Dedicated to ArdServantress! ♡

"There's secrets that chose to be one to protect a legacy and sometimes... a legacy is not a treasure but a just a box filled with... pain. "

Saint was in the infirmary, and his condition was dire. He was losing a lot of blood, his body pale and cold as dark veins spread across his skin. The healers had done all they could, but it only slowed his death—it didn't save him. It was already a miracle that he could survive this long.

An hour earlier, Saint had been screaming and coughing up blood. The healers said the wound was dangerous; it was infected with a malevolent mana that could affect anyone. Because of this, all other patients were moved, and a faint yellow barrier of light magic now covered the room.

Only four people remained. Two were paladins, tirelessly casting a blessing on Saint. Artemisia had ordered them to keep going even after the healers gave up hope. Their job was to purify the dark mana or lift the curse.

But the paladins, like the healers, knew it was a pointless fight. All they could do now was pray his soul would find peace.

The other two sat in chairs near Saint's bed. Anthony and Aegir were still wounded, wrapped in bandages. They had refused the healers' aid, knowing that if magic stitched them back together, their bodies would pay for it later. They wouldn't rest until Saint was safe.

Anthony was drenched in cold sweat, his heart pounding with guilt. He felt useless. If only he had been stronger, he could have prevented Hale from targeting Aegir and Saint from taking the hit.

"It's all my fault," he whispered repeatedly, his hands trembling. He wanted to beat himself up, wishing he could be in Saint's place. Saint wasn't like them; he was more vulnerable to magical attacks and couldn't heal himself as they could.

Aegir, sitting next to him, also felt guilty. Saint risked his life for him, but Aegir felt he couldn't show weakness because Anthony needed him. He knew Anthony would take all the blame, and he knew how important Saint was to him—his first true friend.

"It's not your fault, Master. Saint will live, okay?" Aegir's eyes watered as he tried not to cry. He had to be strong and hope for the best.

Aegir pulled Anthony into a hug as he wept. "H... Hale could have hurt you too... I was weak..." Anthony had not known how powerful their enemy was until they fought him. Their combined powers felt like nothing. Without Artemisia showing up, they would all be dead.

Aegir patted Anthony's head, a comforting gesture he had learned from Anthony himself. "We can always get stronger, can't we? We still have a chance." Aegir tried to sound positive, but he knew Anthony was right. In Hale's eyes, they were just ants. If he could, Aegir would choose never to face him again.

Their moment was cut short as Saint began to scream, his body violently convulsing. Anthony and Aegir rushed to his side, calling for help. It was then that Aegir desperately wished Vin was there. Vin had left in a hurry, promising to find a cure to save Saint.

Anthony frantically questioned the two struggling paladins. "Tell me, what's happening?" he asked, his eyes darting between Saint and the paladins, wet with tears.

Blood burst from Saint's mouth, this time dark red, almost black. Though unconscious, Saint's nails dug into the bedsheets, as if he was still fighting the doom creeping over him.

One of the paladins shook his head, his eyes full of empathy. "Our light magic can't lift this curse. The curse seems alive; it's fighting off any magic trying to save him. I believe..." He couldn't finish, just shaking his head again—a silent sign of what was to come.

Anthony couldn't believe it. He grabbed the paladin's shoulder. "Please... I'll do anything. Save my friend..." He sobbed, shaking the paladin, begging him to do something.

Aegir's eyes were also filled with tears. He couldn't look at Saint, who was soaked in his own blood. His throat was heavy. Like Anthony, he would do anything to save Saint. He might have hated him at first, but Saint was a good person.

And Aegir couldn't understand why good people always suffer.

The paladin could only listen to their sobs. There was no point in lying or giving false hope. Even if Vin found something to help, it would be too late. The curse was progressing too fast.

Anthony, however, refused to give up. He couldn't let his friend die. He couldn't accept that he was powerless. In a desperate attempt, even with his small amount of mana, Anthony summoned his uncle, Trace, the master of curses. His mana flickered weakly in his hands. He didn't care what the cost was.

Anthony staggered as his nose started to bleed. Aegir quickly caught him. He wanted to scold Anthony but knew he couldn't stop him. They both wanted to save Saint, and if he could, Aegir would sacrifice his own mana too.

Trace appeared behind them, looking unhappy. It was a risky move to summon him. Guilt still weighed on his heart, and he didn't want to cause his nephew more pain. Summoning him required a huge amount of mana, and Anthony's mana capacity is still not enough to lessen its required amount.

If he could have, he would have declined Anthony's call, but the servitude conditions made it impossible.

"Uncle Tra—" Anthony started, but Trace cut him off. Trace looked his nephew in the eye. He understood the situation and knew Saint was his nephew's friend, but from his place inside Anthony's soul, he was sure that Vin had something planned.

Summoning him would only add another person close to death.

