears the voice clearer just beyond the threshold of the door as it begs: “God in heaven, protect me. I beg your mercy.”

At the sound of pleading towards Him, Simon allows that to serve as confirmation that this is voice cannot belong to a shapeshifter, for creatures of the night cannot hope to speak His name.

Simon’s voice is worn from disuse, but he tries to call out gently: “Is someone there?”

Silence follows.

Simon, now standing squarely in front of the door, hesitates before knocking upon it.

The minute gesture causes the door to open on its hinges with a creak.

Simon’s eyes strain to see within. No candle nor lantern has been lit.

“You…” a voice calls from within. “You’re Simon Belmont, are you not?”

And rather than recoil or berate him for this fact, the stranger limps towards him.

Simon can now see her as she stands in the light: she is an elderly woman, hardly able to keep herself upright, and relying on a cane to carry her weight.

But at the sight of Simon Belmont, she stumbles towards him.

All Simon can do is reach out arms to try and support her as she nearly trips against him in desperation.

“Lord Belmont, is that truly you? Oh, praise the Lord!” Her cane falls to the ground, and she chooses instead to grip at Simon’s arms to keep herself upright.

(Simon doesn’t draw attention to the fact that his skin is in blistering agony under the sleeves of his bodysuit where she grips.)

The floodgates have opened, and this poor woman is sobbing against Simon as she bows her head profusely. Simon places firm hands on her shoulders to help keep her upright.

All he can do is hold her there as she shudders.

“Yomi has fallen.” The woman confirms at last, having a few moments to collect herself. “I fear I am the only one who remains.”

Simon doesn’t have the heart to confirm that fact outright. Instead, he chooses to ground her in a firm, but gentle voice:

“It is unsafe to remain here. I’ll escort you to safety.”

They’re pretty words. Easy to promise.

But… where can they go?

Where is safe?

Simon’s mind races, trying to recall the layout of the region. The nearest town he can recall is Doina—but without horses, it will take days to reach it on foot.

And nights, rife with monsters that Simon is struggling to resist as he continues to deteriorate.

But what choice does he have? For this woman to stay here would mean her certain death.

He must try.

“With respect, my lord,” she interjects the silence with a trembling voice “I cannot travel such a distance.”

He can’t accept that.

“If our stronghold of Yomi has fallen,” the woman adds with a shaky inhale “I cannot imagine any other town still stands.”

No—that isn’t true, the towns of Aljiba—no, not with shapeshifters…

Veros, perhaps. On foot, it—

“Why have you only come to Yomi now?” Her voice has turned dark, her grip slipping off of Simon’s arms.

“We have sent for you for months, with the increase of creatures of the night. Why did you not come to our aid?”

Simon’s stomach aches at the unfortunate reminder. He hasn’t been well. He hasn’t had the luxury of being able to travel, busy with defending his own territory.

And Yomi is—was—the one town that Simon has always felt capable of fighting its own battles.

Or is that just a pleasant excuse for cowardice?

“Why did you abandon us, lord Belmont?” The woman is sobbing again, lacking the strength to keep herself upright.

Simon can offer no answer that would assuage the grief his negligence has caused. An apology cannot reverse time.

An apology cannot bring back Yomi and her dead.

There is no excuse. All Simon can do is bow his head, absorbing the elder’s unrelenting sobs before she calms in her own time.

After a long, quiet moment, Simon finally tries to pull her from the depths of her sorrow:

“We must go.”

To that, the woman’s hands blindly reach up to grip on Simon’s arms again. Her trembling grip is steadfast and shockingly firm.

Simon withholds a grimace.

“I cannot.” She underlines.

“You must.” Simon matches.

“Can you not feel death emanating from the ruins of Castlevania?” Her head has snapped up, and her eyes connect with his.

Wide, so full of fear.

Of course Simon can feel it. More than he could ever wish for this woman to understand. 

But she has endured her own hardship, loneliness, isolation…

and so much death.

It’s all his fault.


Simon can only watch in surmounting distress as tears flow unrestrained from the woman before him.

She’s spiralling.

“I beg you, stay here with me.” She weeps, at last returning her hands as trembling legs take an uneasy step backwards. “I don’t want to die alone.”

No, he has to get them to safety—he—

his blood runs cold.

Something in the atmosphere has changed.

Has night fallen already? No, it cannot be.

Simon’s attention is drawn out the open door. It is not yet twilight—but it can’t be much longer. He has time. They have time if they leave right now.

They have to.

But as Simon returns his attention into the room

the sight he’s met with is not the same as mere seconds prior.

There is no woman in the room with him.

Only a corpse.

And only now does Simon smell the decay from it.

It stinks differently than any creature of the night could.

And while Simon has had the good fortune not to encounter too many rotting bodies in his life, this one is different.

Normally, he can handle such a sight. But be it the fault of his weakening constitution or the way his mind continues to torment him, he cannot stomach it now.

It’s a putrid smell—enough to trigger a retch from him as a hand comes up to cover his nose and mouth.

He hurries onto his feet, quick to exit the home. He stumbles gracelessly on the way out.

He lingers outside of the house, struggling to calm his body as it attempts to dredge up anything his stomach can offer (it has nothing to give.)

Heaving and trembling breaths to calm himself. Gloved hands move to wipe down his face.

This is your fault.

No, the fault falls to Dracula. To the twisted humans who—no, they’ve been deceived. They’re hurting beyond anything imaginable to resort to the darkness—

And why is it they hurt? 

This is your fault, you damn coward!

He has to bury her. It’s the very least he can do.

But he doesn’t have time.

He doesn’t have the strength.

As with his companion rotting in the Bordia mountains, Simon bows his head and offers a heartfelt vow that he will return to Yomi to bury this person after his quest has come to an end.

Further, he will rebuilt Yomi. He will patrol more often. He will help. 

He’ll do more

he’ll be better

—please, God in heaven—

allow me to repent for my sins.

Allow me to make amends.

Simon has no rosary to offer the corpse.

All he can do is shut the door.

The weight of it all is suffocating.

Simon requires a moment before his hand slips from the door handle and he steps back with his head hung low.

It’s too much.

But it is nothing compared to the tragedy that has befallen here.

As he travels beyond the graveyard outside of Yomi, Simon’s bleary eyes strain to focus south, towards the remains of Dracula’s castle.

He steels himself to approach the bridge that connects Yomi’s land to that of Dracula’s castle in the mountains.

However,

the bridge, like Yomi,

has fallen.

It is no more than rubble, now.

Simon will have to find another route to the remains of Dracula’s castle. Defeated and utterly exhausted, Simon struggles to think of how to circumvent this obstacle.

He can’t think. In an act of cruelty, Simon’s mind repeats the exchange he had with the woman. A falsehood, certainly. Like all else.

But her words are no doubt true.

Worse still, Simon cannot shake the image of the corpse from his mind.

The ever-oppressive evil remains of Dracula’s castle crush him (beckon to him), so close (and yet so incredibly far.)

Poison from Joma marsh continues to taint his lungs.

Fingers rake through his hair, and there is so little resistance; strands come out in clumps. 

How much time does he have left?

He has no choice. He has to keep moving. Quickly, before the sun sets…

It takes all of Simon’s strength to build himself upright again. Even longer still to take one step forward. It is moments like these where he must close his mind. Rely on dissociation to carry his aching body onward.

Lest he crumbles where he stands, never to rise again.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 29 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
SEVEN YEARS PRIOR

As the sun barely rises in the sky, Simon is already preparing for his departure to Dracula’s castle.

Despite his efforts to not wake her, Selena is awake, and watches him all the while, keeping her distance as to not get in his way. She says nothing, but watches as Simon moves to fasten his armour against his body, metal clasps and leather tassels bound tightly.

The air hangs heavy with the weight of this mission.

The weight of its possible outcome.

He cannot falter—Simon has trained all of his life for this. He fights the anxiety that builds in him as he fastens the Vampire Killer on his left hip. He buckles his belts closed. Iron-clad vambraces, boots, and circlet follow.

Simon catches a glimpse of himself in his bedroom mirror, battle-ready in his armours. From over his shoulder, he can see that Selena is staring at him. They break eye contact as soon as it connects, and Simon busies himself with collecting his satchel of items. He’s quick to equip the holy water flasks, dagger, cross, and throwing axe on the same belt.

There’s a moment of hesitation before he moves to exit their bedroom.

He should say something to Selena. To assuage her anxiety. To give her hope - to call on her trust, her faith to ground him.

But words fail him.

Desiring not to linger, he exits their home, and Selena follows dutifully after him.

As they exit, they’re greeted by Gabriel just outside, who has brought with him Simon’s faithful horse.

The men exchange a look. Gabriel busies himself with putting the saddle and items on the horse’s back, intentionally giving spouses time alone to say their goodbyes.

When Simon turns around to face Selena, she is already staring up at him, wearing an expression he can’t read. He feels walled off from her.

“It’s time for me to go.” Simon states the obvious, voice quieter than he had intended. He requires a grounding breath to build himself a little taller, desiring to illustrate his dependability in this task.

In reply, Selena nods, once, and prays: “May God protect you, husband.”

Her conveyance is rigid.

There’s a callousness that comes out in Selena now and then. Simon cannot place what it is, or what triggers it. He can only assume she’s trying to protect herself by creating emotional distance.

He can’t blame her for that. He’s guilty of doing the same thing.

But with this mission weighing so heavy on him, Simon hopes that they can take down their walls for just a moment.

Just a small moment.

With some hesitation, he tries:

“Selena,” Simon begins, the rare use of her name barely a whisper between them, and moves to take her hand into his own. Selena permits it, unclasping her hands from in front of her to allow Simon to take one.

He thumbs over her knuckles with such a light touch, as if it were the first time they ever connected. Such a fragile and careful movement.

In reply, Selena fights the sensation that wells inside of her as she pushes the very real possibility from her mind:

this might be the last time they see each other. Touch each other. 

Simon might die.

And if Simon dies, and Dracula is victorious, then…


may God protect them all from his wrath.

They hold each other’s hand with a firmer touch as they struggle to keep themselves grounded.

Simon takes a small step forward to close the distance between them. There, he leans down, hesitating for a moment before placing a kiss on the crown of Selena’s head. It’s soft, barely-there, but lingering.

The small and sincere gesture takes Selena by surprise.

They say nothing. Selena fights the tightness in her throat, shutting her eyes. She focuses on the sensation of Simon’s weight over her, the warmth of his lips, and his soft exhale.

Simon gives Selena’s hand a squeeze before he steps back again, looking down between them.

It’s time to go.

He begins to pull away.

But to his surprise, Selena has tightened the grip on his hand to stay him.

Simon lingers in reply, attention drawn back towards Selena’s face, trying to gauge what it is she wills of him.

Selena transitions their hands instead so that she can guide his. She places it on the side of her very pregnant stomach, and holds it there with a gentle firmness.

Her command is a soft, barely-there sound before she musters the courage to look up at him: “Come back to us.”

Simon can see that she’s fighting a frown and that her eyes are glistening with new moisture.

Their eyes meet.

For the first time, it’s as if the walls are completely gone. They can plainly read each other, totally bare.

They see each other, for what feels like the very first time.

The weight of circumstance is a significant and heavy burden,

and it is shared between them.

At this revelation, Simon must bury emotions that threaten his composure. All he can do is break eye contact, away and downwards.

His reply begins as a gentle rub of his thumb against her.

Say something. Say anything.

Is now the best time to—

Simon opens his mouth to speak but is interjected by Gabriel calling out to him: “Simon, your horse is ready for you.”

—no. It’s better this way.

With that, Simon slips away from Selena and turns to leave. Selena, meanwhile, returns her hands in front of her chest. She’s quick to locate the crucifix that Simon has given her, and she holds it firmly as her own gaze falls downwards.

There’s so much she could say—should say. Before it’s too late.

What should she say to a man prepared to fight until the bitter end? One who she has learned is kind, just—considerate, and completely selfless—

envisioning a future where he might be absent is—

No. 

She mustn’t dwell on that outcome.

And there is nothing more she can say to him to give him strength.

Instead, Selena offers a silent prayer to God as she watches Simon walk ahead. She begs His protection and support of her husband as he departs into the maw of hell to do what He wills.

So focused on her prayers, Selena pays no mind to the hushed conversation between Simon and Gabriel just ahead.

All Gabriel can do is offer an apologetic and somber smile towards his friend: “Sorry for interrupting.”

Simon says nothing to that, but moves to place a firm hand upon Gabriel’s shoulder.

“Protect her,” Simon begins with a gentle squeeze, his voice quieter than he intended. “Please.”

Gabriel’s forced smile fades. He nods, firm and resolute.

They linger for a moment before Gabriel moves to instigate a tight and heartfelt embrace with his friend.

“Return to us, Simon.” Gabriel pleads with faltering strength in his voice.

Simon says nothing in reply, but a gentle hand pats upon Gabriel’s back.

They part, and Simon moves to mount his horse.

Once settled, he looks down upon Gabriel, then to Selena a few paces away.

They’re both looking up at him, offering their full attention to send him off.

Hardened with resolve, Simon, regaining the strength in his voice, vows: “I will return victorious.”

With that, he commands his horse to run, and she does, whinnying before she bolts off of the estate grounds.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 30 - CASTLEVANIA
SEVEN YEARS PRIOR

Time flows differently in Castlevania. Simon cannot be sure how many days have passed, for each of the windows illustrate a dark and never-ending night enshrouding this terrible place.

Simon’s mind is weak, and Dracula must know this. While they have not yet met face-to-face, Simon can feel his dark influence weighing heavily upon him, seeping deep into his consciousness.

The sensation is foreign and strange.

Simon is governed a pull—driven by his responsibility to put an end to this feud, but also as if his very essence is being magnetized towards Dracula.

He must climb higher still.

This is vastly different than his first visit to Castlevania months ago. In the literal sense - the castle stands complete. Its layout is different (and Simon’s maps are ultimately useless. Instead, he is driven by instinct alone.)

Simon’s body is aching in agony, with fresh and festering wounds just begging for infection. While he is battle-hardened, he is only human: Simon has his limits, and he has well crossed them already.

But he cannot afford to falter. He has overcome every challenge that this dreaded castle has thrown his way. He has slain every denizen of Castlevania who has dared to challenge him.

By some miracle, Simon has even felled the omnipresent shepherd for all life lost: Death. Simon called upon God to grant him protection against this omnipotent force that has bowed to Dracula’s influence - and He heeded his call.

Enshrouded in God’s magnificent blessing, Simon has defied Death itself! 

If he has managed to do that, Simon can do anything!

It cannot be much longer until this is done, and he will be victorious!

Climb higher!

Rejuvenated with confidence, Simon powers through his growing exhaustion to ascend to the next—and final—floor.

What awaits him is exactly what his forefathers described in their journals: a harrowing set of stairs.

They can only lead to one terrible place:

Dracula’s throne room. The very maw of hell itself, where the barrier between the living and the dead is thin and feeble.

Candles illuminate by some magical power as Simon begins his ascent up the stairs, winding his whip in hand.

Dracula is beckoning to him. Inviting him.

Expecting him.

Simon offers a final, silent prayer. Not towards his gracious God,

but towards his revered forefathers who have faced this challenge before him.

He prays for their blessing.

He prays for their strength.

He prays—with all of his heart—that their will be done.

On behalf of the Belmont family

on behalf of Transylvania and her people

Simon will put an end to this, once and for all.

The clock tower in the distance sounds its poignant toll under the glow of an ungodly blood-red moon.

The hour of Dracula’s certain death is nigh.

There’s no turning back.

Hardened with resolve

strengthened by his faith

and with the support of his forefathers upon his back

Simon faces his destiny.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 31 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
SEVEN YEARS PRIOR

It’s nothing short of a miracle. Simon Belmont has done it: he has slayed Dracula, and all of Transylvania can see how the castle has crumbled where it once stood in the distance.

More impressive still is that Simon is able to keep himself upright on horseback as he enters through the gates of the Belmont estate, in spite of his injury and utter exhaustion from his accomplishment.

Gabriel is the first to meet him, relief washing over him as he jogs to his side.

Simon struggles to dismount his horse using only his dominant arm, doing what he can to conceal his deterioration. There’s no use in trying to hide his pain - he’s been to hell and back, and looks the part. He’s certain his left shoulder is broken, but it wouldn’t surprise him if he’d broken some ribs in the struggle as well.

Gabriel elects not to draw any unwanted attention towards Simon’s physical state. He’s much happier to see him alive at all, and home in (largely) one piece.

“The morning sun has returned at last,” Gabriel laughs, bright with joy as he assists Simon upright. He takes the reins from him in his free hand. “Welcome home, vanquisher of darkness.”

Simon offers him a weak smile, features warm with sincerity: “It is good to see you.”

Gabriel leads Simon and his horse towards the estate - slowly, offering Simon to lean his weight onto him, though he may be crushed under it. Simon initially declines, but after a few agonizing steps, he reaches his right hand out onto Gabriel’s shoulder for support. His friend accepts the burden readily, slowing his lead.

“Everyone will be thrilled to see you,” Gabriel beams. “What an incredible accomplishment. I’m eager to hear all about it.”

Simon can only offer a strained and humble smile through his progressing deterioration with each aching step forward. “I will be glad to regale once I’ve regained my strength.”

As they continue inwards, Simon cannot help but look towards his home.

And as if hearing his silent plea, Selena emerges from the front door.

Gabriel slows to a halt, following Simon’s gaze towards home—towards her. 

“Lady Belmont!” Gabriel cheers enthusiastically. “Simon has returned!”

In reply, Selena is quick to approach the pair, and she finally takes in Simon.

He’s looking worse for wear, but he’s alive.

“Husband.” Is all she can breathe, relief and awe washing over her as she meets his eyes.

“Wife.” Simon returns so softly, offering what he can of a weak smile.

Getting straight to work, Selena asks Gabriel to bring him inside their home. He’s quick to oblige, guiding him towards home.

The party is led into the bedroom, and Gabriel dismisses himself for the time being to stable Simon's horse, granting spouses time alone. Selena insists she’ll tend to Simon’s injuries, and both men have the confidence that she will.

As the couple is granted a private moment, they take the opportunity to look at each other.

Selena studies him: the blood upon him, soaked and matted upon his leathers and armours. Her focus travels upwards to process his face, next. She notes the darkness around his eyes, his dry and pale lips. Half of his face is caked with blood, and she can’t discern much more without cleaning it first.

He’s been through hell. The only tangible proof of such an encounter with evil that Selena will ever have to see is in her wounded husband.

She will never know the hardship of encountering Dracula ever again, and it is all thanks to Simon’s incredible efforts.

In spite of it all, Simon Belmont is the victor. He stands before her having served his God-given duty.

There’s a sensation in her throat—one she has battled for weeks, now, as she worked to convince herself that Simon may not return to her.

He’s alive. He’s here. He’s victorious, just as he promised he would be.

He’s—

“My champion.” Selena finally breathes before carefully moving to slide her hands upon Simon’s chest, feather-light as to not injure him. She looks up at him with such tenderness that Simon is wholly unaccustomed to.

Simon wants nothing more than to crush her in a hug in reply, but doesn’t want to dirty her with the remnants of monster fluid and blood clinging to him. (He can’t move his arms much, anyway.)

Instead, he only offers a small smile, lingering with appreciation for her genuine praise.

Back on task: Selena works quickly to assist him in discarding his armours. She unclasps his breastplate, carefully peeling it off of his body with extra care to not graze the open wound on his shoulder.

Most of the hard leather armour is in pieces. They will have to be discarded, having served their purpose. Selena removes the tatters delicately from Simon’s torso.

Beneath the armours and leather that protected him, Simon’s body is marbled with saturated purple and burgundy bruises, riddled with gashes, and the open wound to his shoulder is deep and infected. (Truly, it’s a miracle that he is able to stand upright before her. But Selena can see he’s struggling to manage even that.)

With that in mind, her objective in removing his belt (and what items remain on it) is a task she conducts quickly. 

Simon says nothing at all as he watches Selena unfasten the leather whip from its place. She lingers with it for a moment before setting it down carefully—with quiet honouring—for it assuredly helped Simon claim his victory.

Selena then leads Simon to the bed, and he sits himself at the edge of it with a stilted groan. Selena takes the initiative to help him remove his circlet, vambraces, and finally his boots.

Simon offers quiet thanks as he’s finally, finally able to lay down. He eases into the bedding below with a grunt of pain, trying to be mindful of his injuries as he goes.

While he gets comfortable, Selena disappears for a moment to retrieve a basin of water, soap, and a cloth. She seats herself on the edge of the bed and begins to clean his open wounds, first.

The pair only have a small moment of quiet before there’s a soft, unfamiliar sound.

Trying not to move his head, Simon’s attention is drawn to the source by his right.

Alerted immediately by the sound, Selena stills her task for a moment, setting items in hand upon the nightstand.

“Don’t fuss, my love.” Selena coos as she moves towards the source.

“I know you’re eager to meet your father. Come here.” She placates tenderly as she collects the small body in her arms.

On a soft exhale, Simon blinks, processing it all. He turns his head towards the source at his right, and tries to prop himself upon his good arm.

Selena makes a small, disapproving sound in reply at such a gesture. Simon obeys her, electing not to move from his place.

Instead, Selena brings the bundle to him.

Simon’s tired eyes follow her, and his focus falls to the tiny body in her arms as she kneels on the bed to present it to him.

“God blessed us with a son.” Selena adds.

A son?

At this new angle, Simon is able to take in the infant, whose precious rosy cheeks complimented fine, golden hair. His small face scrunches, tinier fists balling up, as he fusses.

There’s an unfamiliar sensation that rises, catching Simon completely off-guard. He battles it as it threatens his composure.

It’s his child. Their child.

He didn’t think he could help to create something so small, so precious. So beautiful.

He didn’t think it was possible for him to love something so unconditionally.

(But he does, of course. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.)

He swallows, battling tears that threaten to sting his eyes.

Struggling to lift his arm, Simon raises his right hand, wanting to reach out and brush a knuckle on his child’s small cheek. 

But he hesitates, noting the state of his hands. They’re so filthy, he doesn’t want to—

“It’s alright.” Selena’s voice comforts, barely a whisper. Their eyes meet as Simon hesitates.

With her permission, Simon brushes a knuckle upon the boy’s cheek, barely-there. He’s so incredibly small, so fragile, so soft—such a contrast to his father’s war-torn hands.

God. He’s a father.

“My son.” Simon whispers, the words so foreign in his mouth. Selena smiles, appreciating the tender moment.

Before long, their son is calmed once again, cradled in his mother’s arm.

“What name did you give him?” Simon inquires, quiet, as he carefully returns his arm to his side.

Selena half-laughs: “I felt it inappropriate to name him without consulting you first.”

Simon hums in affirmation. He hadn’t really thought of it. He should have, but—

“I’ve considered Mathieu.” Selena timidly adds.

“Mathieu Belmont,” Simon tries the name on his tongue. Selena is looking at him, expectant.

“A fine name,” he adds, offering a small smile. “Mathieu Belmont. Our son.” 

Satisfied with his approval, Selena gently assists their son back into his crib. Before long, she resumes her task of tending to Simon’s wounds.

Simon, so grateful for her ability, can at last close his eyes. He offers a silent prayer of thanks to God for His protection over him and his family before Simon phases in and out of a deep, all-encompassing and well-deserved sleep.

For his victory signifies the beginning of peace at long last. 

The evil has been dealt with. Simon has laid the foundation to restore his family’s honour. He has fulfilled his part in the family legacy. And he will live to tell the tale.

He stirs, occasionally roused by a sharp sensation. Selena is stitching his wounds, he thinks, as skin is punctured, taut, and pulled in various directions.

By comparison to what he had endured, this pain was nothing. 

What a blessing it is that his wife is skilled in these matters.

As she finishes her task at his shoulder, she hesitates as she moves to address his face. She begins by delicately mopping at the blood with a soft cloth, ever-gentle. 

As the blood is wiped away, the injury is revealed: Simon’s face is torn with deep gashes starting from his left cheek, running through his lips.

“Oh, Simon.” Selena whispers in pity, just out of earshot as she moves to prepare to sew the cuts closed.

As she punctures the skin, Simon’s face twitches in discomfort. While her hands are skillful and precise, there isn’t much she can do to make this faster. Selena punctures the other end and gently threads them together, taut.

She laments that the injury will mar his face as she continues to sew the wounds closed.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 32 - BODLEY MANSION
PRESENT DAY

Enough.

Having just entered the altar room, Simon collapses onto his knees. He—he needs a moment to rest until this episode passes.

Who is he hoping to fool?

These aren’t episodes.

These mansions—these cursed families—have all pledged themselves to the darkness. In exchange, their doors shield the bowels of hell, guarding over these terrible body parts (God forgive him for speaking poorly of them, if they are somehow holy. But Simon doesn’t believe they are legitimate.)

Simon continues to descend deeper into despair. He hopes with all of his heart that this isn’t a fool’s errand—that these parts—and the families that guard them—are somehow connected to Dracula.

Vampira all but confirmed that Dracula governed the Laruba fortress. And while Simon has not encountered a beast quite like her here, the layouts are as before: Bodley mansion also changed on entry. It has also taken the shape of the lower levels of Castlevania.

Struggling to build himself back onto his feet, he clings to the nearest wall to hoist himself up.

Just a few more steps. He only needs to release the body of Christ, and then the episode will end. Then he can recuperate. 

Move.

Move.

Trembling legs march on, surmounting the steps leading to the altar.

As with all other manors, Simon readily has his dagger in hand. As before, he stays the gelatinous orb that holds the item he seeks.

With all of his strength, he plunges the dagger into the orb. Blood flows from the impact, coating his hands.

Hands move to task to tear the orb in two. Simon struggles, his arms feeling especially heavy.

Eventually, he manages. As before, in the wake of the orb rests an object.

As Simon takes the item in hand, he’s filled with a harrowing dread.

He knows this item all too well.

God protect him.

It’s—

Simon cannot help but drop it into the puddle of blood, wanting his hands rid of it.

He recoils, breath turning hitched with fear he cannot conceal.

Simon hesitates to breathe the name, for fear of giving it power to animate:

before him rests an unmistakable claw belonging to Dracula.

The very same that disfigured him.

As if taunting him, the scars on Simon’s face suddenly burn in agony. Desperate blood-soaked hands move to smooth over the wound, long-healed, as he takes another uneasy step backwards.

He almost slips off of the stairs, needing all of his strength to calm his haphazard breaths.

These parts—they’re connected to Dracula. Of course it’s Dracula! Simon was a fool for thinking it could be anything but Dracula.

Take it.

As if to assuage his building anxiety, Simon snatches the item from the altar, clutching it hard.

It cannot hurt him. Dracula cannot hurt him, now.

He’s rewarded with the dungeon disappearing around him.

To his immense relief, the daylight greets him. He hasn’t been within this fortress for long, then. That’s good.

But no sooner does he feel relief does he feel the toll on his body.

It aches and aches and aches.

His skin is scalding.

Simon struggles to haul his aching body to safety—not that anywhere is safe, but as safe as can be under the warmth of the sun.

Simon finds some small corner of the manor to retreat to, like a wounded animal, as he stuffs Dracula’s cursed claw in his satchel.

Does he have the courage to peel back his leathers and see the source of his agony?

His body has been changing. This is not new—it’s something he began to notice years ago, as his skin has marbled in sickly hues, covered with sores and welts, as if diseased. Simon has elected to wear clothes that conceal his flesh to hide the change from prying eyes (from having to face it himself). Now is no different.

But at the sudden and terrible sensation of his skin being ripped from muscle—from bone—Simon stifles his cries of pain, needing to confirm what is happening with his own eyes.

Metal bracers are the first to come off. Leather gloves come next—

his stomach churns as eyes land on his hands.

He grimaces at the sight: his skin is a gruesome hue. Dark, marbled, raw—festering with oozing sores and blood.

The scent it carries stinks of disease. Rot.

Is this a result of the curse?

With some difficulty, he pulls back the bodysuit that covers his forearms.

The source of his agony is confirmed in the form of his skin splitting, as if he were being cut through right before his eyes. It’s unrelenting and terrible and he cannot help but whimper at the sensation as he watches blood pool and dribble from the torn seams.

The wretched Count’s work, no doubt.

It isn’t stopping.

Desperate hands clamour to collect a needle and thread in his things, soaking them with blood as he goes. Simon huffs with frustration over not finding his tools fast enough.

Trembling hands work to fasten a tourniquet around his bicep, first. He stays it taut with his teeth, hoping it will lessen his blood from flowing.

Tremors in his blood-soaked hands make it especially challenging to thread the needle.

Discolouration makes it difficult to discern his flesh in the mess of sores and blood and—God, if only Selena were—no, he couldn’t stand to have her see him deteriorate this way.

Biting down on the taut fabric wrapped around his arm, Simon moves to gracelessly puncture his skin, trying to close his splitting wounds as quickly as his limited dexterity will permit him.

Not desiring to draw any attention to himself, totally vulnerable, Simon tries to stifle his cries of pain.

He’s running out of time.

He’s—he’s running out of time.

Trembling hands try to move faster.

His whole body is shaking.

His vision blurs with the warm and wet of desperate tears threatening to streak down his face.

With a fragile whimper, Simon tries to quicken his task of sewing his wounds closed.

He won’t let Dracula win.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 33 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
SEVEN YEARS PRIOR

It has been a few days since Simon’s return from Castlevania. He spends most of the time sleeping, waking only in brief bursts for Selena to change the dressings on his wounds and feed him.

The pain is too great to manage much else at the moment.

He has been visited by Laurent and Gabriel a handful of times, but their visits are usually brief. Even now, Simon can hear how Gabriel offers his help to Selena in the foreroom, remarking how she must be burdened by taking care of two weak and needy boys.

Her reply to his quip is in the form of a sweet giggle. Hearing Selena laugh for what feels like the first time evokes a strange feeling in Simon’s chest. Such a small sound carries so much significance. Of course she can laugh now: with Dracula’s death, she is safe.

Their son is safe.

Transylvania is beginning to recover.

And Simon lives. Despite it all, he lives.

When he next has the strength to open his eyes, he finds Selena assessing the dressings on his shoulder. It’s a terrible injury, and Simon hasn’t had the heart to look at it.

He pushes the thought of its origin from his mind.

“Forgive me, did I wake you?” Selena asks, and it’s so soft and quiet. They’ve taken to speaking in whispers as to not disturb Mathieu’s rest. It’s a good thing, too: Simon lacks the strength in his voice to manage much sound.

He relies on his hoarse voice to reply, succinct: “No.”

“I’d like to change these.” Selena explains, still hushed. “Do you have the strength to lay on your side?”

Simon says nothing as he moves to obey her wishes. Blistered hands move to ground him on the bedding before he tries to haul himself with bated breath.

It’s agony.

“Mind your shoulder.” Selena reminds, and Simon can only give her a chaste nod of his head, easing the pressure down that arm as he curls into himself upon his side.

With a careful grounding breath, Simon closes his eyes. He feels how Selena moves to task behind him, undressing the bandages from his shoulder.

He can feel how her small hand—ice cold, to his immediate relief—touches fingertips around the injury in assessment. Simon flinches despite himself.

Selena says nothing as she brings the items she needs to tend to him.

First comes a cool cloth.

“How are you feeling?” Selena asks as she works, quiet.

In this moment? Horrible. But Simon doesn’t want to share that.

“I’m alright.” He rasps.

Selena isn’t convinced as she wipes at the wound—always trying to be so delicate as she does.

Her gesture stills as she assesses the injury, lingering closer this time to get a better look. Simon wishes she wouldn’t look so closely. She stomachs injury well enough—it’s a remarkable skill, truly—

Her change in direction takes Simon by surprise: “May I ask what this wound is from?”

He doesn’t want to reflect on it.

“Forgive me for asking,” Selena clarifies, still whispering “I would only like to know if it’s a warg bite. Warg saliva carries unique strains of disease. I will have to treat it with a different paste, if that’s the case.”

He grapples with being honest with her.

It’s simpler to lie: “You’re correct - it’s a warg bite.”

Selena hums with acknowledgement as she finishes wiping the wound clean. She collects something else in her hands.

“I suspected. This salve will be unpleasant, but effective against the infection.”

Simon braces himself for the inevitable application of said unpleasant salve.

Initially, it’s smooth. Cooling and refreshing—just what Simon needs against his red-hot infected wound.

It doesn’t take long to change—the sensation can only be likened to salt being rubbed into the wound.

With grit teeth, Simon wrenches his eyes shut.

“It will subside soon.” Selena coos, smoothing fabric over the injury, next, to seal the salve.

It takes some time before the task is done.

Once complete, Selena lands a gentle hand on Simon’s arm. “It’s done. You may lay on your back again.”

Before Simon does, he hesitates.

“The injury to my back,” he breathes “what state is it in?”

There’s a small pause as Selena moves to examine the area.

“There’s no flesh wound there. Did you injure your spine?” She asks dutifully, smoothing her fingertips over the spot. “Please tell me if this hurts.”

It doesn’t.

Wretched Count. Of course that injury was a falsehood meant to only frighten Simon. It wasn’t real.

Feeling relieved at this realization, Simon moves to carefully lay upon his back again.

Having tidied up what she needs to, Selena moves to resume her seat at Simon’s bedside.

But she’s stopped mid-task by the sound of Mathieu demanding her attention. She’s quick to collect his small body in her arm, trying to hush him promptly.

Simon’s eyes land on the two, wearing a soft, apologetic look. He feels utterly useless.

Selena is readying to take a seat by Simon’s bed again in order to feed Mathieu when she’s interrupted by a knock at the front door. Simon stays where he is as she disappears to answer it with Mathieu in her arm. 

Simon hears Laurent’s voice from the foreroom over his son’s wails. Then the familiar creaking of floorboards as he’s led within.

Simon conceals his agony as he moves to sit upright to greet his grandfather. Laurent enters the room mid-task, Selena not far behind him, still trying to soothe Mathieu.

“How are you faring?” Laurent asks him first, and Simon struggles to build himself up, hoping that his appearance doesn’t betray his reply:

“I’m recovering fine.”

A careful breath to conceal the agony on his ribs as he sits upright. He watches from the corner of his eye as Selena casts him a concerned look.

“Tell me about your injuries.” Laurent demands, and Simon’s too damn tired for this.

“I’ve broken my shoulder,” Simon begins—

Laurent interjects: “On your dominant arm?”

“No,” Simon reassures with a minute tilt of his head in the direction of the injury. “Left shoulder. Warg bite.”

“How is it being treated?” Laurent interrogates, and Simon shares a look with Selena. He doesn’t know the specifics, but:

“My wife is tending to me well.” Simon reassures.

Selena almost smiles at his praise as she elects to move the still wailing Mathieu from the room, unable to feed him in the presence of Laurent.

Laurent disregards Simon’s explanation: “I will call upon Doctor Seward to examine you.”

He shouldn’t be surprised (it’s Laurent, after all).

Still, Simon pushes back: “For what reason?”

“It is in no way to disrespect lady Belmont’s work,” Laurent offers Selena a brief look as she lingers outside of the room. “But it is a matter of expertise in the severity of these injuries.”

Simon doesn’t have to look at Selena to feel how she resigns to Laurent’s demands.

Laurent tries to phrase this delicately: “Her time is better spent focusing on motherhood.”

Simon hadn’t fully considered that Selena may be stretching herself too thin. Gabriel’s joke from earlier weighs heavier on Simon’s mind.

Simon doesn’t feel comfortable over-promising what Selena can do, even if he has the confidence she can manage.

With closed eyes, Simon tips his head with acknowledgement. “Very well, then.”

“Good,” Laurent rises. “I will contact him. Rest until then. I’ll return to check on you tomorrow.”

With Laurent exiting the room, Selena follows after him to lead him out the door.

It’s a few moments before she returns to their bedroom, taking her seat at Simon’s bedside. She moves to unfasten her dress, guiding Mathieu to nurse from her.

She sighs with exhaustion as they’re finally granted quiet, cradling Mathieu in her arm. Simon, meanwhile, takes ample time to ease back into the bed, grit teeth as he goes.

Only when he has a few moments to lay down does he have the strength to speak again.

“I apologize for not realizing sooner,” he breathes “how taxing this must be on you.”

Selena lifts her head to look at him. She opens her mouth to protest, but nothing comes.

Confirmation, then. That’s unfortunate.

“I am capable.” He hears from her at last, and he meets her wearing a serious expression. “I am adept in traditional medicine, I assure you.”

“I have no doubt.” Simon is quick to reassure, not desiring to question her ability nor argue with her. He lacks the energy to explain himself adequately.

“Lord Belmont does not share your confidence, it seems.” Selena adds with a certain reservedness. Simon quirks his brow at that. It’s the first time that Selena is speaking about Laurent aloud, and he feels that she has a lot that she can say about him.

Simon feels that Selena has been the target of his ire for the entirety of her stay here.

“Forgive my grandfather,” Simon sighs “he is difficult to appease.”

Selena isn’t looking at him as she shares: “Yes, I have seen how unjustly callous he can be towards you.”

Simon almost cracks a smile at that, appreciative of her concern. “He has his reasons.”

There’s a growing silence between them as Selena minds Mathieu at her breast, brushing his tiny cheek with her thumb.

“Would it be too forward of me to ask what those reasons are?” Selena tiptoes around the subject.

“Why my grandfather is so callous?” Simon echoes, not fully understanding.

Selena’s reply starts with a nod. “I understand his apprehension towards me. But his treatment of you has always been puzzling to me.”

Ah. There’s another pause as Simon grapples with explaining.

Would it frighten Selena to learn the truth behind it?

“My parents,” Simon hesitates “were killed by creatures of the night when I was a boy.”

Selena learned at Simon’s sending off banquet that his father is dead. She had assumed the same of his mother. But to hear it confirmed—what’s more, that it was a brutal death—has caused her stomach to ache with regret in asking.

A hand comes up over her mouth as she flushes over asking Simon to share something so personal. It wasn’t her intention.

“Because of that, my grandfather trained me from a young age in hopes that I could fight creatures of the night more readily.” Simon breathes, talking sapping the energy from him. 

He needs a breath before he concludes: “I imagine my grandfather blames himself for their deaths. And perhaps he blames me, too. I shoulder his ire readily, if it can bring him some peace.”

“I am so sorry, husband. Please forgive me for asking.” Selena apologizes earnestly.

“You have no reason to apologize.” Simon assures. “I only hope that my sharing doesn’t frighten you.”

Selena softens a bit at that, and shares with a certain gentleness: “You have proven your incredible strength in your victory. I am safest by your side.”

Her genuine praise—so forward—catches Simon by total surprise. He cannot help but smile softly to himself, so incredibly grateful for it. Hearing it from her makes everything worth it.

Simon wants nothing more than to be the best Belmont he can be. For his legacy. For his grandfather. For his parents. For his son.

For Selena.

“You’ve proven that you are adept in healing,” Simon elects to change the subject to something more lighthearted, offering her a soft smile. “Is that something you learned from the Velnumdes clan?”

Selena lifts her head, meeting his eyes.

“Yes, that’s right.” Selena smiles softly. “Traditional medicine is something we are taught from a young age.”

Simon hums with acknowledgement, listening with intent.

Sensing that, Selena chooses to elaborate: “We Velnumdes are a matriarchy. While the tending tasks usually falls to the women, it is not prohibited for the men to learn as well.”

“Did you learn from your mother, then?” Simon asks.

Selena offers an awkward, half-hearted smile. “Not as much as I’d like. Like you, I lost my mother at a young age.”

Oh, no. Simon had no idea. But with only Enrique visiting, he should have known better.

Simon closes his eyes with a grimace. “Please forgive me, I should not have assumed.”

Selena offers a somber smile. “All is forgiven. We’re even, now.”

Spouses share an awkward huff of a laugh at that. Even, then.

Selena’s expression turns downcast as she minds Mathieu, still feeding in her arms. “She died of illness when I was thirteen. I assumed her role very quickly in my family to help my father take care of my sister Sofia.”

When she next lifts her head, she’s met with Simon looking at her with a gentle, concerned expression.

“That must have been very difficult for you and your family.” Simon adds quietly.

With a somber smile, Selena nods. “I did what I could. I empathize with lord Belmont, in a way: I blame myself for her death, just as he blames himself for the death of your parents.”

The crease in Simon’s brow deepens at that.

“My limited knowledge in medicine at the time could not help her.” Selena explains solemnly.

“You mustn’t blame yourself for that, you were but a child.” Simon hushes.

Selena tries to soften the unfortunate fact: “It pushed me to study. I am only as adept as I am now because of that loss. In honour and respect for my mother.”

And when their eyes next meet, Simon can plainly read her courage in the face of tragedy. His heart swells at the sight of it.

Simon admires his wife for the undeniable strength she has. To have endured such a difficult childhood, to mature much faster than she should have, to being carted off to some faraway land trodden with creatures of the night, wed to a stranger, bearing his child, rearing that child…

“Admittedly, I feel I have much to learn with regard to actual motherhood, however.” Selena shares, looking down at Mathieu in her arms again. “So I will take your grandfather’s instructions to heart.”

She’s so dutiful. So strong. 

It’s inspiring.

A thought crosses Simon’s mind. One he isn’t sure he has the right to ask, but, he tries:

“Was it difficult?”

Selena doesn’t quite understand what he’s asking.

“Childbirth.” Simon adds.

Selena ruminates for a moment. It may be best to avoid speaking truthfully on it, lest Simon question her ability.

But she takes a risk by replying earnestly, in good humour with a huff of laughter: “You haven’t the faintest idea.”

Simon’s glance casts downwards at that. Of course. Naturally.

They’ve both endured so much in their own respects.

“You are strong, my wife.” Simon finalizes, words earnest and true.

And at that, Selena blinks. She can’t help the timid smile that works its way onto her lips as she absorbs the praise of the strongest man she knows.

“Thank you for saying that, husband.”

And as the air lingers, Selena grapples with reciprocating his words. Does Simon know just how strong of a force he is? She remembers finding him in Dracula’s castle, so battle-hardened—the embodiment of all of his training. His upbringing. His strength in spite of hardship. Losing his parents, maturing faster than he should have…

Perhaps they aren’t so different after all.

