"Theryn!" Saelari’s voice rang out, sharp and breathless.
The transformation had ended—or had it?
Theryn stood there, still and silent. Her form hadn’t grotesquely shifted.
She hadn’t grown wings or fangs. But something fundamental had changed.
Her golden irises were gone, replaced by a glowing, ominous red.
And etched across the pale canvas of her back, visible beneath her torn cloak, was a new sigil—Dracula’s mark, pulsing faintly like a sleeping heartbeat.
"Theryn!" Saelari called again, more urgently now.
Theryn slowly turned her head.
"Yeah?" she answered casually, almost playfully.
It was still her voice.
Yet layered beneath it was something else.
A resonance—low, ancient, coiled with bloodlust and cold nobility.
Her aura erupted for a moment, wild and chaotic.
Blood. Shadow. Nature. The three clashed violently around her, like storms converging at war.
The air crackled, heavy with power that didn’t belong to just her.
Then, just as suddenly, it all began to recede—drawn inward, absorbed back into her body.
The silence that followed felt thicker than before.
"...Theryn," Saelari said again, softer now.
"It’s okay," Theryn replied, brushing a strand of black hair behind her pointed ear.
Her crimson eyes locked onto Dirga. "He’s asleep. Dracula’s essence is dormant... for now."
Kaela collapsed again, unconscious, her energy spent.
Dirga instinctively stepped forward, checking her condition with a glance.
"Really?" Dirga asked Theryn, his voice low, coiled with suspicion.
"Yeah. It’s real," she replied, nodding slowly. "He won’t wake unless... certain conditions are met."
Dirga’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t believe it. Not fully.
But what could he do? There was no way to see inside someone’s soul—no test, no magic that could strip away something like Dracula.
Before he could speak again, Saelari stepped forward.
"Answer this first," she said, voice sharp. "Where are Kaela’s moles? List all three."
Dirga blinked, turning toward her with a confused scowl.
Saelari caught his glance and leaned close, whispering fast:
"It’s a secret we shared while imprisoned by the goblins. Only the real Theryn would know."
Theryn tilted her head, puzzled for a moment—then her eyes lit with faint realization.
She leaned toward Saelari’s ear, lips barely moving, and whispered something so quietly even Dirga couldn’t catch it.
Saelari nodded slowly.
"She’s Theryn," she said simply.
Dirga stared for a long second, then exhaled through his nose.
He didn’t have a choice.
The tension lifted—but only slightly.
Then something strange happened.
The castle around them began to... change.
The oppressive blackness that had soaked the air began to thin.
The walls—once coated in Zarion-infused obsidian—flickered, then shifted, like fog parting at sunrise.
Black glass gave way to cracked stone.
Light poured through from high above—sunlight. Real sunlight.
For the first time since they’d entered this nightmare fortress, Dirga felt the heat kiss his skin.
The Butcher was gone.
Dracula was gone—at least, for now.
And the castle had no more reason to fight.
"...We need to rest," Dirga muttered. His body ached with every breath. His Concept had dimmed. His mind frayed at the edges.
He didn’t know how much time had passed—but it had been long enough. Too long.
Saelari pulled out her enchanted backpack and activated one of its stored runes.
With a flick of her wrist, shimmering blue light formed a compact tent with protective warding etched into its surface.
"I’ll stand watch," Theryn said quietly, already moving toward the outer edge of the room.
Her body moved differently now—graceful, fluid, but with an eerie, preternatural poise.
She looked like Theryn.
But she wasn’t quite the same.
Still, her voice was steady. Her promise sincere.
Dirga studied her a moment longer.
"...Alright," he said at last.
If Theryn turned out to be a danger—if Dracula woke—he’d face it when the time came.
Not when Kaela needed to recover.
Not when they’d all reached their limits.
He carried Kaela into the tent. Saelari followed.
And for the first time in what felt like forever—
Meanwhile, outside, Theryn sat quietly at the edge of the tent’s protective barrier.
The night was unnaturally still. Not even the wind dared breathe inside this cursed castle.
Her back flared with pain.
The sigil—Dracula’s mark—etched into her flesh began to bleed. The blood didn’t drip to the floor.
Instead, it twisted, rising unnaturally through the air, congealing mid-flight into the shape of a bat.
It hovered before her.
No eyes. No face. Just a wide, gaping mouth full of jagged teeth.
From it came his voice.
"Hmmm... See? I haven’t harmed them," Dracula murmured, gentle and menacing all at once. "As long as you keep our little arrangement... I won’t have to."
Theryn’s expression hardened. Her voice was cold, sharp as frost.
"Yeah? And you’d better remember what I told you."
She lifted her hand slightly, black embers sparking around her fingers—shadow flame, crackling faintly like coals in the dark.
"If you try anything... I’ll burn this body from the inside out. Your precious vessel? Gone."
Then a chuckle. Low. Dry. Not amused—curious.
"Ah, that suicide spell... I see. So the rumors were true," Dracula mused through the bat’s mouth. "Your kind always were clever. That’s why I hunted you."
Theryn’s eyes narrowed.
She knew the history too well.
Dracula—the sinner of the duskborn elves.
He had once been one of them, but twisted himself into something darker, hungrier.
Centuries ago, he hunted their kind relentlessly—interrogated them, drained their secrets, forced them into extinction.
The elders feared this exact scenario.
So they had prepared.
A final spell, woven into their bloodlines.
If ever one of their kin were taken—body, mind, or soul—they could ignite themselves with shadowflame.
A fire that consumed not just flesh, but Concept. A fire even Dracula’s blood couldn’t withstand.
And maybe he’d been asleep too long to know it.
Maybe that ignorance... had saved them all.
"Better prepare yourself, Theryn," the bat hissed. "Your body may still be yours... but not for long.
When the conditions are right, I’ll return. Fully. And next time, no bluff will save you."
With that, the bat dissolved into a slick crimson mist, retreating back into the sigil carved into her back.
Theryn exhaled shakily.
She clenched her fists, steadying her breath.
Yes, Dracula still lingered inside her.
But she had something he would never understand—
Even if it meant dying for it.
That would have to be enough.