Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The palisade surrounding the ruins of Oakhurst rose through the morning mist, its sharp teeth half rotted and crooked as a cutthroat's grin. Abolish made his way down to the old path, feeling the dew slowly soak the cuffs of his pants, the fabric clinging to his skin. Usually, he’d wear more practical attire when he left the castle, but despite the change of scenery, he preferred his well-kept uniform if he was going to be in Scott’s presence. The vampire had standards after all, and whether these humans knew it or not, as his butler, it was Abolish’s duty to uphold them. Still, his lips twitched into a frown at the mud clinging to his shined shoes. He’d have to trade them for his sturdy, if worn, boots.

He glanced back as he approached the ruined town to see if anyone had followed him. The overgrown grass glittered as the morning sun caught the dew, and a light, cold breeze made their blades bow at his passing. Had he been Scott, he had no doubt the wind would have pushed them entirely prone, saving its lord from the indignity of damp clothes and itchy skin. Scanning the cleared land before the town, he caught no sign of Scott. There was no flash of startling blue hair or sharply dressed silhouette weaving through the trees, nor the strange shiver in the shadows as he passed by unseen. It wasn’t unexpected, but it made him twitchy to have him out of his sight so soon. Needs must, however.

They’d come to something of a compromise regarding Scott entering town. It had been Abolish’s initial plan to go alone, leaving his lord hidden in his crypt and bringing him news and fresh blood when needed, so he may interact with the humans without suspicion or danger befalling the vampire. Unsurprisingly, he had protested. While never one to turn down hard work, Abolish could already see the eager tension of a predator ready to pounce in his posture. His lord had always enjoyed playing with his food. Less with the immaturity of a child and more with the amused glee of a cat with a mouse caught in its claws. So Scott had suggested an alternative.

They both enter the town alone, Abolish quietly integrating himself with the human population while the attention Scott inadvertently drew—whether from suspicion of the supernatural or merely his winning smile and charms, as he’d put it—would leave the butler free to investigate and evaluate the situation. Abolish didn’t love the idea of Scott swanning his way through the rundown town, especially without himself lurking as a protective presence, but it was, admittedly, not a bad plan. Even if his lord were revealed as a vampire and it were to cause problems, no one should be any the wiser to the second set of fangs lurking behind the first.

Not seeing any sign of Scott or strangers, he turned back to the town, the broken pavements crunching faintly underfoot. A louder crack and yelp caught his attention. Head snapping up, he turned to the sound. Just past the slight curve of the palisade was another path, barely visible through the tall grass and toppled wood, but nothing could hide the uncoordinated stumbling as the man heading down it nearly fell face first into the stone and mud.

Craning his neck to get a better look, Abolish called out, forcing surprise and confusion into his voice. “Hello?”

The figure staggered into standing, a tanned face with a neat beard and wintery blue eyes—drab and depressing compared to the glacial brightness of Scott’s—peered over the grass. He waved enthusiastically, his white gloves a little worn and stained. Someone who had been of means but had fallen on hard times, perhaps?

“Is this Oakhurst?” Abolish called, cringing at the redundant question, but trying out the act regardless.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. We just made it. Oh, hi, sorry for the awkward introduction,” the man said, doing his best to weave his way through the overgrowth toward Abolish.

Meeting him halfway, he cautiously but politely shook the offered hand. Or, he tried to. The stranger’s grip was firm and his shake enthusiastically rapid. There was decent strength hidden behind his once nice gloves and fine grey coat, and up close, Abolish could see dark splotches of what might have been ink staining his sleeves and a smell something pungent and nutty he vaguely remembered from the handyman who had once maintained Scott’s abode. Some kind of oil or varnish? Hard to say.

“Well, hello, I’m Abolish,” he said, reeling his hand back, “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, hi! I’m M, but you can call me Sausage.”

Abolish had no wish to learn how he’d acquired such a name, so he merely gave a stiff nod. The conversation carried on, similarly inane and generally uninteresting, as they both made their way into the ruins. Their voices bounced off the empty stone shells or were swallowed by damp, rotted wood, the soundscape eerily disorienting. At times, it seemed as though M’s voice was coming from his opposite side or had been entirely stolen. However, the man seemed unperturbed.

Abolish determined he had limited survival instincts.

Somewhere, he could hear other voices in the village, but where or how many was nigh impossible to determine. He was half listening to M beginning a ramble about the history of the town—which he noted as a potential issue if he happened to be well versed enough to know of Scott—when movement between buildings caught his eyes.

A small figure darted by, looking around in circles, glancing between shadows, his posture curled in on itself like a skittish mouse. Bandages wrapped tight around his throat, his belt laden with pouches and even a few vials. For a moment, they tugged an implacable thread in his mind, but then the boy turned. Strapped over his heart was a wooden cross, its tip whittled into the wicked point of a stake. Abolish’s steps faltered, eyes widening a fraction. They met the young man’s, a sickly bruised purple that was certainly not natural, though he hardly noticed through the burn of caution in his chest.

“Hi! Hi. Hey there, I didn’t expect to see other people here,” the stranger called out, voice squeaky with nerves.

Abolish kept his expression neutral and posture relaxed as the vampire hunter approached, even though his hand itched to rest on the pommel of the sword tucked beneath his coat. At the very least, the boy’s constant darting eyes and the way he tugged at his sleeves didn’t match the demeanour of the few other monster hunters Abolish had met. Most were either mad, overconfident, or coolly competent. This one probably wouldn’t be able to keep his hands steady enough to aim a stake.

Oblivious to Abolish’s wariness, M forged ahead with an easy, curious smile. “You live here? At Oakhurst?”

“No, no. I just got here. I— I was just wandering through the woods. I heard that there’s this town here, Oakhurst.” He gestured to the ruins, wincing as his gaze panned over the dilapidated church looming at their side. “I was expecting a bit more, if I’m honest.”

“Yeah, I thought it was going to be a bit more put together than this,” M agreed.

“From all the stories I've heard about this place, I wasn't expecting much but… more than this, at least,” Abolish nodded along. He might have preferred silence, but lurking at the edges of their conversations so early on wasn’t going to garner any favour. Strategic small talk, for now.

Avid began to wander off, sticking to the sides of buildings like the mere thought of an open space at his back was a threat. M strode along by his side with wide eyes, and Abolish followed like any normal human glad to have found company would. He was trying to figure out if the echo of voices was their own distorted ones or some other group’s deeper in the village, but an exclamation from the still nameless hunter brought his attention back.

“Hey! Look at this! What is this…” He crouched down, digging through the dirt at the base of an old house, in what might have once been a garden bed but had lost any maker of its boundaries.

Abolish leaned in, wary of whatever could excite a vampire hunter. “What did you find?”

“I found some garlic!” He stood triumphantly, the pale and papery cloves cupped in his hands as though they were some fragile, precious thing.

“Garlic…” Abolish echoed, ignoring the boy’s grin.

He gritted his teeth and turned his eyes to the underbrush. Just their luck that the old village would be full of the stuff. He’d have to root out the weed as much as he could, burn seeds, wash his hands before handling any of Scott’s things, and certainly keep the young hunter far away from him. M and the boy chatted as he glanced around, making note of tall green blades and purple-white bulbs. His diverted attention meant he spotted the third newcomer first.

