The sun was high in the sky, bright and golden.
But behind the old Elmhurst Manor, the garden felt like a different world.
Trees had grown tall and wild. Vines and moss wrapped around everything—broken statues, rusty fences, and old stone paths now cracked and uneven.
What used to be a beautiful garden now looked more like a quiet forest.
In the center of it all stood a stone table beneath a tall, twisting ash tree. Its thick branches reached out like arms, casting a wide patch of shade.
Two men were there.
One sat calmly at the table. He wore a black tuxedo with a dark red tie. Black gloves lay beside his teacup.
His skin was pale, his dark hair perfectly neat. His eyes—red like fresh blood—watched everything with a calm, almost amused look.
He was the vampire, Veylar.
Even though sunlight streamed through the leaves above, it didn’t hurt him. It touched his face and hands, but he didn’t burn. He didn’t even blink.
Standing across from him was his butler, Alwen—a tall, quiet man dressed in a spotless black coat with shiny silver buttons. His silver hair was tied back neatly, and he poured tea with steady, practiced hands.
“The garden’s gone wild,” Veylar said, glancing around slowly. “But I think it suits this place. Forgotten. Overgrown. Still beautiful.”
Alwen placed the teapot down. “Like the manor itself,” he said. “And perhaps the people visiting it.”
Veylar gave a small smile, eyes still fixed on the trees. “She’s coming, isn’t she?”
Alwen checked a small silver pocket watch. “At her current pace, she’ll be here very soon.”
Veylar leaned back in his seat and tapped the stone table with one finger. “So bold. So brave. My little Saintess.”
“Shall I wake the others, my lord?” Alwen asked quietly.
“No,” Veylar said. “This is just between her and me. And I have a feeling we won’t try to kill each other today.”
He stood slowly and adjusted his tuxedo jacket—as if making himself presentable for the guest to arrive...
Meanwhile, back inside the manor…
Mira moved quickly through the back halls.
She didn’t run, but her steps were fast and full of purpose.
She passed broken doors and faded curtains, walking through golden light spilling in from cracked windows. Dust floated in the air. The manor was silent and heavy with secrets.
She reached a door at the end of the hall.
She pushed it open.
Sunlight poured through, and she stepped into the overgrown garden.
It was like walking into a forest.
Tall trees blocked the sky. Grass and flowers grew thick. Vines twisted around statues. The stone path was barely visible beneath moss and roots.
But Mira didn’t need to look around to know.
She could feel it.
He was here.
She followed the path slowly, holding her twin rapiers. Each step was quiet. Careful.
Then, she saw them.
In the middle of the garden stood the stone table beneath the tall ash tree.
Veylar sat there, looking calm, like he had all the time in the world.
He wore black and red, as if dressed for a royal party.
Sunlight touched his shoulders and hair, but he looked perfectly at ease.
Next to him stood a tall, older man in a black coat with silver buttons—his butler. He bowed politely to Mira but said nothing.
“Welcome,” Veylar said, lifting his teacup. His voice was smooth and warm. “I was hoping you’d show up.”
Mira didn’t answer right away. She stared at him, her grip tight on her swords.
“I see the sun couldn’t kill you,” she said flatly.
Veylar chuckled. “Sadly, no. I’m a bit tougher than that.”
She took a few steps closer, stopping just before the shade of the tree.
“You’ve been watching us.”
“Yes,” he said, setting his cup down. “But wouldn’t you? If strangers were wandering around your home?”
“Home?” Mira raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been living here this whole time?”
Veylar gave a quiet, thoughtful smile. “Hmm… that’s a difficult question. ‘The whole time’ means something very different to someone like me. I’ve lived a long life… and been called many names.”
Mira slowly lowered her swords—just a little.
“Then why are you here now?” she asked.
Veylar’s smile widened. “You’re asking the wrong question, Saintess.”
He stepped away from the table, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “This is my home. So really, I should be the one asking—why are you here?”
Mira frowned and took a cautious step forward.
“This estate belongs to the Elmhursts. They’re human,” she said, eyes sharp. “Not vampires.”