His voice was cold. "Do you have a death wish?" Anthony looked at him, his eyes filled with tears and desperation. Aegir, supporting Anthony, looked at him the same way.

Trace sighed. He raised his hand, coating it with dark blue mana that looked like a calm, gentle flame. He stared at Saint, whose blood continued to drip onto the carpet.

His cold hand burned away the bandages on Saint's chest. Trace looked closely at the wound; it wasn't a typical red color. The skin around it was turning black, and the strange veins pulsed abnormally. He could see the dark mana surrounding it, but this mana wasn't there to kill Saint. It was there for a completely different reason.

Trace shook his head in dismay. He stared coldly at the paladins, who were trembling in the corner.

"What incompetence is this? Did you learn nothing?" his voice was stern. He was disappointed. "When you see a curse, the first thing you do is try to destroy it, not find out what kind it is. That's the work of idiots."

Anthony, who was listening eagerly, asked his uncle if there was a way to save Saint. "What do you mean, uncle? Is there a chance my friend will survive?" Trace didn't answer and looked at the silver necklace on Saint's neck. Its pendant was shaped like a teardrop.

He hadn't seen it before, but he doubted he would have noticed its strange dark energy. It only showed itself now that Saint was in great danger. Before, it was used to hide its presence; now, it was trying to save its owner.

The power felt familiar, something Hale had mentioned before.

"Stop your light magic," he ordered. "You're only killing the boy. The curse is the one trying to save him, and you're fighting it off." Trace was certain of this. And this "human" friend was not what he seemed.

There was something inside the boy that had been dormant for too long, something purposely hidden. If Hale hadn't triggered it, whoever cursed the boy intended for him to live and die as a human.

Anthony couldn't understand. If they stopped healing Saint, wouldn't he die? He was about to ask when Aegir grabbed his hand.

Unlike Anthony, Aegir had an idea. He quickly remembered their mission to find a certain flower. The energy the flower gave off was the same mana he was now smelling from Saint. He wasn't sure before, but now he was.

Aegir was about to answer Anthony when a loud noise came from the door. Vin burst in, covered in sweat. Beside him was the vampire protector, Draugnir, who was not happy to be dragged into this mess.

Draugnir raised an eyebrow, scanning the room. His eyes stopped on the bloody mess coming from the patient on the bed.

"Is this the one you want me to save?" Draugnir had heard that a human had saved the Raven and was in terrible condition. He didn't want to get involved until Vin came crashing into his castle and offered him a prized relic: a violin made from the wood of a hundred-year-old treant, Gyrngea. Its music could not only attack and cause mental damage but also soothe a beast's bloodlust, which worked on vampires like him. It was a fair price to save a life.

Anthony looked intently at the vampire, wanting answers. Draugnir knew that the Raven didn't trust him, but he didn't care. He would do what was promised.

Draugnir moved toward the bed. As he got closer, a familiar mana, not the smell of blood, filled his senses. It was calming—almost controlling and alluring. He sniffed the air and closed his eyes, trying to figure out what it was.

Trace, watching the vampire, had already reached a conclusion.

Vampires have unique scents that distinguish them from others, but there are also similarities that help them find their own kind.

Draugnir's eyes snapped open, bloodshot red. His voice was calm but carried weight. "Are you sure the one you want me to save is a human?" A shocked gasp came from Anthony. He was sure his friend was human. Mr. So was a human.

Vin was the one who answered, also shocked by what he heard. "He is a human! It's only now that I want you to turn him to save him!" Vin explained.

He was so desperate that he thought turning him into a vampire would not only save his life but give him what he truly wanted.

"What do you mean 'turn him into a vampire'? Did he even consent to this?" Anthony protested. He couldn't understand what was happening, nor did he approve of his friend turning into one of the creatures that were the reason he was dying.

Draugnir shook his head. He didn't have time for their arguing. "Whether you like it or not, he will turn into one. Not because of me, but because his body is already changing." Draugnir placed his hand near Saint's chest. A drop of blood-red mana appeared, enough to calm the boy's blood and push out the light magic that was blocking his ability to heal.

Draugnir gestured to Trace. "Let him explain. For now, I'll do my best to save him." Draugnir might have been harsh to other races, but he loved his own. Artemisia might criticize him, but she didn't know how he mourned every vampire who died in the war. He had every single one of their names inscribed into individual memorial tablets.

The next words from Trace only raised more questions. "The boy was cursed to forfeit his lineage. He wasn't supposed to return to his original race. The person who cast this curse made sure this child would stay human forever, as a form of protection. But it's also that protection that drew the power to change him back into a vampire. Whoever cursed this child only wanted to preserve his life."

Aegir, listening closely, remembered the story of the vampire woman who died with her unborn child where the mysterious flower appeared. He also remembered Saint saying he bought that land because his mother always threatened to leave him there.