A ragged slash split his face from forehead to jaw, catching the corner of his eye and turning the bridge of his nose into a mangled mess. Ash white robes fell to his ankles, somehow relatively bright and clean even in the middle of nowhere. He carried a leather case in one hand, the cross emblazoned on it healing rather than holy. A doctor, it seemed. A man of science. Some of his concerns lightened. A level, objective head was exactly what he’d need if he wanted to curb the potential ravings of a vampire hunter. The man was wandering between the ruins, brows furrowed as he looked around.

Abolish raised a hand, catching his eye. “Hello?”

He offered a polite smile and the greeting, making his way over, his heavy-duty boots crushing the ground underfoot. Military grade, Abolish noted. Curious.

“Oh, hello l—”

M interrupted the doctor before he could finish. “Finally, a townsfolk member! He gave a rather theatrical bow, at odds with the clumsy way he seemed to blunder into conversations. “Thank you for introducing us to your town.”

The doctor chuckled, firmly shaking his head. “No, no, no, I'm— I was— I'm not from here. I just arrived, this place is…” he paused for a long moment, the strange echoes and the listening wind filling the silence with whispers as they all looked around the rotted out corpse they’d found themselves in, “A dump.”

An understatement.

“All of us just arrived,” Abolish said, taking a few steps to casually put himself closer to the doctor rather than the two strange folk he’d met.

Equally lacking in social grace as M, Avid stepped forward and tugged at his clean white surgical robe. “Are you in a cloth? Is this like a bed sheet?”

“I'm a doctor!” He yanked his robe out of the hunter’s hand, smoothing it back down with an irritated huff.

Internally, Abolish grinned at the already forming fracture.

“Oh… Cause you looked like you escaped from somewhere. Like an asylum of some sort,” Avid pushed on, either oblivious or uncaring of the deepening furrow between the doctor’s brows.

“Not today,” he said bluntly.

Abolish smothered a scoff at the sudden widening of the hunter’s eyes.

“Excuse me?” he squeaked, taking a few rapid steps back.

Scott would have a grand time with this boy, Abolish could already tell. Just the kind of skittish mouse that a cat likes to play with, provided his lord didn’t rip his throat out first.

“No, I'm a surgeon, it's fine.” He sighed, and Abolish could almost feel the secondhand strain it took for the doctor not to roll his eyes. “Just a little bit of humour, I couldn't resist.”

The hunter perked up, his strange eyes brightening as he scurried closer again. “Oh, I'm a man of science myself! Not quite in surgery, more in research, potion making, those kinds of things.”

“Like alchemy?” Abolish inquired, tilting his head. Alchemy wasn’t necessarily a problem, but an alchemist hunter… He was not fond of the thought of what strengthening, healing, or holy potions he might be able to brew up.

“Exactly.” Great. “I’m very well versed in that, oh yes.” Somehow, M turned the conversation to beer making, to which the hunter shook his head with a nervous chuckle. “You know I haven't dabbled in that tree. I've gone down the more vampire murdering tree.”

Laughter burst from the doctor, his eyes widening. Abolish’s own narrowed as he realised the man’s right eye, half hidden behind a monocle, glinted strangely in the light and lagged just a little behind the other. Given the silvery scar that split his face and crossed dangerously close to it, Abolish felt relatively certain in surmising that it was a glass eye. The doctor had a blindside… The factoid was added to his growing mental files.

“I’m going to find every single one I can find—if they're real, I think they are—and I'm going to get them,” the hunter’s voice raised, fists clenching as an almost manic sort of glee slashed his face into a grin. His eyes, too purple and strange, seemed to simmer.

Abolish pursed his lips. He knew plenty about vampires of course, and had read a touch about other supernatural beings and effects over the years, but that colour was not one he could place. Perhaps it was a question to pose to Scott.

“Oh, great, so he's a lunatic. Wonderful.” The doctor deadpanned, initial amusement fading as he recognised the genuine tone in the hunter’s voice. A man of science and rational indeed, it seemed. Abolish would make sure they got on well.

The conversation rapidly spiralled, the hunter biting back, the doctor riling at the insult to his profession, until somehow M was cheering on some kind of stand off. There was a steel scalpel gleaming in the doctor’s hand, and the boy had thrown himself into a bush like it could save him. In the span of only a few mere seconds, Abolish found himself longing for the company of his lord. Scott was melodramatic, murderous, and exceedingly talkative, but he was sane. It seemed Oakhurst was quite lacking in that blessing.

He raised his hands and stepped in between the two, though given the relaxed grip the doctor had on his scalpel, he doubted the man intended to make a true threat of himself. Regardless, he didn’t need a murder already; it would spook the rest of the prey. “Look, I know we just got here, but maybe we don't want to slaughter each other.”

The doctor stepped back, sighing in concession even as he flicked his hands at the still cowering hunter. “There's a crazy man hiding in the bushes talking about…” He let out a strained breath, gritting his teeth as he pushed down his anger. “Well, anyway.”

“Vampires are real,” Avid stepped out of the bush, puffing himself up as both Abolish and the doctor turned blank stares on him.

“I’ve read the stories,” Abolish shrugged, letting his usual monotone convey his disinterest, “That there was something that happened here, but that was more like a massacre.”

The doctor nodded along. “Mass hysteria, psychosis, rabies, everything! There’s hundreds of explanations.”

“Yeah, hundreds of explanations,” Abolish echoed. “Vampires were in one book.”

The boy still crossed his arms, face scrunched up like a discarded piece of paper. “I can tell you it's true. Definitively, it's true. I know it. I know it's true.” He repeated it like a mantra, like it was something he didn’t want to believe but rather needed to.

The doctor sighed. “Let the uninformed or uneducated speculate as much as they wish; everything can be explained.”

“We’ll see. I hate to say it, but look at what’s happened to this place,” the hunter strode into a clear spot, what might have once been an intersection, and gestured at the ruins. Though, Abolish had a feeling he meant less the buildings themselves and more the peculiar prickle at the back of their necks, the iron tang which hung faint and ever-present in the air, and the utter lifeless quiet. “You think this was done by something natural? No. The supernatural has been here.”

“I can see that they have walls for defences,” M pointed out, but even he didn’t seem overly convinced.

“It just seems like the town has fallen into a bit of disrepair. We just have a little bit of work to do.” The doctor’s attempts to placate him did little, as the hunter turned away with a huff.

Abolish almost felt bad for him. He wasn’t wrong after all, even if it seemed he had no clue how to prove or explain his theories. His instincts were right, but he didn’t seem to understand the true nature of his surroundings. Abolish figured that if he knew the earth itself, after centuries of being watered with blood and nurtured with vampiric magic, was a willing accomplice to the darkness he feared, the hunter would run as far as he could from the town. That, or he’d foolishly get himself killed trying to do something about it. Abolish only had a preference because he had no doubt the boy would try to tell anyone who would hear. A good thing, then, that he knew no secrets that would see him killed so soon. Though, he wasn’t against removing a liability from play if needed. He’d certainly done so before.