The divide between them feels smaller than before.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 34 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY SEVEN YEARS PRIOR

A month has passed since Simon’s victorious return from Castlevania. He is still nursing his injuries, but he finally has the strength to move from his bed (as long as he minds his shoulder, which is still broken, and now in a bracer credited to Doctor Seward.)

He’s awoken to the sound of conversation in the foreroom of his home. The voices carried are ones he isn’t very familiar with, but he can hear Selena replying.

Carefully, he hauls himself out of bed to investigate the sound. Opening the door from their bedroom, he finds Selena in the presence of two others:

a woman, significantly older, and a younger woman who appears to be the first’s assistant. They’re seated at the dining table, and Simon soon recognizes them as the midwives hired to assist Selena.

“Lord Belmont.” The younger stands, bowing to him. The older of the pair merely bows her head from her seat.

At that, Selena turns over her shoulder to see him.

Simon stands a little taller, desiring to conceal his injured state. He bows his head in greeting, good hand on heart.

“We’ve heard of your accomplishments, my lord.” The younger beams. “Your feats are truly awe-inspiring.”

Simon offers a bashful smile, grateful for the praise.

“Yes, thank you, lord Belmont.” The elder echoes, heartfelt.

Selena, too, bows her head.

“It is I who must give my thanks,” Simon replies, warm “you have my eternal gratitude for assisting my wife and my son.”

The pair smile at that—as if their job is a thankless one (and it’s possible Laurent has not been expressing the gratitude he should in Simon’s stead).

He lingers by the doorway, not knowing the reason for their visit. “Is all well?”

Selena is the first to reply: “Yes - they were just checking in on Mathieu and I.”

The two nod. The elder adds: “Your son is in good health, my lord. And your wife is adapting expertly.”

Relief washes over Simon at that news. “I’m relieved to hear it.”

He can’t help but look at Selena for a brief moment, and she’s minding Mathieu in her arms with so much tenderness. “You’re in good health, my love.” She coos to him, all smiles.

It’s precious and perfect and Simon feels he can breathe so much easier than just a month prior.

“Well then, I’ll leave you to it.” Simon steps back into his room. “Please call on me if you need anything.”

“I’ll come to tend to you soon, husband.” Selena adds as he goes, and Simon dismisses himself.

Shutting the door behind him, he takes a moment to set some objects right in their bedroom. He has felt utterly useless, and the lack of movement over this month has begun to make him restless.

He’s careful as he goes. Fortunately, there isn’t too much to do (how Selena has the time to tidy up the space in addition to all of her other tasks is beyond him.)

She has proven herself to be a dutiful wife indeed.

Retreating into his bed for the moment, Simon carefully eases onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

He doesn’t know how much time elapses until Selena returns from the foreroom. Simon takes notice of her as she returns, and she gestures with her free hand that Mathieu is sleeping in her arm, and they’ll have to be quiet.

Simon’s eyes wander to his infant, sleeping soundly in Selena’s arms, before she moves to place him in the crib by the bedside.

After that’s done, Selena seats herself at the edge of Simon’s bed. She’s already straight to task, first examining the stitches on Simon’s face with gentle fingertips.

“Do they itch?” Selena whispers, and Simon’s reply is an immediate yes.

“That’s good, it means they are healing well.” Selena echoes, equally quiet as she studies him. “I should be able to remove the stitches from your nose and jaw, but not your cheek and lip just yet.”

She’s already straight to work on collecting the tools she needs. She returns with cloth and scissors in hand.

Leaning over the edge of the bed, Selena works with intention, removing the stitches on the bridge of his nose, first. Simon is as still as stone as she works, eyes closed.

The feeling of thread being pulled from flesh is fleeting and subtle. It doesn’t bother Simon.

Still, Selena presses the damp cloth to his skin after she has finished. 

She repeats the same for the stitches along his jaw. The relief is immediate.

Selena takes the opportunity to gently wipe at the stitches that remain running through his cheek and lips.

She parts from him after a fleeting moment of lingering by his lips.

“Shall we exercise your shoulder?” She proposes instead, and Simon immediately frowns.

Anything but that.

Resigned, Simon seats himself upright before the pair elect to exit the bedroom (as their task might disturb Mathieu’s sleep).

Once in the foreroom, Simon seats himself at their dining table. Selena moves to unbuckle the bracer keeping Simon’s arm in place.

While the topical infection has healed (much to Selena’s relief—it wasn’t taking to the medicine up until very recently), the scabs and wounds are still easily aggravated, and that isn’t including the shattered bone under his muscle. Moving it is agony, but it’s an important part of the healing process if Simon is to have any hope of regaining full motion in that arm.

Dutifully, Selena holds onto his hand and elbow, and Simon braces himself for the worst as she assists him in moving his arm in ways that he himself cannot.

Simon can only bow his head as he’s moved. He can feel every awful movement—every churn of fractured bone—and it’s agony.

As Selena brings his arm back, he can’t stop himself from tapping his foot on the floorboards in an attempt to soothe himself.

With how slow and precise these movements must be, it’s worse than the initial injury—it’s prolonged, wildly uncomfortable.

Simon’s good hand comes up—a silent plea to pause.

Selena stills the task for just a moment, granting Simon a second to breathe. With a clipped nod of his head, Selena resumes the articulation.

She’s met with a groan of pain Simon can’t conceal.

“I’m sorry.” Selena hushes, easing his arm back.

Another impatient stamp of his foot as she follows through with the movement. Another shaky exhale.

God grant him patience—

Simon can’t help but still Selena with his good hand as the rotation is done. They linger in the touch for just a moment.

“You’re improving.” Selena commends before finally releasing him.

While her words are genuine, Simon huffs in reply, for he always feels especially pathetic afterwards.

As Selena moves to replace the bracer on his shoulder, there’s a knock at the door that splits her attention. She chooses to pause her task to open the door.

In the doorway stands Gabriel, basket in hand and looking cheerful as usual.

“Good morning!” He smiles, ever-enthusiastic, before noting Simon seated at the table.

“You’re out of bed!” Gabriel beams towards his friend as Selena steps aside to grant him entry.

“It’s good to see you moving.” Gabriel marches right up to Simon and—without thinking—whacks a firm hand upon his back.

Simon yelps in pain, curling into himself.

God grant him patience!

Gabriel is quick to offer heartfelt (but bashful) apologies as Selena moves to replace Simon’s bracer. Simon grumbles something under his breath as his arm is arranged back in the intended location.

After the task is done, Gabriel places a basket full of items on the table. Bread, root vegetables, pickled goods, herbs—errand items that he’s taken to fulfilling on behalf of the couple who are more or less house-bound for the moment.

Gabriel hands Selena the remaining coin, and she expresses grateful thanks for his efforts. She gestures for him to take a seat at the dining table, and he does, as she works to prepare an herbal tea in the maw of their fireplace.

“How fares Jova?” Simon asks, having finally recovered enough to sit partially upright.

“The air is different.” Gabriel begins. “There’s hope, now. The residents are friendlier, happier. A credit to your accomplishment.”

Even if he’s embellishing, Simon can’t help but smile softly.

“And creatures of the night? I pray the patrol has not been too taxing on you.” Simon adds carefully.

Gabriel waves his hand. “They seem to have retreated—only lesser monsters stalk the very perimeter of the land. You have made my job very easy.”

It’s incredible news. Simon almost doesn’t believe it.

“Lady Belmont, do you need any help?” Gabriel asks suddenly, perking up.

“I’ll be just fine. Thank you, lord Renard.” Selena expresses warmly.

Simon quirks a brow at that. He hasn’t heard Gabriel referred to by his last name in years.

Gabriel, too, seems to react unfavourably: “Please, my lady, you’re more than welcome to call me by my first name.”

At that, Selena brings around mugs for the three of them, placing them on the table.

“I will only accept if you call me by my first name in return.” Selena barters, pouring the contents of the iron pot into each mug.

Gabriel flashes Simon a look—seeking his permission, first. He only nods in reply.

“Consider it done, Selena.”

And as she hands him a mug, she offers a smile. “Gabriel.”

Simon can only smile as he watches two of the most important people in his life getting along favourably.

“Husband.” Selena hands him his mug, which Simon takes with his good hand gratefully.

Finally, Selena fills her cup, but remains standing as she drinks from it.

“Would you like to sit?” Simon asks, indicating that he’ll free his seat for her. Selena shakes her head in reply, happy to stand for the moment.

“How are the horses?” Simon asks Gabriel next.

He huffs in reply, rolling his eyes. “That horse of yours is just as stubborn as you are. Her hoof is healing fine, but she is quite callous towards me. I think she’s worried about you.”

Bringing the mug to his lips, Simon hums. “Perhaps I should pay her a visit.”

“Would you please?” Gabriel requests. “When you’ve the energy for it, I think it would be good for her to know you’re doing well.”

Simon nods with confirmation before taking a sip from his mug.

“Did Simon ever tell you how we met, Selena?” Gabriel asks suddenly, and Selena, having just finished a sip of her drink, tips her head to the side as she thumbs the mug in front of her.

“No, he hasn’t.”

Gabriel cracks a smile at that. “The Renards have always had a unique connection to animals. My father’s generation took to making a business out of it with horses. The Belmonts were one of our clients.”

Selena hums with understanding, listening with intent.

“So we came to Transylvania to trade some of our horses to the Belmont family. I was a young apprentice then—I must have been eleven or twelve years old. It was just before your training, right Simon?”

Simon nods before taking another sip of his drink.

“You should have seen Simon—so scrawny and frail as a boy!” Gabriel teases, and Simon’s face is terribly unamused.

Selena looks to Simon before giggling, totally unable to envision him in that way.

“Naturally, we brought along his horse. And she hated him at the start—and I mean truly hated him.”

Selena blinks with surprise.

“It was a difficult adjustment, but I was just happy to meet someone my age. My family stayed with the Belmonts for a few weeks, assisting with establishing the stables and teaching both Laurent and Simon how to tend for the horses we’d sell them.” Gabriel explains.

“But I was really taken aback when Simon asked Laurent if I could stay on the estate for a bit longer.”

Simon’s looking away bashfully now, and Selena blinks with surprise. Such a forward request now makes sense to her, now that she has learned Simon’s childhood was a lonely one.

“He was so shy, I was certain he didn’t like me. So imagine my surprise when my parents asked if I wanted to stay with the Belmonts for the summer—that it would be good for me to get hands-on experience, and it was at the behest of the Belmont heir himself.” Gabriel continues.

“I couldn’t very well refuse. And once Laurent learned that I knew my way around a sword, I was put to work training with Simon as well.” With that, Gabriel finally takes a sip from his mug.

“I have to apologize for that.” Simon says at last, smiling a bit awkwardly. 

“Whatever for? It was great. I had my first friend. And you did, too.” Gabriel prods knowingly, and Simon can only hide his confirming smirk behind his mug.

“And the rest is history. I never really left, much to the Belmont’s chagrin.” Gabriel quips with a chuckle, sipping on his tea again.

“That’s wonderful. I see now why the two of you are so close.” Selena smiles warmly. “And what of the Renards?”

“They visit now and then, and I go to them when I can.” Gabriel reassures. “Which should be more often once your husband here heals up.”

Simon chuckles. “I will do what I can to recover quickly.” With that, he rises to his feet. “I’ll go to visit my horse in the stables.”

Gabriel seats himself upright. “I’ll accompany you. Thank you for the tea and listening to me ramble, Selena.”

Selena smiles warmly at Gabriel. “Thank you for sharing.”

Selena watches as the men exit.

It isn’t too long before Simon is returned home by Gabriel, and retreats immediately to bed, totally wiped of his energy.

Once upon his back, Selena takes her usual seat on the chair by his side, nursing Mathieu in her arms.

“How is your horse?” Selena asks gently.

Simon’s reply comes in a gentle exhale as he relaxes in bed: “She’s doing well. Gabriel was correct - she seemed happy to see me.”

“I was surprised to learn from Gabriel that she didn’t like you in the beginning.”

“Oh, yes. Bucked me off every chance she had.” Simon adds with warm laughter. Selena smiles in reply, cherishing the rare sound.

“The air outside feels lighter than before.” Simon comments suddenly, his gaze far away as he reflects. “The sunlight is warmer.”

Selena softens at that. “Yes, I’ve noticed it, too. I feel as though I can finally sleep peacefully.”

While Simon loathes that there was a time when she couldn’t, he’s relieved to hear that she can, now.

“It feels like a new beginning.” She adds, and her voice carries such a lightheartedness that Simon is wholly unaccustomed to hearing from her. 

On reflection, the Selena who has tended to him this past month has been unlike the woman he had come to know before his departure. Perhaps it’s credited to her becoming a mother (or perhaps in equal measure the assurance that Dracula is slain), but Selena carries a with her a tenderness, now. She smiles more. Laughs more. Even in the presence of Simon—and Gabriel, too—where she once leaned on rigid formality, it is beginning to melt away in favour of something more casual and earnest.

It’s so refreshing. Simon wonders if this is the true Selena, at long last.

Simon only wishes he could ask her outright. He holds his tongue for the moment, choosing to enjoy the pleasantries while he has them.

But he wants to learn more about the real her. They have time for that now, don’t they?

As Simon opens his mouth to ask her something, Selena also speaks. They both silence themselves to give the other the space to talk. They chuckle, awkward.

“Please.” Simon insists.

Selena concedes: “What will you do, after you’ve healed?”

It’s a bit of a nebulous question, and Selena tries to clarify: “Will you continue with your daily training?”

Simon closes his eyes as he reflects. “Yes, my work is far from done. While Dracula is slain, creatures of the night may yet stalk the earth.”

He wonders if he should finish his sentence, but doesn’t want to dampen the mood with the reminder that Dracula’s followers are devout, and he must continue to snuff them out and disband them, lest they revive the Count before his time.

“It is what God wills for me as a Belmont, and I accept it readily.” Simon chooses to conclude instead.

He opens his eyes to find Selena looking a bit more somber than before. She nods with understanding.

“And what would you like to do?” Simon tries to redirect. “After you’ve finished tending to me.” He adds lightheartedly.

Selena takes pause at his question, needing a moment to ruminate.

“I suspect I will be quite busy raising our son.” She smiles down at him nursing in her arms.

There’s something somber about the way she’s shared that, and as if sensing that, Selena offers a soothing smile to Simon: “This is my duty as your wife. I intend to do all I can.”

Simon can see that she is already going above and beyond on behalf of everyone else.

He presses: “What would you like to do, wife?”

Selena hesitates, not fully understanding why her answer was insufficient. It is truthful.

But she reflects on his question. 

After a few quiet moments, she tries to answer it in a bashful, small voice: “Should the earth restore, I would like to start a garden behind your home.”

Oh?

“With your permission.” She adds sheepishly.

“Of course.” Simon smiles sincerely at her. “What would you like to plant?”

Selena isn’t looking at him, shy as she focuses on Mathieu in her arm. “Some flowers would be nice. Perhaps someday herbs. And—should the land restore sufficiently—perhaps some vegetables, too.”

She lifts her head. “I pray it isn’t unreasonable for me to want for these things—it is the Belmont land, and I don’t want to impose—”

“Not at all.” Simon assures her gently. “It is your home as much as mine. A garden would be wonderful. I only hope that the land will restore so we can see it done.”

Selena nods solemnly with understanding. Yes, it will take time for the land to heal from Dracula’s terrible influence. It might be wishful—

“Once I have recovered, I will build garden beds for you to your exact specifications.”

Selena lifts her head at that, wearing such a hopeful expression as she looks at Simon.

“Would you really do that for me?” She whispers with such a hesitant smile, as if the offer is fleeting.

As she looks at him in such a way, Simon is ready to do anything to preserve her joy.

So he replies with warmth: “You have my word. I’ll see to it as soon as I’m able.”

Selena can’t help but break her gaze from him, down and away as she smiles warmly. Bashfully.

“I would like that very much.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 35 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY SIX AND A HALF YEARS PRIOR

Having nearly recovered from his topical injuries, Simon is well enough to regale his story to the Belmont allies who have gathered at the estate to hear it from the man himself. It’s a gathering months in the making - a truly momentous occasion for the Belmonts to connect with the people and share their feats, with the hope of winning their favour at long last.

Those who have been invited to the gathering are the same who had been invited to Simon’s sending off banquet - all of them have returned to hear his tale, joined by various others from the neighbouring towns. Priests from the churches, prominent religious families, and the layman, have all been welcomed to the Belmont hold.

And as before, they all take their seats, with Simon standing at the helm. While not fully recovered to his previous stature, he still stands tall. Full of pride and honour from his task.

Wearing a badge in the form of his facial scars that will permanently mar his face. And beneath his clothes, too, the injury to his left shoulder an ever-present reminder.

Selena is seated by his side, with a sleeping Mathieu in her arms (and she sincerely hopes that he will stay asleep during the story, but is prepared to step away if she must.)

Laurent and Gabriel to Simon’s right, as before. But this time, they both have parchment and quill to document Simon’s story for the future Belmonts to follow.

Once all are ready, Simon takes a grounding breath as he begins:

he starts by illustrating the castle. He is not one to embellish to earn the people’s favour, electing instead to remain factual and accurate. He explains the various levels - the creatures that he encountered on each floor. The duration of his stay.

Simon chooses not to speak of Death, who has bowed to Dracula’s influence, not desiring to frighten the laymen. (But it is something he will speak to privately with his family.)

Instead, the time comes for him to share his battle with Dracula, and the crowd falls eerily silent as he does, soaking up his every word. 

Simon shares how he offered a towering, imposing Dracula a chance to repent with God before he would send him to the afterlife. Dracula refused that courtesy, and replied by moving to strike him.

Simon explains how Dracula fought—keeping his distance using flame to keep Simon at bay. But Simon acclimated to his tricks, desiring to get as close to the wretched Count as he could. And Dracula seemed to desire this as well, electing to grab at Simon’s face, marking him with his claws in the struggle.

And as he shares the moment of Dracula’s decapitation from his very own hands, the onlookers gasp in terror and awe!

And, next—

Next—

Simon hesitates.

Still utterly unsure if what followed truly happened, or—

No. It could not have happened. He sustained no injuries from what followed. He resolved some time ago that it was only a means for Dracula to frighten him. A last-ditch effort to tear down Simon’s spirit and constitution.

It did not happen.

Simon recovers quickly, stating that with the absolute death of its master, Castlevania began to crumble.

And it is miraculous that Simon was able to escape from the crumbling ruins. Back to—

suddenly, those in attendance are alerted to the sound of young Mathieu making a fuss. Selena is quick to try and soothe him, bowing her head apologetically.

Simon only smiles with a warm chuckle. “I hadn’t forgotten about you, my son.”

The crowd joins Simon by offering hushed laughs.

And with a gesture of his hand towards his wife and child, Simon shares: “It is with immense honour that I present to you all the Belmont heir, Mathieu Belmont. Born of Belmont and Velnumdes blood, our son was brought into the world while I was away laying siege on Castlevania.”

Attendees clap, and Selena can only exchange a fond, bashful look towards Simon as he places a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

“It will take time for the land and the people to recover from Dracula’s dark influence.” Simon adds, glance sweeping over those in attendance.

“Creatures of the night may yet roam Transylvania by night. Be vigilant. My work is not yet done: I will continue to offer my aid and fight any remnant of evil. I only ask for your faith in return.”

The attendees clap agreeably, and with that, Simon looks towards Gabriel, who is clapping enthusiastically for his best friend.

Then to Laurent, who for the first time in a very long time, seems to be smiling earnestly at his grandson while he claps for him.

Finally, Simon’s attention turns to Selena, who is staring up at him in utter awe, misty-eyed and so full of hope.

Simon fights to keep his composure, himself, having finally earned the acknowledgement he’s so sought from all in attendance.

To be recognized and respected for all of his work—for the difficult life he’s led until now—evokes such a profound feeling.

He feels so blessed.

He offers a brief prayer of thanks to God as the ceremony concludes. Simon is promptly approached by various parties—those asking for more details, those sharing their heartfelt thanks, their congratulations.

And townspeople, too! They do not recoil from him, but rather open their hands to him, offering that he visit Jova, Veros, Aljiba—so they may offer him food and provisions he needs at a discount for his accomplishment and continued efforts.

He feels like he’s dreaming.

While he’s talking with various parties, the Velnumdes have flocked to Selena’s side, eager to meet Mathieu for the very first time. Simon glances in Selena’s direction briefly as Sofia fawns over their boy. They’re all smiles. He can’t help but smile, too.

Simon is returned to the present with Laurent’s firm hand on his shoulder—his good one, fortunately.

“Well done, my grandson.” He breathes. “Your father would be very proud of you.”

Simon’s expression turns to one that is more somber. He wears a respectful, mournful smile. “I can only hope he is watching me from heaven.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 36 - DOINA
PRESENT DAY

Simon stumbles to the first town that he can find, holding tight onto his arms as flesh threatens to slough off of his bones. Bleary eyes land on the sign outside of the gates: the town of Doina.

He’s been here before. How many years ago, he isn’t sure.

Desiring to conceal his ever-quickening deterioration, Simon stands a little taller as he walks through the town. He only desires to procure information here. He hasn’t the energy to speak to anyone directly—no, he elects to simply observe from a respectable distance.

Passersby grant him plenty of space. Some closing their doors as he passes. 

He must look as horrible as he feels.

Eyes wander to the next door that closes at his side. He looks to it, this time.

Each doorway depicts markings upon it. He cannot make out what the characters say. Something about it is familiar.

He watches as the villagers within stare at him through their window. He bows his head, desiring not to linger any longer.

But as he passes the next few homes, he cannot help but note that they all bear the same markings on their doors.

To his relief, Simon locates a church with its doors open to the public. He is quick to enter sanctuary.

And for the first time, it is as if a veil has been lifted off of him. He can breathe a little easier. His bodily aches are less apparent. God has granted him the respite he so desperately needs. 

In the privacy of his mind, Simon offers his heartfelt thanks to Him.

He hasn’t a moment to bow his head in prayer before the priest takes notice of him. In good faith, Simon crosses himself with a kneel.

The priest approaches him, crossing himself as well. He gestures for Simon to rise. With his permission, Simon does.

“You’re a stranger to these parts, are you not?” He begins.

“I’ve hailed from Jova on pilgrimage.” Simon leans on his half-truth, but he didn’t realize how incredibly hoarse his voice had become from disuse. He clears his throat.

It’s still sticky and unpleasant with infection. Simon swallows the terrible taste.

“Jova? Why, you’ve come a very long way to fair Doina. What guides you?”

“My faith guides me wherever He wills me to go.” Simon provides the vaguest answer he can muster—though it is not vastly far from the truth. Simon, as ever, is governed to do the right thing for Transylvania and her people, under the watchful protection of God.

But it seems to earn him a favourable smile from the priest. “Then it is no coincidence that you have found your way here. Come, sit.”

Simon does as he’s instructed, easing his weary body to take a seat on the pews. He looks up to the altar, admiring it in its awe-inspiring intricacy. He’s never seen anything quite like it. Doina’s church cannot be rivalled in its ornate beauty.

But his attention is stolen from its majesty for a moment.

“Those markings,” Simon breathes, squinting as he cannot make them out as they encircle the altar, “may I ask what they are?”

The priest hums, fond. “An ancient script used to denote our fealty to Him. It offers protection, and every home in Doina bears it. Does Jova not have such a script?”

Not that he’s aware of: “No.”

“How unfortunate. It is no wonder, then, that the south has fallen prey to the darkness.”

Simon’s attention is piqued at that. Certainly, times are hard in the southern region with creatures of the night, and the illness plaguing the land, but Jova has not fallen…

has it?

(How long has he been away from home?)

“Allow me to teach you its meaning and how to transcribe it.” The priest offers warmly.

Simon hesitates. While the gesture is kind, he doesn’t have time to dawdle, even if being in this sacred place has made him feel better than in recent time.

The priest must have sensed his resistance. He chooses to assuage him: “It will be brief. I sense you’re anxious to continue your pilgrimage.”

Simon tries to smile, humbled. “Forgive me. That would be appreciated.”

The priest disappears to grab the necessary tools. He’s prompt to return with a scripture, a small crate of some sort, a stone bowl, and

an ornate, ceremonial dagger.

Simon’s mind is already working to try and piece together how the items must be used.

“First, you must gather grave soil.” The priest begins, opening the lid of the crate to reveal the very same. He collects a handful, placing it into the stone bowl.

Simon notes the state of his hands as he does. They’re badly scarred. Not unlike his own—but the priest is not built for combat like Simon is.

His attention returns to the man’s face as he continues to explain:

“Then, offer a prayer to the Lord. Ask Him to grant you the courage to do what must be done. Pledge your heartfelt loyalty to Him as a devout believer.”

Processing his instructions, Simon’s eyes fall to the scripture penned on parchment. It’s a series of symbols. Ah, the ones on the doors—but Simon knows not what language they are. They’re entirely foreign to him.

“Only by this pact are we spared. Christ will resurrect, and will come to save us loyal few in the age of darkness.”

By this pact we’re spared

in the coming age of darkness?

“Swear your fealty in blood with conviction.” The priest steels himself as he takes the dagger in hand.

And with deadly calm, he pushes the blade upon flesh, drawing blood.

Simon is repulsed and transfixed in equal measure as he watches the blood drip, drip, drip upon the grave soil.

Once enough has been shed, the priest mixes the two ingredients with his fingertips, creating a paste.

“Only with this mixture can you transcribe the characters. Your own blood acts as a sworn pact with God. It is the only way to ensure that you will be spared in the coming apocalypse.”

At the sight of Simon processing this information (poorly), the priest hesitates as he moves to press a cloth into his hand: “It is unsightly, I know. I apologize for that.”

A far more unpleasant sensation rises in Simon’s chest as he grapples with how best to proceed.

“Where did you learn of this?” He demands.

The priest replies readily: “The prestigious Bodley family. They were chosen by God to protect the body of Christ, and do His will in preparation for the apocalypse to come. We owe our protection entirely to them.”

Simon fights a frown. He realizes too late that these are the same raised markings he found in the Berkeley estate. Ones of dark magic, according to his holy water.

But Simon doesn’t know what to believe anymore. Perhaps God has deemed Simon unworthy, and is pushing him through this trial.

Perhaps his perception of these parts—these families—are incorrect.

But there is one truth that keeps Simon grounded:

the Bodley family protected a part of Dracula. Not Christ.

“Did the Bodley family share when we of Transylvania can expect this divine judgment?” Simon asks, still managing to conceal his wariness.

The priest wipes his hands of the mixture, setting it upon the altar for later use.

“We were told it is connected to the anniversary of Dracula’s demise.”

Simon bristles, unable to conceal how the connection has broken through his stoic demeanour.

“The seventh year has only recently come and gone. It cannot be much longer, now.”

The seventh year—no—

Focus.

“And the Bodleys,” Simon builds the courage to breathe: “are they faithful to Dracula?”

The priest lingers in silence for a long moment. Simon doesn’t need to look at his face to understand that he has asked something he should not have.

He has left the priest no choice but to explain, pained that he must speak so frankly of it: “Dracula will assist in bringing about the apocalypse, and slaying the non-believers across the world. It is only when he comes with his horsemen that judgment will be done, paving the way for Christ to revive and save us from the darkness.”

God in heaven, no—

they have been deceived.

More than that—that they know this is Dracula’s doing, and are in support of it. Waiting for it to be done! It isn’t just.

Is this church not a truly God-honouring one, then? Why is it that Simon can breathe so much easier, here?

Has he strayed so far from God’s warm light that he—no, it—it cannot be—

Simon’s face is devoid of all colour as he processes.

“You look pale,” the priest hesitates “forgive me, this must be a lot to process. Rest assured that we have spread instructions of what the people can do to protect themselves. It is up to them to honour it.”

Simon wipes at his face. He swallows, sitting a little taller. “Yes. Forgive me.”

What does he do from here? Simon’s mind is racing to piece together any and all connections he can to what he’s learned as a student of God:

The seventh year—the seven seals—Dracula and his horsemen—the four horsemen of the apocalypse—

God in heaven, is this all part of your divine plan?

Simon resigns himself, for the moment, to His will, lacking the energy and strength to do any more ruminating.

Simon cannot hope to challenge His will.

But, like all of the families who have had a hand in this, turning to darkness to see the Lord’s will done is unjust. The unnecessary sacrifice of human life is unjust. Un-Christ-like.

Just what is Simon fighting for?

With great difficulty, Simon rises to stand. His legs have gone completely numb.

“Are you leaving?” The priest asks, and Simon doesn’t say anything as he goes.

Something catches the priest’s attention as he departs. “Please, wait a moment.”

Simon takes pause, but doesn’t look at him.

“That whip…” The man breathes. “Are you the Belmont?”

Simon only looks over his shoulder. He says nothing, but the priest gets the confirmation he needs in his resounding silence.

“Simon Belmont, venture west, to the town of Alba.” He stands a little taller, hand moving over his heart.

The gesture puzzles Simon. But it is true that he must circumvent the continent in order to reach the remains of Castlevania.

The next sentence comes out, heartfelt and earnest: “Thank you for your sacrifice.”

Simon doesn’t understand.

He cannot afford to waste any more time speculating.

It’s time to go.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 37 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY SIX YEARS PRIOR

“Perhaps it would be best not to push it.” Gabriel hesitates before raising a hand in resignation.

He and Simon have been sparring in the early mornings, per their usual routine on the estate’s training area.

Attempting to spar may be a better way to phrase it: despite months elapsing, Simon’s constitution has not returned to its former glory since his return from Castlevania. This has been incredibly frustrating for the one who should be the strongest man in Transylvania, and Gabriel can see how he’s adding fuel to the fire with his proposal to pause for the day.

Simon, sword in his right hand, is hardly able to conceal how frustrated he sounds: “I promise you, I’m fine.”

Gabriel resorts to being direct, if a bit blunt: “Your form says otherwise.”

Simon is given no choice but to concede, lowering his sword by his side. His glance is downcast as he tries to filter through his surmounting frustration. It would be inappropriate to direct his personal grievances towards Gabriel: he’s only trying to help.

As Simon sheathes the blade at his hip, he stalks past Gabriel to take a seat at the edge of the training area upon a bench. After a moment, Gabriel follows, joining him by his right side.

The air hangs heavy with silence as both men tend to their own tasks. Simon is occupied with massaging his hands, deep in contemplation. Gabriel follows his example by choosing to examine his blade (it’s well-maintained, naturally, but better to focus his attention elsewhere while Simon comes down from his frustration.)

Some time elapses before Gabriel is the first to speak, hesitant: “Is it your shoulder?”

In reply, Simon moves his left shoulder to feel it out. The articulation is not fully restored, and it’s still uncomfortable. Perhaps it isn’t fully healed.

But Simon is becoming restless, worried that he’s stagnating.

And this inability—the notice of it from someone else, even—is confirmation of that fact.

“There isn’t any rush.” Gabriel begins to diffuse in his usual, well-meaning way. “The land is safer than it’s ever been.”

It’s relieving to hear, certainly. Simon isn’t sure why it is he’s becoming restless. Is it just a matter of his routine being disrupted? There is no immediate threat.

“Even Laurent has not been as demanding.” Gabriel makes it a point to underline. “And for him to be at ease, surely you can afford to take it easy.”

A hand from his friend upon Simon’s good shoulder pulls him from his woes.

Simon offers him a weak, apologetic smile in reply. Gabriel’s right - Simon is getting wound up for nothing. It will take time.

He has other things he can focus on in the meanwhile—

“Taking a break?”

As if on cue, Simon sits a little straighter as his wife comes into view. In her arm, she carries their son on her hip.

“We’re stopping for today,” Gabriel explains with a smile from his seat. “You came at a good time.”

Both men stand for her, and Gabriel waves at small Mathieu in greeting. “Good morning, Mathieu!” He beams.

The boy only blinks his doe-like eyes at Gabriel before turning his attention to his father, who is smiling fondly. No words required as a hand comes up to gently pet upon his head.

“Did you sleep well?” Simon asks instead to Selena.

She nods in reply. “A full night’s rest.”

“That’s good.” Simon smiles at her.

“Selena, tell your husband not to push himself, would you?” Gabriel chides as he makes his exit back towards the estate, which earns immediate frowns from both spouses.

“Are you hurt?” Selena asks Simon, worry evident in her voice. “Did you injure yourself chopping wood yesterday?”

“Gabriel is being overtly cautious.” Simon explains. “I’m fine.”

She’s not convinced by his explanation, eyes moving to look at his bad shoulder. Simon resists the urge to hide it from her before starting en route back home. Selena follows closely behind after giving her goodbyes to Gabriel.

Once home, Simon takes a moment to remove the sword strapped to his belt, leaving it inside by the door.

“Would you like something to eat?” Selena asks, moving to task.

“Yes, please. Some bread will be fine.” Simon begins, pulling out a chair for himself at their dining table.

He takes pause, still standing, as he offers: “Would you like me to hold Mathieu for you?”

“Please.” Selena laughs, breathy, as she relinquishes the boy into Simon’s hands. He takes their son carefully before resting him upon his right hip, good arm wrapped around his tiny body.

Small Mathieu stares up at Simon with his full attention. In reply, Simon smiles fondly at him as he chooses to walk around the foreroom.

Tiny hands move up to grip at Simon’s shirt. In reply, Simon thumbs over Mathieu’s balled fist with tenderness.

As Selena moves to slice the loaf of bread, she cannot help but notice with growing fondness as Simon acclimates to fatherhood. Even if he is weakened compared to previous years, he is still an imposing warrior, hardly looking the part of a parent. 

But he cradles Mathieu with so much care, as if it comes naturally to him. A testament to Simon’s gentle nature.

Simon catches Selena’s stares, and they both break their glances, awkward.

“You did not answer my question, earlier.” Selena chooses to redirect as she plates the slices for Simon, placing the plate before his seat. Simon takes that as his cue to seat himself, Mathieu still in arm.

“Did you injure your shoulder yesterday while chopping wood?” Selena asks, arms folding over her chest.

Simon is already taking a slice of bread in hand, taking a bite. He shakes his head in reply as he chews, but says nothing.

“I appreciate so much that you’ve kept your word, but you needn’t push yourself.” Selena hesitates, not desiring to tell Simon what he can and cannot do. It’s well-intended, and her voice carries a gentleness: “The flower beds can wait until you’ve fully healed.”

Her considerate, gentle tone has a unique way of disarming Simon. Certainly, he has not felt rushed nor pressured by her to keep his word.

But all the more reason why he wants to honour it as soon as he can: Selena has been so dutiful, and asks for nothing in return.

“I would like to finish them soon, in preparation for the approaching spring.” Simon explains. “Rest assured, I know my limits.”

Considerate as always. Very well, then. Selena chooses not to say any more on the matter.

But on ruminating over Simon’s selfless and gentle nature coming to the forefront in these private moments, Selena cannot hide a small smile as she takes a step towards him.

Noticing this, Simon pauses himself from enjoying another bite of bread, focusing his attention upon her.

Eye contact is brief before Selena reaches a timid hand out, choosing to tuck a stray strand of Simon’s hair behind his ear.

Her thumb grazes his cheek as she returns her hand.

It’s a fleeting and minute gesture, but it carries weight.

It’s so incredibly nice.

And as she pulls away, Simon’s eyes are downcast, wearing a timid smile as he processes such a gesture.

Spouses are interrupted by a sound from Mathieu, earning their joined attention.

“Oh, forgive me, my love.” Selena coos, dipping down to kiss upon his small head.

Simon can only chuckle, so warm and heartfelt at the sight of it.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 38 - [???]
FIVE AND A HALF YEARS PRIOR

Every fiber of his body aches. Throbs. Burns. He has pushed himself too far—his body can hardly keep itself upright.

His vision, too, is beginning to wane as he stares ahead, taking in the sight of the throne room, illuminated only by the warmth of candles and the blood-red moonlight streaming through stained glass windows.

Blood - red, viscous, and warm - trickles into his eyes. Drips into his mouth. He can taste it on his tongue.

And as his head is jerked backwards, he blinks through the warmth to try and focus on the ceiling above.

At the too-sudden sensation of his shoulder being punctured—shattering under impact—Simon screams, unrestrained. Desperate and empty hands scramble push himself free from the jaws that bear down upon him without success.

As monstrous jaws draw closed, Simon can hear how his bones buckle and break and crumble under the force. His screams cannot drown out the sound—cannot ease the overwhelming pain that follows the impact that radiates down his arm, up his neck.

It’s unrelenting, deliberate and agonizingly slow. It’s too much to bear—he feels powerless, and utterly defeated.

And nothing could prepare him for the sensation that joins the first, piercing through him from behind—

A coolness washes over his chest.

It’s temporary before it turns frigid—so cold, it burns in a new way—

Finally, Simon opens his eyes with a start.

Air cannot fill his lungs fast enough through heaving pants, eyes searching the room wildly to ground himself in reality.

His focus finally lands on Selena, who is just above him, looking down at him with such an overwhelmingly concerned expression.

“Wife?” Simon manages to breathe out.

Other sensations finally come back to him: the bedding beneath him, the cold and wet of sweat that dampens him all over.

The trembling of his muscles.

“Are you well?” Selena finally asks, breathy with worry, but hushed. “You were groaning in your sleep.”

Another heave of air as his hands smooth over his face in reply, wiping down the sweat.

It was just a nightmare.

But it felt so real—

“I’m fine.” Simon breathes, and his voice is shaky and fragile. He swallows such a feeble sound, choosing instead to speak more calmly: “Forgive me for disturbing you.”

He realizes after a moment too long that Selena’s hand rests upon the center of his chest, ice-cold with her magic.

“I should apologize, I acted without thinking.” Selena whispers, beginning to pull away her frigid hand.

No—

Simon is quick to stay her hand with his. She lingers under his touch as he comes down from his fright, heart thudding hard and too fast.


“You pulled me from a nightmare,” Simon exhales. “You have my gratitude.”

Selena’s frigid touch changes at that, and the coolness washes away instead for warmth.

Selena inches a bit closer to him at his confession, still wearing such a concerned look on her face. “What did you dream of?”

Simon chooses not to answer her.

Selena chooses to respect that boundary.

Only when his breathing begins to calm does Simon muster the strength to sit upright in their bed, brushing dampened hair from his face.

And only then does Selena return her hand.

“Please, go back to sleep.” Simon commands softly. Selena stays seated upright while she watches Simon move off of the bed, exiting their room with the familiar creaking of floorboards under his feet.

Selena listens in as he moves through the foreroom. As he takes a seat at their dining table.

And as the minutes elapse, Simon doesn’t return to bed. 

As time stretches on further still, Selena is beside herself, still seated upright in their bed. She grapples with doing as she is instructed: to give Simon the space to process in his own time, and return to sleep…

or to go to him.

Whatever it is he dreamed of, it must have been particularly distressing, to earn such a visceral response.

Selena herself cannot simply return to sleep with this weighing on her mind.

She chooses to slip out of bed, stepping delicately upon the floor, avoiding the spots she knows that creak under weight, as to not be detected.

Peeking around the doorframe, Selena finds Simon hunched over their dining room table, head in hands.

Concern washes over her. She has never known Simon to show distress outwardly, especially if she is just a few short steps away. He has always made it a point to handle all of his stresses privately, far away from her. Walled off from her.

Why is now different? What has distressed him so that his built facade is slipping?

Is there anything she can do to offer him relief?

A careful step from beyond the doorway, and Simon takes notice of her presence immediately with a start. (And that, too, is unusual for him.)

He pulls himself upright as he notices her entry, quick to collect the pieces of his lost composure.

What can he say?

He wants to apologize for disturbing her sleep, but—

Selena says nothing as she musters the strength to approach him. In spite of her best efforts, her hands have found their way together, fingertips rubbing soothing circles as she builds herself up.

(Were his cries so distressing? He feels especially awful to have disturbed her—)

A moment later, and Selena stands by his side. Simon cannot meet her eyes as they burn into him, so full of worry—

at the sensation of timid fingertips landing upon Simon’s shoulder, his attention is drawn immediately to her.

The look they exchange is foreign. Selena can hardly recall a time when Simon last looked at her with such an exhausted and fragile expression.

Not since—

“Castlevania?” She breathes her question, barely a whisper.

Simon doesn’t want to confirm her suspicions outright. But Selena notices how his attention breaks from her—to look at anything else.

It acts as confirmation.

Selena’s hand carefully lands upon Simon’s shoulder as she confesses: “I have dreamt of it, too.”

That pulls Simon’s attention right back to her. In a barely-there sound, he demands: “When?”

A small breath to ground herself before she explains: “Do you remember that night, when you were up late drafting maps here?”

She watches as Simon’s brow furrows, focus wandering elsewhere to grasp at the memory. After a moment, he nods.

“That night.” Selena specifies.

He had no idea she shouldered such a nightmare all on her own.

What terrible memory did she relive? Oh, Simon loathes to imagine her returning to such a place, even in dreams!

He turns in his seat, giving her his full attention, as if he’d like to make up for lost time and comfort her for something that happened years ago, now.

Selena is receptive to such a gesture—once again, Simon demonstrates his selflessness. The weight of his own burden is put on pause in favour of tending to her.

No. Not tonight.

Tonight, Selena wants nothing more than to be a pillar for him.

“But I was comforted by your presence.” She confesses, staring down at him, both hands now finding their way onto his shoulders.

She can feel how Simon breathes a grounding, slow breath under her touch. 

“You needn’t tell me what you dreamed of,” Selena continues, having earned his full attention “but please, allow me to help you, as you did for me.”

Selena watches Simon process her request. (There’s so much pain behind his eyes.)

They’re so close—and the wall feels like it’s just beginning to melt away.

Yet, Simon will still not act upon Selena’s charity.

Selena must take initiative. She chooses to step closer towards him, sliding her hands to instead support his head.

Carefully, Selena embraces his head against her chest.

He’s still as stone.

Selena’s heart races, fearing what she might be doing is undesirable. Too far. Too forward.

She fights the sensation to break away, lingering as long as she needs.

Just long enough before she feels Simon’s hands land carefully on her hips, barely-there.

A moment longer and his hands move upward to slide along her back. He permits himself to succumb into her embrace, and the rigidity is beginning to melt away as arms wrap around her.

No further words are exchanged. Selena’s encouragement comes in the form of a gentle hand stroking upon Simon’s hair.

