The Blackthorn Chronicles - Book 1: Hesperus

"La France, l'armée, tête d'armée, Joséphine" - Napoleon Bonaparte 

A few days later, Vespera found herself bathed in the soft, golden hues of the late afternoon sunlight. The waning rays of dusk kissed her hair, causing it to shimmer with subtle undertones of deep crimson, like polished obsidian catching the last embers of a dying fire.

Her gaze was lowered, intently focused on the diverse assortment of books laid out on a weathered wooden stand. The outdoor display belonged to a quaint antiquarian bookshop named “The Silver Rose,” its hand-painted sign, rendered in elegant, slightly faded script, swinging gently in the light breeze, its delicate creak a subtle counterpoint to the murmur of the nearby town. The shop itself was nestled amongst a row of charming buildings in the small town that sat at the foot of the verdant hill upon which Cross Academy was constructed.

The town was unexpectedly delightful, despite its smallness, boasting a prevalent Victorian architectural style with steeply pitched roofs, adorned with intricate slate patterns, bay windows that offered glimpses into cozy, lamp-lit interiors, and decorative ironwork balconies, their delicate filigree a testament to a bygone era of craftsmanship.

As she strolled along the cobbled streets, the worn stones smooth beneath her buckled heels, she almost felt as though she was back in a quaint corner of London, a sensation only subtly disrupted by the melodic hum of Japanese chatter drifting from the locals passing by.

The impulsive decision to explore the town, accompanied by the ever-present Mikael, her silent shadow, had been made that very morning. Vespera had been enjoying a masterfully crafted breakfast prepared by Alessa, one of the bright young house-elves recently acquired from Gringotts, when the sudden urge struck her to familiarize herself with the land surrounding the Academy where she was due to commence her teaching duties by the end of the week.

Mikael, while not particularly enthusiastic about the prospect of a leisurely stroll, had complied with her usual silent efficiency and now stood patiently by her side, her golden eyes narrowed with a flicker of genuine interest as she delicately flipped through the aged pages of a leather-bound collection of Japanese poetry, her movements precise and economical.

They had spent the better part of the day strolling seemingly aimlessly through the town’s winding streets, Vespera appearing the picture of silent elegance in a long-sleeved black dress that skimmed the pale skin of her thighs, its high neckline adorned with a loosely tied, patterned silk scarf in shades of smoke and white, the subtle patterns shifting and swirling like mist on a moonless night. Her legs were clad in a delicate pair of black nylon socks, the cuff circling the delicate skin just under her knees. 

Her hands, resting idly on the spine of a book, were adorned with a collection of her various Ladyship rings. The ruby of the Potter ring, the diamond and onyx of the Black ring, and the obsidian of the Peverell ring, each subtly glittered in the golden afternoon light, a quiet display of her ancient lineage and formidable status, a legacy etched in blood and magic.

The books on the outdoor stand were all undeniably aged. Their paperbacks were softened with time, the spines creased and worn, and their hardcovers showed signs of gentle wear, the leather cracked and faded, bearing witness to the countless hands that had turned their pages, seeking knowledge, solace, or escape within their bound confines. The pages of those left open were a warm, inviting yellow, the color of aged parchment and forgotten secrets, and Vespera felt an unashamed thrill of simple pleasure as she perused the titles and carefully flipped through the brittle pages, the faint scent of decaying paper and leather a heady perfume.

The majority of the volumes were printed in elegant Japanese script, but her discerning eye had already spotted several intriguing tomes – mostly classical literature and several philosophical treatises. To her surprise, some of them were in English, and fewer still in french, likely a result of the vampire infested town and the level of education offered at the Academy.

So absorbed was she in the retelling of a captivating Japanese folklore tale – a slim, paper-covered book she had picked up almost at random, recounting the riveting story of a man’s profound despair after his beloved wife tragically drowned in a seemingly shallow pond only to be devoured by a vengeful naga – that she nearly didn’t notice the elderly, small shopkeeper approaching her. His presence was announced by the soft shuffle of his worn leather shoes on the uneven cobblestones, a sound that mingled with the rustle of turning pages and the gentle whisper of the wind as it snaked through the narrow street. His shadow, elongated by the fading light, stretched out before him, a harbinger of his arrival, a dark silhouette preceding the man himself.

“Good afternoon. You have both been here for a while,” he said, his voice rough and gravelly, as if each word was dragged through a throat raw from years of smoking, a voice that spoke of countless stories read and untold, of a life spent poring over ancient texts. His frail body was wracked by a sudden, hacking cough, a sound that echoed in the quiet afternoon air, a stark reminder of his mortality and age. “Have you found anything of interest?”

Vespera turned, her expression immediately softening into a kind and respectful smile, the warmth in her eyes a stark contrast to the often-guarded look she wore. She offered the elderly man a shallow bow, her movements fluid and graceful, a gesture that adhered to the local focus on respect for the elderly and wise. “Good afternoon to you as well, sir. You have a delightful collection; there is scarcely a tome here that I wouldn’t consider fascinating.” Her voice, though soft, carried a note of genuine appreciation.

Mikael closed the leather-bound poetry collection she held with a gentle snap, the sound crisp and precise. Her long fingers, elegant and strong, moved with a delicate precision as she turned to greet the old man with a bow of her own, her posture as elegant and composed as Vespera's, a silent reflection of her Mistress.

The shopkeeper laughed, the sound throaty but genuinely happy at the respectful greeting from the two foreign women. It was a warm, if somewhat raspy, sound, filled with a childlike delight that belied his age and hinted at a youthful spirit still alive within his aged frame. His hands, gnarled and spotted with age, rested heavily on the ornate head of an old cane, the dark wood intricately carved with a winding vine of roses, a beautiful piece of craftsmanship that spoke of a bygone era of artistry and attention to detail. His thin, ivory hair was neatly combed back from his wrinkled face, though its delicate texture was evident, and his frail form was clad in an aged, yet well-kept, three-piece suit, the fabric worn but clean.