Turning away from the uncomfortable air which had settled over their circle and raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, he took a sweeping glance at the area. He still found himself squinting as the brightening morning light managed to slip through the cracks in the clouds. Vampire or not, he’d taken to spending so much time in the dark and out by night that he almost swore his eyes burned like one. They didn’t, of course, he’d seen how badly his lord hurt in the sunlight, but it was the best comparison he had.

A flash of colour and voices drew his attention to a spot near the palisade. A group of people seemed to be milling around a large, clear patch that Abolish once remembered being a town square. The old limestone pavements were long gone, and the fountain that had stood there during Scott’s time had been destroyed centuries ago, but the echoes remained in fragments of pale stone and the nigh unrecognisable shopfronts which lined it. It made his stomach turn to see living, breathing people move through it; kicking loose stones and looking around with disappointment or disgust. It was like watching someone dig up an old friend’s grave. He could only imagine what Scott must feel to see the town he’d so carefully built gone to ruin. He resisted the urge to grimace and pointed his collection of oddities toward the new strangers.

“There are a few others over there that I see.”

As it turned out, the new people did nothing to calm the chaotic cadence already established, and it wasn’t long before an ache was beginning to pound in the back of his head. There were five other folk in total: Ren, a burly but respectably dressed man whose voice seemed to shift and twist like a writhing snake with every syllable; Drift, who said little about herself but hung back and watched in a manner somewhere between cowardice and carefulness; Shelby, whose bright red hair bounced with every step she took and seemed utterly enamoured with some creature she called bigfoot; Apo, a tall blunt woman whose military connection brought no end of concerning implications; and then Cleo, who sniped and rolled her eyes but seemed oddly alert for someone acting so dismissive the moment vampires were mentioned. As for the doctor and hunter, he finally got their names: Legundo and Avid, respectively.

At the very least, the colourful roster might amuse his lord.

But Abolish was not there for amusement; he had a job and a duty. He had to learn. Most of the conversation slipped by him without any input, and he was content enough to take a spot next to Legs while they all tried to sort themselves out. Aside from a brief questioning about his attire, no one really paid him any mind. A swift explanation that he was there to visit the graves of his ancestors at the discretion of his lord seemed to suit them. So he watched, and let them all reveal themselves to him. He’d compile a proper report for Scott later.

However, first he’d have to find the vampire. Wherever he was, he made no sign of himself to the current group. Abolish couldn’t help but keep glancing around the town, searching for the gleam of red within the shadows or a bright flash of blue between buildings, but there was nothing. He turned back to the ongoing conversation with a huff.

A warm hand on his shoulder nearly made him jump.

“Are you alright, Abolish? You seem twitchy,” the doctor asked, tilting his head. “Pay Avid’s stories no mind, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. The place is creepy, sure, but there’s nothing more to it.”

There was such genuine conviction and warmth to his voice that Abolish nearly wanted to laugh at the irony, but instead, he just nodded.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I place little weight on Avid’s words. It’s just…” he looked back into the town, and its skyline of broken wooden teeth and cold stone bones. He’d stopped fearing old and broken things a long, long time ago, but Oakhurst’s corpse was enough to give even him a sense of unease. Perhaps it was because he’d known it in life. Dead bodies were always more uncomfortable if you knew their face. “Creepy… yeah.”

Legs squeezed his shoulder. “It’ll pass. We can all set up camp, light a fire, and stop jumping at shadows. There’s nothing in them except for a few wild animals.” Before he could reply, the doctor’s eyes turned elsewhere, narrowing as they were caught. “Huh… even more people, over there.”

Abolish followed the direction he was pointing in, and sure enough, there in the distance…

The wind swept through the town, snapping at everyone’s clothes and biting bare skin with icy teeth, prompting all to bow their heads. Though the day was growing stronger, the shadows deepened for the briefest of moments, and the clouds soon swept in to swallow the sun. Legs shivered. Undoubtedly, he simply thought it was from the chill, but Abolish knew better. He could recognise the prickling sensation brought by a predator's presence. Amusingly, Avid stiffened in his periphery, his eyes darting about wildly but utterly unsure where to find the threat he sensed. The doctor’s focus had skipped over the finely dressed figure who had slipped soundlessly into the town, instead landing on some blond boy who was stumbling through the ruins.

Abolish paid him no mind.

Scott raised his head from where he stood—waiting for the right moment to strike with a bright smile and pretty words like a cat waiting to pounce or a gunman lining up his shot—and met his stare. It went as swiftly as it came. A brief bright glance, but still, the acknowledgement settled almost every tension in his body. The sudden wind faded as well. His lord wasn’t there after he blinked, the shadows having cloaked him like the dutiful servants they were, but Abolish knew he was close by.

Lord Goldsmith had returned to retake his town.​

Or… at least whatever was left of it.

Chapter Text

Scott was hidden in the shadows of the old church’s crumbling buttresses, watching the motley group of mortals as they knelt before a pale beacon. One nearly identical now rested in his castle, but while his splattered gory light across the ruins around it, this glass case was a hollow receptacle. The unmistakable miasma of arcane energy within swirled pale and noncommitted. All potential and no power. The mortals were oblivious to his presence, too busy bickering with each other, clearly not understanding exactly what they were doing as they focused their energy into the beacon. Scott himself was unsure, but he could learn. Magic was never his focus, but he’d experienced firsthand the great power and danger it represented.

​Power and danger were always of interest to him.

​Light slowly built behind the glass, piercing through the mist like sunlight through clouds, prompting Scott to draw deeper into the shadows. Cold stone pressed into his back and shoulder, an unwelcome reminder of his crypt. However, he was quite sure that action was what saved him from being revealed.

With the abruptness of being forced awake from a deep slumber, a toll ripped through his chest, as though he was standing inside a great brass church bell as it rang. Light flared, too suddenly for him to close his eyes in time. A cry left him as he stumbled back. It tore the cloak of shadows away from him, searing his skin. He couldn’t make out the startled calls of the humans through the ringing in his ears. He gritted his teeth, and it took all his will not to force his own power out in retaliation.

​Slumping back against the wall, he spared himself a few short moments to adjust. The awakened beacon projected a warmth into the air that was nothing like the heady heat of flesh and blood, and far too akin to the burn of sunlight. It didn’t cause his skin to sizzle, but it hurt all the same. More damningly, it weakened. The shadows he’d hidden in were empty and faint, unresponsive to his calls, and the soil which had been so carefully cultivated with blood no longer echoed with the phantom heartbeat of his power. This was holy magic, an anathema to himself, and he could not exist within it. He barely had time to parse the thought and blink blearily as his eyes adjusted before a shout forced him to focus.

​“AH! Vampire!” It came from a short squeaky boy, who was fumbling with the stake he had strapped to his chest and scrambling to get his back to the church’s sorry excuse of a wall.

​Several other voices rose, some curious, some concerned, but thankfully most seemed exasperated. Scott straightened, stepping out of the nook he’d been hiding in with a smooth, unbothered motion. He raised a brow, looking down at the boy. In his periphery, he noted the ginger woman he’d overheard as Cleo eyeing him with a narrowed stare that she otherwise kept hidden from the others, a white robed doctor who put his head in his hands with a sigh, and his butler, whose hand had come to rest on the hilt of his sword. Scott resisted the urge to smile, instead putting on a confused and offended expression.