Veylar met her gaze without fear, his red eyes steady. “You speak as if being a vampire makes me a villain. But am I?”
“You drink the blood of the living,” Mira shot back. “That makes you a threat.”
Veylar chuckled softly. “And humans? They eat the flesh of nearly every living thing on this continent. Does that make them monsters too?”
Mira’s jaw tightened. “That’s not the same.”
He tilted his head, almost curious. “Is it? You eat to live. So do I. Why is my hunger worse than yours?”
Mira didn’t answer right away.
The garden around them was quiet—only the soft rustle of leaves, the chirp of a distant bird, and the low hum of summer wind weaving through wild branches.
Veylar took a slow step forward, not threatening, but thoughtful. His voice lowered, calm and reflective.
“When you look at us, you see monsters. Blood-drinkers. Predators lurking in the dark. But I’ve lived long enough to see what real horror looks like, Saintess—and it often wears a human face.”
He tilted his head toward the sky, golden light breaking through the canopy.
“I’ve seen kings set cities ablaze just to prove a point. I’ve watched armies butcher children in the name of flags, gods, or revenge. I’ve seen people betray their own blood—sometimes for power, sometimes for pleasure.”
He turned his gaze back to her—steady, unreadable.
“So tell me, Saintess. Who are the real monsters?”
Mira’s fingers relaxed on her rapiers. Not completely. But enough.
The question lingered, heavier than steel.
“I know those evils exist,” she said after a pause. “But I’ve also met good people. Kind ones. Not everyone chooses cruelty.”
Veylar nodded slowly, hands folding behind his back.
“I won’t argue with that. There are pockets of light in the world. Places like Mermaid’s Cove. But tell me—how many Mermaid’s Coves are there, truly, in this broken continent?”
Mira looked down at the moss-covered stones. A breeze stirred her hair, carrying the scent of leaves and old earth.
“You make it sound hopeless.”
“No,” he said softly. “Just honest.”
He stepped back into the shade of the ash tree, lifting his porcelain cup once more.
Mira watched as he sipped.
And then, with quiet resolve, she asked, “The books in the library. The ones about the Crimson Crow. Did you place them there?”
Veylar paused mid-sip, then lowered the cup, setting it gently back onto the saucer.
His red eyes locked onto hers, curious, amused.
“Ah,” he murmured. “So you found them.”
“I’m not here to play riddles,” Mira said, voice steady. “Was it you?”
He gave a slow nod, almost like a bow of acknowledgment.
“I didn’t place them, exactly. I simply returned what already belonged to the manor.”
“Why?” Mira asked. “And how did you know we were looking into the Crimson Crow?”
A smile curled at the edge of his lips.
“When you live as long as I have, you begin to see patterns. Curiosity always circles back to buried things.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed. “That’s still not an answer.”
“No,” he agreed easily. “But you could sit down and try to find one. I did pour an extra cup.”
He gestured gently to the empty chair across from him, his smile calm, unreadable.
“Who knows, Saintess? You might learn something useful—if you’re willing to talk instead of swing your swords.”
Mira stood still, eyes locked with his. She didn’t trust him.
Couldn’t.
Every instinct told her to stay sharp, to keep her blades ready.
And yet… this vampire—this centuries-old monster—hadn’t attacked.
He hadn’t even raised his voice. His words weren’t just tricks.
There was something honest in them. Worn-down, maybe. But not false.
She looked at the empty chair across from him.
The china teacup sat untouched. A second cup waited—clean, white, delicate—like it had always been there for her.
Slowly, she sheathed her rapiers.
“Fine,” she said, her voice calm but wary. “But if this is a trap…”
Veylar smiled. “Then I’m doing a very poor job of it.”
Mira walked forward and pulled out the chair. It creaked slightly as she sat.
She didn’t touch the tea.
Not yet.
But she sat.
Across the stone table, under the ash tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves above, the Saintess and the vampire faced each other in silence.
And for the first time, neither reached for a weapon.
For now...
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