He seemed utterly unaware of the skeletal, eyeless figure accompanying him, the being faceless and silent, standing silently in the shadows behind the man, a being of pure darkness that seemed to feed on the ambient darkness creeping in with the approaching night, its presence a chilling counterpoint to the warmth of the afternoon sun and the gentle exchange between the two women and the old man. Vespera and Mikael exchanged an almost imperceptible, knowing glance.

“That is very kind indeed. I’m afraid many youngsters nowadays don’t appreciate the value of a good, old book. They are all too engrossed in their gadgets and gizmos, with no time for the wisdom and beauty found within these pages. Though you both seem to make up for it handsomely.” He smiled, a genuine, heartwarming expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes and softened the lines on his face, gesturing towards the neat stack of tomes they had placed beside the stand, clearly indicating their chosen purchases.

Vespera smiled at him, the expression both polite and subtly assessing, her keen emerald eyes taking in every detail of his demeanor. She offered him her hand as he took a step forward, the Black family signet ring on her left forefinger catching the light. The three miniature onyx ravens, their eyes glittering with the fire of embedded diamonds, seemed to watch him with ancient wisdom, their gaze holding secrets that spanned centuries. His eyebrows rose, a flicker of recognition in his gaze, a spark of long-buried memories ignited by the sight of the familiar emblem, before a wide grin overtook his wrinkled face, transforming his aged features with a childlike delight.

“Forgive my forwardness, but may I take a closer look at your ring?” he asked, his voice almost childlike in its excitement, the request imbued with a genuine curiosity that transcended the boundaries of polite conversation. With an indulgent smile, Vespera nodded, extending her hand towards his face, her movements fluid and graceful. One of his own hands, surprisingly strong despite his age, clasped hers gently but firmly, his touch conveying a sense of reverence and awe. Mikael took a step forward, her face remaining impassive, betraying none of the potent protective energy that now radiated subtly around her, but Vespera shook her head almost imperceptibly, a silent command for restraint, her belief in the old man’s frailty outweighing her caution.

The old man laughed again, the sound raspy and excited, like dry leaves rustling in a sudden gust of wind, before straightening up, his grip loosening delicately, allowing her hand to rest once more at her side. Vespera crossed both her hands demurely in front of her, her posture composed and elegant, as the old man beamed, his eyes shining with undisguised fascination.

“I apologize for my forwardness, but I have seen this symbol before. Three ravens on a white backing?” he inquired, his voice filled with a hopeful anticipation.

“That’s right,” Vespera confirmed softly, her gaze steady and unwavering, though she offered no further explanation about the significance of the coat of arms.. The old man seemed to almost vibrate with a restrained excitement as she acknowledged the symbol, a thrill of recognition coursing through him, and a slight cough punctuated his eagerness, a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil.

“Oh my, she was right!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelieving elation, as if a long-awaited prophecy had finally come to pass. “Please, wait here for just a moment, I do believe I have something that belongs to you, or at least, something that bears that very mark. Something I've kept safe for many, many years.”

Before either woman could respond, he turned and walked swiftly towards the entrance of his shop, disappearing inside with surprising speed for a man of his age, his cane clacking with each step on the worn cobbled floor, a rhythmic cadence marking his hasty retreat. The small brass bell hanging above the door jingled softly as he pushed it open, the sound echoing briefly in the twilight air, a delicate chime that signaled his departure and the promise of revelations to come.

Vespera’s brows furrowed slightly, a mixture of curiosity and caution flickering across her face, her thoughts racing to decipher the meaning behind his words. Mikael leaned closer, her golden eyes scanning the darkening surroundings, ever vigilant, her senses heightened, alert to any subtle shift in the atmosphere. “Mistress, the hour is growing late. It is time for us to depart.” She said, her voice low and calm, a mere whisper in the encroaching gloom, gesturing subtly with her head towards the rapidly darkening sky. The once vibrant hues of gold and pink were fading, slowly being replaced by a somber tapestry of grey and deepening shadows, the last vestiges of daylight swallowed by the approaching night.

Vespera nodded slightly, acknowledging the truth in her Mikael’s words, her mind already made up. She gathered the stack of selected books into her delicate hands, the aged paper warm beneath her touch, a tangible connection to the stories and knowledge they contained. With a final, lingering glance at the shop's outside stand, she followed after the old man, stepping across the threshold and into the dimly lit interior of the Antiquariat, leaving the fading light behind.

The interior of "The Silver Rose" was a chaotic treasure trove, a stark contrast to the orderly charm of its exterior. The air hung heavy with the scent of aged paper and dust, a stillness punctuated by the quiet tick-tock of numerous aged, and broken clocks, their hands frozen at various times, each timepiece marking a different moment lost to eternity. Motes of dust danced in the dim light, illuminated by the mismatched collection of chandeliers and lamps that hung precariously from the tall ceiling, casting long shadows that stretched across the cluttered space, turning the room into a chiaroscuro painting of forgotten stories.

Stacks of books, veritable mountains of aged paper and stories, lined the walls and overflowed onto the creaking wooden floor, threatening to topple at the slightest provocation. They were piled haphazardly on antique desks, their surfaces scratched and worn, small tables overflowing with literary artifacts, and even directly on the threadbare carpets, leaving only narrow, winding pathways through the labyrinthine collection.

Interspersed amongst the books were an eclectic assortment of relics: forgotten paintings in ornate frames, their canvases cracked and faded, their subjects gazing out with enigmatic expressions, tarnished trinkets glinting dully in the dim light, and rows of old, well-loved dolls with glazed, sightless eyes that seemed to follow unseen movements, their porcelain faces hinting at forgotten childhoods and whispered secrets.

Vespera sighed softly, a delicate sound in the musty air. She carefully straightened the stack of books in her arms, ensuring they did not fall out of her grip, before delicately navigating one of the narrow paths, following a faded sign hanging precariously from the low ceiling that read "Checkout" in elegant Japanese script, the characters like delicate brushstrokes on aged parchment.

