The moon hung low over the ruined skyline of Wallachia, a crimson eye glaring through torn clouds. Alucard stood at the cliff’s edge, cloak stirring in the wind as he looked down upon the frost-laden valley. The old lands were restless again, and something had disturbed their silence.

From the shattered remains of a chapel below, Trevor Belmont adjusted the grip on his whip. “I told you,” he muttered, “the world can’t stay quiet for long.” Sypha Belnades stepped beside him, frost clinging to her hands. “This isn’t normal magic. It feels… out of place.”

A pulse of light flared across the horizon, scattering snow into the air. The three turned toward the source.

A figure lay motionless in the snow—unfamiliar clothing, fabric unlike anything from their age, faint traces of energy shimmering around the body.

Trevor frowned. “That’s no villager.” Sypha knelt beside the figure, brushing snow from their face. “They’re alive—barely.” Alucard stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “Their presence is foreign to this time. And yet… I sense a bloodline not unknown to me.”

The faint glow of a sigil pulsed against the stranger’s chest—Light-Feather, a mark long thought lost to legend.

Sypha looked to Alucard. “What do we do?” Alucard’s gaze lingered. “We take them to the castle. Whatever force brought them here… it will not be far behind.”

Trevor sighed. “Always back to the castle. You sure your family home isn’t cursed enough already?” Alucard didn’t answer.

They lifted the unconscious figure from the snow and began the long walk toward the looming fortress in the distance, its spires cutting through the storm like broken fangs.

⸻

They entered through the grand doors, the echo of their steps carrying through the halls. The air was heavy with the remnants of power that had never truly faded. Candles along the walls flickered to life as they passed.

Sypha looked around. “It’s like the castle remembers you.” Trevor smirked. “Wouldn’t surprise me if it tried to bite him too.”

They laid the stranger on a stone bench near the center hall. The mark on the chest flickered once, then steadied, faint light moving beneath the skin like a heartbeat.

Alucard watched in silence. “This power… it’s not of darkness or divinity. It’s something in between.” Sypha touched the mark carefully. “It’s ancient. But it feels… new. Like the world itself isn’t sure what to make of it.” Trevor crossed his arms. “Whatever it is, it’s got your attention. That’s usually bad news.”

The wind outside howled against the castle walls.