He melts a little more in her arms, relishing her rare and comforting touches while he has them.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 39 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
FIVE YEARS PRIOR

With home finally coming into view, both Simon and Gabriel heave sighs of relief. While patrols have been easier than years prior—both men are so grateful for the decrease in creatures of the night—they are still time-consuming and exhausting in their own way without the addition of combat.

Gabriel privately remarks how Simon is struggling more than before. He used to be able to go much longer without needing to stop and rest. Perhaps he has been taking it too easy since his return from Castlevania. But Gabriel cannot possibly blame him for that—his leisure is well-deserved. And Gabriel can afford to demonstrate his abilities, too, and not be overshadowed by the world-saving Simon Belmont.

Still, Simon is ever-dutiful in his work alongside Gabriel. During their travels across Transylvania, they visited the primary towns of Aljiba, Yomi, and Doina. The men readily offer protection and general assistance over both Jova and Veros due to proximity, but the other towns require planned trips to patrol.

It has been weeks of travel. It is fortuitous that the townspeople have been so generous towards them both—granting them a place to sleep, warm meals. The timid and humble beginnings of community.

It’s still something neither men are particularly used to, two years later. It’s stark contrast to the once palpable hesitation and wary glances, despite both men offering their protection—and ultimately saving them—from the greatest evil Transylvania has ever known.

But it is not a unanimous admiration. On the fringes, Simon and Gabriel have kept a careful eye on specific parties of those who they suspect may be worshippers of Dracula. They carry about them a different aura—but they rely more readily on word from the priests, churches, the townspeople to inform their investigations over instinct alone.

As much as it is their duty to fight darkness in the literal sense, it is of equal importance to prevent humans from turning towards darkness, lest they give Dracula—and Castlevania—even more terrible power.

The job is never done, even if Dracula is dead.

But as the gates of the Belmont estate come into view, both men are just eager to return to some relative peace and routine.

It is with fondness that Gabriel watches Simon’s attention drawn immediately towards his home.

Selena is outside tending to her garden beds, kneeling with her sleeves rolled up. Her toiling has finally started to bear results (Simon was beginning to worry if the soil was still too tainted, all this time later). And it is with incredible relief that Simon returns home to see his wife in peace.

With the horses trotting through the gates of the estate, Selena finally notices their return. She lifts her head, and offers a gentle smile before rising. She makes quick her task of cleaning her hands of soil on her apron before going to them.

The men dismount their horses, eager to exchange their greetings and findings after weeks of being away.

“Welcome home.” Selena offers warmly first to Gabriel. He gives her a smile and heartfelt greeting before moving to task to remove the load on both horse’s backs.

When Selena goes to Simon, however, Gabriel remarks the way they magnetize to each other. 

“Wife.” Simon, still so formal, smiles down at her. And Selena is so sweetly looking up at him, and he watches how she dutifully scans his body for any injuries that she will tend to.

“Are you well, husband?” She asks.

“I’m just fine. No injuries of note.” Simon assures.

Gabriel can read plain as day how they’ve both longed to see each other again.

And Gabriel is so grateful to now be a friend and confidante of both. But it is agonizing to watch them tread the line like this.

He’ll have to do something to nudge them in the right direction.

“I must report our expedition to my grandfather,” Simon tells Selena before looking to Gabriel “shall I take your horse to stable?”

“Please.” Gabriel concedes as he’s finished taking the items from both, slinging satchels over his shoulder.

With reins in hands, Simon steps away towards the stables.

The perfect opportunity might have just presented itself.

“Would you like something to eat or drink?” Selena offers Gabriel, and he’s so grateful for the offer.

“If it isn’t a burden, I would love some tea.” He beams. Selena’s all smiles as she leads him inside.

As they cross the threshold, she instructs, quieter than before: “Mathieu is sleeping, so please mind your volume.”

Gabriel nods dutifully, making a friendly gesture of a finger pressed to his lips, swearing silence, before he quietly alleviates the burden of his items by the doorway. 

She gestures for him to take a seat at the dining table, and he does, moving to loosen the vambraces around his arms. Feeling comfortable in Simon’s home—and in Selena’s good graces—he places the leather carefully on the dining table before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows for comfort.

“How was your expedition?” Selena asks quietly, looking over her shoulder at Gabriel now and then as she washes her hands of soil. “Where is it you went to?”

“We ventured to the northernmost continent - our last destination was Doina. It went very well - there are fewer creatures of the night, and the townspeople seem far more at ease about it.”

Gabriel elects not to share news of the outliers, and the true objective of their patrols.

“A credit to your husband’s accomplishment two years ago.” Gabriel adds instead, relaxing a bit in his seat.

Selena can’t help but smile at that. It has been a near blissful two years, indeed.

“You must give yourself more credit, Gabriel,” Selena reminds with feigned reprimanding, drying her hands upon a cloth “is it not you who helped train my husband to be the man who could fell Dracula?”

Gabriel can only smile at her praise. It’s so kind. “You give me too much credit.”

“It is because you don’t give yourself enough.” She adds as she places the mugs on the table, next - two, to start. (But Gabriel can see that she has set aside one for Simon when he returns.)

Gabriel concedes with a bashful smile, offering a bow of thanks to her. Selena stands a bit taller, happy to give him praise, before she returns to her task of preparing tea.

“And what of the land?” Selena asks as she works, voice still quiet. “Has it shown signs of restoration from Dracula’s influence?”

Gabriel hums a bit at that, crossing his arms over his chest. “Some areas more than others. Joma marsh continues to be toxic—though that may be a phenomenon of nature. Yomi, too, struggles to maintain her crops.”

Selena hums with acknowledgement, soft and pensive.

“But Veros and Aljiba are beginning to recover.” Gabriel concludes, focusing on the positive. His mind wanders to the market stalls in town, where different sorts of vegetables are being sold. A welcomed change from the meager stock from years prior. 

Herbs, too. Fresh, and—

A thought occurs to him. He huffs a sound: “Actually, that husband of yours…”

Selena perks up at that, and Gabriel waves a hand as he laughs.

“He talks of nothing but flowers and herbs at every chance we see them!”

Selena covers her mouth with her hand as she smiles - that is strange indeed! She didn’t think he had a fondness for them, certainly not able to determine which genus they are.

Gabriel delights in elaborating, with a gentle smile: “He would explain what he’s learned from you. The medicinal properties of each. The flowers and herbs you’ve been trying to grow on the estate.”

Selena’s hand moves to instead land on her chest as she ruminates. Simon has always been courteous and inquisitive to her hobby, but she always assumed it was of passing interest to appease her.

To hear that he has an investment in it to such a degree fills her heart with so much warmth. He really listens.

He really cares.

And Gabriel watches Selena process this news in real time with a soft smile. He’s said all he needs to. There’s some pep to her step as she finally pours him some tea.

As he takes the mug from her, he smirks: “I had to stop him from uprooting some plants to bring back for you.”

Selena balks before erupting in a giggle. “Now you’re teasing me! How cruel of you!”

“I swear to God it’s true.” Gabriel crosses himself with his free hand lazily.

Selena cannot imagine Simon Belmont—the outwardly imposing and muscular warrior that he is—carefully uprooting plants for her. It’s an absurd image, especially when she thinks of him in his armours…

But, on further reflection, it may actually be quite an endearing image.

Selena cannot help but giggle, hand coming up to cover her mouth (partly to stifle the sound, mostly to cover how her face is flushing far too quickly.)

Gabriel must be remembering a similar image to earn bated chuckles, too (or is he laughing at her girlish reaction? How embarrassing!)

As they laugh, the man in question opens the front door, taking pause as he processes the lighthearted atmosphere within his home.

Selena pauses just enough to stare dumbfounded at her husband lingering in the doorway. (It only makes Gabriel’s laughter grow at her expense.)

Simon can only offer a small and awkward smile as he lingers. “Am I interrupting?”

Selena shakes her head, landing a palm upon her cheek to hide her flush as she replies: “No—come in, husband. Would you like some tea?”

Gabriel has clued in and is trying to quiet himself down. But it’s short-lived: as he moves to take a sip from his mug, he’s trembling with bated giggles all over again.

Oh, Selena hopes Simon won’t misunderstand—

“Selena, is there valerian root in this brew?” Gabriel asks from behind his mug.

Selena’s reply is unfiltered, immediately piecing it together: “You cannot be serious, it wasn’t valerian root, was it?”

The pair, still trembling with bated laughter, look to Simon, as if he may confirm.

It’s not so - poor Simon is visibly confused by their banter, hands on hips, still wearing a lopsided smile.

Such an earnest reaction only makes them howl harder, and they both have to hush themselves as not to disturb Mathieu sleeping in the next room.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 40 - ONDOL
PRESENT DAY

Nightfall. Unrelenting. 

It comes again and again and with each night Simon can feel his time slipping away from him. With it, it takes his strength. His confidence. His sanity.

A little more each time.

How many days have passed?

How much of Simon Belmont remains in the husk of a man stumbling onwards?

Shadows encroach, stifling the air all around him. The suffocation is too much for Simon to bear in his current state, unable to stop himself from quivering with heightened and terrible desperation.

And as his breath turns hitched and feeble, his body demands only one thing:

run.

He does: in part due to cowardice, but larger from knowing when he’s reached his limit.

Simon has well crossed the threshold beyond his mortal capabilities. He cannot hope to fight as he is now.

So he runs as fast as his legs can carry him. As the darkness grows, his limbs feel further and further away from his governance.

As if he could fall slack and dead at any moment.

God, he begs, grant him the strength to see this through. Please.

He presses on, deeper into the town of Ondol, feebly searching for sanctuary from the night. From the creatures of it—ever-present in his mind, lurking around each and every shadow cast.

Sanctuary. Please. Just long enough to calm himself. Just enough to get his bearings.

The town is bleak and dreary—long abandoned, he suspects. Or stripped by heretics pledging loyalty to Dracula.

Something confirms his suspicion. A marking he recognizes adorns one of the doors. Archaic symbols of protection, written in a paste of ritual blood and soil. 

An act to spare them of Dracula’s wrath in the coming apocalypse in exchange for their complacency. Their fealty to the darkness.

Naturally, the door is open ajar—no need to keep it closed, as the creatures of the night will not harm the dwellers who bear this mark. (Not yet, at least. God protect them.)

Simon does what he can to listen in for any other presences. Unable to detect any noise, Simon carefully moves the door open, granting himself entry.

He holds his breath as he listens in once more before shutting the door behind him.

Only when he is able to confirm he’s completely alone does he take a seat upon the ground, with his back pressed up against the door.

Bringing his knees to his chest, Simon crosses his arms upon his knees, and his bowed head follows. He tries to calm his haphazard, laborious breathing. There’s a horrible gurgling with each breath. He has yet to recover from the toxicity of Joma marsh.

Or, perhaps—

his thoughts are cut as he slams a hand over his mouth, trying to quell the coughing spell that works its way up from his throat.

He cannot risk alerting creatures of the night to his location here. He holds his breath, desperate for the episode to pass.

After a few seconds, he’s able to move his hand from his mouth. He spits what has dredged up from his throat onto the ground in front of him, and he doesn’t even want to look at what he’s expelled.

But he does.

It’s grotesque. It stinks of infection.

Rot.

God, he’s dying.

He’s dying he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—

Desperate hands wipe at his face.

He can’t die yet.

Gloved fingers move to comb through his bangs, dampened with sweat as he lifts his weary head up again. He rests it carefully against the door behind him, craning his chin upwards. It’s easier to breathe this way.

But as he returns his hand, he’s reminded that he’s still losing his hair. Too many red strands entangle his gloves.

He doesn’t have much time. At this rate—

A noise tears him from his spiralling thoughts. With remarkable agility (given his weakened state), Simon is kneeling, dagger in hand.

Breath is held once again as he listens with intent: the sound has originated from the floor below.

Not knowing what might await him, he stands, imposing himself deeper within. He stops short of a stairwell leading to the lower level. A foot hesitates to take a step forward.

There can be no allies found in the town of Ondol, where Dracula’s cultists reign. Simon steels himself for what he will find—to fight, only if absolutely necessary.

Unfocused eyes strain in the darkness, but there’s a glow of candle light that grows brighter with each step downward.

Once at the lower level, he lets himself into another not-quite closed off room. The stink of garlic and wolfsbane accost his senses. He immediately recognizes that the person who lives here is acutely familiar with how to ward off vampires.

But how could that be, if the markings on their door indicate they are allied with the most terrible vampire of all?

Desiring to uncover the truth—if for no other reason than to deal with it so he can rest—Simon fights the nausea that threatens to send him to his knees as he crosses the threshold.

Eyes immediately connect with that of another person.

In an instant, the nearest and only candle is blown out by them, plunging both into darkness.

And Simon doesn’t have enough time for his eyes to adjust before he senses that the person is charging straight for him. Another moment later, and he’s tackled to the ground, with the back of his head colliding with the stone floor beneath.

Blinded for the moment, Simon’s free hand desperately tries to grab at the person, while his other hand moves to swipe at them with the blade of his dagger.

Simon is swiftly and efficiently disarmed. His dagger slips from his grasp and clatters onto the stone beside him.

Gloved hands attempt to locate it while he stays the other with his forearm, trying to wedge a leg between them.

Simon manages to kick the other off of him, granting him just enough time to roll and collect his dagger.

He tries to recover into a kneeled stance, and barely manages.

The trauma to his head is significant enough to keep him where he is.

He can’t move.

He can’t see.

No—

All he can do is raise his hands in submission, head bowing with great humility.

“Sanctuary.” Simon begs.

Maybe. Because his thoughts leave him, next.

Governance over his limbs follow.

Unable to catch himself in time, Simon loses consciousness, collapsing forward onto the ground gracelessly.

It is miraculous that he awakens at all.

In the same position on the ground, having not been moved, bleary eyes struggle to adapt to the dark. He tries to make sense of the vague shapes swirling around the dimly-lit room.

Tries feebly to hoist himself upright. He fights the sensation to vomit from the way the room spins, had he anything in his stomach to expel. He resigns where he is for the moment.

He hears the sound of footfalls on the stone floor, just ahead. He tries to look up towards the source of them.

He can only grimace as a boot nestles under his chin, urging his head to the side. Simon can only obey as he’s studied, wild gold eyes trying to focus on the figure looming above him.

“This whip,” a man’s voice cuts the silence, gruff and dark “where did you get it?”

Piercing eyes finally focus on the man above. Simon cannot make out the details of his face, but

more urgently, he realizes that he holds the Vampire Killer in his hand!

Simon’s brow furrows as he snarls, moving onto his knees, wanting to reach out and take it back from him—

he’s earned a kick to the face with far too much force. It sends Simon back onto the ground, now upon his side, with a groan.

Sanctuary has not been found here.

The voice continues: “I will not ask a third time. Where did you get this whip?”

Spitting blood and infection onto the ground, Simon’s gold eyes stare defiantly at the figure above him.

“It belongs to me.” Simon replies with surmounting rage as he tries to plan the best way to steal it back.

The man laughs at that, and it’s a cruel sound.

“Wretched ghoul, you cannot even hope to use such a thing.” And feigned humour turns to vitriol. “Did you pick it off of Simon Belmont’s corpse?”

To Simon’s growing malaise, the man has spit upon his face.

Rage boils over.

“I am Simon Belmont!” Simon roars, moving to haul himself upright with great difficulty.

He’s stopped by a boot stomping hard on his left hand. Simon can only howl in pain as the heel is twisted upon abscessed flesh just under his glove. Grit teeth to quell his noises.

“You lie. You’re tainted. You stink of decay. Like all wretched creatures of the night.”

And as the man kneels before him, Simon can finally stare face-to-face with him.

In the darkness, it is difficult to make out the contours of his face.

But there seems to be a flash of recognition on the face staring back at him.

Kneeling himself upon Simon’s forearm to keep him where he is, the stranger moves to rip the glove off of Simon’s left hand.

He visibly recoils by what he finds under the leather.

And Simon, too, can hardly stomach it, having not had the heart to look upon his flesh for some days now.

And as if getting confirmation from this gesture, he moves off of Simon’s arm, and tosses the glove back towards him.

Simon can hear how the man stalks away, and all he can do is try to pull his glove back over his injured left hand.

It might be broken. Curse it all. (Simon counts his blessings that it was not his dominant hand that was hurt.)

Given space, Simon requires ample time before he’s able to build himself back upright. He retreats to the nearest wall he can crawl to as he studies the other man, who has wandered to the far end of the room.

He’s thumbing the whip in hand, deep in contemplation.

“You cannot hope to wield it as a worshipper of Dracula.” Simon wheezes in warning as his head falls back onto the wall behind him. “Return it to me.”

The man doesn’t reply, instead electing to take a seat, nonplussed by Simon’s warning.

His attention is piqued only when he notices Simon use the wall as support to hoist himself up onto his feet.

“Stay where you are.” The man warns sternly.

And Simon obeys, of course—his feet remain firmly planted.

It’s his combat cross that moves, hurled towards the stranger. Not with the intention to hit him. Simon is still resolute in not harming humans, even if they have sworn fealty to Dracula.

But he is not above close calls to commandeer the space.

Having earned his attention, the stranger stares at Simon as he seethes. He eyes then move to examine the cross, now embedded in the chair he sits upon, just above his shoulder.

“You sought sanctuary, yes?” The man asks before turning to look at him again. “You shall be granted it. Stay where you are and rest until morning.”

“Not without the whip in my grasp.” Simon challenges, moving an uneasy foot forward as he searches to take a dagger from his belt. He raises his right arm with it in hand. “I will not miss next time.”

The older of the two sighs, tossing the leather back to him. Simon catches it midair with his damaged hand (concealing the agony of such a gesture) and clutches it close to his breast before his legs give out from under him. He deflates, retreating to the corner once again.

The men sit in silence as Simon’s head hangs. All that can be heard is his breathing—and he’s trying with all of his might to stifle how haggard it has turned from illness.

He won’t be able to close his eyes and sleep under these conditions. But he lacks the strength to move from where he is.

And what awaits him in the night, just outside of these walls… Simon cannot face it. Not right now.

To his growing displeasure, he is safest here, in a home marked as safe and under Dracula’s protection.

With a stranger who is adept at fighting, and seems to have a distrust towards creatures of the night, in spite of his sworn allegiance to them.

It doesn’t make sense. Simon doesn’t understand at all—

“You’ve been cursed.” A knowing voice breaks the silence at last.

Simon doesn’t need to confirm the man’s suspicions outright. But he is feeling particularly venomous, in spite of his better judgment:

“And you have been deceived,” Simon wheezes in reply “Dracula will not spare you from the coming apocalypse.”

“I’m aware.” The man replies readily.

What? “The markings on your door,” Simon is trying to ask, but his words aren’t quite coming out as they should—

“Only a matter of convenience, I assure you.”

Simon’s confusion is only surmounting.

Before he can ask for any more details, a coughing fit wracks him. He cannot help himself from spitting up the fluid that threatens to suffocate him with each passing day.

It’s disgusting.

What was it that this man called him? A wretched ghoul?

An accurate description.

When Simon next has the strength to lift his head, the stranger is standing before him. He kneels, offering Simon a mug.

“Water.” He explains, handing it to him. 

And in spite of Simon’s better judgment, he almost moves to take it. But logic overrides: it’s likely poison from a follower of Dracula.

Sensing this, the man brings the mug to his lips and drinks from it. Simon watches as he swallows before handing the mug back to Simon.

It can be surmised that it is not poison, then.

Simon takes the mug in his right hand and downs it promptly. He gives the other a chaste nod of thanks before slumping against the wall.

Lacking precise coordination due to one injured hand, Simon needs a moment before he’s able to physically tie the Vampire Killer around his torso. He feels consciousness waning again, and he’s worried the stranger will steal it as he sleeps.

As he grips the leather with all of his might, the heavy weight of sleep crushes Simon. He succumbs for the moment.

While Simon is sleeping, the man carefully crouches in front of him, candle holder in hand. He is close enough now to get a good look at his face.

The stranger processes every feature: the scars that mar his face, his thin and dry lips, the way his flesh looks as though it is slipping off of muscle, off of bone… 

Simon Belmont looks like a mangled corpse more than a man.

And as the man processes this in silence, a hand moves to cover his mouth. He swallows the unsavoury sensation that rises from within him.

But even he, a stranger, cannot help how tears sting his eyes at the sight of Simon’s deterioration.

The representation of humanity’s hopes and dreams against the darkness. Burdened with that fate alone.

Reduced to this.

What’s more, Simon cannot even have a moment’s peace. Even in sleep, Simon’s breath is laborious. His face twists in agony.

And it isn’t too much longer until the man has to land a firm hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

Simon startles to waking, hand gripping onto the Vampire Killer reflexively.

His eyes meet that of the stranger’s, who is only staring hard at him with concern. Simon shrugs off his hand, curling into himself. He succumbs to sleep as quickly as he was pulled from it.

The man parts from him, allowing him to try to go back to sleep undisturbed. In the meanwhile, he sets himself to task.

And not too much later, Simon awakens with a coughing fit. Only when it calms does he try to pull himself upright.

“You should rest more, it is not yet morning.” The man explains from his seat, leaning over his desk. Simon doesn’t care to investigate what it is he’s tasked himself with.

And when he isn’t given a reply, the stranger lifts his head to look at Simon.

He’s fighting sleep, wheezing as he uses all of his strength to stay upright as he’s slumped against the stone wall.

“How is your hand?” The elder inquires.

Simon tries to flex his hand closed. He isn’t able to without grimacing.

“Forgive me.” The stranger adds, somber. “I went too far.”

Simon blinks, lifting his head at that. He says nothing, but processes what sounds like a genuine apology.

“I noticed your ring.” The man adds. “Married?”

Simon’s brows knit in confusion. 

“If you refuse to sleep, indulge me with conversation. Ondol has been abandoned, and I haven’t spoken with someone for quite some time.” The elder adds dryly.

There is a long pause of silence before Simon manages in a rasp: “Eight years.”

Simon catches what looks like a smile from the elder as he works by candlelight.

“Congratulations.” He adds as his wrestles with a particularly tough bit of metal in hand. “Any children?”

Simon almost can’t believe that they’re having this conversation. With a resigned huff, he explains: “A son.”

“The Belmont heir, I take it?” The elder echoes, his voice somber in its own way.

Simon’s features turn downcast at the implication. 

Simon wonders how Mathieu and Selena are faring. How long has he been away from home?

Not a day goes by when he doesn’t think of them. Each time he grants himself rest, he prays for them before succumbing to sleep.

“Do what must be done and return to your family, Simon Belmont.” The man commands with a certain firmness, lifting his head to meet Simon’s eyes.

He moves to step around the table, object in hand.

“Allow me to offer you this, from one vampire hunter to another.” The stranger carefully hands the item he’s been working on to Simon. “Thread your leather whip through this, the Morning Star. It will strengthen your blows.”

Simon carefully takes the chain, heavy and spiked, from the man. It is hefty indeed.

He unwinds the tied Vampire Killer from around his body, and gets to work on doing just that.

But as it’s a difficult task to do with only one good hand, the stranger kneels, offering his to help.

Simon takes him up on his charity.

Their inconsequential conversation dies down as they work. It is a tedious task, but after some time, they manage.

Simon takes the opportunity to thumb upon the now fortified Vampire Killer. He wonders if he’ll have the strength to wield such an object, deteriorated as he’s become. He sincerely hopes he can.

“Rest for the moment.” The stranger commands as he rises to stand. “There is still time before sunrise.”

Eyelids heavy with exhaustion, Simon can only nod once before eyes close. And as he’s so accustomed to, he sleeps in brief stints. Never deep enough.

Anything to keep his nightmares at bay.

When morning comes again, Simon requires all of his strength to surmount the stairs of the stranger’s home before he can exit.

The stranger lingers by the doorway, watching as Simon prepares to depart, arms folded over his chest.

“Where is it you’re heading next?” The elder inquires.

“Alba.” Simon replies simply.

“Some hours south on foot, then.” The man acknowledges, glance cast down and away.

In the daylight, Simon can get a better look at him: the man is middle-aged, hair greyed with the years. But there are still remnants of blonde, all fastened back in a ponytail.

The clothing he wears makes it difficult to ascertain his build, but given how agile he was in tackling Simon to the ground, and the fact that he’s a self-proclaimed vampire hunter, Simon can surmise he is stronger than he appears.

His unkempt facial hair hides his expression.

“Allow me to accompany you until you reach Alba.” He inquires, and Simon must restrain the instinct to balk at the imposition.

But on the next uttered words, Simon takes pause:

“I’d like to share some information on Dracula’s cultists that might serve you.”

Simon’s brow furrows. Under normal circumstances—and if he had time on his side—Simon would readily accept any and all information.

But it is not something that should be discussed out in the open, on the continent where Dracula’s influence is resolute. 

But he doesn’t quite have the luxury of talking through things privately, does he? He’s wasted enough time cowering through one night.

With a careful grounding breath, Simon resolves: “I would appreciate that.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 41 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
FOUR YEARS PRIOR

Sometimes, Simon sees things from the corner of his eye.

It most often occurs in the late hours of the night, when there is nothing to focus his attention on. When he inevitably cannot sleep, and his eyes wander the room.

A momentary reflection in the mirror in the far end of the room. A shadow cast on the window, come and gone as quickly as it appeared. The ebb and bend of light against the wall when no candle is lit within the room.

It is moments like these where he really, truly must close his eyes and rest.

But as eyes close, a worse sensation gnaws at Simon:

it’s as if he’s being watched.

Eyes inevitably flash open to find nothing of note.

But—

he turns his head to look at the corner of the room. His eyes require a moment to adjust to the dark.

The room tunnels in darkness around his periphery. A few blinks to fight the ill-boding feeling that encroaches with it.

For peace, he finds himself looking in the direction of Selena, sleeping soundly by his side.

Then towards Mathieu, sleeping peacefully (now that he has grown older.)

Simon tries to ground himself by focusing on their soft inhales. Their slow exhales. It’s such a blessing that they sleep soundly.

Simon only wishes he could, too.

He hasn’t known a peaceful night’s rest in quite some time. Some nights are better than others, but the recurring paranoia is weighing heavy on him. And no amount of self-soothing seems to quell it.

With a soft sigh, he resigns to sit upright in bed. He watches Selena carefully as he tries to move off without disturbing her.

He manages—and it’s a rarity, normally she’s so perceptive. Simon pads carefully over to Mathieu’s crib, next. He takes a quiet moment to watch his son’s relaxed face as he sleeps.

Mathieu has grown so much—he’s almost too big for his crib, now. Simon tries to redirect his restless mind instead to his next project: he’ll make a proper bed for his growing boy. He’ll give him the spare room.

A sound pulls him from his rumination.

Simon’s brow furrows as his head turns in the direction of it.

He’s already on edge as he has to build himself up to investigate. He treads carefully towards the bedroom door, collecting his whip as he goes (it’s never out of reach.)

Taking the handle in his free hand, he twists it carefully.

The door creaks in a familiar way on its hinges.

And when Simon lifts his eyes to look beyond the door frame

he’s in Dracula’s throne room.

What? No—this is just a nightmare. Wake up.

Simon turns around. The throne room encircles all around him. He’s lost his entry back to the safety of his home.

So be it—if this is a dream, all Simon must do is face it. Defeat Dracula once again. 

His attention is drawn downwards to confirm that the Vampire Killer is in his grasp. Good, it is. With it, he notices that he’s donned in the same armours he wore on his first siege.

He grips the leather in his hands—its familiar, weathered texture serving as a means to ground him for what he must do. He mustn’t prolong the inevitable.

“Show yourself!” Simon’s voice booms as he cracks the whip’s end on the ground by side, building his confidence up.

He’s stronger than this—he can do this! He’s done it once before, he can do it again. It’s only a dream, after all. And he will finally put it to rest—

a whisper, too quiet and too loud all at once startles Simon:

“Behind you.”

And without having even a moment to react, something sharp pierces through his back.

And pulls through.

No—it—

it hurts!

How? This is only a dream—it can’t—

this has happened before—it’s—

he’s paralyzed in place—utterly frozen by pain—nearly dropping the whip in hand.

Simon struggles to build his courage to look down to find—

He gasps, eyes flashing open.

It’s a familiar scene.

Laying on his side, Simon looks over his shoulder to find Selena just behind. Her hand rests on his arm, ice cold, looking down at him with such concern.

“Did you have a nightmare?” She whispers carefully. “You were thrashing in your sleep again.”

God bless her, truly, for managing to pull him from such agony. 

While it’s now over, Simon cannot help how his whole body has tensed. His insides hurt.

It shouldn’t still hurt—

“Husband?” Selena calls on him, so quiet.

“Yes,” Simon finally answers, swallowing the raspiness in his throat. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you once again.”

Selena inches a bit closer to him at that, smoothing her hand over his arm. Simon chooses to focus on her gentle touches: soothing, fleeting and delicate, doing wonders to ground him back to reality.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Selena asks for the first time, gentle.

Simon entertains the thought. But what good would it do to speak on it? It would only concern her.

It would only make her question his strength and soundness of his mind.

No. He’d rather not talk about it. It is behind him.

Thus, Simon’s reply is a calculated one: “It isn’t worth dwelling on. Please, go back to sleep.”

Selena lingers for a moment before obliging his request. Simon feels as she lays on her back for a moment before turning away from him to return to sleep.

And once her breathing changes, and Simon is certain she is sleeping once again, he sets to task. A hand carefully feels around his midsection, as if to assess any remnant of injury there.

No such change. Of course, it was just a nightmare, no matter how visceral.

Utterly exhausted, Simon tries to return to sleep with little success.

Maybe tomorrow night will be better.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 42 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
THREE YEARS PRIOR

It’s a good day when Simon can return home from an expedition sooner than anticipated. He hails from Yomi to the north - their church sent word creatures of the night have spawned in greater numbers than in recent time. Because of that, they called on the Belmont family’s support to dispatch and drive them away.

Naturally, Simon was honoured to have been summoned for such a mission, and departed immediately. The request illustrates the strengthening bonds that he’s made with the church on behalf of the Belmont family. And because he was able to conduct his task efficiently (and without casualties), Simon returns home with rejuvenated confidence. 

For months, Simon has battled the sensation that he has not yet recovered to his former strength. He tries to approach it a day at a time—and some days will always be better than others. But above all, Simon strives to strengthen the bonds that began to form since his victorious return from Castlevania, as the up-and-coming patriarch of his clan.

It is both affirming and assuring that he can continue to help the people, and that they now actively seek him out.

The only concern is the growing number of night creatures spawning in the northern continent. Residents of Yomi are well-equipped to handle any lesser threats on their own—being in such close proximity to Dracula’s castle have made them a resilient group indeed—but the change is still cause for concern.

It is something Simon will continue to collaborate with Yomi on. Their fight against darkness is an inspiring one. It can only get better if they continue to work together.

With his head held high, Simon returns to the Belmont estate on horseback.

Customarily, Gabriel is quick to greet him as he dismounts. He offers to take his horse to stable for him, which Simon is always grateful for.

Once that is done, Simon’s next objective is to locate his wife and son.

And with the weather as nice as it is, Simon suspects he knows where to look first: the garden behind their home.

Sure enough, as he turns the corner, he’s quick to locate Selena, kneeled by the flowerbeds, pruning them as needed. Mathieu is not far off, seated in the grass and always by her side, especially talkative at this age. They seem to be in the middle of a conversation.

But when Mathieu finally notices his father return after being away for a fortnight, the young Belmont springs right up, and pulls on his mother’s arm, as if she hasn’t noticed him (she has, of course.)

It’s so endearing that Simon cannot help but smile warmly as he readies to greet them.

Mathieu pulls his mother along eagerly, and Selena is already giggling, asking him to slow down.

The boy only releases her when he can stumble headlong into a crouched Simon’s arms, all smiles.

And Simon relishes his tiny embrace before hoisting him up with infectious enthusiasm. Mathieu erupts in a giggle, shrill and delightful as he’s hoisted into the air.

“Have you grown while I was away?” Simon asks with feigned strain, staring up at his boy.

“Yes!” Mathieu replies with the utmost confidence, smile wide and bright.

“I thought so.” Simon echoes, meeting his enthusiasm with an earnest smile.

“Father! I learned a lot!” Mathieu redirects as Simon lowers him back onto his feet. “Mama told me the story about,” and he suddenly whispers his voice, as if it’s a secret, “Dracula.”

Simon blinks, a bit puzzled, before looking towards Selena, who has now approached both. “Oh? What did she tell you?”

“That he’s bad, and you stopped him!” Mathieu states matter-of-factly, eyes sparkling with such blinding admiration for his father. Simon can’t help but smile at such a heartfelt reaction, casting bashful looks towards Selena, who only smiles sweetly and knowingly at him.

“Father, tell me more, please!” Mathieu requests as small hands eagerly find their way onto Simon’s legs. He clings to one as he stares up at him with doe eyes, bouncing with enthusiasm as he repeats in a long, drawn-out sound: “Please!”

How on earth could Simon refuse such a request? He’s all chuckles, lowering a hand to ruffle his son’s adorable curly hair. “Once I get settled, I’ll tell you anything you’d like to know.”

Victorious, Mathieu raises his arms! “Yes! Come, come!” 

Disregarding Simon’s request, Mathieu has taken Simon’s hand and is leading him back in the direction of home. Simon and Selena exchange a look as they go, all smiles.

Mathieu is rambling about his own story as Simon removes his armours by the doorway—and it’s bit nonsensical, as it can be at this age—but Simon replies with enthusiasm. Which only makes Mathieu even more excitable. (His limitless energy is enviable.)

Selena takes a moment to assist Simon in removing his circlet, lingering for a moment to give him a kiss on the cheek. Simon practically melts at the gesture, so warm with appreciation.

He doesn’t have time to reciprocate before Mathieu is pulling at his hand again, in the direction of the couch, so they can sit and Simon can tell him more about his fight with Dracula as soon as possible.

All the while, Selena watches with growing fondness. Mathieu loves his father so very much—he talks about him all the time. It’s so wonderful to see the two of them together. It’s been so rare in recent time, with Simon being off of the estate so frequently.

Selena wanders to and from the conversation, focusing on her own goings-ons around the home. But as Simon regales the kid-friendly version of his story, he slows his storytelling as he talks about ascending the highest floor of the castle: Dracula’s throne room.

He exchanges a look towards Selena and she smiles knowingly, carefully approaching behind Mathieu undetected, as he’s totally engrossed in Simon’s story.

“All of my training led up to this moment, and suddenly” Simon begins, flashing Selena a look as a cue “Dracula appeared!”

Simultaneously, Selena’s fingertips tickle Mathieu’s sides, and he erupts with a scream, followed by infectious, resounding laughter.

Parents can do nothing else but join in, laughing warmly.

It’s moments like these that have made everything worthwhile.

Simon watches with so much tenderness as Selena embraces their boy, and he’s nothing but smiles.

“What next?” Mathieu demands earnestly, wiggling with delight in his mother’s arms.

Simon explains that Dracula was “sealed away” with God’s help, and peace returned to Transylvania at long last.

Mathieu’s mouth is open with awe, big eyes fixated on Simon. He has never been shown such a wholesome, totally transparent reaction to his feat before.



He wonders if he can make the story even better.

“Do you know what happened while I was away from home?” Simon asks, smiling gently.

“What?” Mathieu echoes, clinging to his every word.

“You were born.” Simon adds fondly. “You were God’s gift for all of my efforts.”

Mathieu’s small hands slam down on the couch with disbelief! “Really?” He demands.

Simon erupts with warm and resonant laughter, cherishing such a wholesome reaction. “Yes!”

At that, Selena, still behind Mathieu with her arms around him, dips down to kiss on the top of his head. “You were so eager to meet your father, too.” She adds.

“Of course,” Mathieu parrots enthusiastically, “father is a hero!”

Such a tender moment. Simon will cherish this for the rest of his life.

“Your hero of a father needs his rest, Mathieu.” Selena adds softly. “And you do, too. Come, let’s get you to bed.”

Mathieu whines disapprovingly in reply. “No!”

“Listen to your mother.” Simon chuckles. “Do you know what happens to young Belmonts when they misbehave?”

“What?” Mathieu blinks, ready to learn more.

“A big bat will tickle you, like this!” And to emphasize his point, Simon pokes fingers into Mathieu’s sides, and he erupts with laughter all over again. “And take you away to Dracula’s castle!”

Mathieu shrieks with laughter as Simon scoops him up in his arms, making a big show of “flying off” with him towards his bedroom.

“Mama!” Mathieu giggles, reaching back over Simon’s shoulder in Selena’s direction. “Help!”

“Oh, if only my son went to bed when I asked him to!” Selena matches the energy with feigned sorrow, all smiles as she trails behind.

Once in the bedroom, Simon gently releases Mathieu onto his bed. He obediently burrows himself under his blankets, and once settled, blinks expectant eyes at his parents.

“Will you be here tomorrow?” Mathieu asks Simon. Simon brushes strands of hair from his boy’s eyes, ever-gentle.

“I will.”

“Can we play tomorrow?” He blinks his big blue eyes towards Simon, and he would be remiss to promise anything other than a heartfelt “yes”.

To that, Mathieu makes a great show of shutting his eyes with intention—as if to sleep right away, so tomorrow will come sooner.

Simon can only chuckle, thumb brushing upon his boy’s small cheek. “Sleep well, my son.”

Selena moves next to kiss Mathieu’s forehead. “Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight.” Mathieu parrots, bringing the blanket up under his chin.

Parents linger for a moment before they exit the room, shutting the door softly behind them.

Once just outside, the pair exchange sheepish smiles towards each other. 

“You must be tired.” Selena hushes, and Simon nods in reply. “Come, let’s get settled in.”

As Selena leads the way into their bedroom, Simon follows after her with such appreciation.

She gestures for him to go ahead and seat himself on the edge of the bed as she moves to close the door, and light candles with her fire. Simon, meanwhile, moves to unfasten his boots, discarding them by the end of the bed. The task is brief, and Simon’s attention returns to Selena as he watches her wrap up her evening tasks.

“How are you?” Simon breaks the silence, whispering.

“Tired.” Selena laughs good-naturedly. “Your son is quite energetic these days!”

“I can see that.” Simon smiles, it’s always his son, and not their son, when Mathieu is being especially rambunctious. “I’ll see if I can tire him out with some fun tomorrow.”

“He will love that.” Selena smiles so sweetly, now approaching Simon. She stands before him, just out of reach, as she adds: “He misses you so much.”

Simon looks up at her. “Is that so?”

Selena offers a nod, lingering in front of him. “Yes. I worry he’s quite lonely when you’re not home.”

Simon’s features fall at that, brow furrowing as he processes the gravity of such a statement. “Oh.”

Sensing that this news is unfavourable, Selena steels herself for what she says next, and she chooses her words carefully: “There’s something I wanted to speak to you about. Is now a good time?”

Pleasantries slip away - this sounds serious.

In reply, Simon seats himself a little taller, bringing hands together in his lap. “Of course. What troubles you?”

Given the space to speak, Selena struggles to find the right words to convey what it is she would like to share with Simon. Simon watches with growing concern as something seems to freeze Selena in front of him. She isn’t looking at him.

Is she nervous? Whatever for?

He can only sit, patient and attentive, for Selena to finally share: 

“I have wondered if it might be nice for Mathieu to have a sibling.”

Out of all of the things Simon was expecting to hear, it wasn’t that.

And Selena is obviously embarrassed at the implication surrounding what it means to have another child. She tries to clarify, a bit rushed: “I reflect on your upbringing, and how lonely and burdened you were. I don’t want that for him.”

Ah. It’s Simon’s turn to cast his glance away as he ruminates. Certainly, even with all of the strides he’s made to connect the Belmonts with the people of Transylvania, he cannot hope for their opinion to be favourable enough in Mathieu’s lifetime to create community around him.

And when Simon reflects on his childhood, it was a lonely one, there’s no denying that. It only got a little brighter when Gabriel arrived on the estate.

“I wanted to ask you how you envision the future of this family.” Selena tries, awkward as she holds her hands together in front of her. “Would you please tell me?”

Wringing his hands in his lap, Simon mulls over his reply in silence. His marriage, and his son, are both products of necessity to continue the Belmont lineage.

But things have changed over these years beyond necessity, haven’t they?

With the ultimate darkness dealt with (the act of which now four years behind him), can Simon truly begin to think of his future as an ordinary man? It might never be that simple, but,

perhaps he can be honest with the woman who he will spend his life with.

“If circumstances were different, I would want a large family.” Simon shares at last, quieter than he intended between them.

He doesn’t look at Selena to learn her reaction to such a statement. It’s with the greatest hesitation that he must share the caveat to it: “But as a Belmont, I struggle to want to rear any more lives than strictly necessary.”

After a moment of weighing his words, Selena nods solemnly with understanding, but says nothing. 

Simon can only swallow the unfortunate reminder in his throat.

Even if their direct descendants will never have to face Dracula as Simon himself did, to be born into the Belmont family comes with life-long obligations. Risks.

Simon has a hard enough time stomaching that when Mathieu is of age, he will be bestowed the Vampire Killer, and expected to undergo the same training as his father. Brutal, intense, daily and agonizing training in order to have the best chance at surviving the fight against darkness.

In tandem, the patrols off of the estate, long and solitary fights well into the night, the inevitable injuries from them…

(Simon must stop himself from considering a premature and gruesome death—like what happened to his own parents—as a very real possibility.)



And it goes beyond their children. It affects their grandchildren, and those even further into the future, long after Simon has passed.

The cycle will only continue, for mankind’s evil deeds never cease, even if Dracula is dead and gone. For it is God’s will that the Belmonts take on the mantle of dispatching the evils that plague Transylvania.

And it is out of respect for all of the Belmonts who have lived and died serving that cause.

This lineage is cruel. Simon doesn’t wish to burden it upon more innocents.

Oh, how he wishes things were different.

After moments of silence crawl, Selena finally lifts her head to offer a counterpoint: “I have reflected on that, and have wondered if the burden of being a Belmont is one that should be shared.”

Simon doesn’t speak aloud the ever-persistent thoughts that weigh him down, but instead watches Selena with his full attention as she tries to clarify:

“I acknowledge the complexity of the situation. I won’t hope to change your mind, and I will respect your choice.”

Her reply is clinical and precise.

No—don’t pull away.

Not after such a wonderful afternoon.