She found the old shopkeeper behind a heavily carved counter, its surface dominated by an antique crystal display case. He was bent slightly, rummaging through the case with a focused intensity, muttering softly under his breath as he searched, his words lost in the rustle of paper and the ticking of the clocks. The eyeless, faceless specter stood silently by his side, it's dark presence seemingly bored but patiently waiting. Vespera offered it a subtle nod, a silent acknowledgment that it mirrored with wordless respect.

With a small thunk, she set the stack of books on the only clear space on the counter, the displaced air sending a small cloud of dust billowing upwards, causing her to cough delicately into her hand, a fine powder clinging to her fingertips like golden pollen.

Too absorbed in his task to notice the slight commotion, the old man only straightened when Vespera gently pressed the small brass bell on the counter, its delicate chime cutting through the stillness, a sound that echoed through the crowded shop like a summons from another time.

"Found it!" he exclaimed, his voice triumphant. He straightened, his glasses askew, though a trembling hand pushed the spectacles further up his nose just as they threatened to slip. He stepped towards the counter and tripped on a stack of old boxes. Vespera tensed, ready to intervene, her body poised for action, and the faceless specter behind the counter seemed to coil with anticipation, its dark form shifting slightly, but the man miraculously caught himself, chuckling at his own incoordination.

“My apologies, dear girl. I knew I’d seen that emblem before,” he said kindly, placing a small, velvet-lined jewelry box on the counter with a soft click. The black velvet of the box was dusty and thin with age, its nap worn smooth by countless curious fingers. Vespera raised an elegant eyebrow, leaning forward slightly as she opened the square, hand-sized box. Her other eyebrow shot up in surprise, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of the jewelry within.

“My! Our family has been searching for this particular pendant for ages,” she mused conversationally, her emerald eyes taking in the exquisite piece nestled within the box. The delicate choker was crafted from a dark, almost black-purple agate, the stone's depths seeming to hold an empty, endless abyss within its polished surface.

The pendant of the choker, suspended from the thin velvet band, depicted the three ravens of House Black, their tiny diamond eyes glinting with a subtle, inner fire, like captured starlight. The right side of the ornate silver clasp at the back of the neckpiece was emblazoned with the actual coat of arms of the family, the intricate metalwork so fine and detailed that it suggested the craftsmanship that only the skilled goblins were capable of.

Vespera reached out with a gentle hand, her fingers brushing the air above the jewelry as if caressing a phantom surface. The old man observed her with calm, wistful eyes, seemingly unaware that the witch was subtly gauging the artifact's authenticity. As her fingers moved, she sent a delicate tendril of pure, dark magic towards the infamous stone, the agate that her family had been searching for over fifty years, ever since its last known owner had mysteriously vanished. The tendril, a shimmering thread of concentrated arcane energy, snaked out from her fingertips, invisible to the naked eye. It danced and weaved through the air, drawn to the unique magical signature of the agate, a signature that resonated with a dark, ancient power that was both familiar and unsettling to Vespera.

"I take it, it is indeed yours, then?" he rasped sweetly, his aged eyes twinkling with curiosity.

Vespera nodded, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips, pulling back her hand before her fingertips could make contact with the large, mesmerizing stone at the choker's center. The stone had subtly pulsed in response to the tendril of magic she had sent towards it, a silent, almost imperceptible thrumming that vibrated with potent energy. This subtle reaction confirmed her suspicions about its potent nature, solidifying her belief that this was indeed the artifact she sought.

"Not mine exactly," she clarified, her voice a low murmur. "This," she gestured towards the left side of the clasp, indicating the small constellation etched into the silver, "marks it as the possession of my grandmother's sister, Cassiopeia. But I'm afraid Cassiopeia is no longer among the living to claim it." A note of wistful melancholy entered her voice.

"Tell me," the witch inquired then, her tone shifting to one of polite, conversational interest, "did you find it in its original box? And more importantly, did you find it here, in Japan?"

The old man shook his head, his hands trembling slightly with age as he carefully closed the lid of the velvet box, wrapping it in a protective layer of faded silk. His movements were slow and deliberate, each gesture imbued with a reverence for the object he was handling.

"I was not even in the country when I first came upon it," he chuckled, a dry, rustling sound. Vespera raised a curious eyebrow, prompting him to continue. He then slid the stack of books across the counter, his movements deliberate, and began to wrap those as well, carefully placing them inside a sturdy paper bag.

"When I was a young man, I spent several months in Paris," he recounted, his voice tinged with nostalgia, "attempting to earn a living as an artist. Alas, I had neither the talent nor the funds to live comfortably in that vibrant city." He laughed, a wistful sound. "One evening, after my Camille informed me that she could not marry a penniless immigrant," a shadow of old wistfulness crossed his face, a fleeting reminder of an old hurt, "a woman, who looked quite a bit like you, now that I think about it, approached me and offered a handsome sum of money to keep this pendant safe. She said, and I remember her words quite clearly, 'One day, someone from my family will come and take it off your hands. Your only task is to take care of it until then.'"

His eyes twinkled with amusement at the memory. "Of course, I eagerly wanted to accept her offer. I was poor, hungry, afraid because of the Great War, and desperately wanted to marry my dear Camille. But my conscience troubled me. I told her that I was due to travel back to my homeland soon, but she was quite insistent that it didn't matter! She was remarkably persuasive, and in the end, I reluctantly agreed. Imagine my confusion, a naive young man thrust into such a strange situation!" He laughed heartily. He paused in his wrapping, his gaze drifting towards a framed, black-and-white photograph displayed on a nearby shelf. The photograph depicted a handsome young couple, an Asian man and a beautiful French girl, likely Camille, both dressed in the elegant attire of a 1940's wedding.

"I see. From what I've heard of her, that does sound like my Grand-Aunt Cassiopeia," Vespera mused, observing the man and his poignant story with undisguised interest, her crimson lips curving into a gentle, almost knowing smile.

