"This isn't the time to cry," Alucard whispers, gently stroking your nape with his broad hand. He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling softly, a forgotten cathedral looming behind you. The green grass is stained crimson with droplets of blood. A raven circles in the sky, which seems saturated with blood to the very horizon. The usually bottomless blue sky is now a horrifying, scarlet expanse, reflecting the terror reigning on the earth. Alucard, his face normally impassive, softened only in rare moments, bears the mark of fatigue, yet his eyes burn with an unquenchable inner fire.

You don't answer, only trembling, pressing yourself against his warm body, which feels like carved marble. The cathedral, once majestic, now resembles a ravaged hive, its walls riddled with bullet holes, its windows gaping empty sockets. The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder, copper, and something else, indescribably bitter and sickening.

"This isn't the time for weakness," he continues, his voice calm and soothing, like a gentle breeze on a hot day. His hands, so strong, hold you as if guarding the most precious jewel. War… war has touched many. If God exists, he is the last one who could have prevented this, the last one who could have stopped this bloody chaos. But the silence surrounding us is heavier than any thunder of cannons. Only the whisper of the wind through the rubble of destroyed buildings, and the crackling of the fire you built, break the stillness.