Simon chooses to be plain—and promptly—lest she pull away even further: “You act in accordance to my wishes, and I am grateful. But yours are just as important. What do you envision for this family?”

Selena hesitates, casting her glance downwards as she ruminates. Simon can only watch as she demonstrates familiar nervous tells as she laces fingers in front of her, tips of her nails scratching on skin.

“Motherhood has its share of challenges, but it has become one of my greatest joys.” Selena explains after a grounding breath. She then lifts her head to offer Simon a soft smile. "If circumstances were different, I think I would like a large family, too.”

But circumstances are as they are. And Simon battles self-loathing from his very existence bringing Selena down from any beautiful future she could have had as a mother to an ordinary, happy family. Far away from this lineage of perpetual bloodshed.

And in the depths of his surmounting sorrow, Simon is reminded that this fact strips him of any beautiful future they could share together.

The future they can both mourn the loss of.

Simon feels the pleasant afternoon slip away from him as he’s reminded of the burden of his bloodline, and how much it takes from all of them.

Selena detects his encroaching melancholia. “It’s your God-given duty, my husband. We cannot change His will.”

Simon knows, of course. And it is a duty he wears with honour.

But seeing how it dictates choice in his life is always an unfortunate reminder.

Selena regains a bit of the strength in her voice as she commandeers the space: “But I chose to be in this union with you, and all that comes with it.”

There’s a pause as Simon feels Selena take a timid step closer.

“If we put circumstance aside, our desires are the same, are they not?”

Her whisper pulls Simon from his spiral, and he lifts his head to find that she’s closer to him, looking down at him.

They cannot hope to put aside circumstance.

But Simon entertains the idea for a fleeting moment. Begins to think of ways that he can live both lives he wants to: as the patriarch of the Belmont clan,

and as an ordinary man, with simple human and selfish desires.

Paramount among them is building a family to call his very own.

With his wife, who—God, does he have any right to want for such a thing, knowing too well the burden of being born into this bloodline—

“I want to grow our family.” Selena musters the courage to share at last, her voice delicate and trembling. “With you.”

And at her straightforward confession, something becomes crystal clear to Simon.

Simon promised Selena when he saved her from Dracula’s castle that he would end the cycle. And at his banquet, too, he vowed to the people that the fight with darkness would end with him, so that no Belmont to follow will ever have to face such hardship.

Simon chooses to bury his bubbling anxieties deep, deep down. Chooses to turn off his mind.

Can he finally let go and grant himself the happiness he seeks? Can he have more beautiful days like today, with his family?

With Selena?

In this private moment, Simon Belmont chases that chance at happiness, as careful, timid hands reach out between them.

Selena meets him partway, landing her hands in his. Simon melts in her touch as she reciprocates, hands held carefully between them.

She’s trembling. (He might be trembling, too.)

I want a future with you.

I want a family with you.

Circumstance be damned.

A proclamation of devotion

in spite of it all.

“I want to build that future with you.” Simon finds the strength to reply at last, but his own voice is so timid. So unlike him.

The air is sapped from his lungs as he processes that he might be able to have both. He can be the Belmont patriarch, and build a family.

In the depths of his heart, he truly longs for such an idyllic future.

With Selena.

Everything floods to the front of his mind—all of the words left unsaid, all of the weight of circumstance they’ve shared, hurt and healing, their fleeting moments of intimacy, their walls coming down, seeing each other for the first time.

The years they’ve devoted to each other. 

They’re only granted one life to live, circumstances be damned, and before Simon can logic his way out of it, his own confession bubbles up:

“You have my word that I will protect this family as long as I stand.” Simon breathes his own vow in reply, needing to build himself up to finish his thought:

“Our children. Their children.” 

And with careful emphasis, he concludes in a barely-there sound: “You.”

A moment of lingering silence before hands part. Selena instead slides her hands onto Simon’s shoulders.

At her touch, Simon finally musters the courage to lift his head and meet her eyes.

They stare back at him, glistening with moisture, and Simon hopes with all of his heart that he hasn’t upset her with his confession.

Hesitant hands find their way onto Selena’s hips.

Then slide onto the small of her back.

Receptive to his touches, Selena winds her arms around his shoulders, fingertips idling with the ends of his hair.

The way they hold each other feels different from all the times before.

They’re magnetized as they pull each other closer still, closing the distance between them with a gentle kiss of their lips.

No further words are exchanged. Their actions speak volumes louder than words ever could. Between searching hands and trembling touches. Between bodies pressing flush. It isn’t long before they’re entangled with each other.

It isn’t long before Selena seats herself on Simon’s lap, and he accepts the burden eagerly.

They pause their kisses just enough for Selena to brush her fingers through Simon’s hair, away from his face, revealing his bashful and flushed expression.

Simon allows himself to relish the sensation, so incredibly touch-starved as eyes flutter shut. His head tips back.

And as if a reward for his vulnerability, Selena presses fragile kisses along his exposed jawline.

Down his neck.

Simon may have forgotten to breathe as he cradles her closer still, hands smoothing down her back.

Down her thighs.

Fingertips move faster than his mind to dig into the fabric gathered at her hips. A silent request. Selena notices, of course, and she hums a small, approving sound as she continues to work kisses down Simon’s neck, stopping short of his collar bone.

Selena parts from him, only to begin to remove her clothes as he wishes.

With a tender look, Simon watches with intent as Selena begins to pull away the string fastening her blouse closed. 

In her own time. Simon has waited this long. There’s no hurry. 

But how can such a small gesture be so tantalizing, as lithe fingers idle with the string. Does Selena have any idea the power she holds over him, even in such a minute gesture?

Does she know how deeply he cares for her? Cherishes her? Longs for her?

Aches for her?

Simon’s trembling hands are hesitant to reach out. He wants nothing more than to explore every inch of her after such an incredibly long time.

After time has changed them both.

Selena, at last, musters the strength to unfasten the string. Fabric falls away to reveal her bare torso beneath.

Only a moment longer before Selena touches upon Simon’s hands, encouraging him to do as he wills by bringing them towards herself.

Trembling fingertips slip under fabric, and Simon urges her blouse gently off of her shoulders. It isn’t long before all fabric is tenderly stripped from her.

There’s a shudder as Selena seats herself upon his lap, now entirely exposed to the cool night air, and her husband’s hungry eyes.

A reward for her exposure comes in the form of a delicate kiss upon her collar from her hero. She lingers in it for just a moment with a gentle sigh, wanting nothing more than to cradle him closer, but she mustn’t be too distracted.

Selena sets to task on unfastening his clothes, as well. She moves off of him for only a moment, seated instead on the bed by his side.

Gentle pecks are exchanged in tandem as both work to relieve Simon of his confines.

And at the sight of his exposed torso, Selena cannot help but reach out to smooth her hands over his exposed flesh.

She is familiar with the history in his scars. (She herself has been the one to mend the most egregious ones.) Thus, it is with particular gentleness that she traces them under her finger, watching as Simon’s skin prickles under her touch.

Timid eyes meet for a tender moment as Simon’s hand finds its way atop of Selena’s, holding her palm against his chest.

She can feel his heart racing, so vulnerable and true. 

Something akin to hesitation to take the next step causes them to linger. It is so vastly different from their first time, where touches were fleeting, full of worry, inexperience, and fear of going too far. (And the remorse in its wake that they did.)

But now, every gesture is full of tenderness. They're hushed, careful, delicate, deliberate—each oozing with devotion.

And unlike the first time, Selena obliges readily to Simon taking the initiative in whatever way he deems fit. Bygone are the days where she must be guarded and in control—and she hopes that she has adequately conveyed to Simon that she would like nothing more than for him to lead.

Selena isn’t surprised when Simon’s initiative is a tender one, as he moves to place careful kisses up the side of her neck, calloused hands sliding upon flesh to draw her closer still. The gesture isn’t rushed. It isn’t rough, despite the brutal strength she knows he’s more than capable of.

It’s genuine. Gentle. Heartfelt. Right.

It’s so Simon.

Selena allows herself to drape her arms around Simon’s shoulders, arching herself against him. Skin presses flush, warm. 

She catches a soft exhale from her protector in reply—such an innocuous sound—but one that she knows means so much more:

the walls are finally, finally gone. They are both in the present moment, completely vulnerable, honest. Exposed.

Selena longs to feel his weight atop her. She urges him down gently into the bed with her, laying upon her back. Simon obliges readily to the new position, just above her.

Blankets are carefully drawn over them—on the off-chance that Mathieu might interrupt, so they can make themselves decent in a hurry.



Once the task is done, Simon lingers above just long enough to admire his beautiful wife, now so flushed beneath him.

Night has since fallen, leaving only candlelight to grant them visibility.

Simon remembers how Selena looked in a similar light during their first time. It’s an image he didn’t allow himself the luxury of revelling in too often—fearing that his affections were always one-sided, and he had no right to fantasize about an event that Selena seemed to regret.

But this time, Simon will allow himself to indulge.

Selena is simply radiant, flushed and undone beneath him.

At being studied, Selena relinquishes one of her hands from around Simon’s shoulders to instead land on his cheek. Her thumb delicately traces over his scars.

She gently urges him downwards, just enough for their lips to meet. They exchange kisses that are quick to turn heavy with surmounting and undeniable arousal.

Especially at the sensation of Simon’s hand sliding down Selena’s backside, her thigh, urging her to drape a leg around his hips.

They part just long enough so Simon can gauge if what he’s doing is desirable. Selena’s reply comes in a heady, trembling sigh as she obliges, draping her leg around his hips, and moving her fingertips down Simon’s arm.

Simon’s response comes in finding her hand and instead guiding it by her head upon the bed, lacing their fingers together.

“Simon,” Selena breathes at last, barely a whisper as she stares up at him. Her grip on his hand tightens. “Please.”

He’ll do anything for her. Everything for her. She could ask him to bring down the stars and he would find a way.

Anything to preserve her joy.

Anything so they can cherish this beautiful moment together.

It is with particular tenderness that the next step is taken. Not born from a lapse in judgment, like their first time. Instead, it is the culmination of their developed feelings.

And the hope that they might be able to grow their family together.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 43 - ANGEL’S HILL, THE BELMONT RESTING SITE
ROUGHLY THREE YEARS PRIOR

“Grandfather.” Simon interjects the silence, voice low, as not to startle.

He stands before the Belmont family grave site - a small plot of land, not very far from the estate grounds. A few paces ahead kneels Laurent Belmont, in front of tombstones for his immediate honoured relatives:

His father, Soleil Belmont.

His mother, Josephine Belmont.

His wife, Estelle Belmont.

And lastly, his son—and Simon’s father—Claude Belmont, with Simon’s mother honoured not too far from his grave marker. Simon understands their bodies were never recovered from the attack to offer them a proper burial. Instead, they are only honoured with shallow crosses erected alongside the Belmonts who came before them.

Simon visits them often to pay his respects. But not today.

Today’s mourning is reserved for his grandfather.

Today marks the passing of his wife, Estelle.

Simon knows very little of her. She died long before he was born, and Laurent has never shared the details of her death apart from “sudden and unexpected” (Simon has always assumed illness, but has seen little point in trying to push a definitive answer out of Laurent.)

When Laurent notices Simon’s presence behind him, he collects himself upright. 

Simon is not surprised to find his grandfather leaning on familiar tells to conceal his feelings. He meets Simon’s eyes with what feels like irritation for his intrusion.

Until his focus wanders downwards, to the flowers in Simon’s arms.

“May I?” Simon chooses to ask next, drawing no attention to Laurent’s emotional reservations. All Laurent can do is tip his head and step aside, allowing Simon to approach the gravestone for Estelle.

Simon kneels, carefully placing the flowers before the tombstone. He lingers, bowing his head and offering a heartfelt prayer in his own time. Laurent merely watches until Simon has finished them.

“Are these flowers from your wife’s garden?” Laurent’s voice breaks the silence, hushed and unlike him.

“Yes.” Simon clarifies. “She offers her respects.”

Laurent’s reply begins with a solemn nod of his head. They duo linger for a bit longer before Laurent takes the initiative for starting back to the Belmont estate.

“They’re beautiful. Estelle would have liked them.”

Before Simon can stand and offer an ear for Laurent to speak on his deceased beloved, Laurent is already paces ahead of him. Simon knows him well enough to grant his grandfather space to grieve in privacy. It wasn’t for lack of trying.

Simon’s attention returns to the grave markers below.

Estelle’s has been preserved beautifully, and the flowers that Selena selected are a befitting gift.

Laurent’s mother, Josephine’s, has been properly tidied, too.

As Simon’s attention wanders to Soleil Belmont’s just beside, however, he finds it puzzling that Laurent did not clear his father’s grave of the dead leaves and cobwebs that have obstructed it, like the others.

As Simon takes the opportunity to clean Soleil’s grave, he ruminates on what sort of relationship Laurent might have had with this father. Simon knows nothing of Soleil Belmont - as he understands, Soleil did not have to fight Dracula, and thus has no writings for Simon to have studied from.

Naturally, Laurent has never spoken to Simon about him. Perhaps their relationship was strained.

Well, no use speculating. Simon offers a prayer towards every member laid to rest or honoured here:

Honourable and revered Christopher, the last Belmont to fight Dracula before Simon, and the very same who settled here, prepping the Belmont estate for generations to come. Beside him is his wife Illyana.

Nearest to them is Soleil, with his wife Josephine beside him.

Near them rests Laurent’s wife Estelle.

And, finally, Simon’s father and mother: Claude and Lucinda.

“I should have brought flowers for all of you.” Simon half-smiles. “Forgive me. I’ll return tomorrow with some.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 44 - SADAM WOODS
PRESENT DAY

It is an agonizing few hours of travel across the land, worsened exponentially by Simon’s deterioration. Frequent pauses are especially humbling, especially in the presence of a stranger older than him who is largely unfazed by the trek.

Simon cannot help but think what a terrible impression he must be making of the Belmont clan, as they’ve taken temporary respite in the overgrown Sadam Woods. The elder does not draw any unwanted attention to Simon’s laboured breathing. He seats himself on the ground beside him, continuing his explanation from earlier:

“Dracula’s followers have used the people’s faith against them, granting them shelter and supplies to do Dracula’s bidding under the guise of honouring God’s will. It is the Bodleys who govern this region who are to blame for tainting the minds of the people.”

The Bodley family. Right - the stranger’s explanation aligns with what Simon was told in Doina. Simon nods once with understanding as he absorbs this information.

“The Bodleys are not the only ones with ties to the cult. The Brahm family, closest to the remains of Dracula’s castle, have also influenced the region. They govern Alba by proximity of the Dead River crossing.”

“To what end?” Simon croaks.

“I haven’t an answer for you as to why. I can only theorize.”

Simon doesn’t have time for theories. He needs facts. He needs to know more than what he’s already learned. He knows all of this. It’s the same story over and over: a prominent family with influence turning to darkness, and the laymen getting swept up in their lies.

“Tell me what you know of the items the families guard.” Simon tries to ask, bleary eyes landing on the stranger to his side.

“The most I understand is the items are tied to a ritual of some kind, but nothing more. The cultists guard the families and items with a particular interest.”

The body of “Christ”, protected for the coming apocalypse, Simon supposes, if what the man said in Doina is to be believed.

“How is it that you’ve learned this?” Simon breathes, aching eyes closing for the moment.

Air hangs between them.

“I’ve been indoctrinated into the cult.” The man replies, straightforward. “As I mentioned before, only as a matter of convenience.”

Simon’s brow furrows with displeasure as eyes open again.

“To what end? Are you not a vampire hunter?” He echoes, growing wearier with each moment.

“I am,” the man replies earnestly “and a God-abiding one, at that.”

“Speak plainly.” Simon clips, budding frustration becoming apparent.

There’s a brief pause as the man musters the courage to explain: “I sought the cultist’s privileged information to find a way to reverse the curse of vampirism.”

Of all of the books that Simon has read in pursuit of his research to combat creatures of the night, nothing explains a way to reverse vampirism. (He entertains how fortuitous it would be if Dracula’s vampirism could have been undone!)

Alas, no: the curse of vampirism is absolute and cruel. A fate worse than death.

Simon grows more wary of this man with each moment. A vampire hunter mustn’t falter when felling vampires. For Simon to learn that this man sought a cure (and went to such lengths as to conceal himself among Dracula’s devotees) tells him that he is faint-hearted at best, or a fool at worst.

He may not be a vampire hunter at all. What more could he be lying about? All of this seems terribly convenient.

It is likely this man is attempting to lure Simon under a guise of camaraderie. It is likely he is a bonafide cult member. Best to listen in for the moment, and not make any more conversation.

Perhaps there was a visible change in his expression that has caused the stranger to take pause. Simon elects to direct his focus elsewhere.

Sensing that, the elder shifts uncomfortably, compelled to clarify to prove himself trustworthy: “My wife was turned.”

Oh.

“You’re a married man. I am sure you would have sought the same, were you in my position.” The man adds with resigned strain: “By any means necessary.”

Simon wishes he hadn’t been so quick to judge. What a terrible fate, as a vampire hunter, for their beloved to be turned by the very thing they’re primed to destroy.

Simon doesn’t know whether to pity or respect the man for not killing her as an act of mercy. Simon doesn’t know what he would do, were he in that situation. He remembers how fearful he was when he assumed Selena was merely thralled by Dracula. 

But—were she to become, like his terrible nightmares have illustrated to him too many times—

he mustn’t entertain the thought any longer. It serves no purpose other than to distress him.

“Did you find the information you sought?” Simon musters the strength to ask, quieter than before.

The man chooses not to reply for a long moment, prompting Simon’s attention to land upon him.

The stranger’s head is bowed. He says nothing.

It’s a foolish question, really. It isn’t hard to piece together that his pursuit was unsuccessful. He was found holed up in an abandoned town, alone.

And Simon, a Belmont with hundreds of years of documentation within his reach, knows of no such cure.

It was a fruitless endeavour.

The stranger elaborates without confirming: “I elected to remain in the cult and relocated to Ondol so I could easily monitor Dracula’s castle and his followers. It is fortuitous that our paths have crossed.”

Simon has the strength to look at the man once again.

“How long has Ondol been abandoned?” Simon tries to make conversation to conceal how difficult it is for him to get on his feet. The stranger does nothing to draw attention to it, as usual.

But he needs a moment to ruminate before replying: “A year. The cultists believe that the closer they are to Dracula’s castle, the safer they will be for the coming apocalypse. The villages to the north have been abandoned in pursuit of that.”

Simon’s brow furrows as he stumbles onward alongside the stranger. 

The seventh year since Dracula’s demise has only just come and gone. The priest said it would not be much longer, now…

“What awaits in Alba?” Simon asks. “I was told to go there by the priest in Doina. I suspect their devotion to darkness is strong.”

The elder nods, looking a bit more grim than before. “Those who remain are depraved.”

Such heavy language.

“Well, you will see for yourself in a few short hours. Can you walk?”

Simon stands a little taller, desiring to conceal his deterioration as he marches out from the respite of sparse foliage in the decaying Sadam Woods.

And as the artificial sunlight overhead blankets them, Simon draws his cloak over his head to assuage his throbbing headache.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 45 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY TWO AND A HALF YEARS PRIOR

“Is there truly nothing you can do to give her relief?” Simon imposes in a hushed voice, arms crossed as he confronts Doctor Seward outside his home.

“I understand your concern, lord Belmont, but these symptoms can be normal.” Doctor Seward placates, mirroring the folding of his arms. 

“I am aware that they can be, yes,” Simon swallows his waning patience. “But you must understand, she was not nearly as ill with our firstborn.”

“With respect, my lord,” Doctor Seward sighs “the constitution of women can be unpredictable, even for someone of Velnumdes blood. Give it time, and if she worsens, you may call on me again. Only then will I prescribe her medication.”

It takes all of Simon’s will to hold his tongue.

Sensing that he will not put up a fight, Doctor Seward bows his head. “May God protect you and your family.”

“And may God protect you on your journey home.” Simon echoes, voice low, as Doctor Seward dismisses himself off of the estate grounds to his carriage outside its gates.

Simon needs a grounding breath before he re-enters his home. He immediately returns to Selena’s side.

She is seated at the edge of their bed. She looks utterly exhausted, and there’s something different about her face: it has become sallow in recent time, lacking the full and healthy flush Simon has become so accustomed to seeing.

The change is truly worrisome.

Simon’s concern over her is only apparent in his furrowed brow. Minding that Mathieu is still sleeping in the next room, his command is a quiet one: “You must rest.”

Selena offers him a weak smile. “You mustn’t fret so, my husband.” And it’s with a lighthearted huff of air that she adds “I could hear your conversation from here.”

Selena confirms with a glance towards the bedroom window, left partly open for fresh air (Doctor Seward’s orders.)

Ah. She heard everything, then.

“I take issue with his generalization on a woman’s constitution, but I trust his evaluation.” She adds. “Thank you for talking to him.”

Simon softens with her thanks. He’s a layman on matters of illness—especially concerning maternity. Selena, comparatively, is well-versed in both.

With that in mind, Simon tries to look past Selena’s evident physical exhaustion to take her words to heart.

Simon takes a careful step towards her. Selena’s chin cranes up to look at him.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Simon asks. “Are you hungry?”

Selena’s mouth twitches at that. “Not in the slightest.” She replies honestly, unable to conceal the grimace at the mere thought of eating food.

Simon’s features downturn at that. She has hardly been able to keep anything down. It’s unpleasant, certainly, but she must try.

Before Simon can vocalize that, the pair is alerted to a knocking at their door. Simon dismisses himself for a moment to answer it.

He expects Gabriel standing just outside. They say nothing to each other, but Simon steps aside to grant him entry.

“Do we have a guest?” Selena asks from the bedroom, building her strength to stand and greet them.

“Just little ol’ me.” Gabriel replies warmly as he watches Selena step into the foreroom. “Hi, Selena. How are you feeling?”

Selena huffs a laugh, pulling herself upright, with hands upon her back for support. She can be honest with her friend: “Exhausted. What brings you here?”

To that question, Gabriel exchanges a look with Simon. 

The look tells all. And Simon is promptly busying himself with another task, doing what he can to disregard the eyes he now feels burning into the back of his head.

“My husband,” Selena chides as arms move to fold over her chest, “you needn’t burden Gabriel with watching me. I’m fine.”

“I will be gone for a fortnight.” Simon reminds, still not looking at her. “I ask for your understanding.”

Bygone are the days where Selena must be kept under Gabriel’s protection from Dracula, but with her recent illness, Simon has shown similar, protective behaviour.

It’s endearing, if a little much.

“It’s not a burden, I assure you.” Gabriel diffuses with a gentle laugh. “I’d come by and visit regardless.”

Before Selena can object, the door to Mathieu’s room creaks open, revealing the young boy, who looks like he’s just woken up.

At the sight of Gabriel by the entryway, he springs to life, bounding towards him!

“Hi, uncle Gabriel!” Mathieu beams, all smiles. Gabriel matches his enthusiasm by kneeling to scoop him up in his hands.

“Good morning to you!” Gabriel huffs as Mathieu is hoisted in the air. “God—what do your parents feed you? You’re growing too fast! You’ll be as big as your father before long!”

Mathieu only offers a toothy grin to such a statement, crinkling his eyes. “I’m a Belmont!” 

“You sure are!” Gabriel laughs warmly, setting Mathieu down on the ground again.

After he’s said his greetings to Gabriel, Mathieu goes straight to Selena, asking obediently: “Mama, are you well?” 

“I’m doing just fine, my love.” Selena lies in good faith, reaching a hand out to brush Mathieu’s unkempt and unruly hair from his eyes.

Mathieu acknowledges her words with a nod. “If you need help, tell me, okay?”

They’ve raised him to be so considerate - he’s become a young gentleman. All Selena can do is smile warmly. “I will. Thank you so much.”

Mathieu greets Simon, next, with a brief and polite good morning. Simon, still mid-task of preparing his items, lowers a hand to ruffle his boy’s hair - an encouraging gesture.

“You’re leaving today, right, father?” Mathieu asks at Simon’s side, always relying on a little more formality in his conveyance when it concerns his hero of a father, as he watches him fasten items to his belt.

Simon turns over his shoulder, slowing his task to give his boy his full attention. “Yes. Your great-grandfather and I have business to the north. I will be gone for a few days.”

Mathieu clues in, looking back towards Gabriel: “Oh! Is that why uncle is here?”

With hands on hips, Gabriel offers a bright and wide smile: “That’s right! I’ll be staying over while your father is away.”

Mathieu can hardly contain his excitement! He scrambles to retreat into his room to change from his night clothes. Adults laugh between themselves at how enthusiastic the young Belmont is.

With that, there’s no use resisting. Selena concedes to her husband’s will - Gabriel will stay. (She’s glad for his company, truly - and Mathieu is, too.)

“I pray he won’t be too much.” Selena offers an apologetic smile to Gabriel from where she stands, who only waves his hand in reply.

“Not at all.” He assures in good faith.

At that, Simon finishes up his tasks by finally fastening the Vampire Killer to his hip. He slings his satchel of items over his shoulder.

“Thank you.” Simon expresses earnestly to Gabriel with a firm hand on his shoulder. Gabriel returns the gesture by patting his back as he leaves. 

But not before pausing to go to Selena, first.

Gabriel averts his attention as they share a soft moment. It’s brief, but significant—they would never be outwardly affectionate just a few short months ago.

It’s with fondness that Gabriel remarks the change as the pair share a kiss. (Finally! It only took them five years and conceiving two children.)

“Be safe, Simon.” Selena sends off gently as they part.

“Goodbye, father!” Mathieu blurts out from his bedroom doorway. Simon offers a wave of his hand and a warm smile as he departs.

Exiting his home, Simon remarks the chill in the air as he goes straight to the stables to retrieve the horses they need. Simon leads both by their reins as he proceeds to the Belmont hold.

Laurent is standing just outside, with his own satchel of items in hand.

Once they both mount their respective horses, they begin their days-long trek to the stronghold town of Yomi to the north.

“Our itinerary.” Laurent demands after they’ve exited the estate grounds.

Simon is being primed to handle Belmont family affairs as patriarch, in anticipation that his grandfather will soon enjoy a well-deserved retirement. In preparation, Simon has been at the helm for excursions and meetings with the church and other allies as representative.

He has gone to great lengths to accommodate and offer his support in hopes that their bond will be strengthened and pull the Belmonts out of scrutiny.

Simon is well-prepared for Laurent’s interrogation, and replies as if by rote: “In four days time, we will arrive in Yomi. We are meeting representatives from the churches of Yomi, Aljiba, and Alba there. The purpose of the meeting is to discuss the increase in creatures of the night, fortify Yomi’s stronghold, and share what we know of Dracula’s cultists as a group. I am prepared to stay and fight for as long as necessary while the neighbouring towns recuperate their supplies.”

Laurent hums with acknowledgement. Very good.

They continue their travels in silence. But as they exit the thick of Jova forest, Laurent looks towards the mountainous terrain to the north. His horse slows, and Simon notices, following suit.

“After the meeting,” Laurent begins “I propose we investigate the ruins of Castlevania before returning to the estate.”

Simon joins his grandfather’s focus in the direction of it. He must push aside his anxiety at such a prospect before he can reply: “Very well.”

It is fortuitous that during the days-long trek, the duo has not encountered too many night creatures. Simon has been able to fell them with relative ease.

Above all else, he’s grateful that his mind has not plagued him with nightmares when sleeping during this expedition. The last thing he wants is for his grandfather to question the soundness of his mind. He has done a very thorough job to only demonstrate his strongest qualities over these years.

Night terrors—and the sensitive subjects of them—remain private. Not even Selena is fully aware.

Simon intends to keep it that way.

It only comes to the forefront of his mind during the meeting:

“How can we trust you, lord Belmont?” Comes a callous comment from one attendee - a representative from Alba. “You, who stands looking less human than the rest of us!”

Those in attendance grow quiet at this sudden outburst, all focusing their attentions towards Simon with growing caution.

The church representative of Alba only kindles the flames: “The strength you harness is terrifying. It is inhuman. Have the Belmonts sold their souls to the devil for such a gift?”

Laurent offers no reply, giving Simon the space to represent the Belmont family, even when the odds are against him.

Thus, Simon remains calm - but firm - as he explains: “Were we Belmonts not God-honouring, I would not be able to stand here in this very church.” A moment to allow his words to weigh on their minds. “I beg your respect in the house of God.”

“You speak of the Belmont’s terrifying power,” the representative from Yomi attempts to diffuse “but it is that same awe-inspiring power that has always been used for the greater objective of protecting our lands. Simon Belmont has sworn an oath of fealty to Transylvania and her people. Is that not correct?”

Simon’s reply is immediate: “You are correct. It is my solemn vow.”

“Your solemn vow does not sway me.” The representative from Alba continues to resist with surmounting venom. “I cannot be the only one in attendance who distrusts this man!”

Silence befalls the room once again. The tension is thick and palpable.

Have they no allies, even after all of these years? After everything Simon has done?

“I know not what more I can offer to assuage your concerns.” Simon replies, now struggling to conceal his growing frustration. “What would you have me do to prove myself?”

“Explain to us why your appearance has changed with the years.”

Simon balks. His appearance?

The representative from Alba delights in underlining: “You appear to me like a vampire.”

All eyes then study Simon. And as the attendees murmur among themselves, the representative in Alba echoes: “Your hair is of an unnatural hue - it has changed since your siege on Castlevania.”

There’s no denying that, but—

“And your skin, too, has taken on a sickly pallor. Are you ill, lord Belmont?”

Simon doesn’t quite know how to reply, but his knee-jerk reaction is to deny: “I am not.”

Everyone is studying him. Judging him.

Simon resists the urge to conceal his exposed flesh.

“Lord Belmont, if you claim you are not ill, then the only logical conclusion we can draw is that you are tainted by evil.”

The only logical conclusion? Surely not. Simon has to course correct, and fast—

“You wound me with your accusations.” Simon breathes through a tightened jaw, still leaning on diplomacy even when faced with blatant lies. “Must I stress once more that I would not be able to stand in this holy place were that true—”

“You have yet to explain to us why your appearance has changed. Are you unable to?”

“It is a known result of encountering evil.” Laurent finally interjects. “It is merely physical.”

Simon casts him a look. Is that true?

(Why did he never share that until now?)

“It has been documented that the previous Belmonts who have encountered Dracula suffered from similar alterations to their appearances.”

Simon has read no such account in all of his studies.

(Is Laurent lying?)

“Your accusations hold little weight,” Laurent underlines “Simon stands before you in a holy place. That should be confirmation enough. Or do you doubt the validity of God’s divine judgment?”

All eyes then focus on the representative from Alba, who is scrambling to try and find a flaw in Laurent’s seething statement.

“Enough.” The priest from Yomi finally commands the space. “I ask that you refrain from making any more personal grievances towards the Belmont family. I ask that we return our focus towards countermeasures against the growing number of night creatures. Time is of the essence, and we must all work together.”

At that, the tension is beginning to dissipate as all in attendance divert their focus on the immediate threat.

But Simon needs more time to come down from the blatant disrespect. It is a blessing that his grandfather was here to diffuse. It is a skill Simon must continue to build.

But how could it be that those in attendance were so easily swayed by a few venomous words?

Perhaps they never truly opened their minds to the Belmonts, even following Simon’s feat. He cannot allow himself to be concerned over it. He must only continue to do all he can. The plan has not changed.

God’s will has not changed.

As the meeting crawls on, the plan is set: the towns of Alba and Yomi will come together to defend the northern and central islands, leveraging the fortresses belonging to the Bodley and Brahm families for supplies.

Simon will be responsible for collaborating with Aljiba’s budding defenses to strengthen the southern and eastern regions. It is a responsibility he takes on honourably and readily.

The representative from Aljiba’s church - the patriarch of the Berkeley family - shakes Simon’s hand with some hesitation.

He’ll prove himself to them. To all of them.

There’s so much riding on this.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 46 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY TWO YEARS PRIOR

For once, it is not with a start that Simon awakens. He has managed to pull himself from a nightmare.

Simon’s mind has grown especially cruel during the night.

Why is it now, after he and Selena finally, finally share in genuine love together, that his unrelenting and terrible nightmares make a point to include her in them?

Normally, he would be grateful for her presence in the dreams that continue to plague him - to find her as a beacon of light, grounding him in Castlevania.

But it always ends in tragedy. Dracula keeping her captive. Simon unable to reach her in time before—

he can’t dwell on it. It only serves to distress him. Best not to give it more weight than it already has over him.

It’s with dread that he seats himself upright in their bed.

He can hardly stomach the images his mind paints.

He cannot bear to listen to her cries of agony.

Stop. He must remind himself: they are merely nightmares. They have no power. No strength.

No matter how real they feel.

As his eyes adjust to the dark, his attention wanders to the very real Selena sleeping by his side. Presently, she’s turned away from him, deep in sleep.

It’s a blessing in itself - she hasn’t been well, poor woman. As anxious as Simon is about welcoming the new life they’re expecting any day now, he can only hope that Selena might get some relief from her illness after all is said and done.

She has endured so much over these months.

In the private moment, Simon longs to reach out and hold her (to overwrite the terrible images in his mind). But he instead elects to slip out from their bed, not wanting to pull Selena from her much-needed sleep.

But as his foot connects with the floor,

something wraps around his ankle and pulls him under.

Without even a moment to process, Simon finds himself colliding with the familiar stone cold floor of Dracula’s throne room. 

A memory that repeats

and repeats

and repeats.

A roll onto his back, a kick towards the restraints that bind him.

Pushing back feebly against the gargoyle-like beast of Dracula that bears down upon him.

He has no items to use - he can only rely on his brute strength to keep the enormous creature at bay.

Dracula’s ferocious maw opens wide above him

revealing so many pointed teeth.

Liquid spills from its mouth upon Simon below. Any exposed flesh burns as if it is acid flooding over him.

It burns

and burns

and burns.

It feels too real to bare. 

Is this another nightmare? (Did he not just awaken from one?)

If it’s a nightmare, then—

Simon considers loosening his grip.

To allow Dracula to devour him whole.

Perhaps only then he can be offered some relief. Perhaps he need only subvert the struggle to another end.

But self-preservation does not allow him to succumb, for he hears a voice calling out to him. It’s distant, but familiar.

He can’t look away from Dracula to confirm, but—

“Simon!” 

At that, he finally breathes again.

He returns to consciousness—to the realm of waking, in his own home—but it is not without remnants of Dracula and his castle. The scent of it lingers in the air.

His body still aches from colliding with the floor.

His flesh continues to burn where acid had connected with it.

But Dracula is not there.

Normally, it is a distinction that he can make, from one to the next.

But, now

the lines are blurring.

Is this real?

Is he in his room once again?

Or will he soon learn that this, too, is an illusion?

It takes Simon a moment for his eyes to adjust to find Selena just above him, both hands on his shoulders. Her grip is steadfast.

(It burns.)

“Oh, thank God.” Selena breathes laboriously, bowing her head.

Simon doesn’t understand. Brows knit as he swims through delirium.

“You weren’t waking up.” Selena admits in a trembling sound, finally meeting his eyes as she tries to calm her haphazard breaths.

A moment longer, and Simon realizes that she tried to use her magic to startle him conscious. It isn’t the first time she’s resorted to that to pull him from sleep—and normally it would be effective—but Simon knows that she cannot presently use her magic without it taking a toll on her already-fragile constitution.

It was done in desperation.

Simon realizes too late, moving to sit upright, hands finding their way on Selena’s back as he holds her gently against him, disregarding the damp of sweat that clings to him.

Selena resigns in his arms, her own consciousness waning.

“You frighten me so.” She trembles, burrowing her face against him.

“I beg your forgiveness,” is all Simon can breathe, his mouth so dry. He swallows what little saliva he has. “I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep.”

A shaky inhale from Selena as Simon draws her closer into his arms. Their hearts are both racing.

Was she really unable to wake him? He isn’t a heavy sleeper.

Only when they’ve had a moment to calm does Simon move a hand to gently stroke Selena’s hair.

“Are you well?” He musters the strength to ask.

Selena lingers for a moment as she processes his question. She then shakes her head against him.

“I feel very weak.” She answers honestly. A weaker voice makes a request: “Please hold me for the moment.”

Such a straightforward request is unusual for her. Simon says nothing more in reply, but obeys, drawing Selena closer into his arms still.

She feels real. Tangible. He can feel her breath, the softness of her hair, her heartbeat against him.

But he fears that if he allows his eyes to wander about the room, this reality will shatter, and he’ll return to Castlevania, and the cycle will repeat as it has for so many sleepless nights.

Air is pulled from Simon’s lungs as a terrible thought enters his mind:

is this room, this life following his return from Castlevania, this Selena he holds in his arms, is all of this

the illusion?

If that is true, does that mean that the nightmares he experiences are in fact his reality?

Does that mean

he is still fighting in Castlevania

all of these years later?

Simon can normally ground himself from such radical, illogical thoughts before they rock him to his core. 

But this one has power. This one makes sense.

His embrace around Selena tightens a little more.

(For how long?)

Since—

no—this life has had its share of hardship

but it is a life he built. Filled with purpose, and it has the people he cherishes.

It can’t be an illusion.

(Since my siege on Castlevania, years ago?)

No—

no, it can’t be.

Don’t entertain the thought.

Please, no.

No.

“Simon?” A small voice comes from Selena. “You’re trembling. Are you well?”

Or even earlier?

(Did I not save Selena?)

No, no, no—

wipe the thought.

Don’t give it strength.

“Simon?” Her voice calls on him again, hesitant.

Is this real?

It has to be real.

Castlevania has crumbled. He saw to its demise with his own hands. Visited its ruins just a short while ago.

But

but—

Simon cannot escape

from the plague of his mind.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 47 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY TWO YEARS PRIOR

As the morning sun rises high in the sky, Simon returns home after his daily training. His entry is quiet, as to not wake Mathieu just yet.

But as he opens the door to their bedroom, Simon finds Selena seated at the edge of their bed. He closes the door softly behind him.

“Are you well?” He inquires quietly as he steps into the room.

A hesitant pause before Selena looks up at him, equally quiet: “The pain hasn’t subsided.”

Suddenly, they hear a knock at their bedroom door.

“Have you returned, father?” A small voice calls from beyond it. Ah, Mathieu’s awake.

Simon takes a moment to look between Selena and the door. Her reply comes in a nod to grant the boy entry. Simon moves to open the door for him.

“Good morning, father, mother!” Mathieu beams, ever the bundle of energy.

He steps into the room, and quickly takes note of the tension in the air. 

“Are you well, mother?” Mathieu inquires as he approaches, dutiful and polite as usual.

“Yes, my love.” Selena coos in reply, reaching out a hand to smooth his golden hair, messy from sleep. “I was just telling your father that today may be the day.”

Mathieu takes a moment to process what she means before it clicks.

“Oh! My little brother?”

Selena laughs gently as she reminds: “Or sister, Mathieu.”

Right, right. Young Mathieu nods thoughtfully, repeating: “Or sister.”

When Selena looks towards Simon again, she can plainly read his concern over this news. Simon’s mind is already racing to plan ahead, so woefully inexperienced in these matters. (His genuine concern is endearing, truly.)

“How would you like to spend the day with uncle Gabriel?” Selena proposes sweetly to Mathieu, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Must I? I want to be here!” Mathieu protests with a frown, not understanding the complexity of the situation before looking towards his father, who he has learned always has the final say: “Can I stay, father?”

Simon takes the opportunity to approach the duo, hand on hip. “We men can’t be here, Mathieu.”

Oh, Mathieu delights when his father calls him a man, just like him! Feeling powerful, he stands a bit taller.

But, as a child does, he pries: “Why?”



Why, indeed, Simon reflects. He looks to Selena for an explanation.

“Women only. It’s the rules.” Selena tries with a laugh. Short and simple.

Mathieu’s reply starts with pursed lips, and a fold of his arms over his chest: “I don’t understand that rule!”

Simon is laughing a bit now, too.

Mathieu continues with more questions: “So you can’t be here, father? Mother will be alone? For how long?”

Simon tries to explain in a way a child can understand: “I will be home, but not in the same room. I will be able to see your mother once your sibling is born.”

That explanation seems satisfactory to Mathieu. “Oh, well, I guess that’s okay, then.”

Adults share a huff of a laugh before exchanging a soft look. Kids will be kids.

But Selena struggles to hide a grimace. A wordless request.

“Come, let’s find Gabriel.” Simon moves his hand from his hip instead to pat it upon Mathieu’s shoulder, urging him to follow. His son hesitates before conceding, looking back at his mother before they depart.

“Goodbye, mother!” He waves, and Selena waves back with a soft smile.

“Be good, my love. Mind your manners.” Selena reminds, and Mathieu nods obediently in reply.

“I’ll return soon.” Simon promises as they exit, closing the door behind him.

Once they’re alone and out of the house, Mathieu’s walk slows. Simon notices.

“Is mother hurting?” The question is small and meek.

Mathieu is an observant sort, even when Simon wishes he wasn’t. It’s always better to be honest when teaching their boy, thus: “Yes.”

“Oh.” Mathieu looks back towards home, concern knitting his brow.

“It’s normal.” Simon assures simply. “It may be painful, but your mother will be alright.”

After a moment, Mathieu begins his walk again, Simon by his side. “You’ll take care of her, won’t you, father?”

Simon softens. Their boy is so considerate. An encouraging pat on his head of curls for his good-naturedness as Simon replies: “Of course I will.”

That seems to relax Mathieu enough to return to his usual, cheerful self. 

They’re quick to locate Gabriel at the stables, who is always happy to see his young “nephew”.

“Good morning!” Gabriel greets warmly, rustling Mathieu’s hair under his hand. “What do I owe the pleasure?”



“Mother thinks my brother—” oops! “or sister—will arrive today!” Mathieu beams, eager to share the happy news.

Gabriel blinks at Simon to confirm, and he gets an answer in the form of a nod.

“Is that so? That’s great!”

Simon gestures for Mathieu to go to Gabriel, and he does obediently with a cheerful gallop.

“We were hoping you might be able to spend time with him today.” Simon clarifies.

Gabriel hums with understanding. “Of course,” and he looks down at Mathieu. “How would you like to go into town with me today?”

Ah, no, town isn’t a good idea. Townsfolk have been uneasy due to the recent increase in night creatures in the north, and have been a little more callous to Simon and Gabriel both on their excursions.