"I never learned her name, unfortunately," he sighed wistfully, resuming the careful packing of the books, his movements slowed by age, "but thanks to her generosity, I was able to purchase this shop and finally marry my beloved Camille. We had a good life together, a life I wouldn't trade for all the riches in the world." The witch's smile softened, her dimples showing slightly as she listened to his heartfelt words. There was a genuine warmth in her expression, a stark contrast to the often cold and calculating demeanor associated with her person.

"And your wife? Where is she now?" she asked kindly, her voice a soothing balm. His smile dimmed, the light in his eyes replaced by a fresh wave of grief.

"She... she passed on recently, I'm afraid. But," he said, his voice catching slightly as he slid the paper bag containing the books across the counter, "I know, with unwavering certainty, that I shall see her again very soon. But Lord, do I miss her terribly."  He choked slightly on the words, his voice slightly garbled as he looked away, valiantly fighting the wave of grief that had him in his grasp. 

Vespera's expression gentled further, her gaze flicking almost imperceptibly towards the floating specter that remained silently vigilant behind the old man. It inclined its head, and she looked back at the man, a small bittersweet exhale leaving her nose.

"I'm sure you will find each other again, in whatever afterlife you believe in," she said softly, her voice filled with a quiet compassion. She accepted the proffered bag, setting it gently at her feet on the floor, and he slowly slid the wrapped jewelry box across the counter towards her. She accepted it with grateful, graceful hands, her touch lingering for a moment. A subtle exchange of energy seemed to pass between them, a silent acknowledgment of his fate.

"Thank you very much, sir. Your service to the Black family will not be forgotten," she said, her usually piercing green eyes softened with an unusual warmth as she briefly clasped his shaking, wrinkled hands. Her gaze was fixed on his rheumy eyes, and he seemed to almost tear up at her words.

"I am just... I am profoundly glad that its rightful owner came for it before my time comes. I can feel it creeping closer with each passing day," he wheezed, his breath rattling slightly in his chest, and Vespera's gaze flicked once more to the eyeless specter standing silently in the shadows, its presence an unspoken acknowledgment of the old man's words. The specter seemed to lean closer, drawn by the old man's words, its form flickering slightly as if anticipating his final breath. Despite its frightening appearance, there was something almost loving about how he floated around the man, its faceless features blank but somehow soft. 

“There is no need to be afraid at all, sir. In fact, once the time is truly here, it shall be a profound relief, a release from the burdens of… mortality, I assure you. No pain, no suffering, nothing more than just… quiet, and calm,” she said softly, her tone imbued with a quiet confidence and an otherworldly kindness that seemed to transcend the boundaries of simple human understanding. Her words carried a strange comfort, a soothing, hypnotic promise that, strangely, eased the old man's fear of the unknown, a glimpse into the tranquility that awaited him.

He nodded slowly, a mixture of gratitude for her comforting words and a profound confusion at the unwavering certainty in her dulcet tone swirling within him like a heady elixir. He went to remove his trembling hands from hers, his aged fingers seeking the familiar comfort of his gnarled cane, but she held them gently in her grasp, her touch surprisingly firm and reassuring, conveying a strength that belied her delicate appearance. A subtle hum of energy passed between them.

“For your immeasurable kindness, and for the gift of your time over all these long years,” she whispered, her voice a silken caress that seemed to resonate not just in his ears but deep within his very being, as she leaned slightly across the counter, her dark hair cascading like a velvet curtain, and pressed a soft kiss to his wrinkled forehead.

He gasped, taking a long, shuddering breath, a rush of vivid images and long-forgotten memories flooding his mind with an almost overwhelming intensity: his youth, full of vigor and dreams, his beloved wife Camille, radiant and full of life, their small house filled with the joyous sounds of her laughter, the comforting rhythm of their days, the warmth of her hand in his, the growing wrinkles around her smiling eyes, the silver strands between her chestnut tresses, the sweet gap between her front teeth, her strong voice, Her—Camille, Camille, Camille . His eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed by a poignant mix of joy for the life they had lived, profound grief for his departed wife, and an aching longing for the reunion that he now knew, with an unshakable certainty, awaited him. It was a vision of a life well-lived, a tapestry of love and loss, joy and sorrow, all culminating in this final, transcendent moment, a kaleidoscope of emotions and experiences.

A single, crystalline tear escaped his rheumy eye, tracing a shimmering path down his weathered cheek, a testament to the enduring power of his loss. When he opened his eyes again, blinking in bewildered confusion, Vespera and the velvet-wrapped box had vanished as silently and mysteriously as she had appeared. In its place, she had left a neat stack of bills, payment for the wares she had purchased. The lingering warmth of her touch, however, remained on his forehead, a tangible reminder of the otherworldly encounter, a faint tingling sensation that defied explanation.

The fading sound of retreating footsteps and the gentle clinging of the bell, perched atop the only entrance to the store, were the only things that marked her departure. The shadows of the falling night were now stretching long and ominous through the large windows, casting the cluttered interior in a melancholic light, transforming the familiar space into something otherworldly. The shop, once a comforting sanctuary filled with the scent of old paper, dust and history, now felt imbued with a sense of the arcane, almost touched by forces beyond human comprehension.

He took a deep, trembling breath, utterly unable to describe the strange, almost biblical encounter he had just experienced, his mind grasping for a rational explanation for the inexplicable events. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of awe and trepidation filling his soul. 

His bewildered gaze searched the shop for any lingering evidence of her presence, but the only anomaly he could find was the clean, stark square on the crystal display case to his left, the distinct outline marking the spot where the jewelry box had so recently rested, a silent and irrefutable testament to the reality of her visit and the profound magic that lingered in her wake. 

“He will die.” Mikael remarked as her Mistress descended the steps of the store’s entrance, her voice void of emotion, only a flicker of interest betraying her inner thought. The setting sun cast long shadows, painting the street in hues of orange and purple, but Mikael's gaze remained fixed on Vespera, her expression unreadable. A subtle tension radiated from her, a silent vigilance that spoke volumes about her role as both servant and protector.