​“Vampire? Vamp— What the hell are you on about? For god’s sake, I try to go out on one little trip and the first town I walk into isn’t just a ruin, but also home to superstitious madmen! Wonderful. Just wonderful,” he rolled his eyes, using the motion to disguise his glance around the loose group of people standing beside and nearby the beacon.

​Most relaxed at his words, no doubt unsurprised and easily convinced at the idea of another stranger who’d wound up lost.

​Beside him, Cleo, whose blood sang strangely through her veins and flesh smelled just a touch too stale to be normal, piped up. “He’s right, Avid, relax. You're being absolutely ridiculous. I swear, if you start accusing every newcomer of being a vampire or whatever else you believe in—”

​“But he just appeared!” The boy, Avid it seemed, who didn’t look like he could be that far past his twentieth winter, if that, threw his hands in the air. His weird purple eyes attempted to bore into Scott. “When the beacon went off, he just showed up! Is that not weird to anyone? And look at him, he’s all pale and— and his eyes! They’re red! He has RED EYES—”

​“Wow, now that is rude,” Scott interrupted, crossing his arms. Internally, only the mild spark of amusement disturbed the still pool of his emotions, but he scrunched up his face and widened his eyes in a manner that would appear offended and hurt. “I get enough from the uneducated peasants at home throwing around accusations. I don’t need strangers calling me a monster just because I have a condition.”

​The doctor he had noticed his butler sticking to stepped forward, his voice strained with thinly veiled exasperation. “Yes, Avid, don’t be rude about people looking different. It’s really not as strange as you think. Albinism maybe, or something similar, is a perfectly acceptable explanation.”

​The hunter opened his mouth, but Scott beat him to the chase, stepping into the loose circle with a firm stride and levelling his best charming but not fang displaying smile at the little group. “Indeed, I’m glad someone in this place has sense. Besides, I was hardly going to go throwing you under the carriage for your weird eyes, despite them being far less explainable. I thought you might have understood.” He pouted at Avid, whose mouth snapped shut as the curious stares turned on him. Scott had to resist the urge to grin with teeth.

​“I— Well, that’s different. I’m not a—”

​“Not a vampire, yes, yes, of course not. That would be ridiculous! I’m glad you agree,” Scott chimed, waving his hand dismissively as he turned to the others. Most appeared uncomfortable at the exchange, but not suspicious. Perfect. He let a little bite slip into his tone as he glanced back at Avid, just as a treat. “It really isn’t nice when people accuse you just because you’re different, isn’t it?”

​The hunter gritted his teeth, but his stare dropped to the ground, and he was silent. From there, Scott had little difficulty directing the conversation to more mundane matters like introductions, everyone seeming quite eager to brush past the awkwardness of Avid's faux pas. Scott had learned that trick long ago. If one ever wanted to make people ignore a suspicious subject, secondhand embarrassment or guilt could easily trigger avoidance, and what better way to do it than to play upon their sympathies. Centuries later and the undying practice of human bigotry was still as strong and amusingly uncomfortable as ever, it seemed. Off to the side, he saw Abolish’s hand quietly fall from his sword. He offered a subtle approving nod. As endearing as the readiness to rush to his defence was, some subtlety was required for the moment. The game was always more fun when he had time to play with his prey before slitting their throats.

​It took very little time for him to revoke the sentiment.

​The town, as it turned out, was full of more madmen than just the squealing hunter. Between the almost certainly lying blond boy—no one with money wore such shoddy fabrics, and he barely seemed to understand that butler was a specific position and not just the name for a mundane male servant—and the awkward military girl both trying to stake a claim on his lands, then the increasingly morose tales everyone seemed to be dropping about their dead families, Scott almost found himself missing the silence of his tomb. At least their strangeness drew attention away from himself. No one had time or care enough to wonder about the weird colour of his eyes or notice his aversion to the garlic which infested the place.

​Well, except for that Avid fellow. Scott could feel his eyes tracking him from across town, burning faintly on the back of his neck. But beyond the staring, he could sense something else. When the beacon had first reacted, his own shadows had been forced to flee from the light, but like shining a light down a dark tunnel, it had also revealed something else. Another dark spot in its sudden dawning. Whatever it was didn’t have the metallic tang of vampirism, but there was some dark power rotting away within Avid’s soul. Scott couldn’t place it, not with so little to go off, but now that he was aware of it he could sense the foreign taint like a salted wound within the body of the town. He’d never been fond of intruders.

​Finding a second one was like a kick to an already bruised gut.

​Owen was, at least, a lot easier to understand.

​It was evening when they descended into the old town crypt, pickaxes in hand to cobble stone for the town. Scott could feel the tide of red brought by the coming moon rising on the horizon. The strength it offered was perhaps the only thing calming him enough to ease his distaste at manual labour. He didn’t tire like a mortal, and no callouses could ruin his fine hands, but that didn’t mean he liked getting stone dust on his clothes and in his hair. Besides, it was humiliatingly below his station. The humans had to trust him somehow, however, and if running around helping with their inane little jobs would win him that, then he’d at least try… He would be having a long, hot bath afterward, however. Pity he’d have to use water rather than blood.

​Owen at least seemed to be one of the more level-headed townsfolk. He often lurked in the background and seemed to share his distaste of Avid, which automatically placed him in at least a middling spot in Scott’s regard. Despite his wiry form, there was surprising strength hidden beneath his baggy and dirt stained shirt. He swung his pick with ease, biting deep into the stone with a vicious crack. Hefting his own off his shoulder, Scott mimicked the swing with a resigned sigh. 

He wasn’t built for that kind of labour, and he had no wish to ruin his sharp and sleek figure with ungainly bulk. It was very nice on others, but the tailoring he’d have to get done alone was enough to dissuade him. Besides, it was cute seeing stronger folk assume they could shove him around. Their sudden fear was always the most entertaining.

​“So… Why are you in Oakhurst?” Owen asked, awkwardly breaking the silence between them.

​“Hm? Oh, well, I was just getting bored with the manor life, I wanted to see what was out there. You get so used to a certain way of life, and eventually start wondering what else could be out there,” Scott lied easily, eyes flicking to the side to watch Owen through the dark. His expression twitched when he found Owen watching back.

​“I suppose,” he huffed, turning away when subjected to Scott’s stare. His hair, long tangles which smelled of the iron stained soil and river water, fell to veil his face.

​Scott put on a cheery tone, though it seemed lost on his companion. “If we’re trading stories, what brought you here?’

​“...I came home.” Owen's voice was clipped, revealing nothing but tension, but the vampire’s eyes narrowed at the admission.

​“This is your home?”

​Owen shrugged. “It used to be.”

​“It doesn't look like anyone’s lived here for years,” he mused, and caught Owen’s grip on the pickaxe tighten. The twitches of nervous prey.  There was something in his tone and demeanour which read too simple and cold to be true.

​“Well, yeah, it was a long time ago.” Scott could hear the rising tension in his voice.

He tilted his head, eyes sweeping over the young man’s face, comparing it to the sorry state of Oakhurst. They both shared pockmarked scars, but while time had eroded the town, there were no lines carved into Owen’s faded skin. “But you don't look old enough… huh?”

​Owen cleared his throat and shrugged. “Like forty, fifty years… That sounds like an acceptable amount, right?”