The last thing Simon wants is for Mathieu to be exposed to such contempt solely for being a Belmont. Surely the townsfolk will make the connection if he is with Gabriel.

It’s for this reason that Simon opens his mouth to protest—

but Mathieu is already beaming with excitement. “I would like that very much!”

“Great!” Gabriel meets his enthusiasm. “Before we go, may I have a moment to speak to your father privately, please?”

Mathieu nods agreeably in reply before skipping away, humming a tune to himself as he kneels, picking blades of grass not too far off from the men.

“Congratulations.” Gabriel begins, placing a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder. Simon returns the gesture with quiet thanks.

“I’ll try to keep Mathieu busy for as long as I can. I recall when he was born it took a number of hours.”

Simon’s mind wanders to that outcome. His jaw tightens with worry.

Gabriel pats his friend’s shoulder. “Go to her.” 

With a nod, the trio exchange goodbyes and Simon is quick to return to Selena’s side.

When he re-enters their bedroom, Selena is standing, using the crib Simon made as support.

“Is Mathieu alright?” Selena breathes as Simon approaches her side.

“Yes. Gabriel will keep him occupied off of the estate.” Simon explains as he smooths a gentle hand over her back. “He gives his congratulations.”

Selena smiles, thoughtful, before she once again struggles to conceal her discomfort. Simon notices.

“Please, tell me how I can help you.” Simon requests—and Selena can hear the concern in his voice—so inexperienced in these matters. “Shall I get the midwives?”

She smiles softly at him. “No, they will ask you to leave.” A breath. “Please stay for awhile longer.”

Simon, ever-dutiful, concedes to her will. While one of his hands rubs upon Selena’s back, the other slides over one of her hands, as she is still using both to support her weight on the crib. 

Selena leans against him with a gentle exhale.

“I’m grateful you’re here.” She whispers, just between them.

In reply, Simon kisses the crown of her head, firm and lingering.

Selena has experienced this before. She anticipates that it will be challenging, but she’s reassured if only for the fact that she knows what to expect, and she’s comforted by Simon’s presence.

She turns to face him, resting her forehead on his chest, and hands landing on his forearms. Simon returns the support, hands on her forearms, and he braces for her to lean her weight into him. She does.

“Have you thought of any names?” Selena tries to make conversation to distract from it all.

Simon hadn’t—not at length—but: “Only one.”

“Oh? Please, tell me.”

Feeling bashful over it, Simon tries the name on his tongue, quiet: “Sonia.”

Selena hums softly. “That’s a beautiful name.” Her grip is firmer, now, as she rides through a new wave of discomfort. Simon supports her carefully as they stay in place.

“What of you?” Simon returns. Selena shakes her head against him.

“You will have to forgive me, I can’t think right now.” Selena’s reply comes in a bashful laugh. “That aside, I named Mathieu - I leave the responsibility of naming our second-born to you.”

Simon chuckles, too - timid. “Quite the task. Very well, I will give it more thought.” He then shifts, pulling away slightly. “Would you like to sit?”

Simon guides her to the edge of the bed, where she delicately resumes her seat, breathing carefully.

Simon cannot imagine her enduring this alone for the birth of their first child, while he was away to lay siege on Castlevania. They never had the chance to talk at length about it—by the time he’d returned home, triumphant, she had acclimated into her new role expertly. All he knew was that it was difficult for her. Simon worries it will be much the same, now.

Simon remembers that Gabriel said hours. He’s grateful, if nothing else, that Gabriel was originally there for Selena in his absence, in some capacity.

He’s grateful he can be a pillar for her, now, her hand held in his, for such a significant milestone in their lives.

And he’s there for her as long as possible, as those hours stretch on.

The pair stopped all smiles as time progressed. It’s all becoming too much as Selena clings to him, hardly able to conceal her worsening discomfort. It’s terrible—poor woman—and all Simon can do is hold her.

They’re standing again - Selena insists it alleviates pressure to stand rather than sit - and Simon helps her stay upright as pain threatens to make her crumble.

(He can’t outright say it, but he feels totally unequipped to help her.)

If only he could take the pain away.

But she is strong. Incredible. To endure this for their lineage—to endure this on behalf of the future they want to build together—Simon will be forever in awe of her sheer force of will.

Despite her tears, despite how she clings to him: Selena Velnumdes is the strongest woman he knows.

And he is so honoured that she is his.

Anxiety spikes in Simon at Selena’s forward request to finally fetch the midwives.

Simon departs almost immediately, pausing only long enough to help Selena take a seat again.

Anticipating that she will have to endure the birth without him from this point on, he kneels by her side, brushing her hair from her face, and gives her a firm kiss on her lips before he goes, and Selena is grateful to reciprocate with equal firmness, hand cradling his cheek.

They say nothing, and Simon departs swiftly to call on the midwives. It’s fortuitous that they are not far from their home, as they are hired and live in the hold around this time. The experts are comprised of the duo that were hired for Mathieu’s birth, and Simon is assured that they seem to have a good rapport with Selena from that experience.

Simon’s return with them is swift.

As expected, Simon is asked to stay outside, and he does. The door is closed and Simon has no choice but to take a seat at the dining table. 

It begins quietly enough. Simon can hardly hear the trio talking.

But peace is temporary. It isn’t long before he is alerted to Selena’s stifled sounds of pain.

His mind can focus on nothing else.

As if to distract himself, he takes a moment to take hold of the crucifix around his neck. With elbows propped on the dining table, he clutches the metal, bowing his head upon clasped hands.

He offers a silent prayer to God for His protection over Selena, and for their child yet unborn.

As time crawls on, the sounds become so distressing that Simon simply cannot sit still. He’s taken to wandering across their small home, trying to divert his focus to anything else.



Wandering turns to pacing, hands wringing together as he goes.

He can do nothing but listen in. It’s agony. He loathes that he cannot be there with her. He cannot shoulder any of this alongside her.

Is there truly nothing he can do? Poor Selena.

She is so incredibly strong to willingly endure this again. And she’s been so ill, too. Poor woman.

Just a little longer, and they can look back at this moment with fondness. The struggle will be worth it.

They’ll welcome their second child, the embodiment of the future they want to build together, with open arms and all of the love in the world.

Just a little longer.

It cannot be much longer. Be strong—

just a moment more before silence befalls the home, at long last.

Is it done, then?

But—

it’s too quiet.

Simon looks to the door. He can hear Selena speaking, panting. (Asking for something, he thinks.)

He swallows in anticipation as the midwives reply. (Simon can’t make out what they’re saying, there’s some overlap.)

He can hear Selena more clearly as she replies, with what he thinks is desperation rising in her voice.

Simon finally moves, and he approaches the door to get a better listen.

Silence crawls once again, and now Simon’s discomfort is replaced with fresh anxiety.

Is something wrong—

his concerns are confirmed with a lurch of his stomach as he hears Selena stifle a sob.

In a blur, Simon has opened the door, and despite the midwives’ protests, immediately goes to Selena’s side.

Her hands are clasped over her mouth as she now weeps unrestrained. (She can’t even look at him.)

Simon’s attention whips to the midwives for an explanation, and they crumble under his intense scrutiny.

“Lord Belmont,” the older of the two breathes, voice full of unrest “forgive us, your child…”

The younger of the two builds herself to explain: “She is with God.”

Selena only sobs harder still at the plain confirmation.

She?

They had a girl?

And she is—

“Let me see her.” Simon demands, stepping forward, and the midwives are quick to conceal the bundle from him.

“Lord Belmont, you mustn’t—”

“I demand to see my child!” Simon barks, composure slipping.

Taken aback at his intensity, the midwives have no choice but to comply, and step aside to reveal the bundle that is their daughter.

Peeling away the swaddle that conceals her, Simon is hardly able to stifle a gasp as he sees her:

born without eyes, disfigured and unfinished.

Lifeless.

He has seen enough. The fabric is replaced by trembling fingertips.

“Please, let me hold her.” Selena begs between sobs, reaching a shaky hand towards Simon as he returns to her side. “At least once.”

Simon takes her hand into his own, but isn’t able to meet her eyes.

“Please.” Selena pleads.

She’s trembling. (Her hand is so cold.)

And Simon cannot calm his own distress enough to look at her.

If Selena were to see their daughter, she—

“I beg you.” She requests, so broken, as she grips his hand, crumbling further still.

She needs closure.

He knows that.

Defeated, Simon looks to the midwives to fulfill Selena’s request. They comply to the will of his lordship and place the bundle—face deliberately concealed—upon Selena’s chest. Only then does Simon release Selena’s hand.

Collecting the bundle in her arms, Selena holds it close to her chest and weeps. Simon can only stand by her side.

Only now does he look upon her face. Her laborious efforts are evident in her face alone. Stained with tears, dampened with sweat.

But the hue of her skin is so pale—

Simon’s rumination is broken as he notices Selena move to lift the fabric to see their infant’s face. He reaches a hand out to stay her a moment too late.

Selena disregards his warning and opens the bundle.

She takes in the sight for only a moment before sobbing with fresh anguish—such a terrible sound, teetering on hysteric—

Simon takes action, and conceals the bundle, collecting it from Selena as quickly as he can.

He lingers for a fleeting moment with his girl in his arms, full of crushing sadness, before relinquishing her back into the arms of the midwives.

Once that task is done, Simon returns to Selena’s side, whose face is buried in her hands as she weeps inconsolably.

“Leave us.” Simon demands to the midwives, his voice faltering as he struggles to look at them over his shoulder. “Please.”

The hired duo are quick to comply, taking the bundle with them and exiting the room. They close the door behind them.

Once exited, Simon seats himself upon the bed by Selena’s side, and pulls her into an embrace. She returns it with desperation, gripping hard at his back.

Selena cries mournfully against Simon, sobbing inarticulate apologies. (What is she apologizing for? This isn’t her fault.)

Simon returns the apology, that she had to endure the birth alone. She did very well. This isn’t her fault. He says what he can to comfort her but nothing is giving her relief.

What could?

This is all they wanted—to grow their family together. An act of love.

How could it result in this? Simon can logic around it as much as he wants—there are always risks, and this is one possible outcome in a sea of outcomes—but it doesn’t take away from how it crushes both of them.

The heightened emotions have become too much, and Simon, too, struggles to maintain his composure as he cradles Selena in his arms.

But he buries it all, in favour of being the pillar of strength Selena needs him to be. 

It takes time before the tears are spent. Only then does Simon gently pull away. Selena’s hands slip off of his back.

She is completely depleted after hours of agony. Carefully—so carefully—Simon lands hands upon her shoulders. He assists Selena to lay back down upon the bed, and gently requests that she rests.

Unable to do anything else, she concedes to his will, saying nothing more to him.

He loathes to leave her like this, but he must see to next steps. Simon builds himself back onto his feet, careful as he goes. A moment to wipe down his face.

Simon exits the room to find the midwives, who have waited patiently for their next instruction in the foreroom.

Simon Belmont is wearing an expression they’ve never seen, features reddened from distress. He shuts the door behind him, softly.

“Thank you for your efforts.” Simon begins, awkward, needing to clear his throat so the sound will carry. “I apologize for my outburst.”

The older of the two shakes her head. “It is understandable, my lord.”

He approaches, and his eyes land on the bundle, still held carefully by one of the midwives.

(Still precious, even if dead.)

A moment of lingering quiet.

“May I hold her?” He asks, voice hushed.

Conceding to his will, the elder hands the bundle to him. Simon cradles it to his chest with the greatest care, just like he did when Mathieu was an infant.

Such a small body. Silent, motionless… He holds her there, foolishly hoping for signs of life.

Nothing. (Of course.)

How terribly crushing.

Simon moves to unfasten the crucifix necklace he’s wearing with his free hand. Once acquired, he carefully tucks it into the bundle, and lands his hand upon it.

With a bow of his head, he offers a prayer to God. The midwives join him, clasping their hands together with heads bowed.

After their prayers have ended, with some hesitation, Simon returns the bundle to the older of the pair.

“We must bury her tomorrow.” He commands.

“Yes, my lord. With your leave, I will go to prepare.” The midwife concludes. Simon dismisses her with a nod. A bow of her head and she exits the home.

The younger of the two lingers for a moment before she is granted entry back into their bedroom to tend to Selena.

Simon can hear no words exchanged from beyond the door. (The home is eerily silent in the wake of it all.)

Simon lingers in the foreroom while the younger of the duo finishes up her tasks. When she emerges again, she closes the door with great care behind her.

“Lady Belmont is sleeping now, my lord.” She explains in a hushed voice. “We will return tomorrow to tend to her. Until then, it is imperative she remains in bed.”

A quiet reply: “Understood.”

“With your leave.” The younger bows her head, and Simon then leads her to the front door. He opens it for her.

There’s a brief pause, as if she might like to say something, but nothing comes. She leaves.

Simon exits his home not long after seeing her off. He takes in the evening air with a soundless sigh, chest still so heavy, and face still flushed warm from the ordeal.

With nobody around, palms press against his eyes in an attempt to ground himself. Fingers rake through his hair, next, as he looks off towards Jova forest.

Mathieu and Gabriel should be returning soon, before the sun sets. Simon must build himself back up.

In the meanwhile, he busies himself with chopping wood outside his home.

It isn’t too much longer until Gabriel and Mathieu return. When they do, they find Simon outside, working down the wood he’s chopped.

Simon notices them. He first looks to Gabriel.

Immediately, Gabriel knows that something has gone wrong.

Mathieu, however, is none the wiser as he gallops towards his father. “Father, the town had so many people!” 

Simon offers a strained smile, processing what he has to say as he stops his task.

Gabriel takes notice: “Hold on a moment, Mathieu. May we speak alone again?”

Mathieu catches onto something being amiss now, and his joy vanishes as he makes himself small. He watches Gabriel approach Simon.

“What happened?” Gabriel asks Simon, hushed between them.

Words still heavy in his chest, Simon struggles to breathe out: “Stillborn.”

Gabriel withholds a gasp. Instead, his concern is only evident in a knit brow.

A moment later, and he pieces together that Simon is crafting a small casket.

How terrible. What can he even say?

He tries, hushed: “I am so sorry.”

Swallowing the sorrow that is bubbling up again, Simon busies his hands, looking down and away.

“Father?” Mathieu’s small voice calls as he approaches him.

No, please—any more and Simon might crumble on the spot.

But Simon must explain to Mathieu what has happened, even if difficult. With a breath, he kneels down, facing his boy.

“What happened?” The boy whispers as he watches his father crouch before him.

“Your sister, she…” Simon struggles to convey the words. He needs a breath to keep himself composed.

He manages: “She was born an angel, and God invited her into heaven.”

Mathieu’s young mind requires a moment to process the implications.

“Oh.”

He understands, it seems. 

Mathieu looks up to see his father wearing an unfamiliar expression: such intense sadness.

It feels wrong. It’s distressing to see his father—always so collected—change in this way. Mathieu can’t help but fight tears, too, as he processes the gravity of it all.

“May God protect her.” He finally says, a phrase he’s picked up from his parents, but one he hasn’t yet had to use.

Simon nods, solemnly, before pulling his son into a soft embrace.

“She is safe with God.” Simon assures.

Mathieu is crying now, and it breaks Simon’s heart. Perhaps it was wrong to be honest with him.

“Your mother is very sad.” Simon tries to pick up the pieces, patting his boy gently upon his small back. “We both must do our best to be strong for her.”

Sniffling, Mathieu pulls away, wiping gracelessly at his face as he looks up at his father. A breath before he can ask: “May I see her?”

Their boy is so kind.

A gentle reply: “Not yet. She needs her rest.”

Another sniffle before Mathieu nods obediently. “Yes, father.”

Gabriel, meanwhile, has been looking towards Simon’s home, wrought with concern while he processes everything. A dear friend to both parents, he cannot help but feel overwhelming sorrow on their behalf. It’s a loss they all mourn.

After a moment, Gabriel returns his attention to the pair. Simon finally stands, and Gabriel takes the opportunity to embrace him. 

Simon lingers in it, lacking the strength to return it as he presses his forehead on his shoulder, so weak from the day. 

Gabriel pats his back firmly—a silent request to be upright for his son, and Simon complies quickly.

Mathieu yawns with exhaustion, and Simon takes note.

“You had a busy day, it seems.” Simon is trying to be lighthearted. “I am eager to hear about it. Tell me tomorrow, won’t you?”

Mathieu nods, forcing a smile.

“Thank you, Gabriel.” Simon begins, and he looks to Mathieu as a cue.

“Thank you, uncle Gabriel.” He parrots.

Gabriel, offering what he can of a smile in these circumstances, sends them off back home.

Simon re-enters home with Mathieu in tow, house temporarily quiet as he takes him to his bedroom.

Once Mathieu climbs into bed, Simon pulls up the covers for him.

“Is mother sleeping?” Mathieu asks, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yes, I think so.” Simon replies with equal quietness as he finishes tucking him in.

The boy nods, thoughtful, before Simon brushes his hair from his young face. A calloused thumb carefully brushes against Mathieu’s cheek. A small, tender gesture.

Doe eyes flutter shut. “Goodnight, father.”

“Sleep well, my son.”

With that, Simon exits, closing the door softly behind him.

Simon lingers with the back of his head against the door for a moment. A breath to ground himself, another rub of fingertips along his brow as he battles utter exhaustion and overwhelming sorrow.

But his own woes must be put on pause. Simon steels himself to re-enter their bedroom to check on Selena.

When he does, he finds her sitting upright in their bed. A gentle close of the door behind him.

Simon says nothing as he approaches. He grapples with reaching a hand out to stroke her hair. He chooses not to.

Selena finally looks at him, utterly spent.

“Simon.” She mouths, so incredibly defeated.

“Please, you must rest.” He placates softly in reply.

“I feel so hollow.” Selena whispers through dry lips, grasping to find the words. Her hands land on her stomach.

Simon only watches her for the moment, giving her the space she needs to vent.

“I felt her. She was moving, she...” She trails off, swallowing the broken sound that threatens to escape. A breath to ground herself.

“How could she come into this world stillborn? Malformed, without…” Selena swallows again, unable to finish the thought by breathing it aloud.

She doesn’t need to. It’s a terrible image neither will ever forget. (Simon nearly wishes he could wipe it from his mind, but it is the only way he can honour her loss.)

Simon has no answers for his wife. (Truthfully, she would know better than him about this.)

But Selena still looks to him for answers, eyes welling with fresh tears at her trembling question: “What have I done wrong?”

No, please don’t—this isn’t her fault at all. 

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” Simon can only comfort, finally taking a seat on the bed beside her, his hand sliding onto her back.

His free hand lands on hers placed at her stomach, thumb carefully rubbing the back of them.

It’s an insufficient answer. Nothing can give her relief.

It isn’t surprising, then, that Selena can only bow her head and weep once again.

Simon is quick to console her in whispers. Reminders that Mathieu is home now, it would be best not to distress him.

But that only causes Selena to cry harder, and Simon gently hushes her. She quiets herself as best as she can manage.

“Oh,” she finally breathes a gasp, still whispering “what do I tell Mathieu?”

“I’ve already informed him.” Simon replies gently.

“Is he well?”

Simon hesitates before elaborating honestly: “We wept together. I did what I could to comfort him. He worries for you and wanted to see you.”

Selena falls apart at the mere thought of her two boys crying together, and for her son’s tremendous heart. Crumbling, she cries, this time burrowing her face against Simon to stifle the sound.

As with before, he can do little to offer her relief as an arm winds around her shoulders, holding her close.

What a horrible day.

Simon lingers in the embrace for as long as Selena needs. Only when she calms does Simon encourage her to lay on her back and to try and get some sleep.

She obliges to his wishes, but merely stares up at the ceiling. Her gaze is far, unfocused.

The expression she wears is so terribly sad.

Simon carefully climbs into the bed with her, and lays on his side, giving her all of his focus even as exhaustion gnaws at him, too.

But he remains by her side, attentive and dutiful. Even after all tears are spent. As consciousness wanes.

Eventually, the pair is quieted, and sleep overtakes them.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 48 - ALBA
PRESENT DAY

The stranger’s word of depravity being found in Alba is woefully accurate.

As the pair enters the town gates, there is a level of leisure that Simon has not found in any other town thus far. Characters of all kinds roam the streets - stinking of ale as they stumble onwards. They don’t pay much mind to the weapon-clad strangers who have found themselves here. (Simon supposes that’s better than his earlier skirmishes with those in Doina who readily hid from him.)

But their demeanour is puzzling. What is it that they’re celebrating? Are they unaffected by the decay that surrounds them?

Or have they resigned themselves to the coming apocalypse? To confirm his suspicions, Simon looks to the doors lining the streets:

all marked with sigils denoting their loyalty to Dracula.

As with all of the towns, Simon’s primary objective is to find the church. The stranger by his side knows where it is, and takes the initiative in leading them there.

But they’re stopped along the way by a woman marching right up to Simon. It takes him by surprise, and all he can do is take a step backwards.

“I’ve been waiting for a good looking guy like you.” She chuckles, boldly reaching up to slide her hands onto his breastplate.

Shocked at her forwardness, all Simon can do is recoil another pace backwards. She mustn’t be well, Simon is so very far from good looking in his current state…

The stranger by his side interjects: “We’re here on business, if you don’t mind.”

The woman pouts at that, slipping away from Simon. “What business do you have here?”

The elder looks to Simon to explain, and he does after building himself a bit taller to conceal his lethargy: “I must speak with the Brahm family.”

The woman’s expression changes at that. She seems even more self-assured than before as eyes glance downwards, towards Simon’s waist.

Rejuvenated with confidence, she steps forward again, and rather than touch Simon

she slides fingertips along the chained Vampire Killer strapped at his hip. Simon’s reply comes in placing his damaged hand protectively over the hilt of it.

“I suspected it might be you, Simon Belmont.” She smiles knowingly, staring right up at him. “We’ve been expecting you.”

“We?” Simon challenges, features darkening with focus. The stranger by his side, too, is beginning to survey the people around them as he tenses from the implication.

“The town of Alba, of course. Your arrival has been foretold.” The woman explains with a sweet smile.

“Simon.” His travel companion calls on his attention sternly, and Simon can sense it:

all of the townspeople have diverted their attention towards them.

Simon’s hand reaches for his fortified Vampire Killer.

“It seems I’ve made a terrible first impression.” The woman laments. “You needn’t be so tense.”

With waning patience, Simon commands: “I implore you to tell me where the Brahm family is.”

“Certainly. I’ll take you where you need to go,” the woman begins agreeably “but not yet. I’ll see you at midnight on the river bank.”

The men exchange a wary glance.

They’re wasting time. (Or is this woman buying time?)

Simon’s mouth twitches in frustration. “Respectfully, it cannot wait until then.”

The woman’s reply comes readily: “It must. I urge you to partake in food and drink in the meanwhile.” 

She then turns on her heel and begins to walk ahead. “Or whatever else a warrior like you will need.”

Simon moves to stop her by taking a step forward and opening his mouth to speak, but a firm hand on his shoulder keeps him where he is.

Gold eyes land on the elder by his side.

His expression tells all: do as she says.

With surmounting frustration, Simon must obey for the moment.

After confirming that the townspeople no longer stare at them, the elder continues to lead them ahead towards the church.

“Why did you stop me?” Simon’s voice is low in a rasp of a whisper, just behind. “I haven’t hours to waste.”

The stranger turns over his shoulder, adding in an equally hushed tone: “I recognize her. She is a member of the cult.”

What?

“All the more reason!” Simon retaliates in a louder voice, patience now lost.

“Are you always so hot-headed?” The elder chides, turning to face him. And as if a parent reprimanding their child, he adds: “Calm yourself.”

At being chastised, Simon takes pause. It takes all of his will to exercise submission. The man is right, of course - it won’t serve Simon to get ahead of himself.

But time is unkind, and it is wearing him down more and more with each minute that passes, seemingly quicker than the last.

As if sensing that, the elder tries to clarify: “It is only a few hours. It would do you well to recuperate your strength in that time. I can see you’re struggling to stand.”

As they cross the threshold into the church for respite, the stranger adds in a barely-there sound: “I fear you will be challenged come midnight.”

Simon cannot trust what this man says. But having no other option, Simon obeys for the moment. He stalks behind him as he’s led within the confines of the church.

Upon their entrance, the pair immediately note the presence of another.

Someone Simon knows.

And he immediately recognizes Simon, too. His cloak cannot conceal him well enough from prying eyes.

The church representative of Alba stares him down. The very same who planted the seed of doubt among the others some years ago by outwardly accusing Simon of falling victim to vampirism.

Simon’s patience already long lost, he grapples with venting his frustrations towards the man who is staring at him with what feels like a self-assured smirk plastered on his face.

But it would serve no purpose other than to soothe his wounded pride. Instead, Simon takes a seat on the pews, and bows his head in prayer, doing what he can to pay no heed.

His travelling companion joins him to his side. Their joined prayer is brief before they’re interrupted:

“I bid you welcome to Alba at last, Simon Belmont.” 

Curse it all.

Simon lifts his head and offers a glare. He holds his tongue.

“Do we have you to thank for accompanying him here?” His question is diverted towards Simon’s travelling companion.

A processing pause before he speaks: “You credit me with too much, Father.” The stranger replies diplomatically, but without mirth. “Our paths crossed while he was en route here.”

A hum of acknowledgement. “And what do we owe the honour, lord Belmont?” And a twinge of acidity on the use of his title.

“I suspect you know well why I am here.” Simon’s low voice replies, coated with the rasp of illness.

“Come to see the Brahm family. I’ve been informed, yes.” A simple answer, and a fold of arms. “And you will be taken to them at midnight, as promised.”

“The woman we spoke with encouraged us to partake in food and drink until then,” the stranger steers the conversation “may we do that?”

“Of course.” The priest replies, acidity dissipating as he speaks to the elder at Simon’s side. “The inn is equipped to receive you. Please, help yourselves, at no charge.”

Simon is already standing and dismissing himself with a bow of his head. As his travelling companion moves to join him, the priest of Alba speaks:

“Thank you for all you’ve done for Transylvania, lord Belmont.”

Such cruel mockery! Simon cannot bear the reminders of his failures—

“Sincerely.” The priest attempts to diffuse at the notice of Simon bristling. “Their deaths will not be in vain.”

Before Simon’s rage boils over, a firm hand on his shoulder from the elder, and he’s being led out of the church. Grit teeth and a bowed head as they go.

As soon as they exit the building, Simon is swatting the hand off of his shoulder, stalking ahead.

“Let us go to the inn.” The elder proposes, already walking towards it. A grounding breath from Simon before he must follow. There is still much time before midnight.

Best to recuperate.

Simon meets the elder within the inn when he’s ready. They spend a few hours there - seated, but not conversing. Both men seem occupied with their own thoughts to pay the other much heed.

At some point, Simon is offered ale with his meal (that he has hardly touched). He refuses. The stranger takes the stein instead, making slow work of drinking it on his behalf.

Townsfolk come and go, some settling in at their usual tables. It’s odd to see them in good humour - given Simon’s experience with the northernmost towns, it seems woefully out of place when compared to the fear, disdain, and absence of others.

The dilapidated state of Yomi—and Ondol, too—serve as a reminder to cut through the merriment that surrounds them.

Are they so blind to the suffering that plagues Transylvania?

Simon shouldn’t be sitting here. He cannot waste time. There can be no leisure found here. Instead, the weight of time passing, and what awaits Simon when he confronts the Brahm family, rests heavy on his mind.

When Simon next glances towards his travelling companion, he seems equally concerned in his own thoughts, brows knit.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 49 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY ONE AND A HALF YEAR PRIOR

Sleep is a luxury Simon no longer affords himself.

He has no concrete answer as to whether his nightmares or his waking hours are his true reality. Whatever the case, any time he closes his eyes for sleep, he’s met with agony: reliving his fight against Dracula in excruciating detail.

He is never free from it - he must be trapped within Dracula’s illusory machinations. 

And when his mind is kind enough to spare him from that unpleasant reality, new and terrible thoughts have surfaced in recent time.

Thoughts that Simon chooses to push from his mind, for he cannot face them, cannot breathe them aloud. (They are no doubt credited to the wretched Count, too. Such unrelenting cruelty and carnage can only be credited to him.)

It’s for these reasons that Simon has made the choice to busy himself during hours of the night, sleeping only as much as his body requires to keep afloat.

Unfortunately, Selena has noticed the change.

Things haven’t quite been the same since the loss of their daughter.

(Simon does not allow himself to dwell on it, for Dracula’s cruelty exploits his sorrow.)

The loss, paired with Simon’s continuous physical and mental deterioration, has created a rift where there once was solace in their companionship.

And Simon’s unsound and exhausted mind wonders

why should he care?

If his waking hours are an illusion, and he only truly exists within the terrible walls of Castlevania

why does anything from this reality matter?

But it does, of course. It is Simon’s only respite.

(It was Simon’s only respite.)

The walls of his home, once so warm, now feel too restrictive. He can scarcely be in the same room as his wife and son. They look at him differently. Pitifully.

(Do they know of the terrible thoughts that plague him?)

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

(Do they know of the terrible things he has done?)

He only needs to solve the reality of his situation. Be it in the walls of Castlevania, or here, or some other purgatory—

“Simon?” A small voice interjects his spiralling thoughts, and it startles him. 

Selena. Of course.

Simon doesn’t move from his seat at the dining table. His only acknowledgement of her presence comes from eyes landing on her.

(Even now, in darkness, she pities him in her eyes alone!)

He cannot stand to be looked at in such a way. He isn’t so fragile. He’s a Belmont. He’s stronger than this.

(Is he not her hero?)

“Won’t you please come to bed?” She hushes, not daring to step towards him, volatile as he has become.

Simon says nothing.

This Selena has only served as a distraction.

(But he misses her so, so much.)

He should dignify her with a reply, if nothing else. Assuage her concern.

“Forgive me, I’ve been restless.” A truth. “I’ll come to bed soon. You needn’t wait up for me.” And a lie.

Selena requires a moment to process his reply. An anxious tell makes itself apparent as she idles with the cross necklace he’s given her.

“Is there nothing I can do to offer you relief?” She tiptoes around the subject.

It aches his heart. She’s so selfless. So wonderful.

But she isn’t real, is she?

What’s more, it’s possible that Simon was never able to save her true counterpart.

The real Selena could be—

stop.

Please, stop.

Why must his mind torment him to that outcome? 

It’s agony to keep her at arm’s length when all he wants—all he needs—is to hold and be held by her.

But Simon doesn’t have the luxury of indulging in such a fantasy anymore. A necessary boundary. He will not allow himself to be blinded any longer.

(It hurts.)

“You needn’t concern yourself.” Simon seats himself a little taller before he moves to stand. He’s wasting time sitting around, stewing in his own thoughts. He’ll face the night, as he often does, when he needs to keep himself awake and occupied. The growing horde of night creatures need to be dealt with, anyway.

Illusion or not, Simon is the only one capable of fighting them. His faith in God, and the mission that He has given the Belmont family, is steadfast.

Even in an illusion, where he is challenged, Simon must hold onto his virtues with a tight fist, lest he truly lose himself.

He is fastening the Vampire Killer to his hip when Selena steps towards him.

“Are you going to patrol?” She asks, just behind him.

(Too close. It puts Simon on edge.)

“Yes.” Simon needs a moment to calm himself as he turns to look at her. “I won’t be long. Return to bed.”

Selena looks up at her husband as she processes his command. Even if it is conveyed gently, there is no denying how the change has begun to affect Selena.

It’s evident on her face.

And as Simon entertains the idea of succumbing to the illusion, cradling Selena in his arms

there is something strange about the room they stand in.

Simon is very familiar with the inner walls of his own home.

But as he blinks exhaustion from his eyes, he notes how the walls aren’t quite as they should be.

Something cascades against the wall and billows, as if wavering candlelight is reflecting off of it. 

But no candle is lit in the foreroom.

Are the walls moving inwards?

Air is sparse as Simon acknowledges the walls closing in.

“What has your attention?” Selena interjects, unaffected, looking over her shoulder at where Simon must have been staring.

A huff as Simon rubs at his exhausted eyes. “Nothing.”

How much of this is due to sleep deprivation?

No—the better question is how much of this is reality and falsehood warping together?

(Foolish Count, his illusions are faltering right before Simon’s eyes!)

He needs air. With that, he turns on his heel to exit home.

“Be safe.” He hears behind him, in a gentle sound. “Please come back soon.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 50 - JOVA FOREST
ROUGHLY ONE YEAR PRIOR

“Has he spoken to you at all?” Selena’s question comes out hushed, arms braced around her body. She and Gabriel have paused in the thick of Jova forest. Away from prying eyes and listening ears around the Belmont estate. Selena sought out Gabriel to speak with him entirely alone.

“No, he hasn’t.” Gabriel hesitates, lingering awkwardly before her. He kicks at a twig with his boot, mirroring arms folded over his chest. “I was hoping he might have said something to you.”

Selena’s brow furrows at that. “Not a word. It’s difficult to make even the most menial conversation with him, now.”

Careful eyes peer around the forest, to be absolutely sure that nobody is listening into their very private conversation.

“He refuses to sleep in the same bed.” Selena explains at last, heavy with shame at the implication. “I don’t know what I’ve done to displease him so.”

“I assure you, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Gabriel’s reply comes hurriedly.

This doesn’t make sense. Simon is not the type to wall either of them off to this degree. Even when he was at his most anxious before his siege on Castlevania, there were slivers of connection. Fragments of him opening his heart to Selena.

And leaning on Gabriel, his dearest friend.

But, now, the pair has noticed a change in Simon. And it is so out-of-character that it is difficult to ignore.

But neither can outright ask him. He does everything to not allow either of them close enough.

“When do you feel the change began?” Gabriel hesitates to ask.

Selena doesn’t look at him as she replies: “After our daughter’s stillbirth.”

He was worried that might be the answer. Gabriel regrets asking. It’s still such a sensitive topic, even a year later.

Selena senses that, and chooses to ease his troubled heart by elaborating: “It was hard for him, but I don’t believe it was the catalyst. I only mean that I might have noticed then.”

A rustle of leaves in the trees overhead as a gentle breeze washes over the pair. Selena grapples with speaking honestly to Gabriel about other trends that she has observed over the years:

Simon’s continuous nighttime disturbances, his refusal to elaborate on them, refusal to sleep, how utterly and completely sickly he appears—

no, best not to speak on that. It’s best to begin with facts.

And Selena would like to start at the very beginning. She knows only that Simon’s nightmares are linked to his siege on Castlevania. It would be best to start there:

“Did he ever go into detail with you about what happened in Dracula’s castle?” Selena asks. “Beyond what he shared with the group.”

Gabriel takes pause as he ruminates. “Nothing beyond what he shared at the banquet, no.”

A moment later: “Oh, I suppose he spoke of encountering Death privately with the family. But it didn’t seem to shake him, at the time.”

Selena weighs his words in her mind. Certainly, Simon himself has not feared his own death, as long as his task was done and he was able to protect others, he would readily lay his life down.

Perhaps his perspective has changed over the years. (Does Simon Belmont now fear Death?)

It doesn’t explain his recent behaviour, though. In fact, it seems as though Simon more readily seeks out combat than he did in previous years. Selena is aware that creatures of the night have spawned in great numbers to the north, and Simon spends every nightfall defending the land from them. It’s been excessive, but necessary—

“What of you?” Gabriel asks instead.

Again, Selena must grapple with how much she should share.

“He has never given me details of what happened during his siege.” She speaks truthfully. He never needed to - Selena is too familiar with such a terrible place. And she has always felt that Simon has tried to protect her from ever revisiting those terrible memories.

They’re getting nowhere. Selena’s focus falls instead to the earth beneath her boots.

The land itself has changed, too. It has since returned to its former state: sapped of life. Much like her garden.

It feels foreboding. (Could the dying land have been the catalyst for Simon’s malaise?)

Gabriel notices where Selena’s attention has fallen. He directs the conversation: “If I had to guess, I suspect he’s shouldering all of the responsibility that the land has reverted to its former state.”

Gabriel struggles to finish the thought aloud, but Selena understands. It’s former state being devoid of all life with no small credit to evil.

A shift of weight as Gabriel folds arms over his chest. “That, paired with the creatures of the night hailing from the north, must be causing him stress.”

Of course. Their peace couldn’t last forever, could it? Even though Dracula is dead, his followers are devout.

The reminder causes Selena’s stomach to ache.

“He has been patrolling more often, hasn’t he.” Selena fills the air with a half-question, voice falling distant. “He often returns injured. He doesn’t allow me to get close enough to tend to his wounds.”

Gabriel’s brows knit at that. Simon would always readily relinquish himself to Selena, always singing praises of her healing abilities, her knowledge, her medicines. Why change now?

Selena’s throat swells with the unfortunate and terrible reality of it all:

Simon Belmont has changed.

Her hand comes up to rub a worried fingertip upon her cheek as she ruminates.

A careful grounding breath.

“Selena?” Comes a sound from Gabriel, very gentle.

A dismissive wave of Selena’s hand at his notice. The same hand then tries to hide her face.

“It goes beyond you and I.” She tries, her voice turning feeble. “Mathieu, too, senses something amiss.”

A trembling inhale. “I have no answers for him, Gabriel. About any of this. Why the garden is dying, why he cannot earn his father’s attention, why…”

Selena allows herself a breath to stifle tears that threaten to flow. “Forgive me.”

Gabriel reaches a careful hand out, hesitating before he places it upon her shoulder. “This has gone on for too long without justification. I’ll speak to him.”

“No—please, don’t.” Selena insists, lingering in his supportive gesture. 

The air between them is so heavy as Selena finally resolves: “I’ll be the one to speak to him on his return.”

A soft sigh from Gabriel. While he doesn’t wish to put Selena in such an uncomfortable situation, she may be the only person capable of reaching Simon, now.

“Very well. I leave it to you, Selena.”

Selena lifts her head, offering a resolute nod towards him. “Thank you.”

The time comes that same evening. Selena watches Simon’s return from the window as his horse is slowed upon the estate grounds. 

Their eyes connect, but the expression he shares is not one of fondness, like in previous times.

Selena allows herself the luxury of feeling irritated over it rather than sorrowful. This was going to be a very challenging discussion.

Selena doesn’t quite want to uncover the truth of it all. She has wondered (in her darkest moments) if—God forbid—Simon has taken on a mistress during his patrols. Night after night, into the early hours of the morning…

No. Up until now, he has been faithful. Selena acknowledges that there is no merit in allowing such a poisonous thought to fester until it is proven by fact.

A grounding breath as she anticipates his arrival through their doorway. Familiar creaking of hinges, and the door closing shut.

“Welcome home.” Selena calls out, quietly, as to not disrupt Mathieu’s sleep. No reply from Simon as he walks past her into their bedroom.

He cannot even dignify her with a reply? Selena must push aside her bubbling irritation as she lingers behind.

In the process of Simon removing his belt, Selena chooses to take careful steps towards him.

“Would you like some help?” She offers warmly.

“I will be fine, thank you.” Simon shirks in a mumble. Polite, but strained.

Very well, then.

But Selena still allows herself a moment to examine his face.

Oh,

he looks terrible.

Even only illuminated by candlelight, Selena can plainly see the unnatural hue of Simon’s complexion. She knows Simon well enough that while he may not call on a doctor for himself, Selena has to wonder how Laurent has not taken notice to call for Doctor Seward on his behalf.

If only Selena had the ability to assess his illness on her own.

(If only he would let her close enough to try.)

Can she try, now? Innocuous notice, at first, perhaps she can gently coax him back into her care.

It starts with a quiet statement:

“You’re bleeding.” She breathes, quiet, before moving to step closer to him again.

Her gesture causes Simon to take pause as deft fingertips reach to touch delicately upon his cheek.

But flesh never connects. A flinch, and Simon is already moving elsewhere in their room. He has elected to stand before the mirror in the corner, taking a moment to examine his face.

Sure enough, he’s bleeding, as she said. A graceless and hurried gloved thumb rubs away the trickled blood.

A moment longer to linger as he examines his features in his reflection. The visage staring back is foreign, strange, and gaunt.

God, he looks truly awful—

“Permit me to clean it for you.” Comes a gentle request.

Simon’s eyes land on Selena’s reflection in the mirror. She fights the instinct to hide away from his piercing gaze, as if the very act of looking upon him is unwelcome.

He doesn’t reply. He only glares.

It’s unnerving.

Something is seriously wrong.

“Simon.” Selena needs to build herself up. It’s now or never. “I’d like to speak with you, please.”

Dead silent, Simon finally turns to face her. He’s tense. As if he could reach for a weapon at any moment—no. He would never.

A steeling breath as Selena steps towards him.

She doesn’t even know how long it’s been since she has last seen her husband in his eyes. The man that comes to the forefront walls himself off from her.

Even now, when they’re alone, and she barely manages to draw his gloved hands into her own

she feels his resistance. His pull, as if he would rather do anything other than connect.

It’s a loss worth mourning. Selena has become too comfortable with Simon as her other half, after all of these years of marriage.

It’s cruel for him to change, now. It’s cruel for him to change following the tragedy that has hurt them both so.

But Selena holds onto the feeble hope that there is more to this—an explanation—a justification—for Simon acting this way.

She must hold onto that hope, lest despair swallow her whole.

“What has happened, my husband?” She finally gathers the courage to whisper between them. “Are you displeased with me?”

“No.” Simon’s reply comes readily, but his voice is far away.

“You cannot so much as look at me.” Selena explains, staying his hands as she feels him pull away. In the moment, she can’t bear to look him in the face, either. “Even now, you resist my touch.”

As if being reprimanded, Simon stays still as stone, to try to show her that he isn’t pulling away.

“Please explain yourself,” Selena requests, finally looking up at him. He isn’t looking at her. “I beg of you.”

She watches as Simon breathes as his instincts tell him to part. To exit home, as he often does, when he needs to reflect in his own time.

“I am not displeased with you.” Simon manages, strained. He’s pulling away.

Selena steps closer to him, cradling his hands in hers, trying to show him tenderness. “Then why am I punished for something I have not done?”

“Don’t.” Simon breathes, taking a step back. Selena presses on, inching closer to him, trying to look at his face.

“Don’t what?” She echoes, swallowing the bubbling irritation in her throat.