“Yes,” The witch responded succinctly, her tone back to her usual arrogant cadence. Yet, there was a profound thoughtfulness in her eyes, a subtle softening that hinted at the complex emotions swirling beneath her composed exterior. She handed her servant the paper bag of books and stepped forward, and stowed the silk-wrapped, thin box in the woman’s blazer’s inner pocket, as she had no bag or pockets herself. The delicate object disappeared seamlessly into the tailored fabric.

“In his sleep, in two weeks.” She explained casually. Mikael raised a questioning eyebrow, her pale blonde hair catching the fading light, framing her sharp features with an almost ethereal glow.

“And as it turns out, the old man really did have something of mine - an old, sentimental trinket that belonged to Cassiopeia Black.” She explained, as she began walking languidly down the sidewalk, heading towards a narrow alleyway a few streets over, where they could apparate back to the manor. The words were simple, but the weight of their meaning hung heavy in the air between them.

“What are the odds?” Mikael questioned, impassive yet her voice was slightly incredulous. A hint of wry amusement touched her lips, a flicker of dark humor in the gathering dusk. They walked calmly through the darkening streets, Vespera’s arm hooked with Mikael’s, looking like two friends on a stroll, their elegant figures cutting a striking contrast to the world around them.

“Stranger things have happened. And I’m not particularly surprised if Cassiopeia foresaw that this man would somehow cross my path one day. After all, clairvoyance is one of the lesser-known Black gifts, and I wouldn’t put it past the woman to have inherited it. Narcissa did mention that she was odd, even for our family.” The witch hummed thoughtfully, her gaze distant as she considered the intricate web of her family's history and the subtle threads of magic that connected them across generations. 

She tugged gently on Mikael’s arm as she spotted a small, darkening alleyway, likely leading to somewhere more secluded. 

“I see. And is it…?”

“I couldn’t tell, but the pendant definitely carries something within it. I’ll have to send it to the goblins.” Mikael went to answer, but a loud, female scream interrupted her before she could finish her sentence. The sound was sharp and filled with terror, cutting through the evening air like a knife. It was a cry of desperation, the voice sweet and young, likely belonging to a young woman or a boy.

Vespera and Mikael froze, exchanging a loaded glance that spoke volumes. The blonde’s hand instinctively moved towards the hilt of her sheathed rapier, hanging by her hip, previously concealed beneath her elegant coat. They quickened their pace without another word, hurrying towards the source of the sound, further down the dark alleyway. 

In something resembling the inner court of a cluster of buildings, lay a girl, fighting for her life, a snarling woman atop of her while she cried and screamed. The courtyard was a confined space, surrounded by the looming facades of aged buildings, their shadows stretching long and ominous in the fading light. The air was thick with the scent of fear and desperation, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid odor of ozone from the girl's magical defense.

The girl was young, a teenager that had only recently bloomed into womanhood, her shortcut mahogany locks ruffled from the fight. Her chocolate eyes were wide with terror, brimming with frightened tears that streaked down her pale cheeks, leaving clean trails in the grime. A long, thin metallic rod, pulsating with a faint, silver light, was clutched in her petite hands. The rod seemed to electrify the exposed skin of her attacker with a visible current of magical energy, a crackling barrier of defense, each pulse a desperate surge of power against the vampire's relentless assault.

Her attacker was a middle-aged woman, her face contorted in a feral snarl, her eyes glowing crimson with an unholy hunger. Saliva dribbled from her clenched teeth, dripping onto the girl's face below as she clawed and screamed in rage for not being able to get to her chosen victim. The girl’s rod served as a precarious barrier between them, a desperate defense against the vampire's predatory onslaught. Despite the clear buzz and hiss of the electricity produced by the rod, it neither seemed to harm the girl, nor was it effective enough against the woman. The vampire's unnatural strength and single-minded focus made her almost immune to the magical shocks, her ancient flesh resistant to the searing energy.

The girl cried out again as the woman’s teeth, with an aggressive snap, nearly dug into her throat, spittle flying out of her snarling mouth. Her arms trembled from the effort to keep the rod aloft between them, but the woman’s strength was clearly starting to take its toll on the teen. The vampire's grip tightened, her claws scraping against the girl's cheek, drawing a thin lines of blood that welled and glistened in the dim light.

This observation took less than a single glance for the approaching witch and her companion. The situation was a clear case of a rabid vampire, driven by bloodlust, trying to feed off its most recent victim.

" Depulso, Reducto. "

In stark contrast to the softly spoken words, the spells unleashed were anything but gentle. The first spell blasted the vampire across the courtyard with a violent intensity, sending her hurtling through the air like a ragdoll, her arms cartwheeling in the air as she flew. The force of the spell cracked the very air, a shockwave that rattled windows of the surrounding buildings. But before she could crash into the brick wall of a building, the second spell intercepted her trajectory. The destructive magic obliterated her, making the creature explode in a cloud of sand and dust, a fine, grayish mist that settled over the scene, marking the abrupt and violent end of the threat. This was the fate of weaker vampires, leaving no corpses, or even a trace of their existence behind. 

With a moan of relief, the girl slumped to the floor, her body trembling from the ordeal. Sweat, tears, and blood coated her face, mingling to form a mask of exhaustion and terror. The metallic rod, her only defense, fell from her trembling grasp, clattering loudly against the cobblestones beside her. She gasped for breath, her chest heaving, each inhale a ragged struggle that spoke of her near-death experience. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm against the sudden silence.

She tried to focus her gaze, her head turning weakly towards her savior, to offer a word of thanks for the intervention that had saved her life, when her eyes widened in renewed horror. She suddenly sat up, her finger pointing frantically behind the approaching Vespera and Mikael, her voice failing her for a moment as she tried to articulate the fresh danger.

“Behind you!” She screamed, her young voice raw and hoarse, though the warning was redundant. The vampire's approach had been sensed by Mikael a split second before the girl's cry, a subtle shift in the air informing her of a disturbance before she could see it.

