Hector faded in and out of consciousness so many times since then, his eyes constantly meeting an unfamiliar stone ceiling. He faintly remembered how distraught the witches seemed when they loosened his damp blue winter garb, only to find so many bruises blackened and blue all over his body.

All the severe physical trauma he had bottles up since his arrival in Styria three years ago to his constant struggles to survive after leaving its confines had finally come to bite him in the arse. Not only that, he also procured a high fever due to his exposure to the harsh blizzard.

Hence he spent so many hours confined to a quaint little bed inside a small room, practically mummified with bandages and wrapped in a thick blanket.

Every now and then, he would catch a glimpse of her entering his room, carefully holding a smoking bowl of soup that smelled greatly of chicken broth. The blind witch, or Rosalie as she was called, often came to feed him or nurse his wounds.

"Eat this," she would whisper and she couped up a spoonful. "It'll make you feel better."

And look and behold, Hector was so starved of proper food these last few days, having to live off of rations and scraps, that he gobbled up the warm soup rich in spices and chicken meat, in mere minutes. Afterwards, she would offer him a sip of some refreshingly cold water.

"You must've been starving to death," she said, caressing his silver hand very slowly. "I'll go fetch you some more, if you want?"

Everything about this witch seemed strange. She was more than willing to help out a stranger on the brink of death, whereas the other one dressed in violets was already wary of him the moment she laid eyes on him.

Not only that, she was the only one making sure that he would be comfortable while he was recovering. For all he knows, these two might just be healing his body into good condition so that he could be dissecting and used for their potions and whatnot. At least, that's how Hector perceived witches all his life.

They mean no ill will to strangers... Aeon's advice echoed thoroughly in his head.

In his current situation, Hector could do nothing but nod his head to her question. Despite her disability, Hector observed as she found her way around the room and knew where every piece of equipment was placed like the back of her mind.

And whenever she lingered around the room, she hummed a little lullaby as she tended to his wounds. Hector couldn't tell what she was singing about, but it always kept his mind at ease and made him drift away to a deep sleep just listening to her slow but sweet melody.

To say she had a beautiful singing voice would be an understatement; it was like listening to an angel's. For the first time in such a long time, Hector managed to sleep without nightmares hounding him ravenously.

She replaced his bandages, then covered in blood in sweat, and gave them cleaner ones. Her hands were warm and soft as it often ran through his prickly rough skin. And that look in her cloudy eyes that, while they could never see, gleamed with pity and sorrow as if she could feel his inner turmoil herself.

It was hard to count how many hours went by, though it was after a while that the aching in his limbs finally stopped, and his terrible fever subsided. While Hector was still wary of these witches' true intentions, even he could not deny how caring and hospitable they were throughout that time.

He finally woke up without a dizzying feeling in his head, and he slowly got up from his bed. He was fitted with a long nightshirt whilst he slept, and the bandages have been removed. Even when the cut on his stomach had long been reduced to a mere scar, Hector sensed an itch that he couldn't resist to rub.

"You really shouldn't mess with the wound, or else it'll hurt even more."

Hector realized too late that he wasn't alone in the room. He nearly gave himself whiplash just turning to see the other witch, the one with bright purple eyes, sitting on the armchair tucked away in the corner.

She wore a simple pink dress hidden underneath a coat draped over her shoulders that matched the gleam in her eyes, and in her hands she held a grimoire with green cover trimmed with gold. On the table beside her was a tea kettle and a pair of glass cups.

"Sorry, it just... itches a little," Hector managed a reply. "I don't know why."

"That's just the aftereffects of healing magic," she sharply answered. "It'll wear off quite soon, so don't worry."

Healing magic? Hector thought to himself. I've never heard of such magic before, not even in Dracula's study. Maybe there was more to magic than I thought.

"Where's... the other witch? Rosalie, the one who treated me?" Hector asked.

"You mean my sister?" She perked her head up. "She's asleep. She spent two days tending to you without a break, so I offered to take her place tonight to watch over you."

"I see..." Hector merely commented.

Despite her and Rosalie looking so much alike, their demeanor was what set them apart. Whereas Rosalie was more tender with her touch and comforting with her soft gaze, her sister was much colder and stern, her own eyes pierced into his soul as if she were trying to read him just like the grimoire she was holding.

"Your name is... Julia, right? I overheard the two of you talking from before."

"You have good ears." Julia glanced at a page on her grimoire. "By the looks of it, you've healed considerably enough. I hope you don't mind if I ask you a few questions."

"About what?" Hector asked, slightly dazed and confused.

"To put it bluntly, you have to be the strangest man I've ever encountered." Julia poured herself a warm cup of tea from the table beside her. "Not only did you bypass the barrier around the forest, but you also carry with you an awful stench of magic that's too hard to ignore."

Hector took the time to sniff himself out, but found no strange smell or odor emanating around him as she had told. "You can smell magic?"

"Magic often leaves a trace, but those that carry dark magic have a disgusting stench that us witches would notice." Julia took a gentle sip from her cup of tea, whilst maintaining eye contact with Hector. "So I ask you this... Who are you exactly?"

"I'm just a wanderer," Hector insisted.