And Simon doesn’t know how to explain himself. Selena notes that his eyes wander to other places in their room as he tries to maintain calm breathing. The familiar crease of his furrowed brow making an appearance as he does.

“Explain yourself, Simon.” She commands, hands tightening on his. “Tell me plainly, so I will not agonize over this any longer.”

A faltering inhale comes from the hunter at that.

“I beg your understanding,” he replies—and his voice is finally beginning to sound like his own, “there is nothing to explain.”

He must think her foolish to believe that. Selena cannot hide her bristling irritation at her next words, voice raising:

“Do you expect me to continue to endure your coldness without explanation?”

In reply, Simon offers her a strained, exhausted look. He hushes her with a command: “Mind your volume, Mathieu is sleeping—”

An exasperated and quick breath as Selena tries to quiet herself, but will not allow him to divert: “Explain yourself, Simon—”

A callous and curt reply cuts through it all: “I owe you no explanation.”

That was the worst thing he could have possibly said.

Simon wishes he could suck the words from the air—he immediately regrets uttering them, watching Selena boil over in front of him.

He feels as her hands tighten around his before she releases them in a rough, defeated motion.

“Selena, I—” Simon tries in a whisper, but he doesn’t even know what to say. A sigh. “I beg your forgiveness—”

Anger still hot, Selena makes a point to speak clearly as she glares at him: “You’ve become cruel.”

And Simon hates it! Selena doesn’t understand. She doesn’t have the faintest idea what it is he’s trying to do. What he’s trying to solve!

That he’s trying not to cause any more harm!

But in this moment,

he teeters over into fury.

At the situation.

At Selena.

Simon brushes past her briskly, wanting to exit their home before he does anything else he may regret.

“Simon!” Her voice calls out to him, loud. He doesn’t listen, hand already on the door handle, wrenching it open.

Standing behind him, Selena stays the door with her hand, and it slams shut under the weight of her pushing against it. Simon grimaces at the sound it makes, worrying that it’ll wake Mathieu. (All of this would be simpler if they didn’t need to worry about their boy overhearing their argument.)

The room falls silent.

Simon turns over his shoulder to glare at Selena.

He’s like a cornered animal. Bristling, volatile.

All rage.

And Selena, for the first time in a number of years, senses that she has gone too far in staying him.

“Can you not leave well enough alone?” Simon growls, chest heaving with rage he is struggling to calm. “Why must you torment me so?”

Selena is taken aback at Simon’s reaction. She requires a moment before she challenges him: “Torment you? What have I done to cause you torment?”

The face that stares back at her is foreign and strange. Selena finds herself wanting to create distance by taking a hesitant step backwards, moving her hand from the door.

But she cannot look away from him.

As he turns to face her

there’s something distressing about his eyes—

“I am only concerned for you. Is that so terrible?” She barks, struggling to maintain her ground against her husband who is, quite frankly, beginning to scare her.

Simon scoffs. “I’ve grown tired of your lies.”

Selena can only gape at such a callous reply. Anger comes to the forefront again, and it must promptly be snuffed for her to speak: “What lies? I swear on God’s good name that I have never lied to you—”

“Enough!” Simon roars, so unlike him, and Selena can only recoil at the harsh sound. “How dare you swear on His name! You have no right!”

Before Selena can process what terrible thing he has said, she’s pressing a finger to her lips as a gesture to silence him.

Mathieu is sleeping. Volume. Right.

Simon takes a grounding breath, turning and reaching for the handle of their bedroom door again.

He has to leave. Now.

Selena won’t let him, as she moves swiftly to physically block the exit with her body.

“Move.” Simon seethes with grit teeth.

He’s—he’s terrifying. Selena’s legs tremble as she stares up at him. 

But she stands resolute. She shakes her head in opposition.

But his eyes—he’s—

“You’re scaring me.” Her words fall out, more fragile than she had hoped.

“I can do far worse than scare you.” Simon replies, voice uncharacteristically venomous and dark.

“Will you resist? Or will you only use it as a means to plague me further?”

How could he say such a terrible thing? Selena tries in vain to interrupt him—

“Will you delight in watching me strike down my beloved? Is that what you’re hoping I’ll do?”

Strike down? No, Simon—

“Is that what I must do to break this illusion?”

Illusion? He’s not making sense—

“Answer me!”

Selena is stunned, now, frozen in place. Her gaze is locked with that of Simon Belmont just above her, who is bearing down upon her with vitriol as he heaves with rage he doesn’t know where to place.

Selena opens her mouth to speak, trying to remain calm, but

she crumbles. 

A hand comes up over her mouth to quell the sound of her broken conviction in the form of sobs.

Simon’s eyes are searching her face. He appears affected by the change.

He steps back, the weight of it all palpable. For even if this is an illusion, there’s no denying that seeing Selena weep deeply distresses him.

Would an illusion—no, this is precisely the means by which he can be manipulated—but—

God,

what is he doing?

He has to leave.

“Permit me to leave.” Simon requests, voice weaker than before. His hand is already reaching for the door handle again.

Selena has half the mind to let him go. A grounding breath to calm herself.

A last-ditch effort: a trembling hand lands on his.

This time, Simon does not pull away.

And that only causes Selena to crumble further.

Why? Why is he acting this way?

In reply, Simon holds onto her hand, but dares not move to embrace her. Instead, he waits, for her to recover in her own time.

“I demand an explanation.” Selena manages in a rasp after she has come down from her spell. Her grip tightens on his hand. She will not release him until he does as she wishes, and her glassy eyes stare at him, resolute and firm.

Simon’s head is bowed. He can’t look at her. His mind is so far removed from logic to be able to adequately explain himself.

But, he tries, hoping that by breathing it aloud the illusion may be cast off:

“I am consumed by terrible dreams. Thoughts.” He admits in a mumble, focus still downwards. “I am unwell.”

An unsteady inhale. “I have… contemplated,” another breath “ending your life.”

Their hands part at that (naturally.)

Simon resists the urge to crumble on the spot, taken aback that he uttered the words aloud.

As if his words were the very act of doing. Illusion or not, he could never, not his Selena—

and he looks at Selena, who processes this.

Fresh tears. Of course.

Of course.

Of course.

Simon fights the tightness in his throat, and hardly manages. “I am unwell. My thoughts are not my own, yet they govern all that I do.”

“You cannot hurt me.” Selena attempts to ground both, bundling her remaining strength to stand upright.

It’s Simon who now recoils from her.

“I already have.” He breathes, crushed by shame. Desperate gloved hands wipe at his face at the realization he’s dampened in a cold sweat.

“You haven’t hurt me, Simon.” Selena’s voice tries to soothe, reaching careful hands out to smooth over his clothed forearms, staying the hands that have moved, that itch to claw off his own skin in utter disgust.

“Permit me to leave.” Simon begs, moving away from her with a weakness in his voice she has never heard. “Wipe this exchange from your mind, I beg of you.”

Selena takes a step towards him, sliding her hands over him.

This is the real Simon Belmont.

A shadow of the man he used to be, yes—but he is genuine.

Selena sees her beloved for the first time in a long time.

And he’s hurting beyond anything she can understand.

“I beg you, stay.” Selena hushes, commandeering the space. “Please, tell me what dreams and thoughts plague you.”

But to do that gives them even greater power. Simon can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

She will be disgusted.

She won’t care for him anymore.

(Does she still?)

If Simon cannot be the Belmont that he is expected to be, of sound mind and body, then Selena—will she—

will their son

still respect him?

It doesn’t matter.

It’s an illusion, it’s an illusion—

Simon is stunned silent, and he knows that this irritates Selena. She has been trying so hard—she has been especially gentle. Illusion or not.

Desperate hands wipe at his face.

He can’t speak on it.

“Simon.” Selena tries to pull him from his spiral, very gentle. “Let me in.”

He can’t.

“You have contemplated ending my life.” Selena breathes, and Simon wishes she wouldn’t state it so plainly. “But you have not. You could never.”

“You don’t know that.” Simon retorts. The illusion hasn’t been broken yet, what more must he do—

“I do. I know who you are. You are kind beyond a shadow of a doubt. You’ve always treated me gently, in spite of your strength—”

“I am not the same as I was!” Simon resists, voice turning desperate, but remaining hushed. “Surely you can see that!”

Selena pauses for a moment to look at Simon. To really study him.

He has changed, this is true. His hair has taken on strands of copper amidst blonde. He covers every inch of skin he can manage. His eyes are bloodshot—Selena has to wonder when he last allowed himself to sleep.

And irises… have they always been that hue? She recalls they were blue. They’re… gold, in this light.

Be it a trick or the light or some other such thing, one truth remains:

his eyes are earnest.

He’s still her Simon.

Thus, Selena chooses to be gentle: “I see the love of my life hurting beyond my understanding.”

All anger dissipates.

Simon absorbs Selena’s words—so plain and kind with no room for misunderstanding. Even after everything. After his coldness, after his rage.

Selena notices. She takes a careful step closer.

This time, Simon does not pull away. He only hangs his heavy head.

“And I only want to share your burden.” Selena concludes in a gentler voice, sliding delicate fingertips upon his cheek.

Simon flinches at the gesture.

But stays.

At the sensation of Selena running deft fingertips along the scars that mar his cheek, Simon breathes to ground himself. Eyes close as hair is tucked behind his ear.

“Please,” Selena begs, heartfelt “allow me to shoulder some of your burden.”

And as she feels Simon begin to resign himself into her care, she continues: “I pass no judgment on your thoughts nor dreams. Your actions have always been true and just in spite of it all. If you truly wanted to hurt me, it would not agonize you so. Allow that fact to ground you.”

His brow knits at that. “It is not so simple.”

An unsteady hand touches hesitant fingertips against the hand that now cradles his cheek. 

He requires a moment to swallow before he can speak: “My thoughts, dreams, nightmares… I can no longer distinguish them from my reality with confidence.”

Selena inches closer, listening with intent as Simon still refuses to make eye contact.

“Even now,” he breathes, “I don’t know if this conversation is happening.”

Selena tries to direct him: “You mentioned an illusion, earlier.”

Simon swallows, with a clipped nod. “Yes.” A trembling breath. “I fear that this life is an illusion. A falsehood.”

Selena’s brows knit in confusion as she tries to process such a statement. 

Simon tries to clarify: “Each time I sleep, I return to Castlevania. I relive my fight against Dracula, with all of the pain from it in perfect clarity.”

Selena thinks upon all of the nights disturbed by his thrashes, his groans of agony.

A quivering breath. He must be honest, now: “It feels so real. It can only be real.”

He needs a moment to build himself back up. He feels entirely foolish for being so weak to speak on it aloud, but Selena tries to keep him grounded with a gentle stroke of her thumb. In reply, Simon finds the strength to hold onto her hand as his lifeline.

He still isn’t looking at her. “I began to try and make the distinction of my own accord, resolving that my moments in Castlevania are my truth, and the life I’ve built with you here is…”

Oh.

“An illusion.” Selena finishes, quiet.

Simon is burned by the heat of shame scalding him all over. “Made to keep me complacent within the castle walls.”

The floodgates have opened as Simon tells all: “In my desperation, I’ve wanted to break the illusion, so I might be able to return to my real family waiting for me. It is for that reason that I…”

“Considered ending my life.” Selena finishes his thought once again. “Because you fear that I am a machination of Dracula’s will.”

A shameful and trembling exhale. “Yes.”

Selena tries to process what Simon has shared. The heat of utter shame scalds Simon as the heavy weight of silence passes over them.

“I know not what I can say or do to prove to you that this is real.” Selena admits at last, voice hesitant. 

Simon’s eyes close. It isn’t. It isn’t real.

This Selena isn’t real.

“Do you feel the warmth of my hand?” Selena tries to ask, quiet.

Simon requires a moment to process her question.

“You shared that you relive your fight with Dracula, and all of the pain from it. Do you feel my hand, in this moment?” She tries to clarify.

A breath. “Yes.”

Good. Selena rewards him with another soft stroke of her thumb upon his cheek. “And do you recall, when you returned from your siege, and I mended your wounds, the pain from those injuries?”

Eyes slowly open. Simon is beginning to understand Selena’s angle. “Yes.”

“Then what makes you so certain that this is an illusion, when you have known pain here, as well?”

Simon lingers with hesitation. “Dracula’s illusory abilities…”

“Dracula is dead, by your hand, my Simon. He holds no power over you.”

A new well of anxiety stirs in Simon’s innards. Selena freezes at the notice of Simon’s complexion losing even more colour.

For him to react in such a way—could Dracula still be—no. No, that’s not possible. Selena keeps herself grounded.

But Simon’s disturbance is evident on his face.

“If I am still fighting in Castlevania…” Simon tries to explain, acknowledging how ridiculous this all sounds in isolation.

But he cannot finish his thought. To give that thought breath would be…

This is going to take time to decipher. Selena pulls away from Simon just enough to take his hands, gently guiding him to their bed.

Lacking the strength to do much more, he resigns, taking a seat. Selena sits herself beside him, hands still folded over his.

“I know this is much to ask of you.” Selena begins, still trying to be very gentle. “But please, tell me what happened in Castlevania. Spare no details.”

Simon tenses at that.

“There is much you did not share at the banquet, isn’t there.” Selena’s question is more like a statement. 

“You shared no encounter with a warg, yet told me the injury to your shoulder was from a warg bite.”

Oh, no.

“I beg your honesty, now, so I might be able to help you.” Selena tries. “Please.”

Simon still cannot look at her. His head is so heavy. He only watches their hands held between them.

This is it.

If by some miracle that this is not an illusion, there will be no recovering once Simon tells all.

Selena will conclude that if he is not a madman, he is a liar, and a fraud.

Undeserving of the name Belmont.

“Please.” She begs, tightening her hands on his.

Simon requires a moment. An unsteady inhale, as he returns to that terrible place.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 51 - DRACULA’S THRONE ROOM
SIX YEARS AGO

The clock tower in the distance sounds its poignant toll under the glow of an ungodly blood-red moon.

The hour of Dracula’s certain death is nigh.

There’s no turning back.

Hardened with resolve

strengthened by his faith

and with the support of his forefathers upon his back

Simon faces his destiny.

He ascends the stairs, pushes upon the towering doors that separate him from his objective. They creak under their monstrous weight as they open.

A grounding breath as Simon crosses the threshold. He marches within, and much like the stairs that led him to the keep, the room illuminates with hundreds of candles, all lit by some magical power.

With it comes a chill that challenges his resolve.

And as if to underline it, the doors slam shut behind him.

A calming breath as he takes in the now illuminated room: vast, ornate. In spite of its spaciousness, Simon is weakened by the oppressive aura that bears down upon him.

For the moonlight offers no respite as it streams its unnatural hue through stained glass windows. The colour of fresh blood washes over the cobblestone walls and across the narrow carpet that leads Simon to his objective:

Dracula’s coffin, which rests closed upon a raised altar.

If by some miracle that Dracula has not yet risen from his coffin, Simon will find him there. He will plunge a stake into his heart, decapitate him, and burn it all.

But that would be far too simple of a victory. Not after enduring the arduous feat that was ascending the castle over these last few days.

No. Dracula has indeed been reanimated. Simon can sense it. He beckons for him.

Simon pushes through his waning strength to crack his leather whip upon the ground by his side.

“Show yourself, Dracula!” He roars, eyes landing upon the pedestal which his coffin rests.

His voice reverberates against the walls of the room.

There is no reply.

Simon does not allow this to give him pause. He retrieves a stake from his belt, and is quick to jog towards the coffin.

With a graceless push, he shoves aside the heavy lid of it.

He isn’t surprised to find that Dracula is not resting within.

What disturbs him is the chill of death, right by his neck. A masterful whirl of his whip around, and Simon’s focus follows in that powerful gesture.

A step backwards to create some distance as he finally meets the manifestation of human’s greed, hatred, pain—suffering.

Evil incarnate animates before him, building himself up piece by piece to his full, towering, and inhuman stature.

“I must commend you, Simon Belmont,” Dracula begins “you have ascended here faster than your predecessors.”

In spite of his praises, his voice carries no mirth. No joy.

He speaks only in dripping venom. “Do we have your woman to credit for that?”

No such taunts will have any effect on Simon. He fastens the stake back upon his belt, and instead reaches for his combat cross.

He holds it in his left hand, while he extends the hilt of the whip forward in his right.

“Your death is nigh, Dracula.” Simon matches his venom with a powerful and confident counter as he steps into a fortified stance. “I offer you one final chance to repent. Beg God above for His forgiveness, so your soul may be granted peace before your true death at my hand.”

Dracula only smirks, and Simon expects no less.

“True death, you say.” Dracula scoffs with a chuckle as he takes an imposing step forward.

“In my continuous resurrections alone, I stand as an affront of your God and all He represents. Do you think I am so pathetic to grovel at His feet for forgiveness on behalf of the acts of those who worship me?”

“You know as well as I that those who worship you are not to blame.” Simon stares up at the towering figure, just paces ahead of him. “You deserve the chance to repent, like any other man. Like those who have been blinded by you.”

Dracula is still smirking. “How very noble of you.” A tut. “Do you think it will earn you His favour? You cannot truly believe you stand as His champion.”

They’re talking in circles. Simon draws it to a close: “My merit will be earned in my deed here.”

Simon’s body is tightening, ready to strike as he vows: “I will fulfill my duty as a Belmont. You can say nothing to deter me.”

“I will not die. I will live forever in those who desire for my existence.” In reply, a hand emerges at last from Dracula’s cloak, and he outstretches his claws to his side. “Try as you may, you will not kill me. And I’ll see to it that your meddlesome bloodline is finally wiped from existence!”

Before Simon has even a moment to process his words, Dracula is moving at incredible speed, his cape taking on the appearance of leathery, bat-like wings to hoist him off of his feet.

A silent prayer for God to strengthen his arm before Simon hurls his combat cross with all of his might, and it spins straight for his intended target: Dracula’s neck!

It does not connect, but it has served its purpose: Simon watches as Dracula moves to dodge it in the air before it collides.

In that moment of distraction, Simon is running, using the momentum to wind his right arm back. A deafening crack of his whip forward and above, and he’s aiming for the very same spot.

Dracula is quick to attune to Simon’s objective, and summons a flurry of fireballs that materialize from his expanded wings, just above him.

Simon sprints out of harm’s way, and barely manages. He does not look back to process the flames that he can feel catching upon the carpet at his heels and under his boots. He can only run, instead relying on his senses to tell him where Dracula is.

A beat of leathery wings and the flames are snuffed. Dracula lands upon his feet, some paces away, announcing his presence.

Simon isn’t given a moment to process before he feels a flurry of heat fast-approaching at his back. A graceless dodge roll onto the cold cobblestone floor is all he can manage to avoid it.

From his place on the ground, he snatches a flask of holy water, clutching it hard in his left hand as he recovers to stand—

Dracula is standing too close to him, vulnerable on the ground! How did he—

Unable to strategize, Simon hurls the flask at Dracula’s feet, and holy flame climb to engulf him. The attack earns him a hiss of pain from his foe, and gives him the opportunity to clamour onto his feet.

As Dracula recoils away from the flame, Simon seizes his opportunity to strike - a running start before he launches himself into the air, a snap of his whip following the momentum.

It connects, lashing Dracula’s face! The might of the Vampire Killer serving her divine purpose is reflected in brilliant flame of an unnatural hue: blue, ethereal, and rivalled only by the holy flames produced by his flasks of blessed water.

Simon lands hard upon the ground, knees buckling under the force. He requires a moment to regain his footing.

Dracula doesn’t grant him that time.

A clawed hand has reached out between the flames to seize Simon.

He grabs onto Simon’s head—whole palm claiming it in his grip—and sends him back to the ground with staggering force.

It’s about all Dracula can manage before he’s taken to the air again, evading the flames that continue to climb.

But it’s enough. It leaves Simon upon the ground for the moment, stunned from trauma to his head as fire begins to catch around him.

Move. Move!

Simon doesn’t spring back onto his feet as fast as he hopes. It’s a clumsy rebuild back to standing.

He has to finish this, quickly, before—

Dracula dives down to claim Simon, face twisting into a new horror as flesh melts from bone.

Another roll out of harm’s way, and Dracula narrowly avoids colliding face-first with the ground.

Simon seizes the opportunity as he snaps the whip as quickly as he can manage around Dracula’s throat.

Leather winds tight, and Simon is rewarded for allowing Dracula so close by the brilliant blue searing Dracula’s flesh.

A guttural roar of pain and Dracula is thrashing, trying to rid himself of its hold! A graceless transition onto his knees grants Simon the opportunity to grab the whip’s end with his free hand.

Mustering all of his herculean strength, Simon pulls leather tight, doing everything in his power to strangle Dracula.

Naturally, Dracula resists, as his wings beat in opposition. He reels just enough that Simon nearly loses his grip.

Nearly!

Another twist of his body, and Simon is leading a gaping Dracula over his shoulder, pulling downward with every aching and tearing fibre of his being.

The time is now! Simon has Dracula’s life in his hands. If decapitation is quick, then—

Dracula’s claws reach out in opposition - one lands upon Simon’s dominant arm, and the other

reveals itself before Simon’s eyes, making quick work of lodging claws into his jaw.

With slow and agonizing deliberation, Dracula runs his claws upwards through Simon’s face.

Simon cannot waste even an ounce of energy on vocalizing his pain. Grit teeth as he must allow it to happen.

Claws run their course, instead gripping upon Simon’s crown of hair.

Dracula attempts to send him into the ground again.

Simon’s grip only tightens, staying both where they are!

And finally—finally!—

the terrible—and incredible—release of weight

as Dracula’s head is severed from his body.

Simon watches it tumble onto the ground from its original position over his shoulder.

At the enormous weight of Dracula unfurling upon Simon’s back and shoulders—the literal weight of the world and all of its evils—

Simon allows himself to fall to his knees, panting laboriously from his efforts and heightened adrenaline.

He allows himself to blink through the blood dripping from his head wound—pushes aside the searing of fresh gashes to his face—to look upon Dracula’s wretched severed head lull into place upon the ground.

Dead.

It’s done.

God above, it’s done.

Simon Belmont has successfully completed his birthright—has successfully delivered God’s divine will—by killing the lord of darkness.

Soon, the castle will crumble with the death of its master. Simon must collect himself and leave. 

But not before burning Dracula’s body.

It’s difficult for him to get onto his feet.

His body is aching with fresh hurt. He may have torn connective tissue in his struggle.

It’s difficult to wind the leather of the Vampire Killer back to her rightful place buckled at his hip.

An uneasy step forward to assess his range of motion. It’s limited.

A hand comes up to touch upon his face.

He cannot make out its usual contours in the gore and torn flesh.

Nothing to do for it at the moment. 

Burn the body.

Attention falls to Dracula’s severed head, just in front of Simon.

Weak footsteps ahead before he can kneel to collect it.

Unceremoniously, Simon grips hard upon Dracula’s hair, hoisting his decapitated head from the ground.

It requires too much of his strength to lift to eye-level.

Just once, Simon would like to stare in defiance upon the beast who has caused Transylvania—and his family—so much torment.

But no such poisonous thoughts enter Simon’s mind as he stares upon Dracula’s lifeless visage.

Instead, a far more powerful one:

a prayer.

May his wretched soul finally rest forevermore.

May you find peace in your true death, Dracula—

Simon’s thoughts are cut short at the sensation of the air changing around him. The sheer absence of it is so strong that it manages to snuff every lit candle in the room, every ember caught upon the carpet.

Whirling around, Simon stares, just a few paces ahead.

A looming, monstrous figure stands before him.

Illuminated only by the bright red of the ungodly moon streaming its light from stained glass windows.

And its glowing red eyes.

A beast that Simon has only read about in writings.

A gruesome creature crawled from the very bowels of hell.

Simon was too late in decapitating Dracula. His ultimate form has been summoned.

Simon must discard the head held in his hand in order to reach for his whip—

but the beast of Dracula rushes right for him!

Simon doesn’t have the opportunity to unfurl his whip before enormous wings eclipse the moonlight as it bounds above him!

In a hurried motion, the severed heard of Dracula is discarded on the ground, freeing Simon’s hand to slip out the sword from its sheath at his hip.

Weakened arms hold it firm in front of his body, aiming the point of it upright.

He likely cannot dodge in time, resolving that he’ll have to drive it forward. 

Legs brace for the inevitable crash of Dracula from above.

Simon nearly manages to drive the blade of his sword through, but Dracula evades being cut.

Razor-sharp claws instead launch forward and make quick the task of seizing Simon’s shoulders. Talons lodge within flesh, puncturing muscle, before Simon is pulled off of his feet.

All Simon can do is thrash to be free of his agonizing restraints. In spite of his pain, his grip upon the hilt of his sword is steadfast and firm.

A graceless swing of it above his head, hoping to cut through anything!

No such luck.

At the apex height of the throne room, Dracula releases Simon with ferocious strength, hurling him straight for the ground.

He should meet it very quickly, bracing arms around vital spots to prepare himself for the inevitable crash—

but it does not come.

The room changes on the way down.

Winding.

Lengthening.

Cobblestone, tapestry, windows, the moonlight

it all disintegrates before Simon's eyes into endless darkness.

Has he met his end?

No, it cannot be.

Simon’s concerns are assuaged by the suffocating darkness changing into hues of colour - fog-like, billowing and swirling.

It can only be illusory magic.

And when Simon finally collides with a surface (landing more gently than he had braced for), the monstrous beast of Dracula is quick to appear.

Simon moves onto his back, relying on desperation to move his body beyond its mortal capabilities.

The formidable creature snaps jaws ahead, attempting to claim a resistant Simon in his teeth. Simon does not relent, moving to drive the tip of his blade towards Dracula’s face.

At the notice of his attempts, Dracula bears his weight down upon Simon, leaving him no opening as he must push against the force above, lest it crush him.

Something dribbles from the beast’s stinking maw. Upon connecting with Simon’s exposed flesh, it burns in a way Simon has never experienced before.

If he doesn’t obtain the upper hand, he’ll die before he can see to Dracula’s end!

A desperate arm, still clutching hard his sword, attempts to push Dracula off of him at another snap of teeth. Simon narrowly avoids a bite to his face in the struggle.

With his free hand, he’s searching for an item on his belt. He doesn’t have enough leverage for a whip strike to have any effect.

But he manages to grab hold of a combat cross.

Swiftly, he reveals it, and with all of the strength he can muster, drives one of its points directly into Dracula’s eye.

Holy flames catch on impact! Simon is rewarded with the beast recoiling just enough for him to collect himself onto his knees, then onto his feet, moving to create distance between them.

As Simon turns away from Dracula, he finally takes in the scenery that has changed around them.

And looks upon where he landed.

He finally notices the fleshy masses that move under his feet.

Bodies—no—

animated corpses.

Thousands of them.

Despite Death’s demise, the legion of undead still bend to Dracula’s will.

Simon’s notice of them is far too late as dozens of hand emerge, claiming his legs!

Resistance is futile as Simon uses his remaining strength to try and shake himself free of them. He clamours to retrieve holy water from his belt—

none remain. His supplies have been spent.

Dracula isn’t far behind him, his terrible aura creeping upon his back.

Simon has taken to swinging his sword wildly against the fleshy masses that continue to try and hold him in place.

It’s enough of a distraction that leaves him vulnerable.

An opening for Dracula to strike.

Simon senses the warm and wet and burn of Dracula’s ferocious maw as it dribbles upon his left shoulder, granting him hardly enough warning before it’s claimed between rows of gnashing teeth.

At the too-sudden sensation of his shoulder being punctured—bone shattering under the crushing impact—Simon screams, unrestrained. Desperate hands scramble push himself free from the jaws that bear down upon him without success.

As monstrous jaws draw closed even tighter still, Simon can hear how his bones buckle and break under the force. His howls of agony cannot drown out the sound—cannot ease the overwhelming pain that follows the impact—how it radiates down his arm, up his neck.

It’s unrelenting, deliberate and horribly slow. It’s too much to bear.

But he cannot succumb.

He must act, while there is still life in his body!

With his sword still in the grip of his dominant hand, Simon moves to drive it over his left shoulder with all of his remaining strength behind it.

And while it does connect, piercing through Dracula’s skull with remarkable ease

nothing could prepare Simon for the sensation that joins the first, piercing him from behind.

Dracula’s clawed hand has driven through his back

and—

has emerged

from his midsection.

Pain unlike anything Simon has experienced before, his limbs lose all sensation. Arms slacken by his sides, his sword abandoned in Dracula’s skull.

No sounds can escape him. He only gapes, eyes wide as he processes it all.

When he musters the courage to assess the injury,

he first notices that the room around them has reverted to its former state.

He then acknowledges the result of Dracula’s impalement

in the form of his innards spilling from the wound.

At that, Dracula’s monstrous claws retreat.

The clenching of his ferocious jaw weakens, releasing Simon at last.

Dracula is the first to collapse.

Simon remarks the disintegration of him as ashes are scattered in the wind.

Simon is not afforded the opportunity to celebrate his victory.

Having been depleted of all of his energy, muscles torn, blood lost, sustaining fatal and gruesome injuries,

Simon uses his remaining slivers of consciousness to beg to his gracious God for his efforts not to be in vain.

He fought for Him.

He fought for Transylvania.

For the Belmont family.

For Selena, and his unborn child.

And he can only die an honourable death knowing he has served his duty with success.

Simon is not given an answer before consciousness is taken from him, slumping into a graceless heap in a mess of his own innards and blood.

As Simon finishes sharing the terrible truth of it all, Selena remarks how his face is devoid of all colour. He’s right there again - the pain behind his eyes makes that fact woefully evident.

She envisions him, in that terrible place, left for dead and gutted.

It’s any wonder how he questions his truth. No man could survive such an injury as he did. Dracula’s illusory powers are frightening.

Selena herself bore witness to them. Not to such a degree—thank God for that—but—

oh, Simon’s trembling.

Selena smooths hands over his, taking a quiet moment to ground both in those touches.

“How did you escape?” She musters the strength to ask.

Simon requires a breath—feeble—before he can reply, and when he does, his voice is so strained: “When my consciousness returned, Dracula’s keep was ablaze. My shoulder was still broken, but my torso was entirely intact.”

His hand is gripping hers, now that he’s beginning to come down from his episode. “I managed to escape the castle while it crumbled behind my heels.”

Simon isn’t looking at her as he adds: “I lacked the strength to move quickly. It’s a miracle I was not crushed under the rubble.”

A few quiet breaths. Selena waits for Simon to conclude: “Having no remnant of my impalement, I resolved that my fight with the beast was an illusion, made only to shaken my resolve. I pushed it from my mind.”

A frown. “Until my unrelenting nightmares repeated the memory in perfect, agonizing clarity. Night after night, for all of these years.”

A trembling breath, Simon concludes in a barely-there sound: “It can only be true.”

Simon chooses not to speak on the other thoughts and dreams that weigh on his mind.

He doesn’t need to. It’s evident that Selena is grappling enough with just this.

Sorting through the mess in her mind, Selena retrieves a half-statement, voice wavering as she shares it:

“It cannot be true, you had no such injury,” a moment to weigh out if she should finalize her terrible thought by speaking it aloud: “you would not be able to survive such an injury.”

And when Simon doesn’t reply to her statement, she looks upon his face again.

There’s a solemness there, as eyes are downcast. She notices the tight frown he wears.

Resignation.

There’s no emotion behind his next uttered words: “You think I’ve gone mad.”

Selena has to quickly course correct, as she feels him begin to pull away once again. “No, I—”

Her hands grip on his at the notice of him moving away.

“Please, just,” Selena stammers “stay.”

Simon lingers, but says nothing.

“Forgive me,” Selena tries to fill the air “I only need a moment to process what you’ve shared.”

To that, Simon closes his eyes, granting her that time. During which, he takes careful breaths in an attempt to calm his own heart, now thudding madly.

When he collects himself enough to lift his eyes, he sneaks a careful look towards Selena. She is deep in thought, her own complexion having lost its colour.

One of her hands is relinquished to cover her mouth.

The other tightens further upon Simon’s hand. He returns her grip.

Perhaps it was wrong to paint such a vivid and terrible image for her. It’s a traumatic place for both, and it’s possible Simon has brought her back to her own captivity in Castlevania with his descriptions.

Before he can confirm outright, Selena finally speaks, hushed:

“You had no injury to your back, but your shoulder injury was real.” She tries, her voice not quite carrying.

Her voice remains hushed between them, behind her hand, hesitant. 

As if her next uttered words cannot be undone:

“Are you saying you were bitten by Dracula?”

And at her stating it so plainly, Simon flushes hot all over with fresh anxiety.

Unable to provide a sufficient answer in time, Selena breaks away from him, and moves to collect the crucifix around her neck - the very same Simon gave her, years ago, and the same he asked she never remove under any circumstance.

But she does, only to keep it clutched in her hand.

“Remove your gloves.” She commands.

Simon lingers with hesitation. Its with a bowed head that he obeys her will, first removing his left glove.

When Selena processes what is revealed to her, she must swallow the gasp in her throat.

Calloused palm facing upwards between them, Simon’s hand is revealed.

Flesh Selena has not seen—nor felt—for months, now.

And she now understands why.

His flesh is an unnatural, sickly hue—textured and marbled with rot, carrying the scent of it, too—

The only remnant that it is indeed her husband’s hand is reflected in the wedding band he still wears on his finger. The notice of its gleam is the only thing that gives Selena the strength to resume her task.

Carefully, she places the crucifix within Simon’s palm.

The pair wait with bated breath for the violent reaction that never comes.

Simon closes his fingers around the metal, lingering with it in his grasp.

More time passes between them.

Nothing happens.

But—such a holy item should be burning him, were he a—

“How?” Selena breathes in equal parts astonishment and utter relief.

Simon explains, voice deceptive in its calmness: “One cannot turn into a vampire from a bite alone. The vampire must also bestow their blood to complete the rite.”

A thumb rubs idly upon the depiction of Christ on the cross. “I know not what has caused this change. I learned from my grandfather some time ago that alterations to one’s appearance can occur after encountering darkness.”

Simon concludes in a quiet, strained sound: “But the only writings I’ve found to support that fact are those which theorize the true origin of night creatures.”

A beat between them as Simon lingers, hesitating.

He touches fingertips together as he studies his exposed hand. A far cry from how it once looked. Felt.

And with his continued deterioration with each passing day, Simon breathes aloud his greatest shame in one conclusion:

“I fear the worst.”

He doesn’t need to clarify what he means by that. Selena knows.

She moves closer to him at that, her hands hovering over his. 

It cannot be. This—this might only be a mortal disease, if she can examine it closely, she might be able to—

“Don’t.” Simon moves away from her in an instant. “You mustn’t touch—”

She insists: “I beg you—”

“No.” His voice is firm. “I cannot risk tainting you with my illness.”

That causes Selena to take pause. She returns her hands with some hesitation, and obeys his will.

With those few words alone, Selena pieces together that while Simon is assuredly disturbed and ill, he is still earnest.

His actions in recent time are less about abject cruelty

and far more about his kindness. In his own, misguided way, he has tried to shoulder his strife, nightmares, thoughts, dreams, illness—and the terrible culmination of them—all on his own.

And only now does Selena realize his primary motivation in keeping her—and Mathieu—at arm’s length.

Simon is only doing what he can to protect them—all of them, as he always has promised he would—in spite of his belief that this reality is an illusion.

He has deteriorated beyond recognition, deprived himself of sleep, continues to fight tirelessly against the night—all while desperately working to try and uncover the answers

to his true reality.

His true fate.

The duo linger in quiet before Selena musters the strength to look him in the eyes.

“You must see how you prove your kindness.” Selena begins, trying to lift the weight of it all before it crushes both. “You may have contemplated ending my life, but your actions prove your care.”

Simon’s reply only comes in a furrowed brow at the reminder, and how he busies himself with donning his glove back over his left hand.

But her words ring true. For even if this reality is an illusion, Simon’s protective nature is still intact. He still takes on fighting creatures of the night, still obeys God’s will—bless Him, truly, for not burning his terrible flesh!

And second only to his devotion to God,

does Simon still have the unwavering desire to protect his family. (No matter how terrible his mind has become, no matter how his mind has twisted his perception.)

This revelation rocks the foundation of Selena’s carefully maintained composure. She needs time to find the words she’d like to convey as she processes it all.

Simon has told her everything he knows—flawed, imperfect and untrue the facts may be.

He has shared the deepest, most shameful, most vile parts of himself.

And yet, no answers have been revealed to him. The illusion has not been cast off.

If by some miracle this is not an illusion, all Simon can do is wait with bated breath for Selena’s judgment of him and his actions.

With the leather as a barrier between his tainted flesh, Simon returns the crucifix in hand to Selena. She takes it carefully from him, her focus downcast as she idles with the chain of it.

There is nothing more to speak on. He has done what she asked of him: he has shared every gruesome detail of his time spent in Castlevania.

This Selena will be the only person who will ever know that truth.

(But what of the Selena who is waiting for him? What of the Selena who may still be trapped in the castle?)

He has wasted too much time in this illusion. Simon moves to stand, and that pulls Selena from her rumination.

“You have” an unsteady breath before she continues from her seat on the bed, “shouldered so much all this time, and I…”

Eyes connect at that, and Simon immediately notices how those that stare back at him are glassy with new moisture.

“I am a terrible wife.” She states as she fights her frown. “Please, forgive me.”

The sight of her—the sorrow in her voice—aches Simon’s heart.

A terrible wife? No. Nothing could be further from the truth, Simon longs to tell her. This Selena has been understanding, generous, patient, caring—even now!

She has endured so much in her own respect.

“I know there is nothing I can say to convince you that this is real.” Selena explains quietly from her seat, crucifix still in hand.

She requires a moment before she gathers her strength to stand. A moment longer before she positions herself just in front of Simon. “But please, allow me the opportunity to try and solve it alongside you.”

To do that would be playing right into Dracula’s hands. It isn’t something Simon can simply agree to.

It’s a liability that this Selena knows even this much.

Selena senses his resistance. She chooses to take a step closer, and slide a hand upon Simon’s chest.

Between her hand and his torso, Simon can feel the familiar metal of the crucifix Selena still holds. He fights every instinct to step away from her touch so he might have the chance to process what she would like to say.

“I know not what illness you’re afflicted with.” Selena begins to explain as she stands close to him, looking up at him.

“But be it a result of your God-abiding acts, or your faith, one thing is true: you are still in God’s favour.” Selena underlines carefully. “Surely, even in an illusion, you can trust His judgment above all else, can’t you?” 

And Selena makes a point to ground him: “And He would not like for you to succumb to evil. It is not in your nature to - it never has been. You would never turn your back from your obligation to Him.”

It all sounds so hopeful and beautiful when it comes from her mouth. The idea that God still sees Simon as His champion against the darkness, and is supporting him through this trial. And in addition to Him, Simon’s devoted wife, who has stepped up to task without fear or doubt.

She is incredible. After all she has endured, to stand before him. To want to solve this with him.

After everything.

But Simon will not allow himself to be swayed by pretty words alone. Actions—contingency plans—must be made if he’s to even entertain the idea of allowing Selena to shoulder his burden, come what may.

There are consequences to Simon sharing the truth with Selena. Things will not be the same as they were.

And just when Selena was beginning to think she might have reached him, Simon’s features fall completely serious.

He maintains eye contact with her as he shares, hushed between them:

“If we cannot solve this, and I risk turning into a creature of the night,” he breathes, emphasizing: “if I stray from God’s light…”

His next words are conveyed sternly: “The only solution will be to end my life. Are you capable of doing such a thing?”

Simon swallows as he watches Selena process this - poorly.

But he must continue to clearly convey the risks with his instructions, so there are no misunderstandings:

“You must be capable of driving a stake through my heart.”

A hand comes up to claim hers, still placed at his chest. He gently guides it to cover where his heart is—and she can feel it beating, calm. Resolved. “Right here.”

Selena is no longer looking at his face. Simon must continue regardless:

“Then you must sever my head, and burn it, along with my body.” 

Dead air lingers between them. Simon’s fingers curl around Selena’s hand, a firm gesture to maintain her attention.

“Do you understand?”

Sound doesn’t quite carry as Selena struggles to reply:

“You ask the impossible of me.” A trembling breath as she is forced to envision such a terrible outcome. “I couldn’t possibly do such a thing.”

“Prove to me your resolve and swear this to me.”

That may have been too harsh. Simon can feel Selena trembling, now. But the unpleasant gravity of such a statement—of such a real and possible outcome—is one that Selena must be ready to act upon.

“Please don’t make me swear such a thing.” She resists, crumbling. “I cannot fathom it. I haven’t the courage to see it done.”

“You must.” Simon underlines firmly, lingering closer still.

A feeble voice begs, wanting to be rid of such a crushing responsibility: “What of Gabriel, or your grandfather—”

“They must never know what I have shared with you.” Simon is quick to reply, steadfast in his course. “I can ask only you.”

Selena is shaking her head in opposition as tears now flow unrestrained, her free hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Simon expected this outcome. Still, he must press on.

“Do your duty as a Belmont’s wife.” Simon begins, callous and objective in his conveyance.

But on his next quiet words, Selena can feel the remorse in his request:

“As my wife.”

This can’t be happening. Selena has taken to pressing her forehead against his chest, clutching hard at his hand as she stifles her surmounting sorrow.

The sound, paired with Simon facing his own mortality, challenges his barely-maintained constitution.

He can bear it no longer.

After confirming that his skin is first entirely covered, only then does his free arm wrap around Selena’s shoulders, pulling her into a tight and heartfelt embrace for the first time in months.

“I beg you,” he breathes, so vulnerable “kill me if you must, so I might die in God’s light.”

And as Selena succumbs in his arms, Simon finalizes his plea: “It can only be you.”

It takes time, as Selena weighs out alternatives.

(As she envisions the act of doing.)

She cannot stomach it.

But

if it is the only means by which Simon will allow her to share his burden,

if it is the only way that she can hope to solve this alongside him,

Selena gravely accepts that responsibility in his tightening embrace.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 52 - THE DEAD RIVER
PRESENT DAY

Darkness has blanketed the sky. With it, it is nearly time to meet the woman at the river bank. As Simon is exiting the inn, his attention is stolen:

“I need to speak with you.” Comes a voice, hushed and quiet. “Alone.”