​He said the last part so softly that if he weren’t a vampire, Scott doubted he’d caught it over the crack of his pick biting stone. A grin began to tug at Scott’s lips, nearly wide enough to show his sharpened teeth.

​“You don't remember?” he said, almost teasingly. The poor creature had been caught in a lie, and like a cat who’d caught a loose thread, Scott couldn’t help but want to claw at it until its whole weave tore open.

​“I've been away for a long time. The years catch up on you, and I was a boy when I left.” Owen waved the question away, keeping his posture relaxed with such careful control that it had to be fake.

​“And now you're a… man.”

​“Yeah.”

​“Okay…” They both paused in their work, and Scott looked him up and down, only the darkness hiding his amusement as he wore it plainly on his face.

​“What? Do I not look like a man?” Owen squawked, clearly sensing it.

​“No, you do, I mean, to be fair…” Scott didn’t bother to hide his disbelief as he leaned against the back wall, watching as his companion raised a self-conscious hand to his chin.

​He gave an awkward laugh, the jesting tone he took a too evident attempt at deflection. “Look at my chiselled jaw and five o'clock shadow—”

​Scott rolled his eyes. “And your long flowing hair and your puffy sleeves.”

​“Yeah, yeah, okay, alright, so maybe my fashion is a little bit odd.” He shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his grip on his pick to take another hard swing. He scoffed to himself, “You can’t speak. Look at you.”​

“This is manor appropriate attire, thank you very much,” the vampire raised a hand to his chest, mock offended gasp stirring at the stone dust in the air. If he breathed, he might be worried about his lungs, but Owen didn't seem too concerned either.

“Is that a cowl? What is that?” Owen tipped his chin at Scott’s coat, the nice deep navy one with red trim that Abolish had set upon his shoulders before leaving the castle. “A very large collar?"​

“Yeah, I don't want the sun burning me. It's horrible on the skin.” That, and he found he quite liked how it framed his face, or dramatically obscured it depending on the angle. It was always his presentation that had set him apart from the rabble, that had inspired love and fear. He’d learned long ago that it was the little details which were vital to the whole image.

​“Well, you're lucky, Oakhurst is always cast in shadow,” Owen almost laughed, voice lilting like the statement contained some private joke, which was strange, because it was the kind of private joke Scott might have made. He wasn’t wrong, after all. The shadows in Oakhurst were deeper, longer, eternal and more ancient than the name this place now carried, having festered there since the days of the vampire’s youth. Scott narrowed his eyes.

​“Sounds like it must do numbers for seasonal depression,” he said with false amusement.

​Owen's noncommittal agreement did little to curb his suspicion. Scott let the conversation meander, turning his focus to the stone ahead. Somewhere behind the thick stone, dead air lay dormant, and the thrum of tiny heartbeats belonging to many bats pattered like rain on his castle’s roof. The tension in his chest subsided at the sound, the ringing of their picks and the crumbling of stone like thunder and lightning to the distant rainstorm resounding through the darkened tunnel.

​The illusion shattered with the cracking spark of a flint and steel. With a woosh, fire licked up the torch Owen brandished, shedding warmth and heat into the cool Scott had comfortably adjusted to. He barely repressed a flinch, though he was forced to shield his eyes from the glare. That, and to hide the slits they’d no doubt shrunk to. Owen held the fire far from himself, and swiftly jammed it into a fissure in the wall. The wood splintered with the rough action. For a second, the tang of iron hit the air as the splitters pierced his companion’s palms. Scott couldn’t tell if it was his compromised vision playing tricks on him, but he swore Owen’s pupils flashed red in the firelight, like someone had spilt blood upon an obsidian mirror. The blood smell vanished just as swiftly and strangely. Scott refrained from tensing or hissing as his instincts bade, but his eyes fixed on Owen like a hunter’s crosshairs.

​“Have you looked around the area much, if you’re from here?” he asked, angling his back to his fellow—seemingly distracted and unaware—waiting to see if he’d bite.

​“Uh, I’ve explored a little bit of it, but I've only just come into town today.” Owen shrugged, likewise turning his back, though Scott didn’t miss the quick glance to his throat of the creak of the pickaxe’s handle as his fists clenched. Not subtle by any means, but at least he had some restraint. Not a youngling enslaved to their hunger then, if Scott’s burgeoning suspicions were correct. “It seems like everybody is rocking up at the same time.”

​“Yeah, it's a weird one.” His voice was distant to himself as he considered the potential turn of events, his stomach twisting into ever-tightening knots.

It was one thing if it were one of his fledglings or their spawn haunting the place, but a stranger? Scott considered himself quite the generous sire. He had even welcomed strays from time to time, but without the bond of descendancy, they often grew bold and dissenting, disturbing his little flock of humans and running amok in his household. It was far better to keep things in the blood. He’d need a taste of Owen’s to know if he was a Goldsmith, if he even was a vampire. Admittedly, Scott could only suspect for the moment, their mining was too loud for him to be able to pick out the telltale sluggishness of a hollow vampiric heartbeat.

Their picks eventually broke through the wall, the tight tense space opening up into the ragged throat of a long untouched cave. Given the flitters and squeaks of bats in the distance, there must have been an opening somewhere—one of the many maws of Oakhurst unhinging its jaws amongst the dark oak or jagged pines—but deep as they were, there was no light or rain scented air. Scott wrinkled his nose in only half-false distaste. The belly of his own beast was hardly where he wanted to spend his evening, but at least there was enough stone above them to lessen the oppressive warmth of the town’s beacon. Though Owen’s sudden insistence on scattering torches about the place quickly lessened the vampire’s need to fake it.

“What manor did you say you were from again?” Owen piped up, and though Scott had been keeping half an eye on him, he didn’t need to be to notice the suspicion which charged the question.

He waved a flippant hand. “Oh, it's from a couple towns over.”

“I see. I know the area well,” Owen pressed, stopping his mining to lean on his pick, head cocking in a manner that might have passed as curious if Scott wasn’t hyperaware of the sudden quiet without their movements.

He could still pick out the patter of the colony of bats hidden within the caves, but the steady, weighty pound of human heartbeats was absent. Instead, there was only one painstakingly slow and almost silent thud, like the taunting footfalls of a calm pursuit predator. No doubt Owen also noticed the curious quiet.

Scott straightened and put on an easy, fangless smile. He took a single step forward into the torchlight, so Owen could make out every minute and vivid detail of his eyes. “The Goldsmiths. That's my family.”

For a second, Owen’s pupils narrowed into slits, but he barely had time to even breathe the realisation before they widened, like a sinkhole swallowing his rusty irises. Scott took a measured breath in, the action scraping his withered lungs, but helping centre his focus. The elder vampire looked into the younger’s open eyes and opening mind. He could glean little personal information from such a trick, but enthralling his prey was not a knowledge-gathering tactic like blood tasting was. Gently and unobtrusively as he could, Scott found his own name and the cementing suspicions, now drifting on the surface of Owen's thoughts, and forced them into the current of his subconscious. Deep into the dark, where nothing short of a slap in the face with the truth could return it to the surface. With a sigh, Scott released the air in his lungs. His own mind spun at the contact, a stab of hunger shooting through his gut from the exertion, but he let nothing but a placid smile show.