Julia quickly shut the grimoire in her hand, while aiming the tip of her cane at Hector. "Don't lie to me! I despise people who lie their way out of anything. Only magicians could bypass the barrier surrounding the mountain, did you know?" Her face was prickled with disgust and contempt, as her eyes began to glow a furious glint of pink. "One final time, who are you... Hector the wanderer?"

Hector remembered the advice that Aeon gave him a few days prior. Be assertive and truthful above all else, that's all you need. Hector only encountered human peasants throughout his journey, so it was much easier to lie about his past.

But this was different, it was a witch who looked as if she could just zap him into dust at the mere doubt of his story. For so long, Hector had avoided the subject to save his own skin as he too had a hand in engineering the suffering of many people. But now with a witch probing him for answers, he had no other choice.

"Yes, your suspicions are well-placed. In truth, I am... I mean, I was a Forgemaster," Hector begrudgingly admitted. "And I came all the way to this mountain for refuge."

Hector can tell the rage quietly fading from Julia's face, her eyes diminishing to a mundane shade of violet. "Forgemaster, eh? I've only read all about them in grimoires and scriptures." She leaned closer toward Hector, seemingly cautious yet brimming with curiosity. "Though I suppose getting to see one up close, is much better than that."

"I could say the same to you," Hector replied. "I've never seen an actual witch before, only women suspected of being witches themselves."

Julia tilted her head, a smirk growing on her face. "Humans are always scared of what they can't understand. Real witches have better ways to hide themselves from their foolish scrutiny. But you are right about their scarcity; witches have grown too few and far between these days, thanks to that bloody war some few years back."

Hector only managed a shrug and a sour face. He was there when the war between the renegade vampire lords was at its most brutal. Eager to fill the power vacuum left behind by Dracula's death and the failure of his resurrection, they clashed with each other across Wallachia, dragging many magicians and hunters into their hapless conflict that led to the continent's destruction.

"Can you walk?" Julia asked so suddenly, throwing Hector out of his train of thought. "Since I have no intention of letting you go, I have something to show you. Change out of your bedclothes and meet me outside."

Hiding behind her back was a set of fresh clothes, which she threw onto Hector's lap before leaving the room to his privacy. As Hector ran his fingers through the blue collared shirt, he was confounded by the handiwork as he, too, sensed a soothing aura of magic emanating from the silk fabric.

Immediately, he pulled off his bedclothes and settled onto the shirt, the black cotton pants, and a pair of leather slippers lined with gold. There was also a black glove meant for his left hand, modified to compensate for the stump where his ring finger once was, a painful reminder of Lenore.

Leaning against the foot of his bed was his knapsack, taken from the Styrian armory when he left. He checked to find it empty except for his journal. It was also at this moment that Hector realized that his hammer was nowhere to be found, possibly confiscated by the witches.

Alas, he took the journal with him and pushed open the door to meet Julia, patiently waiting for him. She guided him through a dark narrow hallway lined with many doors, faintly illuminated by lanterns posted beside each one. On the high ceilings were birdcages filled with an assortment of birds. Every time Hector took a step, a bird or two would make a loud chirp that would signal the others leading to a cacophony of shrieks and fluttering wings.

"What are the birdcages for?" Hector inquired as they walked, inching to shut his eyes over their incessant noises.

"They're meant to contain birds, of course." Julia stated it as if it was obvious. "They sing to notify me of any strange activity here in the house, whether it be an intruder or whatnot."

"Who would even think of intruding this place?"

"People who can sense the barrier. Magicians, other witches, and even some vampires. Don't worry, they're like this because you're still a stranger to them. Perhaps if you live long enough, they'll warm up to you."

"What do you mean by that?" Hector was slightly unsettled by the last sentence.

"An answer we can save for later," Julia merely sighed, her voice rose in a somewhat cheeky tone. "Let's just save the questions for when we reach the library."

The hallway went on for what felt like hours, full of endless rooms that seemed locked, and birdcages on the ceiling rattling like crazy whenever Hector was in their vicinity. There was not a single moment when Hector wanted nothing more but to drag each cage one by one and break those birds' necks just to get them to be quiet.

Finally, they saw red double doors standing at the very end of the hallway. Hector was more than relieved, as it meant he could finally escape those ear-splitting squawks of the bird-infested hallway. With a heavy push, Julia opened the doors and brought Hector into her library.

To say Hector was astounded by the view was an understand, and he had been one of the only people left alive to ever set foot in Dracula's library. They stood at the base of a gargantuan tower with a floor made of pristine quartz and a dome-shaped ceiling that peer into a night sky. The walls were lined with what appeared to be thousands of books, scrolls, and atlases from God-knows-where. Each of the six pillars that adorn either side of the tower was decorated with overgrown vines, sprouting white roses as they bloom.

There was no light source in the room except for the glint of the night sky above them and the embers of the fireplace at the center of the room. In front of them was a long coffee table set between two armchairs, the left had violet cushions and the right had yellow.

Someone was sitting in the yellow chair. She covered herself in a warm blanket as she let her hands feel the warmth of the crackling hearth. As Hector and Julia came closer, her head perked up and turned to meet them.

The moment she caught ahold of his presence, Rosalie immediately made a smile that somehow made Hector feel warmer than the blaze of the kindling fire.