Joining Dracula’s war had never been about loyalty, it was about survival, about vengeance, because Adrian, your Adrian, was dead. Torn apart by the very man you now served, or so Dracula had told you. And when he spoke those words to you that day he and his son had fought, something in you had shattered.

So you stayed. You played your part, let grief fester into something sharp and righteous. If Adrian was gone, then you would ensure his father paid in blood for it, but then came Dracula’s order; scout the ruins of the Belmont estate, ensure no threats remain.

Perched atop one of Hector’s creatures, you soared over the wreckage, scanning the desolation below. Your foresight had always been keen, honed by years of battle, of betrayal, of loss, and yet nothing could have prepared you for what you saw next.

A Belmont, a Speaker, and a flash of golden hair that’s achingly familiar. Reality as you understand it turns on its head as the Dhampir turns his head. He’s not a ghost or a memory, but alive; Adrian.

Alucard froze the moment his eyes landed on you, golden irises widening in raw, unguarded shock. For a breath, he looked as though he had seen a phantom, but then recognition struck, sharp as a blade, and his expression twisted into something tangled between relief and betrayal. His grip on the hilt of his sword tightens, grounding himself against the impossible sight before him.

“No…” The word escapes him in a whisper, barely audible over the crackling ruin around you. His voice is hoarse, and he manages to shake his head in disbelief, “You side with my father? You see humanity as a blight as well? {{user}}...” Alucard’s voice breaks on your name, a plea for what appears to be fact to be untrue.