Owen’s brows scrunched, and he shook his head as he was released from the hypnotic stare. He made a small, confused noise and directed a similar look at Scott, but hefted his pick to return to work.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” he said, still twitchy with his bafflement. "Maybe I don't know the area as well as I hoped I did.”

“Well, you did say it's been forty years,” Scott added consolingly, resisting the urge to scoff. He couldn’t be that old, not with such an easily mutable mind.

“Yeah, I did.” Owen’s voice was barely a whisper as he stared off into the dark.

Scott knew well enough that while he’d brought time, his hypnosis wouldn’t keep the fellow vampire unaware forever. Still, he returned to the surface only mostly wanting to rip his hair out, half for the tenuous situation and half for all the dust in the blue locks. While he did find much amusement in weaving deceptions, rather than a flashy costume this was crushing himself to fit inside a too-small skin, like a fledgling shifting into a bat and finding themself unable to stomach their new dimensions. His nails barely stayed at their acceptably fashionable sharpness, constantly urging to become claws. With the beacon muffling his senses and banishing his shadows, he couldn’t even spread his awareness to sense if his butler was nearby.

All in all, his mood was beginning to twist into something truly foul.

He’d have to track down his butler soon. Preferably before his restraint snapped and he made a meal out of one of their game pieces, or started tearing up the board entirely. Abolish’s level head and loyal hands had always been quite soothing. Besides, someone ought to tell him to carry a silver sword. Just in case.

Chapter Text

It had been two hundred years since the moon had shone red over Oakhurst. Since there was enough blood to briefly rekindle its slumbering power. But, on the first night since his lord’s awakening, the horizon was tinged with a gory tide on both sides. It slowly soaked the blue sky, not dissimilar to the vampiric red that had bloomed in Scott’s eyes after drinking his fill. It darkened to rust as the sun set, then a deep blackened burgundy like wine. The stars glinted in the gloom—many faceted eyes peering down upon the town like a swarm in the sky—while the moon hung florid and pockmarked. It was a starved version of a true blood moon, not yet bloated with bloodshed, but it was a promising start.

​It beckoned forth the creatures of the night. Abolish perched on one of the ruined walls of Oakhurst as cauldrons of bats swirled over the distant forest like a tide of animate shadow and the howling of wolves was carried on the chilled wind. Behind him, a small group of townsfolk had gathered around a meagre campfire. Their eyes darted between the sky and the tree line, bodies huddled into their coats, and most failed to hide the way they twitched at even the slightest sound. Abolish supposed it was quite the ominous evening for the unaccustomed. Or even the accustomed, it seemed, given that he could hear Avid’s screeching and the Doc’s failed attempts to convince him of a logical explanation in the distance. He found himself rather glad he’d had the foresight to leave that situation before dusk had set in. Though this group wasn’t much better.

​M seemed quite set on terrorising his poor fellows, as it was.

​He leaned close to the flames, voice hushed and conspiratorial as he glanced eagerly between Ren and Martyn. “200 years ago, this place went down. Two hundred years ago, to this exact day, every man, woman, and child in this entire area was wiped out. We just don't know how.”

​M had an almost giddy grin on his face, and Abolish had to force himself not to grumble. He might not have cared for Oakhurst, certainly not enough to ever bother saving it, but the suspicion he was stirring would spook the flock. That, and Abolish had a decent idea of what happened, and his lack of attachment to Louis didn’t mean he had no respect for the vampire. His death and the events thereafter were not to be trivialised into some spooky story. But he could hardly say anything on the matter without showing his cards, so instead he gritted his teeth and settled with familiar silence.

​“Oh, so today's the big day? What? Why are you here! Why are any of us here?!” Martyn squawked.

​Ren shook his head, his glasses catching the red light as he directed his solemn stare to the moon. “The blood of the universe rains upon us,” he muttered in his twisted tongue, and Abolish had to agree with the sentiment, at least a little.

​The rays of moonlight shone like bloodied waterfalls through the veils of mist that wound about the town and rippled in bright flashes off the silken fur of the torrents of bats like rushing rivers. Blood rain wasn’t technically impossible either; he’d read of it in Scott’s journals, though it seemed something the vampire wasn’t prone to summoning without exceptional reason. It was, afterall, simply wasteful.

​Abolish was stirred from his admiration of the awakening night when the group started adding their unharmonious howls to those of the wolves. He made himself scarce not long after. Scott was milling about the town somewhere; Abolish could hear his characteristically outdated accent ambiently echoing through the ruins. It kept him company as he began the foundations of a house. Nothing special, nothing permanent, but strategically placed close to the wall for easy escape into and out of town. He only got so long to enjoy the methodical task and his lord’s distant company before he was being dragged out, however.

​As the moon was beginning to dip low in the west and the bitter brightness of the sun began to burn to the east, himself, the doctor, the soldier, and the scholar left the walls. Resource gathering, they called it, though for Abolish, it felt more like minding a gaggle of children. He knew every tree, stone and stream of Oakhurst, and could navigate it all in the pitch of night with no lantern and almost as silently as Scott. He’d quite forgotten how clumsy humans were. Through the caves and forest they bumbled, every drop of blood from their careless nicks and scrapes devoured by the earth they fell upon. The doctor made a small fuss at every minor injury, but with Abolish subtly shepherding them along safer paths, nothing noteworthy occurred. The handkerchiefs he’d given them to dab at their scraped knees or palms were sleightly pocketed. Scott likely couldn’t glean much from so little blood, but he’d never known anyone with a more refined palate. He wasn’t going to waste an opportunity.

​The morning sun eventually snuck its way through the thick canopy of trees, casting long shadows and sending shimmers through the lingering mist. The group had exited the caves and was resting on the bank of a small pool surrounded by a sentinel circle of towering pines. The fallen needles created soft beds for them to sit back, while the boughs waved in the wind. Their voices carried softly through the morning air, along with the quiet snuffling of the wild pig they’d seemingly adopted. Apo and Pyro cooed over the creature, while the doctor, having shed his surgery robes for their outing, brushed dirt from the knees of his trousers. It was then, that he finally saw his lord once more.

​There was no sound or sight that alerted Abolish to the new presence, no disturbance in the air, or even a prickling at the back of his neck. One moment, they were alone; the next, he felt nothing but the weighty certainty that something else was present. Like lead in his stomach; cold, heavy, and faintly sickening. He scanned the tree line slowly, as though nothing were out of the ordinary, searching for some flash of blue or perhaps white amongst the dark trunks. Behind him, the doctor raised his head, glancing about as he also sensed something ephemeral lurking. A flicker of movement from the direction of town caught Abolish’s eye.

​Clothes unrumpled and hair only a little mussed from its swoop over his brow, Scott strode from the tree line. His heeled boots hardly sank into the terrain, his coat brushed against dewy underbrush but only glittered with a few droplets, and as the sun fell upon him in its pale gold glory, he burned. Not in the sense that fire ravaged his flesh of red blisters peeled his skin, but rather, his image came alight. In truth, Abolish could only name a handful of times when he’d seen his lord in full sunlight, and that was in the height of his powder when he was prone to catching aflame if he lingered. This was… different. The sun brought a heated pink to his pale cheeks, and caught the flyways of his hair until they glowed like a wispy crown of soulfire. The fog swirled about his feet and fell in pale veils past his shoulders as he wove his way through it. A mantle made of vaporous gold; grand and ungraspable. The light must have hurt him, but Scott only smiled, his image all regal and utterly composed as the humans turned to acknowledge him.

