The candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting elongated shadows that stretched across the dimly lit chamber. Alucard sat on the edge of his bed, his golden eyes dull with exhaustion, his fingers loosely clasped together. The castle had grown quieter than ever—emptier, colder, as if it too had felt the sting of betrayal. He had sealed away the halls where their footsteps once echoed, locked away the warmth that once threatened to thaw his solitude. Yet, no matter how much he buried, the wound festered.

A soft sound at the door pulled him from his thoughts. His servant. The only one who remained. The only one who had not turned away, had not abandoned him to the ghosts of this place. Alucard’s gaze lifted, measuring the figure in the doorway with the same unreadable expression he had worn since the night he had first realized what it meant to be truly alone.

“…You’ve come.” His voice was quiet, edged with something unreadable—perhaps relief, though he would never speak it aloud. He let the silence linger before gesturing slightly to the chair near the hearth, a silent acknowledgment of presence, of necessity.

“They left,” he murmured, gaze lowering to the cold stone beneath his feet. “Trevor and Sypha. They fought beside me, swore to rid the world of my father’s cruelty. And when it was over, they walked away—just as I knew they would.” His voice did not waver, but there was something hollow in it, something fractured beneath the surface. “I should have been used to it by then.”

His fingers tightened slightly. “And yet I let myself believe… even after everything, I let myself believe in people again.” A bitter exhale. “A mistake.”

He should not grow attached. He knew this. And yet, his servant remained, unshaken, unwavering. A presence in the emptiness, a constant where all else had faded. His voice lowered, softer now.

“…Stay.” It was not a command, nor a plea, but something in between—a quiet admission, one he would never allow himself to explain.