The blonde whirled on her heel as soon as she felt the other, previously hidden vampire, leap from the shadows towards her. The creature moved with unnatural speed, a blur of darkness and fury, its shriek and glowing crimson eyes matching its now quite dead counterpart. But Mikael was faster. With a fluid, almost elegant motion, she unsheathed her silver rapier, the blade flashing in the dim light and cut through the snarling creature with lethal precision, the paper bag in her other hand swinging delicately with a small rustle.

The vampire died as swiftly as it had attacked, its immortal body no match for the enchanted iron sword and Mikael's skill.

Throughout the smaller scuffle, Vespera’s attention remained solely focused on the vulnerable teenager, her expression a mask of calm impassiveness. Instead, she approached her to help her up with a delicate hand, her touch gentle and reassuring, her other hand pressing a handkerchief into the girl’s trembling fingers.

“Thank you so much, oh my god, are you alright?” The teenager gasped, her voice a mixture of breathless gratitude and lingering shock. Her eyes, wide and luminous, darted between Vespera and Mikael, searching for any sign of injury, any indication that they had been harmed in the brief but violent confrontation.

Vespera nodded, her expression composed and reassuring, before pressing the offered handkerchief into the girl’s hand more insistently. The silk was cool and smooth against the girl's trembling fingers, a small comfort against the lingering fear.

“Yes, quite so. Are you alright? That thing seemed very determined to get to you.” She said calmly, raising a delicate eyebrow at the swirling remnants of dust carried on the wind, the faint, acrid smell still lingering in the air, a subtle reminder of the danger that had just passed.

The girl nodded, looking a mix between mortified and grateful, as she deftly cleaned her soiled face and hands with the square of clean, silken fabric. The handkerchief, though fine and elegant, proved surprisingly effective at removing the grime, revealing the girl's delicate features, her youthful beauty now marred by the recent trauma.

“I’m fine, I think. But I really can’t thank you enough. A few more seconds and I’d have been a goner!” She chuckled mirthlessly, the sound brittle and shaky, her hands brushing dirt and grime off her coat as best they could, a futile attempt to restore order after the chaos, to regain a sense of normalcy after the brush with death.

“Please, let me repay you for your help, it’s the least I can do.” The girl continued, turning slightly enthusiastic, her initial fear giving way to a surge of gratefulness. But Vespera shook her head, her black locks flowing around her face in a silken cascade with the movement, a silent but firm refusal.

“There is no need. I’m glad we could help, but it is time for us to depart.” The witch responded calmly, her green, almost glowing eyes in the late hour, observing the girl's movements thoughtfully, her gaze lingering for a moment on the girl's face before settling on the metallic rod on the cobbled ground with undisguised interest. She remembered the way it had exuded clear bolts of electricity upon touching the skin of the vampire, a fascinating display of latent power that hinted at a deeper, perhaps even magical, nature.

She bent down and picked it up with interest, wanting to see if it would react to a witch the same way. To her disappointment, it did neither. The metallic weapon seemed almost to stiffen under her fingertips, a shudder of something passing through the weapon, a palpable sense of magical recoil as if it recognized and rejected her touch. It then retracted into itself with a quiet, metallic shlink . Where the object had been easily 2 meters long previously, it was now no longer than a short wand.

The brunette stepped forward and took it from her hands with a confused look, as her loyal weapon had never done this before. With a hesitant, though admiring glance, she stretched out her petite hand in a clear desire for a handshake. Her expression was a mixture of gratitude and awe, a silent acknowledgment of the power she had witnessed, and a newfound respect for the strangers who had saved her.

“I...I... Uhm, my name is Yuki, Yuki Cross.” She introduced herself after an awkward silence, the lingering tension of the fight slowly dissipating, though a sense of unease still clung to the air. Mikael had joined them, standing silently beside Vespera-

The witch’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally, a flicker of recognition in their depths as she processed the last name. 

Is she related to the Headmaster of the Academy? she wondered, a thread of curiosity weaving into her thoughts, mingled with a growing sense of intrigue. But outwardly, she only smiled kindly in response, the expression bland and impersonal. Instead, she shook the girl's outstretched hand, her touch cool and deliberate, her rings glinting in the waning light, catching the last rays of the setting sun.

The teenager blushed at the physical touch, a reaction that Vespera noted with a hint of amusement. A small, amused smirk touched Vespera’s lips, the fleeting expression one of subtle triumph, but it vanished before the girl could see it, replaced by her practiced composure.

“It’s nice to meet you, Yuki…” She purred, her voice a silken caress, smooth and alluring, taking another step forward, her chest nearly touching the girl's. Yuki’s chocolate eyes were wide and mesmerized, drawn in by Vespera's almost glowing green eyes, her beauty both captivating and intimidating.

The witch smiled widely, her dimples deep in her cheeks, enhancing her cherubic allure. It was enough to make Yuki flush even harder in embarrassment, her heart pounding in her chest, as she didn’t see nor understand the indifferent, reptilian focus in Vespera’s emerald eyes, a gaze that assessed and calculated even as she offered a gesture of kindness. 

Vespera was truly very pretty, prettier even than some Night Class students at the Academy, and being hit with that disarming smile left her flustered and breathless, a confusing mix of emotions she couldn't quite decipher.

Yuki’s breath hitched as Vespera’s hand lifted to her cheek, and tenderly caressed the open cut on the teen's cheek. The touch was feather-light, yet it sent a shiver down Yuki's spine, a sensation both strange and exhilarating, though she flinched lightly at the sting of the wound being pressed upon, no matter how gently.

But to her wonder, the throbbing pain of the wound inflicted by the vampire vanished instantly, her skin growing warm under Vespera's touch.

Yuki lifted her hand and gasped when she found the skin unblemished, her fingers only brushing against a crust of drying blood, the last vestige of the injury. But Vespera had already let go and stepped away, breaking the intimate connection, turning towards Mikael, who nodded in silent understanding and open servitude, her loyalty absolute and unwavering.