Simon doesn’t acknowledge his travelling companion with a reply, still walking ahead. They have wasted enough time talking. This stranger has been woefully unhelpful.

“Simon.” A firmer voice calls on him.

A growl of a reply: “What more do you have to say?”

Having earned at least a bit of his attention, the elder clarifies as he walks ahead, steps hurried: “Not here.”

A grounding breath before Simon resigns to trail behind. The duo walk until they reach the outskirts of town, far away from prying eyes and listening ears.

The elder seems less self-assured than before, and Simon is very far removed from being the level-headed man he once was. Thus, it’s with impatient irritation that he slows to listen to what his travelling companion must share so urgently.

“I beg your understanding,” the elder begins “I have not been entirely truthful to you.”

A scoff from Simon at this news. Naturally—he has found himself surrounded by nothing but wolves in sheep’s clothing—shapeshifters, the poor layman deceived, and deliberate liars. He has been a fool for allowing this man’s likely fabricated story to dampen his resolve.

He was led here by a bonafide cultist, who—

“The cultist’s ritual—” his travelling companion’s voice is faltering as eyes scan around them for any eavesdroppers “the one involving the families and the items they guard—must be conducted by someone going and collecting those items on their behalf.”

The crease in Simon’s brow deepens. 

“A person who they have called a devotee to Christ’s will, and key to His resurrection. The cultists have been waiting for such a person to do their will on a fool’s errand.”

Breath is caught in Simon’s throat as he watches the elder, normally so taciturn, meet his eyes with evident concern.

“You were told to go to Alba by the priest in Doina, yes?” The stranger begins to line up the facts he’s learned. “The woman to lead you to the Brahm family said your arrival was foretold. Alba’s priest—a cultist, too, make no mistake—has thanked you for all you’ve done, and for my leading you here.”

A breath as the elder struggles to speak aloud the conclusion he has drawn from this. 

His question comes not as an accusation, but wrought with worry: “Have you been doing the cultist’s will? Have you collected items on their behalf?”

Simon should be surprised—offended—at the implication that he would allow himself to be a proponent of Dracula’s will.

But it is something he suspected long ago. Something he wasn’t aware he was doing.

This only serves as confirmation. Terrible, nauseating confirmation.

The truth is revealed in resounding silence.

“You are being used.” Is the only thing to tumble out of the man’s mouth. “Surely you can see that.”

And Simon doesn’t know what to say to that. Some things come to mind: his knee-jerk reaction to share that if this is God’s will, Simon is honoured to play a role in it.

But there is no holiness in the severed objects that he has kept in his satchel.

Only evil. The undeniable plague of Dracula.

Simon only need cling to his faith to grant him the strength to see this through to its end. It’s that same faith that drives each unbalanced footfall forward.

It is the only thing that gives him the courage to continue.

And continue he does, moving away from the conversation, towards the river’s edge where he will be taken to meet the Brahm family.

“The people have been cruel to you—to the Belmonts—for years.” The elder trails behind, grasping at what he can to maintain Simon’s ear. “You have been lied to, and disrespected—”

It’s not working. Simon isn’t listening to him.

The stranger’s surmounting frustration becomes evident with his next uttered words: “Your efforts and struggles have held no weight, for the people have turned to Dracula regardless! And now they have made a mockery of you by manipulating you to do their bidding!”

Simon does not allow it to cause him grief. He continues to trudge ahead, but the elder is right at his heels.

Composure slipping, he barks a command that he hopes might reach Simon: “Abandon your quest!”

His angle only irritates Simon. He pauses just enough to look over his shoulder, glaring at him.

He’s met with the elder who stands firm, locking eyes with him. “It has been nothing but lies. There is no merit in continuing.”

Simon’s reply is one that comes by rote, calculated and unmoving: “The merit is in respecting the Belmont family legacy, for it is God’s will—”

“To hell with the Belmont legacy!” The stranger interjects in a louder voice, reason long abandoned. “You can do nothing to earn the respect you seek from those who have turned to darkness. Far worse - your actions and deeds will be twisted and misconstrued by them, tarnishing any remnant of your proud legacy.”

Simon cannot calm his bristling irritation. He acknowledges that the elder means well, surely—but to propose that Simon could simply turn his back on his legacy out of wounded pride is damning and infuriating.

What gives him the right to say such a thing? He is but a stranger, no doubt projecting his own insecurities onto Simon, he—

“It’s a futile pursuit. The Belmonts will never be rid of the target on their backs, and your actions here will only—”

“I know what I’ve done, and what I must do.” Simon finally overlaps, voice deceptively calm and clear. “And God, ever-judging above, will know that I am only doing what I must.”

And with eyes connected, Simon finalizes: “He knows why I must turn to sin to see His will done.”

(May God forgive him.)

With that, Simon has turned away once again, continuing his walk ahead. In spite of his waning patience, at least appears to be more collected than the elder just a few paces behind, hot on his heels.

An exasperated sound before he tries to call on Simon’s attention once again. He only manages by landing a firm hand upon Simon’s shoulder. “If you must cling to your legacy so fervently, do right by it, and stop this.”

A balled fist grips upon the cloak that rests on Simon’s shoulders. “Return to your family, to your wife and your son waiting for you.”

Simon turns around at that, facing the man, breaking the connection of his hand upon his shoulder as he does.

Standing at roughly the same height, their eyes connect once again.

And though Simon wants to vent his frustrations for having more of his time wasted, there is something about the manner in which his travelling companion has conveyed his words that causes Simon’s heart to ache.

He knew well the risk of venturing on this quest. He knew that he may never return from it, deteriorated as he has become.

But he could not simply sit and wait for the curse to claim him! The only option was to act, for his deeds reach far beyond his own mortal life.

There is no denying the many numbers of humans that have willingly opened their hearts to darkness.

But what of the layman who have been deceived? Those who are swept up in it, none the wiser to the evil that has tainted their communities, their land?

Good people, who are only trying to live their lives as best as they can manage through plague, famine, disease, and so much death all around them.

Innocent people.

People like Selena and their precious Mathieu.

Simon’s closest friend in Gabriel.

And his own flesh and blood in Laurent.

How could Simon ever entertain the idea of abandoning his quest, knowing well the consequence of allowing Dracula’s evil to spread and fester.

And he is close to the ruins of Dracula’s castle, now!

He cannot falter.

He will do as he was instructed by the Belmont matriarch.

No matter the cost.

“You speak of how my actions will be misconstrued.” And as if to challenge his built conviction, Simon’s voice is coated in illness. He does not allow it to give him pause. “And in the same breath, you have spit upon my heritage.”

Simon builds himself to his full height, resolved, as he leans on his teachings: “But in spite of your judgment—and the judgment of others—we Belmonts have always persevered, and have continued to do what’s right.”

A step towards the stranger. “That is the Belmont legacy. And I know that should I fall, my deeds will live on faithfully in my son.”

The elder is taken aback at Simon’s newfound—and likely fabricated—confidence. He tries to tear it down, as a last-ditch effort to underline his plea for him to go home, damnit: “Only if you live to tell the tale of your efforts yourself!”

But Simon is unaffected. Resolved, he explains: “If I am capable of honouring my father long deceased, my son will be, too.”

His travelling companion is visibly troubled by his words. His eyes are searching Simon’s face, mouth falling slightly open.

Has he nothing more to retaliate with, then? Good. They’ve wasted enough time.

As Simon turns on his heel to continue his walk towards the river bank, he’s interrupted one more time by his travelling companion:

“You did not strike me as someone so ready to throw their life away, Simon Belmont.”

There’s venom in his conveyance.

Simon’s reply is precise: “You misunderstand. I have no intention of throwing my life away.”

He turns over his shoulder once again to offer parting words. “But by your own observation, I am cursed. I am on borrowed time. And should I hope to overcome it, I cannot afford to waste even a moment more.”

Simon faces ahead again, back towards the stranger. “Now, have you finished?”

There’s a pause of hesitation. Simon senses that he is no longer being pursued.

The voice that next comes is resigned, sorrowful: “Is there anything I can say to stop you?”

“No.” Simon replies, firm.

Simon permits only a moment more of quiet before he concludes: “I thank you for accompanying me, and for sharing your knowledge. May God protect you.”

A reply comes too late, when Simon is already paces ahead: “I am so sorry.”

He pays it no further heed, because it isn’t long before he encounters the woman from earlier in the day, standing by the river bank, as promised. 

She is completely covered by the cloak she wears. The only indication of her notice in Simon is reflected in the gleam of of her eyes, illuminated by the lantern she holds in her hand.

Behind her, a small boat is fastened to shore, swaying with the lapping tide of the Dead River. Someone is seated within it, also cloaked.

Simon scans the duo cautiously as he stands before them, right hand landing on the closest dagger fastened to his belt.

The woman takes notice, but pays it no mind. Instead of leaning on her flirtatious demeanour as she did earlier in the day, she instead calls on formality.

“The fortress belonging to the Brahm family is just across the tides, in the mountainous terrain surrounding the ruins of Castlevania.”

She gestures with a pointed finger. It does very little to help - with nightfall, it is too dark to make out distinguishing features. Simon can only glean the other edge of the river—too far away to cross in a timely manner, and no doubt delayed even further by the angry tides.

Regardless of how unfavourable the conditions are, it seems to be the only way to cross.

Simon says nothing as he steps into the boat, taking a seat opposite of the cloaked stranger at its helm.

He watches from the corner of his eye as the woman unfastens the rope that ties the boat to shore before handing off the lantern to the ferryman, who then takes it and secures it upon a hooked pole.

The lantern wavers, its warm hue illuminating the stranger’s face under their cloak.

“How much will you need as payment?” Simon asks the ferryman.

He is given no response.

And as Simon is leering to get a better look at the face opposite of him, he hears the woman from the shore:

“Reveal the heart, and you’ll be shown the way.”

Simon requires a moment to process the instruction, as he faces the gaunt visage of the stranger that stares back at him.

A moment longer to retrieve the required object, one of the very first Simon retrieved from these fortresses.

The confirmation in an item that his time spent within them were no illusion.

In Simon’s right hand, he reveals the fleshy—but still inanimate—heart of Christ.

No.

The heart belonging to Count Dracula.

As if confirming his thoughts,

it resonates with a beat,

for the very first time!

And the ferryman only smiles at the plain confirmation.

“It would be my honour to lead the way, my lord.” A gravely and ambiguous voice finally speaks, bony fingertips emerging from the sleeve of the cloak they wear.

They pause just above the beating heart that Simon holds in his hand.

And with a blink of Simon’s eyes

the environment around him changes. The boat is no longer carried by waves of nature’s making.

No, the water itself has changed, and it is illuminated just enough for Simon to see the fog upon its surface that has changed along with it.

Emerging from the fog comes ghostly appendages which hold onto the boat and pull it along. As they do, they touch and reach for the duo seated inside.

The manner in which the spirits move to claim him reminds Simon too much of the legion of corpses in Dracula’s throne room. It’s unnerving.

For with each touch, even fleeting, Simon feels the chill of utter dread, and with it, the energy it takes from him.

But it is the heart in his hand which compels the boat forward. Thus, he must keep it firmly in his grasp.

Even as the spirits emerge from the water and latch onto him.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 53 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY ONE WEEK PRIOR

A year has passed since Simon confided his terrible truths in Selena. And while things haven’t restored to how they once were prior to his confession, the duo have continued to try and solve the mystery of his illness together.

In recent months, Simon has permitted Selena to get close enough to assess his still-worsening skin condition. However, no medicines nor salves have any effect in improving his physical maladies.

Weighing heavy on their minds (but never again spoken on) is the risk that Simon may be turning into a creature of the night.

(And the contingency plan that Selena must execute if he does.)

But both adults cling steadfast to God’s judgment of Simon as their source of truth. They often assess if he can still use holy powers, or if holy artifacts will burn his flesh. All is well in that regard (for the moment.)

Another recent discovery has been that Simon’s condition does not seem contagious. Still, he prefers to keep any physical touch to a minimum, and still wears garments that cover his flesh. Thus, they don’t share a bed. Instead, Simon has taken to spending his rare at-home resting hours on the couch in the foreroom. 

Selena knows he doesn’t sleep very much. He has trained himself not to. He allows himself to sleep just enough before it becomes deep. Rinse and repeat.

It isn’t foolproof. Selena has stirred on a few occasions, startled in the night to find Simon thrashing. It’s always a frantic and urgent task to try and pull him conscious again, before Mathieu takes notice.

And with each unfortunate lapse, Selena finds it more difficult to urge Simon awake. When he does manage to awaken, he reverts to being on edge - creating distance, needing ample time to ascertain that where he’s woken up is not an illusion.

(Selena isn’t sure she ever managed to convince him of that truth.)

That only speaks to when Simon is home, in Selena’s earshot - in her care. 

The more worrisome trend is that Simon is hardly home at all in recent time - and not for reasons that Selena previously entertained, for she’s now witness to the consequences of it.

Creatures of the night have multiplied in masses, ever-encroaching. And Simon heeds the call to vanquish them. Night after night.

No matter how tired or broken or beaten he is.

No matter how utterly destroyed, deteriorated, and disturbed he has become.

Each battle brings her husband home more battered than the last, leaving him no other option than to relinquish himself into Selena’s care. To heal his wounds quickly, so he might be able to take on the next nightfall.

Selena finds herself wishing that he wouldn’t shoulder it alone. To call on Gabriel’s help, the allies to the north, or even the Velnumdes clan…

but Simon carries the weight of responsibility entirely on his own. He doesn’t have the luxury of time to strategize nor make trips to the northern towns as he once did.

And only once Selena has suggested Simon to call on Laurent for his help. But she was met with resounding refusal.

(Her mention of it only caused Simon to double down on his solitary efforts.)

It has been a challenging year, as the two find themselves with far more questions than answers.

Especially as Selena can only wait at home with bated breath and a heavy heart as night falls once again.

Simon hasn’t been home for days, now. Were it a few years ago, it would not cause Selena too much distress. Simon was capable of handling himself, and the nightly patrols were more for maintenance than anything.

But it is so different, now. For when Simon is gone for days at a time, Selena’s mind wanders to so many terrible outcomes.

Is he gravely injured?

Has he turned to darkness—

“Mother?” A small voice calls on her attention, and Selena must collect herself promptly.

“Forgive me, my love, I was lost in thought.” Selena lies as she turns her attention to Mathieu. “What is it?”

Mathieu is shouldering much in his own respect. Selena can already see how he has taken on the responsibility of being born of Belmont blood, likely as a result of watching his father who he admires work so tirelessly.

He has been especially insistent about training—and it’s such a mournful concept, the boy has only just turned seven years old. He shouldn’t be burdening himself with thinking about learning combative skills yet.

But Selena has taken on the duty of teaching their son - slowly, to start. During the time they’ve spent alone, Selena has tried to assist Mathieu in channelling the energy required to harness the elements.

No success thus far—naturally, he’s still so young—but—

“Did father say when he would come back?” Mathieu asks, joining Selena to peer out the window.

“I’m afraid not.” Selena minces her words carefully. “He has been very busy.”

Mathieu doesn’t reply to that. 

He’s a smart boy. Selena can’t hope to avoid the truth of the matter forever.

But Simon’s instructions were clear: under no circumstance should Mathieu learn the details of what has been going on outside of their borders.

With it, specific instructions to stay on the Belmont estate at all times.

Especially as night falls.

As the duo continue to look out the window, Mathieu notices something faster than Selena does: “Oh, uncle Gabriel is back!”

Selena blinks her eyes. It’s too dark to see, but after a moment of focus, Mathieu is right - Gabriel is crossing the estate gates now.

A moment longer and Selena’s ease washes away. 

Gabriel is sprinting towards Simon’s home. Armed.

Selena’s terrible nagging feeling culminates. She hurries to open the front door of her home, stepping outside of its threshold.

“Night creatures are approaching the gates!” Gabriel commands, heightened. “Take shelter in the hold, now!”

More instructions from Simon following the increase of night creatures: should any of them risk crossing the gates of the estate, Laurent, Selena, and Mathieu are to take shelter in the Belmont hold’s cellar until they’re dealt with.

But they’ve never had to act on these instructions before. Simon has never let them close enough to.

Where is he?

Could he—no—

Selena doesn’t waste a thought more before she does just that, gently urging Mathieu at her side. She takes his hand and they make quick work of jogging towards the hold.

Gabriel has already returned to the fray, Selena remarks as she briefly looks over her shoulder.

Sure enough, she can see vague, shadowy shapes emerge from the sparse foliage of Jova woods. 

Her attention is drawn ahead again, and it isn’t too long until they cross the threshold of the hold.

Laurent is pulled from his reading at the notice of their sudden arrival as Selena shuts the door firmly behind them.

“My lord,” Selena breathes, “night creatures are at the gates. We must take shelter. Quickly.”

Laurent’s discontent is palpable. He hurriedly leads them to a trapdoor, which Selena moves to open for them with significant effort.

Before their descent into the lower level, Laurent takes a lit candle in hand before leading Mathieu down the steps.

Selena lingers at the apex of the stairs, hesitant, before she takes the latch of the trap door in hand, following the two into the depths, shutting the door firmly above them.

Once within, the trio is stunned quiet, as they wait with bated breath to hear what might be occurring above.

Initially, there isn’t any noise that is cause for alarm.

But as minutes elapse, there is a sudden tremor—too significant to not be right outside of the building.

Mathieu is unsettled, clinging to his mother. She wraps her arms tightly around him, petting upon his hair.

Another tremor, and—

shouting?

Selena cannot make out what’s being said.

Has Gabriel become overwhelmed by the monsters? Does he need help?

Has Simon come to help him?

Selena hears no reply. He must be alone—and hurt!

She cannot sit idly by. She isn’t as hardened by training as she once was, but she is still capable of fighting.

And as she looks towards Laurent

she’s reminded that she is the only one among the three who can.

With that, she carefully releases Mathieu.

“Stay here.” She commands, firm but gentle.

Laurent notices that Selena is moving to exit. “What are you doing?”

Selena doesn’t have time to calculate her reply before it comes: “Gabriel needs help.”

Another tremor releases debris from the stone above.

“Heed the instructions of your husband.” Laurent reprimands, firm and callous as usual. “You’re not to leave.”

As if to emphasize that point, Mathieu inches a bit closer to Selena, but is putting on a brave face in spite of his evident discomfort. His small hand lingers, hesitating to reach out to cling to Selena’s skirt.

“I won’t sit by while the estate is threatened.” Selena explains, doing what she can to remain diplomatic. “I am the only one here capable of fighting.”

“I don’t care what you’re capable of,” Laurent barks “do as you’re instructed.”

Selena has truly had enough of Laurent’s condescending tone, but she will not allow it to give her pause. She’s moving to ascend the stairs.

“Mama!” Mathieu calls out, voice faltering.

“Stay here.” Selena commands, brief in reply. “Don’t leave, no matter what.”

“Stop!” Laurent roars, finally having moved.

But he doesn’t reach her in time before she exits the cellar.

When she sprints out the doors, she immediately finds the source of the tremors. A monstrous and large beast has collided with the hold’s outer wall.

Gabriel is dwarfed by comparison - his sword is plunged into the beast’s leg, attempting to hinder its movement, but he’s practically carried along with it.

Selena doesn’t think before bursting fire from her palms, straight for it!

She disregards the roared protests from Gabriel as she watches flames claim the creature.

Gabriel has just enough time to retrieve his sword before the beast thrashes, trying to free itself from the scalding heat.

In a moment of distraction, Selena changes her strategy to instead summon an ice shard in hand. If she’s precise, she may be able to puncture its skull. She hurls it with all of her strength, relying on the power of her will for it to drive through!

But she is out of practice, weakened with the years. The shard connects, yes—but it does not drive through as she hoped it might.

Instead, the beast bellows out a guttural sound as one of its eyes has been punctured. A graceless swipe of claws against its face to rid itself of the object.

“Get back inside!” Gabriel barks to Selena as he jogs to her side.

Selena isn’t paying him any heed, too occupied with staring at the beast to gauge its next move. 

And at the notice of it moving, Selena instead grabs Gabriel’s arm, urging him to follow her as she sprints away from the hold.

Gabriel realizes her objective. Having earned the beast’s ire from her attack, Selena is choosing to divert its attention away from the hold. He runs alongside her as fast as legs can carry him.

The beast is right at their heels.

And at a snap of jaws far too close, Gabriel has extended an arm to push Selena out of harm’s way.

She tumbles to the ground, and with a graceless roll onto her back, watches as Gabriel’s extended arm is promptly claimed between another snap of the monster’s teeth.

No time to think before Selena extends a hand forward, and flame bursts from them in a flurry from her place on the ground. It’s a desperate and uncoordinated attack made to spare Gabriel from being crushed in the beast’s jaw.

It works! Gabriel is released, and it grants him just enough time to move from the line of fire.

While the beast attempts to snuff the flames that climb, Selena collects herself back onto her feet, immediately going to Gabriel’s side to briefly assess his injury.

His non-dominant arm has been damaged, rendering it useless for the moment.

They exchange no words—there’s no time to—as they must continue their plan to lead the beast off of the estate.

But as they look past the gates, they’re met with a towering shadowy silhouette as it climbs onto the estate grounds.

How is it that night creatures have reached this far? Simon has never allowed them close enough to!

He must have been overwhelmed—no, Selena has to ground herself, it would only weaken her to dwell on that outcome.

Far more urgently, she and Gabriel have to work together to defend the estate. 

But Gabriel is struggling to keep pace, having been injured. And Selena’s energy is beginning to deplete, having not fought for years.

And with one fearsome beast at their backs, and one obstructing their exit ahead, the duo have to be quick with their plan!

Gabriel flanks to the left, and Selena to the right, diverting the focus on both beasts. 

The injured one clamours after Selena, and the one who has stepped onto the estate charges for Gabriel.

While Gabriel works down the newcomer with his skilled swordsmanship, Selena is leveraging the blind spot of her enemy to maintain her distance as she plans her next strike.

As Gabriel barely manages to stun the monster he’s grappling with, his attention is stolen towards the estate gates once again.

Something is coming—and fast!

Galloped footfalls upon the dirt

a leap over the fenced perimeter of the estate grounds

and Simon Belmont finally arrives on horseback, focus locking onto the beast that Gabriel is handling. 

A masterful snap of the Vampire Killer forward, and its leather winds around the beast’s neck. Simon commands his horse to run, and with that momentum, decapitation is swift.

As he comes around again to speak with Gabriel about what happened, they aren’t granted that time as they are interrupted by a woman’s scream in the distance.

No!

“Selena!” Gabriel shouts in explanation, sprinting towards the sound.

Simon is faster, commanding his horse ahead at breakneck speed. He soon discovers the second creature of the night, moving to seize Selena, now vulnerable upon the ground.

With a roar, Simon snaps the whip forward, and as before, leather winds around the beast’s throat.

Unlike the first, however, this one does not succumb to decapitation with ease.

At the sensation of it resisting the restraint, Simon is given no choice but to dismount his horse, lest she’s pulled down with him.

Selena watches from her place on the ground as Simon, fresh from his own fights, struggles to rein in the beast, away from her.

The Vampire Killer slips from his grasp, and Simon must scramble to retrieve an axe from his belt.

Closing the distance between them, he is able to swing the axe down with all of his remaining might upon the still-lowered head of the creature.

It connects with sickening gore.

Another bludgeon. And another.

One more before the beast keels over at last, and Simon stands as the victor, panting laboriously from his efforts, utterly soaked in blood both fresh and old.

He leaves the axe embedded in the creature’s head, Vampire Killer upon the ground, as his attention falls on Selena.

Gabriel has hurried over and is attempting to help her back onto her feet with only one good arm.

And before spouses can exchange any words to each other, Simon charges towards her.

“I’m fine, I—” Selena immediately attempts to assuage him, but her words are muffled by Simon then embracing her with crushing force.

Selena resigns herself into his embrace, returning it with equal, adrenaline-soaked fervour. 

“How could you let this happen?” Simon shouts towards Gabriel, sounding more like Laurent than Selena would ever hope to hear. “Your orders were to take her to shelter!”

Before Gabriel can explain the situation, Selena speaks on his behalf: “Gabriel did as he was instructed!” She explains, trembling, still in his arms. “I acted of my own accord.”

“How could you do something so reckless?” Simon’s ire is directed towards her, instead, as he pulls away from embracing her, so firm gloved hands grip on her arms, underlining the very serious risk she took.

Selena’s hands land on Simon’s chest as she looks up at him as she scrambles to explain: “It was at the door of the hold, I couldn’t—”

“What?” Simon roars, piercing gaze landing on Gabriel again. “How could you let it that close?”

“My husband, please,” Selena attempts to diffuse him, stepping close to him “Gabriel did everything he could—”

“Forgive me, Simon.” Comes a quiet plea from Gabriel, whose head is hung low. “It charged right through, I was overwhelmed—”

“It should never have stepped past the gates to begin with!” Simon barks, rage still burning—

“Simon.” Selena calls on him, gentler this time, as hands reach up to touch upon his face, gently urging his attention towards her. “Please.”

Simon’s piercing gaze lands on Selena below.

And at the notice of her glassy eyes—the evident fear of a close call with death behind them—Simon’s anger must be put on pause.

His energy instead is better served to comfort Selena, as he pulls her into his embrace once again, far gentler this time.

She does not cry. She only takes comfort in his arms, not caring for the wet of blood that stains her as she does.

At the notice of her whole body trembling, Simon only draws her closer still, a hand carefully cradling the back of her head.

As anger begins to dissipate, the aching toll of combat takes its place. Simon has been off of the estate for days, fighting his own battles before they could get close enough to his home.

But with the relentless increase of night creatures, he couldn’t make it very far before more spawned from every shadow cast. His objective has always been to dispatch as many as he possibly can before they run the risk of approaching even Jova woods.

Tonight of all nights, the sun has only recently set, and the numbers are far greater than even the usual.

The risk is too great, and Simon is well beyond his mortal limit.

But he must continue to fight.

He’ll quickly assess the situation here and depart again.

It begins with a firm question, directed towards Gabriel: “Where is Mathieu?”

“In the cellar, with Laurent.” Gabriel assures. “We should go to them.”

Simon steps away from Selena for a moment to retrieve first the axe embedded in the skull of the felled beast. Once returned to its rightful place on his belt, Simon then kneels to collect the discarded Vampire Killer, which is promptly re-attached to his left hip.

During which, Gabriel takes the opportunity to collect the reins of Simon’s horse. She resists his pull, startled from the ordeal. Gabriel lingers behind to calm her while Simon and Selena go to the Belmont hold.

As they approach, the duo notice Laurent emerging from it.

And at the sight of Simon, Laurent’s body language changes entirely.

His grandfather marches right up to him, hands balled into fists.

Despite having not seen him for days, the first words to come out of Laurent’s mouth are scathing: “Your negligence could have had us all killed!”

And Simon is too far gone to bow his head and accept such an immediate and cruel statement. He meets Laurent’s judgmental gaze head-on, unmoving.

Before he can reply, Laurent is already interrupting him: “And where is it you’ve been? Have you been cowering in some corner, afraid to face the night?”

At that comment, however, Simon notably bristles. 

Selena can only watch with growing unease as tensions rise.

“Are you truly so blind to what’s happening around you?” Simon challenges, composure regressing to teeming anger once more. “I have been defending our land with each nightfall.”

Laurent is not convinced. “You’ve done a terrible job of it, if your woman must fight in your stead.”

With grit teeth, Simon’s gaze is broken. Hands ball into fists at his side, and Selena notices.

Laurent’s cruelty does not relent, voice turning cold: “Your recent inability has proved to me that you have become unfit to wield the Vampire Killer.”

Simon’s rage boils as the verbal assault continues. His left hand lands over the hilt of the Vampire Killer strapped to his hip, firm and protective.

Gabriel finally joins the party, leading Simon’s horse behind him as he approaches. 

Selena exchanges a wary look towards Gabriel on his arrival. In that look alone, Gabriel’s focus is drawn towards the Belmont men who are treading a very dangerous line with their conversation.

“And what do you propose instead? That you are the only one capable of wielding it?” Simon challenges against his better judgment. “Weakened by your years, never once having set foot in Castlevania.”

“How dare you, Simon.” Laurent seethes, voice low. “I have taught you all that you know.”

Gabriel wants so badly to interject, watching with growing unease as Simon defies his grandfather for the very first time. Thus, it’s with immense relief that Simon says nothing more to add fuel to the fire.

He has said all he needed to - his words have clearly impacted Laurent, who is now burning with rage.

But Laurent continues to drag Simon down: “And what of you? You, who has returned from Castlevania a shadow of your former self.” 

That causes Simon to take pause. Selena, too, stiffens at Laurent’s notice.

Laurent’s words carry no mirth: “I am not blind to how you’ve changed.”

“A known result of encountering evil, as you once put it.” Simon chooses to deflect.

“And that is true.” Laurent begins. “In part.”

With a fold of his arms over his chest, Laurent dangles the truth of the matter, just out of reach. “What remains is a credit to the frailty of your mind. I did not raise you to succumb to such weakness, nor be so swayed by your emotions. That is your own doing.”

Clenched fists as Simon grapples with how to best reply.

He should probably just leave. Cool off. Allow Laurent to do the same—

“Return the whip.”

Fresh anger at such an unfathomable request.

Simon’s world is falling apart.

At home, in his own family, outside of its walls, even beyond his jurisdiction.

He can do nothing else but unfasten the Vampire Killer from his hip, snapping its end upon the ground in a ferocious display of power.

He stands resolute.

“I will not.” Simon seethes. “It belongs to me.”

Finally, Gabriel attempts to interject: “Simon, listen—”

Simon’s focus upon Laurent is unbroken as he shouts: “This matter does not concern you, Gabriel!”

Laurent is unaffected by Simon’s slipping composure. “If nothing else, you have at least managed to rear one heir. It is time we think ahead, and prepare the next in line to uphold our family’s God-given duty.” He pushes him even further: “He is of the age to begin his training, anyway.”

Such a pointed and cruel statement manages to rock the composure of both Simon and Selena. Unable to conceal his surmounting frustration, Simon bears his grit teeth, and Gabriel can sense the malice oozing from him.

Thus, Gabriel attempts to diffuse the conversation before it’s too late: “My lord, Mathieu is only a child, hardly seven, he—”

“I will not hear your input, Gabriel.” Laurent cuts him off with a raised hand, calm in his conveyance. “Simon began his training at twelve. What does a few years change?”

Simon’s rage overflows at last, loud and harsh: “My son will have no part in this!”

Laurent can no longer withhold his rage towards Simon’s foolish naïveté.

“This is the only reason why you had a son!” An aggressive step forward as Laurent matches his volume. “Or has your woman poisoned your mind, too?”

At that,

something snaps in Simon.

Logic is abandoned.

Blind with white-hot rage, Simon reaches out to clutch onto any part of Laurent he can grab and strike him with the same fist that still grips onto the Vampire Killer.

He’s stopped by Gabriel, who desperately tries to stand between them in spite of his own injuries.

It’s a futile struggle. Simon temporarily misdirects his rage and throws Gabriel to the dirt.

“Simon, stop!” Gabriel implores from his place on the ground, cradling his wounded arm.

Selena has rushed to Simon’s opposite side, grabbing hard at his arm to hold him back. It’s a desperate gesture, and Simon is too powerful.

Selena’s desperation makes itself evident in the immediate ice cold sensation that seizes Simon’s muscles. It distracts him enough to keep him in place.

Laurent acts upon that opening, marching forward to meet his grandson head-on.

As if to illustrate his point, Laurent sends a punch with remarkable force squarely in his jaw, strong enough that it manages to knock a weakened Simon off his balance.

Selena can only gasp in shock before hurrying to his aid.

“You prove your frailty, Simon. You allowed your emotions to cloud your judgment.” Laurent explains with feigned calm as he rubs upon his injured knuckles. “And that lapse in judgment has cost you dearly.”

Selena’s hands land on Simon, doing what she can to help keep him upright.

It can’t go on like this. Selena speaks without thinking of the consequences:

“My lord Belmont, this is too far!” She implores by Simon’s side, bowing her head deep in apology to Laurent.

Laurent is not affected by her submissive display. Instead, he uses it as an opportunity to drag Simon down further: “Your inability has culminated to this end: a woman to fight for you, defend your home, and speak on your behalf. She has done nothing but dampen your resolve since the very beginning.”

That isn’t—that wasn’t what she was trying to—

“Move, wife.” Simon seethes, dark and low.

No. She can’t watch this continue. She has to act—to do something—to prove that she can be more than just an asset to the Belmont family—that she’s far better than a hindrance to Simon. She only wants to stand by Simon’s side. She can bear some of Simon’s burden, she is capable of helping—of changing things for the better! If only she could prove this to Laurent.

If only Laurent knew what Simon has been through—continues to struggle through, and shoulder all on his own—if he did, he might be more sympathetic to his grandson’s misplaced rage, his utter exhaustion, his hurt—

“Disobedient, too.” Laurent sneers at the notice of Selena disregarding Simon’s orders once again. “Control your woman, Simon.”

“Move, Selena!” Simon underlines with increased volume, patience waning.

Selena’s mouth moves faster than her mind as she vocalizes her desperate plea: “My lord Belmont, Simon has seen hell. He has taken on much of the burden alone for all of these years—”

“Selena!” Simon barks in warning.

Selena disregards it, moving away from Simon to face Laurent head-on. “His time spent in Castlevania has—”

At that, Simon reaches out to snatch at her wrist with his free hand, gripping with rage-fuelled intensity to stop her in her tracks. A sudden jerk of her arm and Simon is restraining her with far too much force. She’s promptly pulled back by his side.

“Hold your damn tongue!” Simon roars at full volume to cut her off, trembling with rage he cannot conceal as his authority has been blatantly challenged.

At that uncharacteristic outburst, Selena can do nothing else but freeze, stunned, as she struggles to process.

Simon immediately realizes his mistake as brows knit, taking in her features, full of fresh hurt.

He gave her specific instructions not to speak on his struggles.

Especially to Laurent.

But Simon immediately understands that he has gone too far seizing her. He’s hurt his Selena, who has only ever been accommodating and gentle towards him in spite of his lapsing judgment, his frailty, his rage.

He has misdirected his grievances towards her when she is only trying to help.

His grip slackens at this realization, and Selena immediately brings her wounded wrist close to her body. She does not physically recoil from him, no - but there is no denying the divide that has reverted between them.

“You have done an excellent job of proving my point.” Laurent feels it appropriate to underline, feigning calm, before he extends his hand out.

“The whip. Now.”

With a frustrated roar, Simon throws the Vampire Killer at the feet of the Belmont patriarch, heaving with rage and shame on all fronts.

Laurent kneels and collects the whip off of the ground. His focus is downwards as he winds the leather in his hand with great care—great respect for it. A contrast to how Simon discarded it in a fit of rage.

He lifts his head after a moment, and looks towards the pair still standing before him.

“Woman, bring your child.”

There’s a stifled sound, and Simon looks to its source in Selena, who is doing all she can to maintain eye contact with Laurent.

“He will have to bear the burden of his father’s inability. We will begin his training immediately.” Laurent explains, calculated and deliberate.

Simon can plainly see how Selena’s eyes now shine with tears that threaten to flow.

No, it—it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It’s wrong, Mathieu is not yet of age to be bestowed the whip, he—

he can’t possibly shoulder his father’s failure at such a tender age.

Simon swore to protect his family from the burden of the Belmont lineage. That his Mathieu would never have to fight for as long as there is breath in his father’s body.

But, now—due to Simon’s inability—no matter the reason nor justification behind it—

it’s not just. It’s too cruel.

His boy is only seven years old.

And be it because of Simon’s utter exhaustion, his embarrassment, his shame, his hurt, seeing how he’s hurt Selena, how he’s hurt their boy,

it’s too much.

Simon only bows his head, deep with apology, as he swallows the fleeting remnants of his shattered pride.

He steps ahead, towards Laurent, leaving Selena behind him.

“I beg you to reconsider, grandfather.” Simon breathes, tone reverting to one that is fragile and subservient as he stands still once again. “I am still capable of fighting. Reprimand me as you will.”

A trembling breath as shame and regret scald him. “But, please - not him. Not for my mistakes.”

“Grovelling is unsightly.” Laurent’s coldness is unending as he closes the distance between them.

With a crushing force, he takes Simon’s face into his hand so he might underline the severity of his next words: “Listen well: I have poured all of my resources into priming you. Do your job properly.”

Their eyes connect as his grip tightens. “Failure is not an option. Do you understand?”

Relying on dissociation to carry him through being the recipient to such an unpleasant display of authority, Simon replies by rote, distant and quiet: “Yes.”

With his obedience assured, Laurent finally releases him—rough—before turning on his heel and returning to the hold, whip in hand.

Simon still needs to see Mathieu.

But he cannot face his boy right now.

He can’t even look towards Selena as she is lingering, cradling her wounded wrist.

And Gabriel, struggling to pull himself onto his knees after having been thrown to the ground by his friend.

Unable to do anything else, Simon stalks off towards the gates of the estate, each step so crushingly heavy with shame.

And it is only when he is well off the estate grounds that he allows himself the space to process what happened in solitude.

On the outskirts of Jova forest, far away from his shame, and well outside of range to anyone who might be listening in, Simon roars with all of his might before his fist collides with the nearest tree—hard.

With grit teeth, he pounds upon it—once, twice, three times—knuckles aching with each impact.

It barely distracts him from his spiralling revelations:

he stands a weakened, miserable, volatile and utter disgrace of a man.

He’s a terrible grandson.

A terrible friend.

Husband.

Father.

Belmont.

After he rides out his rage, he collapses upon his knees on the earth, head hung low. 

Solace is temporary before creatures of the night stalk the shadows around him. He is attuned to sensing their encroachment, for even if they do not make sound, the terrible aura that they carry is palpable and cannot be ignored.

He is at a disadvantage without the Vampire Killer, as if a limb has been severed from his body. 

He is at a disadvantage in his weakened state, not knowing peace nor rest for days.

Using the trunk of a tree as support to hoist himself to his feet, Simon stands.

Even if he is disgraced as a Belmont, he still has every desire to fight and protect.

He is far from powerless.

Not as rage burns within him, and drives him forward.

And when rage is spent, Simon will cling to his faith to keep him upright.

Whirling around, Simon charges to fight the first monster he finds with his brute physical strength.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 54 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY ONE WEEK PRIOR

It has been four days since creatures of the night crossed the estate gates.

And four days since Simon Belmont exited those same gates, having been stripped of his right to wield the Vampire Killer.

In small part due to restlessness over that absence, and larger to distract him from his own weighty thoughts, Laurent has taken to his own training routine.

It isn’t vastly different than his norm - in spite of his age, Laurent has been always been focused on maintaining his strength and general physical condition.

The only change is that he is attempting to train with the Vampire Killer in hand. The leather of which is one he has not felt for roughly thirteen years - not since it was handed down to Simon when he was sixteen years old.

It has changed over these years. In spite of its age, it has held its shape—by some magic or some other such miracle.

And it has been maintained, too. But Laurent can feel the wear on the hilt of it, no doubt from Simon’s relentless use of it.

Recent nights have been quiet enough following Simon’s sudden departure, and while Laurent has protection in the whip in hand, he is not nearly as strong as he once was to wield it efficiently. Time has been unkind. Movements are clumsy. Imprecise. 

But he must take the time to master it. It is the most sacred item the Belmonts have—the only advantage they have to facing the night.

(And Simon has been stripped of it.)

The reminder is snuffed as quickly as it comes, as Laurent uses his might to whip down an established target.

As the length of the leather slacks on the ground, he requires a grounding breath before he winds it in his hand before moving to re-establish the target he has toppled.

He’s halted mid-task by a noise, some distance behind him, that calls on his attention:

young Mathieu stands, quiet and studious.

(Always out of harm’s way, but always observant.)

At their eyes connecting, the young heir bows his head, polite and especially formal towards his elder. “Good afternoon, great-grandfather.”

Laurent builds himself a bit taller, free hand landing on his hip. “Good afternoon, Mathieu.”

A moment longer and Laurent notices the boy is holding something (possibly hiding something). Laurent asks in good faith: “What is that, in your hand?”

Bashful, Mathieu reveals what looks to be a wooden dowel of some kind. It has a hand guard, and a proper hilt, but it is much too dull to be a sword.

“Father made it for me.” Mathieu smiles, minding the object in his hand with care. “I asked if I could have my own sword, like uncle Gabriel, and he made this for me.”

Laurent approaches, and Mathieu takes the opportunity to show the object off. It’s crafted with care, that much is evident. It’s the correct size, and seemed to be the correct weight for the young Belmont to hold.

But leave it to Simon to make such a blunt object when his boy asks for a sword.

“I need to practice more.” Mathieu fills the air with his sudden statement.

“Oh? And why is that?” Laurent inquires.

“Gabriel’s hurt, sir.” He replies simply. “Did you know that?”

“Yes, I did.” Laurent replies as he draws the leather of the Vampire Killer in his hand. “How is he faring?”

“Mother is taking care of him now.” Mathieu explains, attention drawn towards his home. Laurent’s gaze follows.

“And how is your mother?” The elder treads carefully.

“She’s not hurt, sir. But,” Mathieu expresses plainly “she seems sad.”

Naturally. Laurent says nothing as he re-attaches the whip to his belt.

“May I please ask you something?” Mathieu asks suddenly.

“You may.” Laurent replies with a lift of his head, arms folding over his chest.

“You trained father to fight, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Who trained you to fight?” Mathieu asks, and Laurent doesn’t quite understand his angle.

But who is he to deny a moment to teach the young Belmont about his heritage?

“My grandfather. His name was Christopher.”

There’s a moment as Mathieu processes this new information. Laurent chooses to elaborate to fill the air: “He was the last Belmont to fight Dracula before your father. Did you know that?”

“Yes sir,” Mathieu replies immediately “father taught me about all of our respected forefathers.” 

There’s a pause before he continues his many questions. “Are all Belmonts trained to fight by their grandfathers?”

Laurent doesn’t quite understand how he came to that conclusion. Mathieu tries to clarify in his own, pointed way: “Your grandfather trained you, and then you trained father. Is that a rule?”

“It isn’t a rule, no,” Laurent begins, weighing out how to explain it to such a young mind “but a matter of circumstance. Belmont fathers are responsible for defending the estate, and fighting creatures of the night while they are in their prime.”