Abolish swallowed, and though the brightness stung his eyes, did not look away.

​“Hey! There’s the landlord!” Pyro called, shattering the reverent silence the forest had fallen into at the coming of its master.

​Scott avoided the muddy bank, stopping short while still on the bed of pine needles. He glanced between the group, and his eyes might have lingered on Abolish, but he couldn’t be sure.

​“Why are you all out in the woods?” he asked, and though his smile seemed casual, the butler noticed the slight twitch that threatened to show fangs. Abolish would have to assure him that he’d kept them out of anywhere important.

​“Looking for stuff,” Apo shrugged, hefting the satchel of ore and bundle of firewood over her shoulders. “And Truffle.”

​Scott's eyes glazed over at their affectionate rambling for the pig. It was probably just making him hungry.

​The doctor interrupted, eyes narrowed with something between concern and suspicion as he looked between the lord and the quiet, empty forest which surrounded them. “Why are you out by yourself?”

​“I was going to get food…” Scott tilted his head, bemusement creasing his expression at the veiled accusation, “Because Shelby and I ran out.”

​Abolish’s brows lowered at the mention of the bigfoot hunting girl. She seemed mostly harmless, and though she had evident belief and interest in the supernatural it wasn’t fuelled by murderous intent like Avid’s. Still, it didn’t bring any ease to the idea of his lord settling in with an unknown human. It made his skin crawl. He supposed that, despite her eccentricities, she wasn’t objectively offensive. Rationally, cementing a positive relationship with one of the more endeared members of town was good social credit. A logical step. He would… respect it. For now. Unless Scott wanted to induct her, then he’d have to reevaluate.

​The conversation forged on through his turmoil, the doctor’s lips twitching into a frown. “But where’s Shelby?"

​Abolish flicked a glance toward him, unsure of what to make of the doctor’s suspicion. Legs had proven himself to be one of the more rational and accepting members of town. Why he’d taken such an immediate dislike to his lord was peculiar.

​“Shelby is at the house building. What do you mean anyway? The town is literally just over the other side of that hill. I'm not that far out.” Scott pointed a well manicured hand behind him, where Abolish knew a thin wall of trees was shielding sight of the clearing about town.

​The doctor blinked, relenting with a wince. “Ah. I see.”

​“We’ve been underground. We don’t know how far we are,” Abolish said, part explanation for Scott and part disguise, given that he knew quite well where they were and had been keeping track of their passage since leaving town.

​“Hm. Well, I’ll let you all head back to town,” the others seemed not to notice, but Abolish heard the note of an order in his lord’s voice. “I’m going to keep looking for food.”

​Without so much as another glance at them, Scott pivoted on his heel, the fog closing in as his silhouette faded into the shadows of the trees. Abolish had to lock his limbs to prevent muscle memory from following his trackless path.

​“Enjoy your morning stroll!” Pyro called after his lord.

​A faint chuckle echoed through the trees, and Scott’s voice faintly purred from seemingly nowhere and everywhere, “Thank you.”

​At that point, they should have returned to town as ordered. Abolish was more than ready to stop traipsing around the woods and caves—it had done horrible things to the hem of his nice black coat, one of the few originals he had left—but humans were unruly beasts to wrangle. He found himself heading deeper into the forest, following their meandering path northeast toward the river and the rotting forest beyond. At least it was leading them away from the hunting grounds Scott favoured. The Dead Wood was a place devoid of prey, and anything that lingered too long usually ended up ensnared in the thorns of his lord’s roses, their bodies desiccated as the flowers drank in life and blood.

​It was certainly a sight as they crested a low cliff, and rather than more of the deep evergreen forest, they were met with a bulwark of warped grey wood. The river cut a ragged wound through the landscape, its waters dark and mist shrouded, like a ravine seeping smoke from hellish pit, though the wind which gusted over it brought only the stale scent of rot and a creeping chill. They paused on the bluff, footsteps audibly shuffling in the quiet. The trees on their side creaked in the wind, the underbrush rustled, and the occasional bird twittered; the Dead Wood’s silence was palpably heavy, even from a distance. Someone, probably Pyro, swallowed hard.

​Apo took a step back from the bluff, one fist clenched in her dress. “Maybe we don't touch the decay? That looks like a… forest fire, or something, happened there.”

​No one spoke up, but it was clear to all that whatever was wrong with the place could not have been born of mere fire. But, in truth, not even Abolish knew exactly what the source was, other than something to do with the vampiric taint on the land. Not even Scott’s journals explained the place.

​The doctor hummed, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the meagre sun as he peered at the hazy strip of land. “We should at least have a look. Thorough investigation and all.”

​Technically, the only real threat entering the Dead Wood posed was to themselves, given that even Scott had generally kept out of it, so he didn’t protest as they cautiously made their way to the riverbank. The soil was dry and stony underfoot, crunching hollowly. Abolish found his eyes sweeping from where the water quietly lapped the shore and the trees towered on the rocky crags at their backs. For at least twenty paces from the waterline, not a speck of life could be seen. No moss, lichen, seaweed, or sprouts. The ground had yet to grey out as it had on the opposite bank, but it was… dying. Spreading. Abolish pursed his lips. He’d watched the Dead Wood grow from spanning the hills behind the castle to the entire north side of the river, but it had wavered on the edge for at least a century, unwilling or unable to cross the running water. It seemed whatever cursed magic fuelled it had only been stalled in its quest to devour. He’d have to inquire about it later.

​“Huh…” Apo hesitated on the riverbank, her military boots sinking into the grainy mud and left shining as the water crept over the dark leather. Up close, they could make out the frail, ashen leaves which clung to the pale trunks and the suffocating tangles of dark thorns that wove like veins over the soil. “You know, I'd expect a burnt forest to have more naked trees, but I guess… not.” Her voice grew hushed, strained, as discomfort creased her face.

​“It doesn’t seem burnt as much as diseased, like a blight of some kind,” Legs offered, stepping up to her side and rubbing at his stubble as he considered the far bank.

​“Well, you know, everything is a bit diseased.” Apo took a step back. Her rationalisation rang obviously hollow.

​“Yeah. Sure. But…” the doctor gestured at the forest, the desiccated waste speaking for itself despite its utter silence.

​The group shifted, wavering on the edge. The longer they stared at it, the more Abolish found his gut twisting and skin prickling, the same lurking sensation of Scott’s presence overcoming him, but somehow lighter and heavier all at once. Like the whispers of something ephemeral was at the very edge of his mind and a cold certain weight that something was horribly twisted, filling his bones with lead. He could only assume the others, less experienced than he, had it even worse. The fog seemed to reach across the river, swirling into broken curled fingers, both ghostly and skeletal.

​“Do you think it’s isolated? On its own island or something?” he said, more to break the silence than to serve any purpose.

​It seemed to shake everyone from their frozen stupor. Coughs and grumbles immediately filled the air as they shuffled about. The doctor let out a long breath, then stepped forward. The water sloshed around his boots as he slowly waded across a shallow stretch of the river.