“Wait! How did you…” Yuki glanced at the swirling dust unsurely, her mind racing to comprehend the events that had unfolded. She didn't know how to explain how the creature had died as swiftly as it did, nor how her wound had been healed so miraculously. Vespera raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, her expression enigmatic and unreadable. 

The girl clearly carries a magical weapon and knew about vampires, but is unaware of witchcraft.

“Are you a vampire too?” Yuki continued breathlessly, her eyes wide with a mixture of fascination and slight apprehension, her voice filled with a desperate need for answers, her mind struggling to reconcile the supernatural creature with the young woman before her.. But Vespera only smiled softly, a knowing, almost cryptic smile that offered no comfort or explanation.

“Please be more careful next time.” was all she said in response, her tone dismissive yet laced with a hint of something unreadable, a veiled warning, before turning away, her back to the bewildered girl.

“Will I- Will I see you again?” Yuki tried to stop her, her voice a desperate plea, anything to keep the conversation going with the enigmatic young woman, whose presence and kind smile keenly reminded her of a pureblood vampire she knew – a figure of both admiration and affection in her life. 

“If you are who I think you are, we’ll meet again sooner than you think,” Vespera said calmly, her voice kind but clearly indifferent, a subtle dismissal that left Yuki both intrigued and slightly disheartened. To Yuki’s wide-eyed wonder and shock, both women disappeared with a loud crack, a sound like displaced air and a clap of thunder, and vanished in thin air, leaving the young teen alone in the darkening, cobbled courtyard, the silence that followed their departure amplifying her confusion and awe.

“Yuki!” A familiar male voice shouted down the alleyway, panicked and worried. A silver-haired young man ran out of the darkness, a silver gun clutched in his right hand, his violet eyes taking in the scene with a mixture of relief and alarm. His handsome face, usually composed and indifferent, was etched with concern and a hint of anger. They settled on the bewildered girl, and he hurried towards her, his long strides eating up the distance between them.

“Where have you been? What happened? IS that blood!?” He fretted, his deep voice laced with a possessive edge, his hand reaching out to gently touch her arm, his concern palpable.

Yuki did not pay any attention to him, letting him fret and hover as her eyes were still glued to the spot where both women had disappeared. She was lost in thought, replaying the encounter in her mind, trying to decipher the meaning behind Vespera's cryptic words and the strange magic she had witnessed.

She suddenly had the feeling that things were going to get a lot more complicated in the next few months, a premonition that sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

“And then it flew off me! I didn’t really see what happened, but she said something, and the Level E exploded in a cloud of dust, but-!” Yuki’s voice hitched with excitement as she recounted the events that happened to the gathered group consisting of a concerned Zero, a furious Kaname and an entertained Kaien.

Her classmate and friend hovered by her side, his expression dark and concerned, his tall form shadowing her petite one. Zero's silver eyes, usually so cold and distant, were filled with a raw anxiety that he struggled to mask. 

She stood in front of her father’s large, bulky desk, its polished surface reflecting the room's tension, her hands gesticulating wildly as she recounted the events with a mix of breathless wonder and lingering fear. 

The office itself was a grand space, a reflection of Headmaster Cross's eccentric personality and optimism. High ceilings, adorned with intricate moldings, and large windows, partially draped with elegant curtains of a heavy, light fabric.

The walls were paneled in a muted, sophisticated tone, a light sage green, and a massive, ornately carved wooden bookcase dominated one wall, stretching towards the ceiling and filled with countless volumes, some ancient and leather-bound.

 Kaname stood by the window, overlooking the Academy grounds, his hands clasped politely behind his back. But his white knuckles, clenched into fists, betrayed the depths of his fury, a fury that his carefully composed demeanor could not entirely conceal.

“She definitely did something! And she healed my injury!” The girl breathed out, clear hero worship heavy in her voice. It was clear that the events had now been fully processed, leaving her to analyze the situation, that could have very well turned bad, with her unwavering optimism as usual.

“And where were you, Kiryu?” Kaname asked, his voice calm but carrying the unmistakable undercurrent of rage. It was clear he blamed Zero for what had happened to his precious Yuki.

Turned back as he was, she didn’t think he’d see the way she visibly deflated, but his maroon eyes caught on to her wilting front he corner of his eyes. He sighed deeply, before turning back towards the gathered group.

“Yuki, what happened today should have never happened. Zero’s task is to keep an eye on you and keep you safe, especially when you venture out to town.” He explained, kinder and more placating, as Zero stood stiffly and now also furious by her side.

“Don’t talk to her like that, vampire! She’s perfectly capable of keeping herself safe.” He nearly snarled, and Kaname’s lips pulled up in a sardonic, almost mocking parody of a smirk, but it carried no amusement.

“Clearly not. If it weren’t for her mysterious rescuer, I’m sure Yuki would be in much worse shape.” He said. 

Though not intending to hurt the girl with the dismissive words, Yuki wilted further, feeling utterly powerless and useless. The weight of his words, combined with the lingering adrenaline from her encounter, pressed down on her, making her feel small and vulnerable in the face of their concern—and anger. 

“I-”, she went to apologize for worrying them, for causing this whole unpleasant situation, but Zero, his face a mask of barely suppressed fury, pulled out his gun and trained it at the elder vampire. 

The movement was lightning-fast, the silver glint of the weapon catching the light and sending a jolt of shock through the room. 

She gasped, her eyes widening in alarm, and threw herself in front of Kaname, shielding his tall, imposing figure with her petite body. Her heart pounded in her chest, a mixture of fear for Kaname and a desperate desire to defuse the escalating conflict. 

“Zero, no! It’s okay! Kaname-sama is right!” She shouted, her voice trembling slightly but firm in its conviction. 

Her action, however, seemed to only further incense Zero, fueling his rage with a sense of betrayal and a fierce protectiveness. Kaname, behind Yuki as he was, smirked victoriously at the silver-haired boy, his expression a picture of cold triumph.

  See? She will always choose me, he thought maliciously. The possessive pride in his eyes was unmistakable, a silent challenge to Zero. 

