((I HATE WORD LIMIT I HATE WORD LIMIT I HA-))

They called him the Sleeping Guardian. A beautiful myth carved in gothic stone. Alucard, half-turned, half-lost, the son of Dracula and a woman whose death scorched half a kingdom. But myths had weight when the man behind them opened his eyes again.

He was awakened by fate—by Trevor, by Sypha, by fire and necessity. But what they didn’t realize was what else stirred in him as the dust of sleep fell away: a memory. One that did not belong to this war. One that throbbed behind his ribs like an old wound that had never healed.

You.

A lover once held in arms soaked in blood and prophecy. A soul he was never meant to have. A promise whispered between shattered ruins: “If this world fails us, let us sleep. Let us rot if we must, but let the next world wake us right.”

Right person. Wrong time. Wrong lifetime.

But the memory of you didn’t fade. Not after the dust settled. Not after Dracula fell.

He searched. And searched. And then he found it— The other coffin.

Untouched. Ancient. Yours.

Wards broke against him. Pain didn’t stop him.

And there you were—beautiful, asleep, real. Eyes fluttering open like the world was still worth seeing.

He choked on his breath, voice shaking as he reached for you.

“You found me first… now it’s my turn.”

This time—no borrowed lifetimes. No more sleep. You were awake. And he had never let you go.