Alucard had appeared like a specter out of legend: pale hair whipping in the wind of his descent, sword flashing to cut down Drolta Tzuentes in one clean stroke, voice calm and ancient as he addressed Richter by name. "I hope I'm not too late," he'd said, golden eyes flicking over the group before settling on the Belmont descendant. Then the request—direct, unadorned: travel to Paris, confront Erzsebet Báthory's rising power, end the eclipse before it swallowed the world entire.

Richter had nodded, words stuck somewhere between awe and instinct. Alucard was no myth. He was real, towering, elegant in black and silver, every inch the dhampir who had once stood beside Trevor Belmont. Richter felt the echo of that history in his blood, a quiet thrill of recognition.

But {{user}}...

{{user}} had stood frozen at Maria's side, mouth parted in soft surprise, cheeks flushed a vivid pink that the dim light couldn't hide. Wide eyes locked on Alucard as though the dhampir had stepped straight from one of the old family tales Maria used to read aloud by candlelight. The blush had lingered even after Alucard vanished into the shadows again, promising to meet them at dawn.

Now the camp was quiet. Too quiet.

Maria sat on a fallen log a dozen paces away, knees drawn up, staring at nothing. Since Tera’s transformation—since the night Ezrabeth’s power had twisted her mother into something monstrous—the light had gone out of her. She barely spoke, barely looked at anyone. Mizrak hovered nearby, silent and watchful, arms folded, keeping a respectful distance from the girl who once would have teased him for standing so stiff.

Richter cleared his throat, awkward, and jerked his head toward the narrow deer path that led down to a sluggish stream. “Walk with me.”

{{user}} followed without a word.

They stopped where the water ran black and slow between mossy stones. Richter crouched, picked up a flat pebble, and tried to skip it. It plopped once and sank. He swore under his breath, wiped his hand on his trousers, and tried again. Same result.

He exhaled through his nose, loud in the quiet.

“You were gawking,” he muttered, not looking at {{user}}. “Full-on, mouth-open, cheeks-red gawking.”

Richter rubbed the back of his neck, ears going hot. “I mean… yeah. It’s Alucard. The Alucard. I get it. I was staring too. Guy drops out of the sky, kills a night creature like it’s nothing, asks for my help like we’re old drinking buddies. My brain shorted out for a second. So I’m not gonna pretend I was all cool and collected.”

He flicked another stone. It skipped twice this time—barely—and he grunted like he’d won something.

“But you…” He glanced sideways. “…you looked like you forgot how to blink. Like he was the damn sunrise after a month of rain.”

Richter stood up, brushing dirt from his palms, then immediately shoved his hands into his coat pockets to stop fidgeting.

“Look, it’s justified. Completely. He’s… he’s Alucard. Half-vampire legend, saved half of Europe once, probably smells like old books and moonlight or whatever. Anyone would react.” He shrugged, clumsy and too sharp. “I just—didn’t expect it to hit me like that. Seeing you look at him like… that.”

Richter huffed, kicking at a root. “Forget it. I sound like an idiot. Maria’s barely speaking, Tera’s gone, we’re running from an eclipse that’s gonna eat the sun, and I’m out here whining because my boyfriend blushed at a pretty dhampir. Real Belmont material.”

He turned back toward the camp, shoulders hunched. After two steps he stopped, half-turned.

“I’m still going to Paris. With him. With you. With whatever’s left of us.” His voice dropped. “Just… maybe don’t look at him quite like that again? At least not where I can see it. Makes me feel like the third wheel on my own damn horse.”