Zero’s jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening around the gun, as if fighting an internal battle. He went to shout something, a retort filled with anger and perhaps a hint of hurt, but Kaien, his face hardening, interrupted the rapidly rising tensions by banging his fists on his large, ornate desk. 

The sound echoed through the room, sharp and authoritative, silencing the brewing confrontation. 

“Enough! That is enough of both of you! Yuki is safe, and that is all that matters!” He exclaimed, his voice booming with a power that brooked no argument. 

His usual jovial behavior was completely gone, replaced by a sternness that commanded immediate obedience. Both men turned to him, their eyes narrowed, the animosity between them momentarily redirected towards the Headmaster. 

In that moment, Kaien’s face almost looked slimmer, older, etched with the gravity of his authority. The playful facade he usually wore fell away, making them remember that he was a legendary vampire hunter underneath his clownish exterior, a figure of immense power and respect in both the human and vampire worlds. 

“Yes. That’s right. I’m safe, so everything is alright,” Yuki slowly, and quietly agreed, her voice subdued. Though her words sought to pacify, her gaze flickered between the three powerful men, anxiety clear in her gentle, chocolate eyes.

“Now, Yuki-chan. Did you happen to catch the name of your rescuer? I’d like to thank her in person,” her adoptive father asked her in a kinder, though still irritated tone. His eyes darted with exasperation between the two men standing on either side of the young, pouting girl. Kaien's usual jovial demeanor was replaced by a weary seriousness.

“No, I asked her for her name, but she didn’t answer. Though she did say that I’d see her soon, I think. Her, and her companion.” Yuki pouted, her lower lip jutting out in disappointment at her failure to properly thank her savior. A faint blush colored her cheeks as she recalled the woman's image.

Kaien’s and Kaname’s eyes narrowed, their gazes sharpening with a shared sense of unease. They exchanged a quick, silent glance. Zero’s perceptiveness, honed by his  distrust of vampires, picked up upon this exchange immediately, his suspicion deepening. Kaien straightened in his chair, his posture becoming more formal, his expression losing any trace of his earlier amusement.

“Her and her companion? What did they look like?” To everyone’s surprise, Yuki flushed brightly, her cheeks burning with a sudden wave of shyness. She wrung her hands in embarrassment, her fingers twisting the fabric of her coat. With their enhanced senses, both vampires and Zero could hear how the young girl’s heartbeat quickened, its rhythm betraying a level of emotional agitation that went beyond simple gratitude.

“Uhm… Well, she was short, but taller than me, and had long black hair? And the other one was really tall and had short blond hair? I don’t think they were Japanese…” She explained vaguely, her gaze darting around the room, avoiding their intense stares. Her description was hesitant and fragmented, the vagueness puzzling considering how avidly she’d been recounting the events.

Zero’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Kaname didn’t look all too pleased either, his usual composed mask slipping slightly to reveal a pensive gleam that had filled his maroon eyes. He seemed to be piecing together the fragments of Yuki's description, a dangerous idea forming in his mind.

“Well, either way, it’s good you’re safe, Yuki-chan. I hope to be able to meet this mysterious woman soon; she seems like quite the character.” He continued, forcing a note of amusement into his voice, though his eyes remained guarded.

His daughter nodded, a long, longing sigh leaving her lips. “Me too,” she said dreamily, her voice filled with a wistful yearning that both Kaname and Zero found unsettling for different, yet inherently similar reasons.

Zero gaped at her, his violet eyes wide with disbelief and confusion and begrudging amusement. He couldn’t understand Yuki’s reaction.

The only person that had ever pulled a similar reaction from her was... His gaze turned to Kaname accusingly, as if blaming him for the girl’s seeming lapse in good judgment. With pursed lips, Zero pulled her out of the office to interrogate her privately, his hand firm on her arm, leaving the two other men in the office to their own devices.

“What the hell is going…” were the words they overheard a heated Zero say to her before the door closed shut behind them, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the room.

A beat passed, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air, before Kaien sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. He stood from his ornate chair and walked to his liquor cabinet, the crystal decanter clinking softly as he poured himself a generous glass of amber liquid.

The older Yuki got, the more trouble she became, but not due to any rebelliousness. Trouble seemed to find her like a magnet, and they were just lucky this time that someone powerful and caring enough had stepped in before something horrible happened. He downed the whiskey in one gulp, the strong spirit burning a path down his throat, a temporary balm to his worries.

“Do you believe she is trouble still?” He asked, his voice rough.

Kaname returned to the window, assuming his previous position, his gaze fixed on the darkening grounds of the Academy. In the clean reflection of the glass, Kaien spied the pensive, dissatisfied frown on the vampire’s lips, a frown that hinted at a deeper conflict than simple displeasure.

“It was… fortunate that she helped Yuki, yes. But my initial opinion on her hasn’t changed,” he said begrudgingly, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. He was loath to admit any positive feelings, even in this private conversation, especially when those feelings were...complicated.

Of course, he would never admit to the meddling headmaster the subtle shift in his perception of the young witch. He told himself it was merely clinical, intellectual interest—a need to understand a potential threat, to categorize and control. Yet, the memory of her face, the teasing and manipulative lilt in her voice, lingered with an unwelcome persistence.

After all, his research on her had yielded a veritable treasure trove of information on the girl. From an orphan, to a martyr, to a war general, to a viperous politician, all achieved under the age of 20. Each title spoke of a power and ambition that both intrigued and, he had to grudgingly concede, captivated him. There was a spark in her eyes, a fierce rage and avarice, that he recognized all too well. After all, it was a quality he often found himself seeing in his own reflection. 

Vespera Potter-Black was an unexpected, and as of now, very much unwelcome new player on the chessboard he had been meticulously planning for the past 10 years. He would not let a stranger, powerful or otherwise, jeopardize a decade of hard work, no matter how interesting or… alluring she was. He quickly suppressed the thought. He had to remind himself of his priorities.

Destroying the Senate, killing Rido, reinstating the vampire monarchy, Yuki. Those were the only things that mattered.