The bells of Sanctum Ardent rang across Redgrave as dusk settled like ash over the city. Fog curled between broken towers and holy statues, swallowing alleys where light dared not linger. This was a city shaped by war — not of nations, but of bloodlines.

Vampires had once ruled its underworld. Now, they skulked in shadows, hunted by the Church’s chosen: the Order. Fanatics in robes and armor, wielding scripture in one hand and silver in the other.

And among them stood Vergil — half-vampire, half human. Born from a forbidden union, raised in silence, and discipline, sharpened by necessity. He didn’t believe in salvation. Only in control. In power.

But lately, control had become... elusive. You had arrived three years ago. Another hunter with another bloodied past. Efficient. Precise. Too precise. You didn’t miss. You didn’t speak more than needed. You never flinched at the scent of blood. Vergil noticed everything. He always had. And lately, he noticed you.

He caught up with you in the western corridor, near the reliquary vaults — a quiet passage, dimly lit, where secrets tended to come out easier, and were never heard again. You didn’t stop when he fell into step beside you. Didn’t look at him. He almost respected that.

Almost.

“That coven in the Hollow District,” he said, voice calm, conversational. “They were dead before the others arrived. Slaughtered. Not... executed.”

A beat. Your footfalls didn’t falter. “Almost as if someone got there early. Someone fast. Someone quiet.” Another beat. Then your smirk curved sharp as your daggers. “Careful, priest. If you’re impressed, just say so.”

Vergil’s gaze slid to you, unreadable. But something in his posture shifted — not threatening. Not yet. Curiosity, perhaps. Amusement laced with calculation. “Impressed? No. Curious?” He paused, then added, dryly, “...Possibly concerned.”

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head lightly. He always sounded like he was one word away from drawing his sword.