Something about what Laurent shared causes gears to turn in Mathieu’s mind. He speaks up: “Your father, too?”

Laurent chooses not to reply to that, and Mathieu does not push an answer out of him. Instead, his restless mind has already moved on from it.

“But what about me?” The boy asks plainly.

Once again, Laurent doesn’t make the correlation - the boy truly must be better taught on how to ask questions properly.

Sensing that, Mathieu clarifies: “Grandfather Claude isn’t here.”

Isn’t here? Laurent finds his choice of words concerning. He wonders if Simon never shared the truth of the matter with his boy.

Thus, while he may be older and wiser, there is little tact in how Laurent chooses to correct that statement: “Your grandfather died when your father was a boy—not much younger than you are now.”

There’s a twist in Mathieu’s features as he absorbs this information.

Confirmation, then. Simon truly coddles his boy far too much—

“I know that, sir.” Mathieu adds after a beat. “Father told me what happened.”

—good, then.

A pinched brow on his next question: “But if grandfather Claude has passed away, does that mean nobody will train me to fight?”

Laurent only watches the boy who is building himself up for his appeal. His justifications start a bit hurriedly: “Gabriel got hurt. Mother had to fight, and father isn’t…”

Laurent watches in silence as Mathieu struggles to finish his thought aloud.

Finally, it comes on a quiet, vulnerable sound: “Father isn’t home.”

There is nothing that Laurent can add to that that isn’t born of irritation. It’s for that reason he chooses silence, granting his great-grandson the time he needs to properly articulate his rushed thoughts.

“Great-grandfather,” he finally breathes, leaning heavily on his taught formality, “I beseech you: teach me how to fight.”

At that,

Laurent sees Simon in his son for the very first time.

In the face of tragedy, Simon stepped up to face the challenge. Not much younger than Mathieu is now, Simon was equally adamant about learning to fight. To defend the estate.

To avenge the fresh death of his parents.

And just like Simon, Mathieu has witnessed the damage that night creatures can cause too close to home.

An unpleasant but necessary lesson for all Belmont boys to carve into their hearts. The Belmont heir stands before him, maturing faster than he should.

Laurent should be happy that the boy is so eager to learn combative skills. It’s precisely what he wanted to make preparations for.

But if that is true,

why does he feel such a terrible ache at the sight of him, looking so especially small?

Clutching a wooden mockery of a sword in his hand, resolute in his appeal.

Knowing nothing of the horrors of the world around him, but a tone of voice that conveys he knows too much.

A grounding breath before Laurent resigns: “Training you to fight is your father’s responsibility. Not mine.”

That reply seems to upset Mathieu. It doesn’t make sense to him - Laurent just finished explaining that Belmont fathers are too occupied to train their boys, and that couldn’t be more true for Simon and his son.

There’s a desperation in his eyes as he begs, voice faltering: “But sir, father isn’t—”

He knows.

“Understand this, Mathieu,” Laurent interrupts—firm, but gentle in his conveyance “you cannot be taught how to fight without first understanding how to defend.”

Mathieu lifts his head up at that, to meet Laurent who is staring down at him with a placating and ever-so-slight smile.

“That, I can teach you.”

There’s a sparkle in Mathieu’s eyes as he anticipates his great-grandfather’s next uttered words: “Are you ready to begin now?”

“Yes, sir!” Mathieu replies without missing a beat, clutching steadfast his dull wooden sword.

And begin they do - Laurent guides Mathieu first on how to best stand when wielding a sword. It’s evident in that alone that the boy is attempting to imitate what he’s observed in watching both Simon and Gabriel sparring. 

While his stance is familiar, it’s clumsy. Imperfect, and easily thrown off-balance with a tap of Laurent’s boot behind the boy’s knees.

Mathieu’s attention is fixated on his respected elder who then kneels, setting the boy’s limbs right. Another nudge with his hand (with slightly more force) in the same place behind the knee, and Mathieu now remains firmly planted.

Good.

“This is sufficient if you’re standing still,” Laurent explains as he rises to stand “but it will do little to serve you when you must move. Assess your surroundings, and be mindful of strikes from behind.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you’re claimed, like this,” Laurent lands a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder, standing behind him, “how would you best break away from it?”

Mathieu requires a moment to think on what the right answer might be. Laurent grants him that time.

Slowly, Mathieu attempts to turn around to break the connection—

“You’ve lost your footing.” Laurent points out with a minute tip of his head. Sure enough, by Mathieu twisting his body, he’s moved from his stance, now off-kilter.

A glance downwards towards his feet, and a graceless swipe of his small hand to brush his unruly hair from his face. Laurent notices that the boy’s hair is obstructing his vision.

“It would be best to fasten your hair back.” Laurent explains, calm.

At that, he returns his hand, taking a moment to unfasten the tie around his own hair, long and always fashioned in a braid behind him. He then hands the same band to the boy.

Mathieu takes it carefully from his respected elder. He props his makeshift sword upon his body as he moves to tie his hair back and out of his face with both hands. It’s a bit of a clumsy task—maybe he is used to his parents doing it for him—but Laurent doesn’t interrupt.

A moment longer and he manages it on his own. “Thank you.”

Back on task: “When defending, it’s crucial to—”

Laurent’s teaching moment is interrupted as a figure approaches.

Selena.

Her displeasure and defensiveness is evident in her body language alone. While her hands are folded neatly in her lap, Laurent immediately notices the white of her knuckles as she’s holding onto them, rigid. She looks particularly sullen.

“Good afternoon, my lord.” She starts, bowing her head respectfully to Laurent.

He chooses not to reply.

He doesn’t need to. Selena’s attention turns to Mathieu, instead: “I was wondering where you’d gone off to.”

“I was watching great-grandfather train,” Mathieu explains obediently, “and I asked if he could teach me.”

Selena knows well that she cannot interject (she lacks the authority to), but her discontent is palpable. She is in alignment with her husband that Mathieu is too young to learn combat just yet.

But it is an inevitability that she can’t very well push back on. She only wishes it would be a gentler transition—like what she’s trying to do with helping Mathieu harness his magical abilities in recent time.

But Laurent is far from gentle in her eyes. His blatant cruelty towards Simon—demonstrated as recently as a few short days ago—has only confirmed that fact.

Selena must snuff the unpleasant memory before it dampens her already-fragile state of mind.

Instead, she placates, gentle towards her son: “I see.”

“It is imperative that he learns the fundamentals.” Laurent clarifies indelicately. “Defense is paramount among them.”

Selena quirks a brow at that, more surprised to hear an unprompted justification from Laurent than anything. It’s almost as if he’s trying to ease her mind - though his tone is too harsh. (No need to give him undue credit.)

Selena attempts to meet him halfway with a calculated reply: “I trust your judgment, my lord.”

Mathieu has attuned to the unspoken tension between them. He’s idling with his makeshift sword in hand, resisting the urge to rock on his heels.

He knows better than to ask what’s caused the divide. He knows that while great-grandfather can seem mean, he is always kind to him (and how lucky he is for that!)

But there’s no denying the unique coldness towards both of his parents. Worsened in recent time.

“Let us pause here for today.” Laurent explains to Mathieu, who must resist pouting at such a decision.

“Yes, sir.” He bows his head in thanks before beginning his walk towards his mother to return home.

He pauses partway, remembering something suddenly. A hasty unfastening of his hair, and he promptly returns the band Laurent loaned him.

“Thank you.” Laurent expresses as he takes it, making quick work of returning it on the end of his now-loosened braid.

He watches Mathieu return to Selena’s side, and she turns on her heel to lead him back home.

“Selena.” Laurent calls out to her, firm.

Selena halts her walk, and Mathieu follows her example.

She turns to face him once again with her full attention. “Yes, my lord?”

“I would like to speak with you.” Laurent replies, lacking emotion. “Alone.”

Selena stiffens as their eyes connect. The connection is broken as quickly as it comes as Selena must turn her attention back to Mathieu by her side.

“My love, would you please check on Gabriel for me?”

Mathieu looks between both adults before giving his mother a nod. “Yes, mother.”

“Thank you.” Selena pets gently upon his head. “I won’t be long.”

With Mathieu en route back home, Laurent has taken the initiative to lead Selena towards the Belmont hold. With a bowed head, Selena follows after him, some distance away.

They say nothing to each other while Laurent escorts her within the confines of the hold. The door is closed behind them before they go to the meeting room.

Selena lingers by the doorway as Laurent strides within. Her attention is first drawn to the books that are strewn on the table, with some handwritten notes beside them.

“How are you faring?” Laurent asks, deadpan, now standing by the table.

Selena knows his question is only a matter of formality and not born from any sort of care. Thus, she replies superficially: “I’m doing just fine, my lord.”

“What of Gabriel?”

“His arm is injured, but not broken.” Selena clarifies. “I’m treating his infection, at the moment.”

“Good.” Laurent isn’t looking at her as his attention falls to a book on the table. “And your injuries?”

Selena resists the urge to conceal her bruised wrist with the hem of her sleeve. “Nothing of note, my lord.”

A moment of quiet as Selena observes Laurent, still a respectable distance away. His attention is stolen by one book - separate from the rest. It’s worn and frayed, and it is one she doesn’t recognize.

Laurent lifts his steely eyes to stare at her as he begins his interrogation: “Has Simon returned?”

A swallow, and Selena’s gaze is broken against her intent. Her focus falls to the floor as she must admit promptly: “No, my lord.”

“When did you last see him?”

Selena builds herself back up to stare at him head-on once again. “When the night creatures appeared on the estate grounds.”

Four days ago, then. And it’s clear that she isn’t lying about it - it aligns with what Mathieu shared, too.

Laurent is of two minds about this news - it is good to get confirmation that Simon is not cowering in the comfort of his home.

But it is telling that he hasn’t returned to at least rest or eat.

Laurent chooses to focus on the more probable conclusion, on a barely-there huff of frustration. “Abandoning his duties, then.”

“I assure you, he isn’t.” Selena’s reply tumbles out against her better judgment.

She’s met with a glare. A careful breath and a cast away look as she softens her words: “He would never do such a thing.”

A twitch of a frown on Laurent’s features. “But he has.” And a scarcely-hidden scowl. “You’re blind with faith in him.”

Selena tries to course-correct: “What do you need of me, my lord? Respectfully, if you’ve nothing more to ask of me, I’d like to return to Gabriel.”

Arms fold over his chest as he gets to the point: “You mentioned something about Simon seeing hell. And something about his time spent in Castlevania.”

Laurent’s focused stare is unbroken as he studies Selena. “I would not have paid your words any heed if not for Simon’s explosive reaction.”

The Belmont patriarch stands a little taller, squaring his shoulders. “What was it you were going to say?”

Simon’s explosive reaction aside, Laurent has taken the time to reflect on what he shared of his experience in Castlevania. Both what he shared at the banquet, and also what he shared privately among the family.

Neither of which seemed particularly traumatic as to justify Selena’s plea, and Simon’s seizing of her to silence her. It’s clear to Laurent that Selena knows far more than she’s letting on.

More than that: she knows things that Simon is desperately trying to hide.

Thus, Laurent will extract everything he can from her, in hopes of confirming or denying his own suspicions.

Selena’s next uttered words are carefully calculated: “I spoke out of turn in desperation. It will not happen again.”

It’s irritating that she leans on her half-truths to deter from the matter at hand.

“You know something that I don’t,” Laurent states plainly, unrelenting “and I am demanding you tell me what you know.”

Still, Selena does not comply. “I was only concerned for my husband. Nothing more.”

At her continued resistance, Laurent’s attention falls to the book in front of him. Then to the penned notes, just beside.

The Belmont patriarch uncrosses his arms, moving to open the book with one hand. The other comes to land on the table in front of him.

Selena can only watch with growing unease as Laurent scans the page. Dead air hangs between them, and Selena finds herself wondering what sort of tactics Laurent might use to force her compliance—

“Paranoia. Lethargy. Distrust of others.”

What?

“Night terrors, visceral auditory and visual hallucinations.”

No, that—how could he possibly know that—

A glare on his final point: “And bouts of unjustified violence.”

Selena must collect herself promptly for when Laurent’s eyes meet hers on his damning question: “Is Simon exhibiting all of these symptoms?”

She stares down the Belmont patriarch, doing what she can to disregard the thrumming of her pounding heart as it deafens her.

Laurent knows. He knows, in spite of all of their precautions.

No—he might just be bluffing.

Selena must think of a lie—she can feign ignorance.

Too much time has passed.

She can do nothing else but swear silence.

It isn’t enough. Laurent sees right through her: “If you say nothing, I will take your silence as confirmation.”

A grounding breath, and Selena resists every urge to cross her arms. Instead, her fingernails dig into her palms as her clenched fists tighten by her sides.

It isn’t enough to keep her composure from slipping away.

“Just what is your objective, my lord?” She confronts him, her voice sounding less firm than she hoped. “You have drawn your own conclusions—fabricating a list of symptoms that would make Simon unfit to wield the Vampire Killer—so you might have justification for taking it from him.”

A trembling breath as Selena stands her ground: “Are you truly so eager to tear him down?”

Laurent expected this outcome. His reply is one of feigned compassion: “I understand your matronly duty in defending your husband’s actions,” and his voice turns callous “but did you not learn your lesson the first time you spoke on his behalf?”

He builds himself back to his full height, shutting the book as he goes. “I asked you a question. Answer it.”

Courtesy has been abandoned. On Selena’s next uttered words, there is no filter: “I see no logical reason for your actions.”

With a challenging step forward, Selena escalates in both volume and anger: “You allowed Simon to leave to fight growing hordes of night creatures stripped of the only advantage he had. Do you not care for his safety at all?”

And Laurent’s reply is immediate: “If he is of sound mind, he will manage, as he was taught to.” He does not grant Selena the authority she seeks. “However, if he is exhibiting all of the symptoms I mentioned, then it is better that he never returns to the estate.”

Selena cannot stop the gasp that escapes her.

“How could you say such a terrible thing!” A trembling breath as she fails to collect the pieces of her crumbling composure. “He could be dead and the fault is yours alone!”

Laurent allows a moment to process Selena’s words.

There is some truth to them.

For Laurent has not been blind to the changes he’s observed in his grandson.

It’s an unfortunate, foregone conclusion, that Laurent mustn’t falter in acting upon.

His judgment is resolute: “If he is no longer of sound mind and body, then he is no longer my grandson.”

He doesn’t lift his eyes to meet those of Simon Belmont’s wife, who has truly only had his best interest at heart since the very beginning. Ever the champion of him.

But good intentions cannot spare a person of damnation.

“He is no longer your husband, nor the father of your child.” Laurent concludes. “He may as well be dead.”

A trembling breath urges Laurent to lift his head and face the consequences of his words.

“What are you saying?” He watches Selena crumble, voice weakening as she replies. “How can you be so terribly cruel?”

“I am only doing what I must to preserve the Belmont lineage.” Laurent explains with a coldness that cannot be thawed. “Someday you might understand that.”

A poor attempt to regain her volume, and Selena is challenging Laurent once again: “All Simon has done is devote himself tirelessly to the Belmont family and to God.”

A swallow of saliva. “In spite of his hardship and his struggles.” A breath. “And in spite of your relentless cruelty.”

But Selena’s built facade is not maintained on her last words, as her mind is flooded with everything she has shouldered with her beloved in sworn secrecy: “And yet you still doubt him? After years of his devotion?”

Laurent draws it all to a close. “I won’t hear more of your appeal. You’re dismissed.”

He has heard everything he needed to. Without Selena confirming outright, he has learned the truth:

Simon is afflicted with every listed symptom.

And Laurent is all too familiar with what those symptoms mean.

He now knows what must be done.

“Go - tend to Gabriel. He will need to patrol tonight.”

Selena does not move. She only stares at Laurent, with a unique hatred behind her glassy eyes that he has not yet been the recipient of.

Her words are fragile and trembling, but ring so terribly true: “You’re horrible.”

A growl in reply. “Out.”

Selena stands for a moment longer, withholding her continuous deterioration. 

There is no hope in reaching Laurent. There is no hope for someone so innately cruel. No hope for one who does not care if his own flesh and blood dies as a direct result of his own terrible actions.

And to say that so indelicately to Selena, who has been so incredibly sick with worry over her husband’s safety.

She can do nothing else but bow her head to the tyrannical Belmont patriarch before exiting the room.

The door is slammed behind her.

And that is enough to teeter Laurent into a fit of rage long-repressed. With a frustrated roar, he pushes all papers and books off the table.

Hands slam down on the wood as he bows his head.

Air is sucked through grit teeth. 

Laurent lingers in that position for as long as he needs to calm his haphazard breathing.

“God,” he whispers to himself “give me strength.”

And as if a reply to such a fragile statement,

the Vampire Killer strapped to Laurent’s hip resonates with a pulsating warmth.

It does not move from its place, but there is no denying the pull that begs on his attention.

Laurent can only lift his head, focus drawn out the nearest window.

The sun has not yet set.

But for the whip to resonate, it can only mean

there is a vampire nearby.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 55 - THE BELMONT ESTATE
ROUGHLY ONE WEEK PRIOR

As Laurent hastily departs from the hold to follow the pull of the Vampire Killer, he only briefly pauses in front of the door to Simon’s home.

He doesn’t bother to knock on the door before swinging it open to find Gabriel and Selena in the middle of a tense conversation.

“Gabriel,” he barks with disregard, “with me. Now.”

Gabriel complies quickly, moving to stand and retrieve his sword by the doorway.

But when remarking the afternoon sun still shining from the window, Gabriel cannot help the confused expression painted on his face as his sword is fastened to his hip.

“A vampire. Quickly.” Laurent explains, already moving away from the door frame to confront it.

Just their luck. A mutter of a cuss under Gabriel’s breath and he follows as quickly as he can manage, not bothering to say any parting words to Selena nor Mathieu before he goes.

He keeps his wounded, freshly-bandaged arm close to his body as he runs. It isn’t long before he catches up to the Belmont patriarch, jogging by his side.

“How do you know it’s a vampire, my lord?” Gabriel asks, brandishing his sword in his dominant hand. “It’s broad daylight.”

“The whip.” Laurent explains, still focused on the way it’s resonating in the grip of his hand.

Gabriel does nothing to push back against that fact, only nodding his head and bracing his body to fight.

“Stay behind.” Laurent commands with a gesture of his free hand as the duo emerge from the estate grounds. Gabriel obeys, surveying the area behind Laurent as he continues on ahead.

Nothing for the moment to cause alarm, but Gabriel does not allow that to weaken his scrutiny. He does as he’s instructed, lingering near the estate gates, and studying all around them.

Laurent has moved ahead, taking refuge against the trees on the outskirts of Jova forest. Just beyond it, not too far from the estate grounds, stands sacred land yet untouched by creatures of the night:

Angel’s Hill - the Belmont resting site.

For the whip to resonate and draw Laurent to this holy place stirs a rage in him he didn’t think possible. What wretched foe dares to walk upon the graves of his respected ancestors? In the silence of the daylight, no less?

Laurent must dispatch the threat quickly. But he mustn’t be too hasty - or it could cost him his own life.

A cautious peer around the trunk of the tree that conceals him, and Laurent at last locates the source of the whip’s ire:

a shambling figure, nearly doubled over onto itself, has just crossed the gates of the graveyard.

A steeling inhale as Laurent moves to emerge from the forest’s protection overhead in order to approach his target.

The whip is throbbing with remarkable warmth - a confirmation in its resonance.

And as Laurent braces himself to sprint and strike while still unnoticed,

the figure is revealed to him, and in that revelation he resists the urge to crumble where he stands.

The person who the Vampire Killer has deemed a threat

is none other than Simon Belmont.

Too paralyzed to act just yet, Laurent can only watch his grandson as he drags the visibly—and severely—damaged husk of his body towards the erected cross that guards over all of the tombstones.

He watches as Simon stands, head tilting up to look upon the apex of the cross. He lingers there for some time before taking a knee (with great difficulty.)

If Laurent strains his ears, he can hear Simon speak:

“God in heaven,” he starts, and that sound is so incredibly hoarse, lacking any semblance of the scathing and resonant strength Laurent had last heard from him in his fit of rage.

A wheeze before he continues: “What is happening to me?”

Laurent’s grip on the whip in hand tightens as he listens in to his grandson’s heartfelt, deteriorated, private, and vulnerable confessions.

“Has the evil not been dealt with?”

The whip is resonating in reaction to Simon.

“I have fought tirelessly over these years, yet the land continues to be tainted with darkness.”

It can only mean that Simon has become—

“And I, myself… stand before you a shadow of my former self.”

don’t falter.

“Have I, too, become tainted with evil?”

A steeling and deep inhale as Laurent must heed the call.

“There is no respite in my waking hours, nor in sleep. My mind is a prison.”

No matter how unpleasant.

“And my body, it’s…”

Laurent must will himself to step forward, but every muscle in his body does not comply.

“I have no right to beg your forgiveness for my mistakes, but I must ask you:”

Coward, do your damn duty.

“Is this a trial? What more must I do to prove my devotion?”

It doesn’t matter if he wears the face of your grandson, he’s…

"What more must I do to make things right?”

he is past the point of redemption.

“Is this a punishment for my inability?”

Do your duty as a son of the Belmont family.

“Am I no longer your champion?”

Do not falter.

“Have I not endured enough?”

Do not make the same mistake.

“I beg you, please, answer me. I haven’t the strength to go on like this.”

Do him this mercy by ending his life.

“Should you deem me unworthy to shoulder your mission, I…”

Before he can cause any more harm unto others.

“My respected forefathers, have I besmirched our good name? Have I caused us to fall out of God’s benevolent favour?”

Do not allow the tainted past to repeat itself.

"Am I truly unworthy to wield our most sacred weapon? Must my failings fall to my son?”

Do your damn duty as his guardian!

"He’s just a boy, he…”

Simon was just a boy, once—so small and frail, raised by Laurent’s own hands—because his father—his own son—

“Respected Christopher, you emerged victorious in your God-given mission against the lord of darkness, of sound mind."

God, forgive him—give him strength for what must be done, as he moves to cross the gates of the grave site, whip in his tightening grip—heart beating so deafeningly loud—

“No harm coming to your loved ones.”

Laurent cannot help how his face twists with sorrow at such a terrible lie—Simon has never known—

“Am I truly such an utter failure?”

—how bloodstained his lineage truly is.

“I question my truth.”

My respected forefathers,

“My respected forefathers,”

forgive me for what I must do—

“I beg your guidance.”

I act only to protect our lineage—

“I am lost.”

Simon, forgive me!

As Laurent moves to strike down his own flesh and blood with the very same weapon bequeathed to him,

he’s stopped.

A sourceless power somehow stills his arm.

From its energy, Laurent is stunned into compliance by a figureless warmth he has never known in all of his years.

It can only be the warmth of God that stays his arm.

But,

in this sacred place,

among the Belmont ancestors and their dead,

perhaps it’s his Estelle who has halted him.

Before Laurent can confirm it, the sensation passes quickly, instead moving ahead of him

towards Simon.

Simon is then pulled from his vulnerable prayers with a gentle touch on his shoulders from the very same. Bleary gold eyes attempt to locate the source of it.

Nothing, and the touch vanishes with it.

But when his attention is drawn back towards the cross in front of him,

he’s met with a translucent apparition standing before him in the form of beautiful young woman donned in a flowing gown. Her dainty features are obscured by an ethereal blue-tinted veil. Dark and long hair cascades down her shoulders.

God, have mercy—be it a fault of exhaustion or his madness, Simon must be hallucinating—

but there is something so incredibly familiar and holy about this illusion.

It dawns on him—and Laurent, too, some paces behind, still undetected by Simon.

If Simon focuses on the features beneath the veil, a person comes to mind.

Someone whose face he recognizes from paintings. Writings.

His voice doesn’t quite carry sound as he tries to ask for confirmation:

“Matriarch?” He breathes in disbelief, swallowing the sound caught in his throat. “Lady Trantoul?”

“Your life is in danger.” The apparition replies without confirming Simon’s question. Her voice is familiar, as if from some distant memory or dream. It is a gentle, feminine voice that carries no mirth.

“Dracula has afflicted a curse upon you.” She explains, her soft demeanour wrought with concern, but her tone of voice objective and true. “It is the source of your sickness. Your madness. It has blurred the line between what you know is real and twisted fabrication.”

Utterly dizzy with exhaustion, Simon struggles to take her words as fact.

Is this real?

Or just another hallucination?

No, not in this sacred place, it cannot be—

“You will die unless the curse is lifted. You haven’t much time.”

The crushing weight of it all unfurls upon Simon’s shoulders, taking with it the air from his lungs.

He can’t die yet.

People are counting on him.

“What must I do?” He can only croak, facing his own mortality.

“See to Dracula’s end,” she replies “in the ashes of his castle.”

Dracula’s end? God in heaven, no—could this be confirmation of Simon’s worst fear:

that Dracula yet lives, due to his own inability?

Why else need he return to the ruins of Castlevania?

Dracula is tied to that place, even in death.

No—not again.

Simon cannot return there, even in ruins.

God protect him from that evil place.

The mere thought nauseates him.

Simon has so many questions to ask,

but he isn’t granted that time. Concern washes over his face as the apparition begins to disappear.

No, please—not yet—

“Please, wait,” he pleads in growing desperation, tears beginning to cloud his vision, “matriarch, I beseech you—”

He’s stunned silent with a soft touch on his scarred cheek. Her hand—so warm, so holy—is cradling his face as she disappears.

She says something to Simon, then—but it is something conveyed without spoken words.

As she goes, Simon tries to breathe, shuddered - a poor attempt at grounding himself to what he just witnessed. Desperate hands move to wipe the blood, sweat, and tears from his face as his mind swims in confusion.

Still undetected by Simon, Laurent has watched the entire scene unfold in awe. He, too, is struggling to digest what just happened.

And what it means.

Dracula has afflicted a curse upon Simon. Laurent has assumed that Simon was tainted, but not deliberately cursed.

And if the spirit is to be believed—forgive him, respected matriarch, for questioning that truth—that curse is the source of the symptoms Laurent has observed in his grandson.

And for the matriarch to appear before Simon—her spirit emerged undeniably from the very whip Laurent holds in his hand—

there may still be hope for Simon to overcome his curse.

Laurent’s focus is pulled back towards his grandson at the notice of him attempting to haul himself back onto his feet. It’s an unbalanced build back upright.

And Laurent can do nothing else but stay in place as Simon turns to exit the resting site

and notices him standing there, whip in hand.

Their eyes connect.

And Laurent now sees his grandson, looking notably worse than days prior.

At his lowest possible point.

The hard leather of his armour is in pieces, hair matted and clinging to his blood-stained face.

And his eyes—an unnatural hue, to be sure, and ones that plainly reveal he has not slept at all over these days.

What has he been doing?

He couldn’t possibly—

has Simon been fighting this whole time without rest? Without the Vampire Killer? (It suddenly feels so much heavier in Laurent’s hand.)

Relentless combat was a necessity, no doubt—and it is the only explanation as to why the night creatures have not crossed the estate gates since Simon departed.

Despite being stripped of his weapon—despite being stripped of his birthright—Simon continues to fulfill his duty as an unsung hero of his clan.

The unsung hero of Transylvania and her people.

The weight of it all crushes both Belmonts. Simon’s face twists with overwhelm he cannot easily conceal. Thus, he bows his head, resolving to walk ahead to pass Laurent.

To his dismay, a hard hand stills his shoulder, and stops him from departing. Simon can do nothing else but obey, head still bowed.

Grandfather and grandson linger in quiet for a long moment as Laurent struggles to find the words he would like to say to Simon.

And Simon hasn’t any idea how to talk about what just happened. (It’s possible he imagined the whole thing.)

That aside, there’s an ache of shame that overtakes Simon at the notice of Laurent with the Vampire Killer in hand.

Just what was he brandishing it for?

Was he going to—

“Forgive me, my grandson.” Laurent finally speaks, his voice lacking the resonant callousness it usually carries. “You have shouldered much unbeknownst to me.”

Oh.

A weak sound threatens to escape from Simon at his notice. To stifle it, he heaves.

But he’s crumbling—fast.

It feels so heavy.

Everything feels so heavy.

Simon can’t focus.

He’s so—God—he has to—

Simon’s limbs suddenly weaken from under him, but he manages to ease down onto a knee. He hardly manages to keep himself upright, leaving Laurent no choice but to hurry to his side, trying to hoist him back onto his feet with little success.

At the notice of Simon’s consciousness waning, Laurent calls out to Gabriel, loud enough for him to hear from his stationed position.

Simon only hears hurried footsteps approach before his vision darkens.

And even in that fragile moment,

Simon is terrified to succumb to sleep.

Simon loses consciousness, leaving Laurent to use all of his might to collect his slacked weight before Gabriel joins them.

When Simon next pulls himself conscious, he finds himself in what might be his bedroom.

Exhausted eyelids struggle to stay open, and even weaker eyes struggle to focus, but he can hear multiple voices talking. They’re distant—possibly in the foreroom.

Selena, assuredly. His grandfather. Gabriel, too.

Overcome with fever, Simon tries to move from his place to little avail. His body isn’t cooperating—too hurt to comply—and the room around him spins.

“Father!” Mathieu’s small voice calls to him, and Simon realizes too late that his boy is seated at his bedside.

Bleary eyes land on him, and he’s a blur of vague shapes. Simon tries to blink through it. (He doesn’t want Mathieu to see him this way.)

“Mathieu, get your mother.” Simon commands with strain, trying to stifle his weakened state in the presence of him.

Nodding obediently, Mathieu disappears with urgency to collect his mother. Simon can hear him informing her, far away.

During which, Simon attempts to haul himself upright into a seated position. A hand lands firmly on the bed as dizziness claims him. He hangs his head low, opting to stay perfectly still for the moment, lest he lose consciousness again.

He closes his eyes, and the sounds disappear, too. It might be too late, he’s fading fast—

When he musters the strength to open his eyes again, Selena is seated on the bed by his side, brushing hair from his face to assess him.

Simon tries to crane his chin up to meet her eyes. Selena is close enough that he can see her with some clarity.

Her face is so full of worry. (He must look as horrible as he feels.)

Simon tries to explain what happened, but his thoughts aren’t in any logical order (and the sound of his voice is barely carrying): “My mind is plagued by Dracula—cursed—the matriarch—I must—”

Selena comforts him with a gentle hush: “Laurent has told us what happened.”

That serves as confirmation to Simon that Laurent saw it, too.

“I haven’t much time.” He croaks, trying to build himself upright again.

Selena stills him gently before moving to draw his head against her shoulder. “You are in no condition to move.”

She’s right, of course—for even that small movement has weakened his vision. Simon can do nothing else but concede, closing his eyes and cherishing her support for the time he’s granted it.

(If this is an illusion, so be it. In this moment, Simon needs Selena to hold him more than ever before.)

He takes in the scent of her—her hair has always been lightly perfumed with some floral note he can’t for the life of him remember—but it does wonders to ground him.

The duo linger in quiet for a long moment.

But their quiet is interrupted at the aching reminder that Simon does not have the luxury of time on his side anymore.

Minding his volume in case Mathieu is still within earshot, he finally musters the strength to explain between them: “I don’t know when death will take me.”

With that spoken revelation, an unpleasant memory surfaces. Eyes open again, and Simon is searching for Selena’s hand.

Unfocused eyes land on it. Using all of his remaining strength, Simon moves to gently take Selena’s hand into his own for what he says next:

“There is no excuse for my behaviour.” He starts, and Selena is a little puzzled by his words. She feels him pull away, instead so he can face her. 

Simon uses all of his strength to lift his head and meet her eyes, hand tightening around hers.

His next words are spoken as clearly as he can manage: “I am so sorry for hurting you.”

His words are simple - there is no beg for forgiveness, no attempt at justifying his actions. 

But his words—the look in his eyes—both undeniably earnest.

Selena meets his eyes on a soft inhale. She returns the grip on his hand, firm, to ground herself as she must sort through her feelings on the matter.

Simon can do nothing else but grant her that time in utter silence. During which, their fixation is broken, and Simon is given a moment to bow his heavy head.

“All is forgiven.” Selena assures at last long last, firm but genuine in her conveyance, as they linger in their position, breathing gently together.

As if to illustrate her point, Selena inches a bit closer to Simon, her free hand landing on his cheek. Simon cherishes such a gesture without a word more.

There is much Selena would like to say to him—questions about where it is he’s been, did he have any idea how worried she was over his safety, fearing the worst—and learning about his curse from the matriarch—

but the ache of it all is snuffed. Simon is already fading fast, and Selena acknowledges there will be little weight in inundating him at this time.

He’s home again, in her hands. And for the moment, that is enough.

They part, only for Selena to gently encourage him back into the bed below with a soft command. “You must rest, now.”

Simon doesn’t even reply to that, no longer able to fight to keep himself conscious as eyes flutter shut.

But Selena remains by his side, still holding onto his hand.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 56 - BRAHM MANSION
PRESENT DAY

Finally, the boat reaches its destination along edge of the central continent. Ghostly spirits recede back into the foggy waters below, having served their purpose.

Simon makes quick work of returning Dracula’s heart back to its place in his satchel. He doesn’t bother to offer the ferryman thanks before disembarking, eager to feel solid earth beneath his feet.

Simon takes a moment to observe the fortress before him - the one belonging to the Brahm family.

It is not unlike the other fortresses that he has had the misfortune of visiting over these weeks: large, imposing, ornate. But structured and well-protected. Its windows and perimeter are barred with latticed metal fencing made to keep intruders out.

One last look over his shoulder to assess if the ferryman will be staying or not. He shouldn’t be surprised to find that the ferryman is no longer present—boat and all, swallowed by the fog rising from the Dead River.

It only serves to worsen Simon’s ache of growing restlessness as it threatens to steer him from his course.

A steeling breath before Simon trudges ahead. There is no use in wasting a moment more. His objective is to speak to the Brahm family.

A firm knock of a metal knocker upon the large bolted doors.

No response.

With growing impatience, Simon slams his fist upon the door with as much force as his weakened state can manage.

At that, the doors finally creak open. Simon is already imposing himself within, not bothering to greet whoever has granted him entry.

No need, anyway: no person stands there to greet him.

Simon expects the change that occurs before his eyes (but he wishes that it wouldn’t be so.)

Like the rest of the fortresses, Brahm mansion also reveals its innards to be the terrible and undeniable dungeons of Dracula’s castle.

The exit disappeared from behind him, Simon is given no choice but to proceed with caution, unfastening the whip from his hip. Its mighty weight (credited to the chain bestowed to him by the vampire hunter from Ondol) thwarts any plan for stealth as its links grind in his gloved hands.

It’s heavy. With a moment of quiet, Simon takes a single swing to assess the new power behind its increased weight—

it nearly throws him off-balance.

And that small gesture alone serves to remind Simon of his terribly weakened state. His dominant arm aches more than it has any right to.

A self-soothing hand (still aching with injury, also credited to the stranger from Ondol) comes up to rub upon weary muscles as Simon studies his surroundings, now that his eyes have adjusted to the dark.

For the moment, he hears no man nor creature lurking from the shadows. He can do nothing else but walk ahead, cautious as he goes.

But time is never on his side. Such an unpleasant reminder cases his steps to hasten.

When Simon reflects on his time spent in the other fortresses, he notes that the amount of enemies has decreased with each. This should be a comforting fact.

But this dungeon carries a unique and terrible aura, unlike the others. (It may stem from the realization that these fortresses are very real, and not the hallucinations that Simon once believed they were.)

Simon reflects on his time in Rover mansion - the first of many. It was navigated with the certainty that he was experiencing an episode of psychosis related to his time spent in Castlevania, containing skeletal monsters and corpses that would have easily been the same Simon encountered during his siege. Rover mansion is where Simon retrieved both the heart and the rib.

Then Laruba, whose characteristics began to deviate from Simon’s well-established nightmares with the appearance of Vampira, a succubus who delighted in masquerading as his beloved Selena. She confirmed to Simon that she serves Dracula. From that fortress, Simon was rewarded the ring, and the lasting toll of Joma marsh’s deadly poisons on his already-weakened body.

Protecting no objects, Berkeley mansion did not reveal the bowels of Castlevania on entry. But from its cellar Simon discovered the dark magic used to protect the body of “Christ” - foreign characters written in a paste of blood and grave soil that he would later discover adorn every church and every home within the northernmost towns.

Finally, and most recently, Bodley mansion - which stood to protect Dracula’s nail, carving the way for Simon to finally understand that these items he has been collecting are not holy, but rather parts belonging to Count Dracula. His reward for uncovering that truth came in the form of fresh and agonizing wounds on his exit.

The rib.

The heart.

The ring.

The nail.

Over these agonizing weeks, Simon has been challenged, directed, and manipulated into collecting these unholy parts of Dracula to benefit the cultist’s objective:

a ritual

orchestrated by someone going and collecting these items on the cultist’s behalf.

A person who they have called a devotee to Christ’s will, and the key to His resurrection.

Simon knows well that such a ritual—such a resurrection—is not done in good faith in Christ’s name (though the poor laymen are none the wiser to that truth.)

No.

Simon knows well the role he is playing in the cultist’s primary objective:

resurrecting Dracula. 

(May God forgive him for what he must do.)

See to Dracula’s end in the ashes of his castle.

Simon has no desire to resurrect Count Dracula. He hasn’t the strength to commit such an atrocity, nor face the Count—even if at a fraction of his usual strength—in combat, given Simon’s sorry state.

Instead, Simon intends see to Dracula’s end in another way: to burn all of the body parts in the ruins of Castlevania using God’s sacred flames. It is the only way to cleanse the world of Dracula—and the only way in which Simon can see it done without resorting to combat.

The matriarch’s words guide Simon’s crumbling body forward. They grant him the strength to power through his lethargy, his exhaustion,

his utter dread of being in this horrible place.

He need only retrieve the next cursed object and be done with it.

But how many more remain? How much longer can Simon endure?

He’s lost count of the days—weeks—that have passed since he departed from the estate on this quest.

And his body…

it isn’t cooperating anymore.

Too weak to even wield a chained leather whip, speaking nothing of the strength required to wield his axe or his sword.

His advantage lies only in the holy water flasks he has on-hand, and those that remain are so few in number.

Simon’s only respite is in the fact that Brahm mansion is the closest in proximity to the ruins of Castlevania. It is separated by mountainous terrain that will be unfavourable to cross, but it signifies the approaching end of his damning quest.

It’s for that reason that Simon clings to his faith more than ever before—his mind inundated with prayers to see this through to completion, even if it costs him his life.

If he is fated to die, so be it.

But, Lord—he begs—may he only die after he has burned—

Simon’s attention is stolen by a warm glow in the room ahead. Had he the strength, he would race towards it, knowing well that its origin must be the orb which contains the item he seeks.

Logic overrides: Simon proceeds with caution. His fortified whip is returned to its clasp upon his belt. He reaches for his usual dagger, instead.

With a steeling grip of it in his dominant hand, Simon’s next footfalls are careful. Quiet.

Simon cannot fight the sensation that he is being watched. Though no foe emerges from the darkness to challenge him outright, there is an oppressive aura of evil that is only growing heavier the further he ventures within the dungeon.

It’s for that reason that Simon tries to swallow his ever-building anxieties, instead focusing on his objective just ahead.

The room he has entered is similar to those from the other mansions. An altar room to honour the orb that is guarded within.

In the place of mummies that are usually strung ceremoniously along the walls, Simon instead finds the bones of skeletons in heaps upon the stone floor encircling the altar.

Upon closer examination, they are varied in their sizes. The skulls, especially, indicate that humans of various stages of life have either died or had their corpses brought here to decay.

(Even if they’re only bones, they still manage to carry the putrid stink of rot. It might be his imagination.)

Simon cannot allow such a grim sight—smell—to give him pause. His attention returns instead to the orb.

He ascends the stairs, unbalanced, until he is just before it.

It appears just like the others - warm, gelatinous. Best to make quick work of it and depart as quickly as he can.

As with the others, Simon stays the orb with his left hand (carefully, it’s still quite hurt) before readying his dagger in the other. With considerable strength behind his attack, he plunges his weapon down with intention.

It doesn’t break the surface.

Instead, Simon is rewarded for his futile attack with the orb turning solid, deflecting the dagger. With grit teeth, Simon tries again, with more strength behind his blows.

It isn’t relenting.

Unease sets in and causes Simon to react erratically, striking again and again to try and break the surface—or at least work it down enough to weaken it.

With one particularly rushed blow of the blade’s edge upon the surface, the dagger deflects from its intended point of impact, and instead slips its point under Simon’s left hand.

Puncturing its tip through his glove, directly into the flesh of his palm.

Air is sucked through grit teeth as he rides through such an unpleasant sensation.

Another steeling breath before he can pull the dagger from his hand, trying to assess the wound in the glow of the orb. 

Leather is torn, and from the puncture wound, his blood is already flowing and dribbling upon the orb and altar both.

Simon raises his right arm up before moving to strike the orb one more time—

he’s rewarded only with his dagger finally flying from his hand—broken—before it collides with the stone floor some paces away. The sound of impact reverberates.

Curse it all! 

Why is this orb different? The others were cut with relative ease—they would only seize after the first cut, and Simon was able to pull them apart to reveal the item they guard that way.

With a frustrated huff, Simon takes a moment to return his hands, minding the cut in his palm. He must think of another way. He could try his axe—or sword—next. Quickly—

there’s a sudden movement, just beside him.

Then a clink by his boot.

Simon remains immobile, bristling with growing anxiety. His focus is drawn to confirm what fell beside him.

In the glow of the orb, Simon sees a glimmer of an object in his periphery. Small.

A moment longer as Simon listens in for any other movement (it’s difficult to hear over his thrumming heartbeat in his ears.) But there has been no change.

He then carefully moves his boot, nudging the object that has landed just beside. It’s metallic, and light—barely scraping on the steps of the altar.

A moment longer before Simon resolves to move his body, kneeling with some difficulty to examine the item.

It’s a dagger.

(Is it his? He was sure his was broken, some paces away…)

Carefully, he takes it in his right hand. He then rises to stand, using the glow of the orb to examine it in better lighting at his full height.

It’s gilded and in pristine condition - a far cry from how his own worn dagger looked.