Saint was also the only one who had found the flower. Could it be that the child never died, and it was Saint?

But why did Hale's attack trigger the curse? There must be a grave reason and Aegir's intuition is telling him it has something to do with all of these...

-

The room was a wreck. Broken glass and shattered stuff were everywhere. Ten dead bodies lay on the floor. Some were torn apart, some were stuck to the wall, and a few hung from the bloody chandelier. It was also harder to breath in that place;  heavy amount of foul miasma contaminated the air.  It was not only caused by death and decay but also from that cause the chaos.

The place wasn't quiet. Someone was trashing it. It was Hale, and he was throwing things and blasting everything with dark magic. It's the only thing he could do.  The only action that could calm the total unrest he's feeling inside.

He screamed, not just from anger but from pain. His head was throbbing, and both of his arms had a burning wound on them. It felt like they were on fire, hotter than anything he'd ever known.

"Why?!" he yelled. He didn't even realize he was hurt. His wounded arm hissed as if the fire was still there. The skin was black, like it was rotting from the inside. As if death fester its way in.

He knew his power, [The Arms of Dread], was attacked by Anthony, the Raven, in a fight a while back. He just couldn't understand why the damage was only hitting him now.

"He was weak!" Hale growled to himself, talking about Anthony. He was sure he could have killed him if Artemisia hadn't shown up. He had to end Anthony. He let out another huge blast of power, this time hitting the wall and making a hole so big it looked like it was hit by an explosion.

A sharp, stabbing pain shot through his wound, making him stumble. He screamed again, covering his hand with his dark power and trying to heal himself. But just like before, it only numbed the pain for a second. No matter what he did, he couldn't fix the wound.

He had gotten a report that Anthony had killed a lot of his soldiers, draining their life force. They turned into rotting corpses or even dust.

"But I'm stronger than those useless fools!" Hale shouted. He wasn't even hit directly by Anthony's weapons. So why was this happening to him?

"Just you wait! I'll kill you... I'll kill you..." he muttered, holding his burning arms. He screamed again as the pain got even worse. Blood dripped from the wounds, staining the floor.

Then, he heard a sound like someone was running around the room. He looked around wildly, his teeth clenched. "Who's there?" he yelled, blasting his magic everywhere.

He walked around, searching with his eyes. Soon, he heard the cawing of ravens, which made his headache worse. He grabbed his hair, screaming again. "Are you here, Anthony? Show yourself!" he gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Fight me!"

A shower of black feathers followed. Each feather that touched Hale's skin felt like the same fire that had given him his wounds. He tried to blast every single feather he could see.

Seconds later, ghostly figures started to appear. There were so many they filled the room. Each one wore a white blindfold, and blood-like tears dripped from their eyes. They all pointed at him. Hale backed up, then laughed like a crazy man.

"I'll kill you all again and send your souls to him!" he cackled, but sweat was running down his face. A vampire's heart doesn't beat, but his felt like a ticking time bomb.

"This must be one of Anthony's little tricks! Come out!" he laughed, summoning many blood-red blades that hung in the air, ready to stab the ghosts and Anthony.

One ghost, a woman, moved so fast that she was suddenly right in front of him. She had long black hair and a white dress. Hale couldn't see her face because of the blindfold and a strange static blur that covered it. The blur was made of quick, repeated scenes that felt strangely familiar to him.

Hale's anger boiled. His hand reached out and grabbed the woman's neck. She didn't say anything, but more blood-like tears dripped from her eyes. Hale felt like she was looking at him, and he had to fight the urge to let go of her neck.

He blinked twice, and the ghosts and the woman were gone. In her place was one of his soldiers, Gravitas, and Hale was holding his neck.

Hale immediately let go, confused about what had just happened. His wound still burned, but something strange had happened that he couldn't explain.

Gravitas coughed, red marks on his neck. He quickly stood up and bowed. He took a ring from his pocket and handed it to Hale.

With a rough, pained voice, Gravitas reported, "We found this on some of the enemies we killed. They were using it to hide and teleport."

Hale took the ring and instantly recognized the power it held. Along with the burning pain and his headache, his heart felt heavy. A familiar face came to his mind... the face of his late wife, Angelica, who had died with their child.

His memories played out before him. He saw her image, dancing happily with him, her silver eyes shining with glee. Her embrace could ease every bad thing he felt, enough for him to forget who he truly was.

A memory of them together, enjoying a stroll under the moonlight, followed. It was in that moment that she told him they were expecting a child. It was the happiest moment of his life.

The last scene reopened an old wound, breaking his heart all over again. He saw himself screaming her name as he desperately held her charred remains in his arms, praying that he was just dreaming. He wished that when he woke up from the nightmare, she and would still be there.

For the first time in many years, Hale truly wept once again...