​He glanced back, gesturing for them to follow. “Let’s go find out.”

​Abolish was going to need a fresh uniform by the time the day was through. Scott was hardly going to accept him traipsing mud, dirt, and river water through the crypt.

​The humans quickly learned to avoid the flowers after Pyro’s fingertips were left greyed and numb from the gentlest touch of their petals. Once upon a time, Scott had dumped the bodies of his foes or the drained out husks of his meals in the woods, feeding his roses with the dead flesh. First, they greyed, their skin drying and stretching tight as though they were starving even in death. Then, black would bloom across the skin, little spots to start, but they’d grow. By the time the first appeared, the insides would already have been hollowed out by rot. He refrained from describing those symptoms, but did at least tell the doctor a white lie about a rare poisonous flower species he’d read of. Curiosity and questions had flashed across his face, but the rational answer seemed one he was ready to receive.

​It was about a half-hour trek until something broke the monotonous graveyard of a forest which surrounded them. Abolish spied it first, already knowing what to look for. In the distance—its four pillars reaching through the mist, the ever bright lanterns affixed to them glowing white—was one of the old crypts. There were many dotted over the landscape of Oakhurst. The early burials dated to before Scott’s time in the area, though they slowly expanded and were added to over the centuries, until they now stood as imposing stone mausoleums, marking the old bones and feeble riches within. The worst they could find was a magic book or two, most of the old tombs having been raided from the castle library by fledglings and mortals alike during the early years of Scott’s slumber. The humans would likely find the encounter enriching, he determined. It would keep them from the beacons hidden deeper in the woods, at least.

​It only took pointing it out for the group to go stumbling toward them, drawn like moths to a flame, following the ensnaring pull of their curiosity and the pale lights winking at them over the treetops. Abolish followed quietly in their tracks, gently shepherding them away from any hills or clearings that may offer a sightline to the other beacons. The final encounter with the crypt was, as expected, satisfying for the humans. And, as much as he aimed to gain the doctor’s trust, pushing him into the pit was a deserved treat. He’d needed it.

​He ensured their path led them far from the castle on the return journey, doubling back to retrieve the pig Pyro and Apo seemed to have attached themselves to. The sun was starting to dip heavily to the west and the sky was turning gold when Apo drew up by his side, her red hair having turned into a messy frizz throughout the day, and her double-breasted military jacket was smudged with dirt.

​“So, where do you come from, Abolish?” she asked, prompting the others to raise their heads in interest.

​His steps nearly faltered, but he kept them even. “Hm? Oh. Well…”

​He turned over the question, debating his level of deception. The full truth was nonsensical, seeing as he couldn’t have been born in the ruins of present day Oakhurst, but the more grounded in truth, the better the lie. He tilted his head, then settled on his answer.

​“It was a prosperous town, not quite a city but, close. Called Rivendell. It was… beautiful.” The faint catch as his words scarcely made it from his throat was not faked. “Not perfect by any means, nowhere is, but the streets were lined with fine shops and theatres, the local lord hosted the most lavish feasts, and the people were…” Terrified, traitorous, livestock, loved, well cared for, farmed, trapped, food, pets. “Well, they’re gone now. It all is. There was an uprising, a long time ago now, but they deposed the lord. I guess… It was foolish. It ended them. With no protector, the power vacuum and conflict destroyed the place. It’s just a shell, now. But, my ancestors came from here.”

​“Oh. I’m, sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories,” Apo croaked, getting halfway through the motion of patting him on the shoulder before aborting it.

​The doctor’s expression softened, and he followed through on patting Abolish on the back. His tone was expectedly gentle, but also tinged with some scraping strain, like guilt, or regret. “Sorry, Abolish. I… I can’t imagine what it would be like to see your home torn apart like that. I’m sorry.”

​“It’s been years,” he waved away the sympathy, but tucked away the doctor’s upset expression for later analysis. Without thinking, his hand came to rest on the comfortingly cool hilt of his sword. Its weight was a constant companion, and though the blade was hidden, the diamond set into the hilt glittered the same blue of Scott’s mortal eyes. “I miss it, but what’s done is done. I still have a purpose.”

​“That’s good.” The doctor’s eyes flicked to the movement of his hand, catching on the half hidden sword. He nodded his head toward it, clearing his throat of the heaviness and letting curiosity creep in. “I’ve noticed you always keep that close. A nice blade, I have to say, if very old fashioned. Nothing like modern military arms, more like something a nobleman would carry.”

​“Oh, old family heirloom. The Veylockes served a very wealthy lord back in the day. It was a gift, or so the story says, and it’s been in a Veylocke’s possession ever since,” he said, tapping the hilt with a slight smile, the half truth coming easily.

​“An impressive bit of history,” pipped Pyro, “You’ll have to tell me about it sometime, and Oakhurst. Now… Rivendell… I want to say it rings a bell, but I’m not sure.”

​Abolish’s eye twitched. “Oh, I doubt it. It’s far from here. But yeah, I can share some stuff sometime, though, you could probably learn the same things from books.”

​“Do you know why it’s all destroyed?” asked Apo.

​Truthfully, only partially. He’d admittedly slacked on keeping up to date with the town, and even the exact mechanics of Louis’s death were unclear to him, though he’d have to be a fool not to notice the telltale signs of a vampiric massacre from the half drained corpses he’d eventually buried beneath the ruined town. Given Louis was awfully dead, whatever had caused it had to have gone to ground, as he’d never found the culprit.

​He shrugged. “There’s lots of reasons I’ve heard from books and stories. Massacres, hysteria, some tales of the supernatural—like that Avid fellow mentioned—but nothing confirmed.”

​“An easy misunderstanding. As you said, a severe case of rabies, malnourishment, consumption. Any sort of story can take root in fear.” Legs's rationale chimed in like clockwork, and Abolish nodded along.

​The conversation only had a few brief moments to settle before Apo broke the silence with a question that made the doctor wince, Pyro raise his brows, and Abolish visibly and uncontrollably tense.

​“You have any family left?” She asked it casually, too casually, forcing him to take a deep recentering breath.

​He swallowed down the lump in his throat, the one that even centuries had failed to rid him of whenever he thought about his parents. “No,” he replied, voice clipped and seemingly final, but the space after the word felt oddly empty. He amended himself, “Not necessarily in my bloodline.”

​“Do you have anybody?” It didn’t sting as much as the first question, and the continued cringing from Legs was, admittedly, just the tiniest bit amusing, even as he was left floundering for an answer.

​“Well, the man I serve, back in the manor, is… something.” He couldn’t call Scott family; that wasn’t their dynamic, no matter how closely he had bound himself to the Goldsmith legacy. But it certainly wasn’t nothing either. They weren’t friends or family, and defining them as employer and employee felt bafflingly ludicrous even if objectively true. Definition didn’t matter, though, only the actions. Only the understanding that it was important, and it was all he had left. He sighed, and offered it up, “I served his family, I serve him, he gave me a home. It’s not the same, but it’s mine.”

​Apo nodded along, though judging by the furrow between her brows, she didn’t entirely understand. “I see, so you’ve got someone to go back to?”

​“Yeah. I don’t need to be part of his bloodline to be… to be important.” Important was a good word. A simple but expansive word.​

It would do.