Chapter Text
"I will not watch as this sad village takes pleasure in the death of an innocent woman!" Your voice came out tired and hoarse from arguing with your parents.
Preparations for the anniversary of the death of a local doctor woman named Lisa Tepes were underway a week before the event was to take place. The poor woman had her life taken away from her a year prior and now your village was celebrating it. You wanted no part of it. The blood of Lisa Tepes was on the hands of everyone in attendance to her death, and that included your parents.
From your window, you had seen the vision of what you later learned was Dracula on the flames that had just consumed his wife. You'd asked many of your neighbors if they had seen the same thing and while they did confirm it, their voices were filled with annoyance and disbelief. They seemed to doubt the very real sight that you had seen along with them and it annoyed you to no end. Ever since then, you'd despised living in Targoviste. Your patience was pulled taut day after day and this celebration was the last straw.
Your mother placed her hands on your shoulders in a vain attempt to calm your heated mood, "My dear, it was a punishment! A punishment felt by God for dealing with the devil the way she did."
"No, Mother, she was a doctor! A woman of science!" You yelled, forcing your body away from her grip, "She was a kind woman who did well for her people!"
"You speak as if you knew that witch!" came your father's booming voice, "If you think her innocent maybe you should join her!"
He rose from his chair aggressively, almost knocking it over as he moved to approach you. Your mother called out to him, reaching and grabbing for his arm to prevent him from doing anything while you stepped away hesitantly, prepared for but not fully expecting any kind of physical strike.
His words burned into your flesh and only made you angrier. Scowling at your father, you spit at his feet and let the venom you held in your spirit for him and the whole village drip off of every word you spoke, "Maybe I will! I'll leave this place and never return, make myself put to be dead to you!"
"Darling, please!" Your mother begged, her sad tear-filled eyes boring into yours, which alternatively were filled with a burning fire of anger. She knew your threat was a serious one.
Before you could speak, your father interrupted, speaking to your mother now and pulling his arm from her hold, "Let the boy go! If he hates it here so much, he should leave! He's old enough now!"
He turned back to you, staying still and standing tall where he was, and glared daggers into what felt like your very soul. His voice was calm and steady now, but the hatred in his voice remained the same, "Go. Leave and never return to Targoviste. For as long as this place stands you are no longer welcome here."
You sneered at him for the last time and turned on your heel to head to your room, prepared to grab everything you could and leave as soon as possible. You could hear your parents arguing even on the way into your room but you couldn't bother paying attention to their words.
Soon after, you left through the window of your bedroom and only looked back once onto the place you'd once called home.
Finding your way to Gresit was almost a blessing. Heading out onto the road alone was a surefire way to get yourself killed by bandits, marauders, and other various things that go bump in the night, and after learning Dracula was real, every night spent outside was filled with the anxiety that a vampire would come and bleed your body dry as you slept.
And for a few days, it felt like a blessing indeed. You'd managed to find a small place to live in the quiet city, an extra room in the house of a kind older couple who'd taken a liking to you immediately, mentioning that you reminded them of their son. While you didn't know the fellow, you took it as a compliment and thanked them for their comment and the place to stay. That same day, you discovered a metal hatch hidden in the floor in the main room and asked the couple what was under it.
"The church said it was a room dedicated to practicing witchcraft so we've never opened it. Never know what demons could be lurking down there you know," The older man laughed after he spoke, his once sweet wrinkled face somehow a bit more gruff-looking to you now after his comment.
In the year after Lisa's death, one that took an emotional toll on you despite having never met the woman, you had managed to teach yourself healing magic. It started after the purchase of what you thought was a medical book about the human body from some shady man that would occasionally show up outside of Targoviste, a book that turned out to instead be a tome of advanced healing magic. You realized you couldn't use it since up until very recently you had no idea magic even existed. You almost threw it out until you realized this was the perfect way to spite your family and neighbors in your own, quiet way. Slowly but surely, you collected more and more tomes and books dedicated to medical magic, teaching yourself day after day how to heal wounds. You would deliberately let yourself get injured, running around in the forest outside of the city and scraping yourself on anything to practice your magic until you got better and better. And so the topic of witchcraft as sin became even more upsetting.
Despite that incident, the following days were peaceful, speaking with the townspeople and exploring the small nooks and crannies of Gresit. The dark little corners were quite fun to investigate, at least up until the first raid. Unannounced, evil creatures of the night invaded and ravaged Gresit. Terrible nasty things that smelled of death and looked like they'd been pulled from the deepest depths of Hell. If they were called upon by who you thought, they very well may have been.
You were not prepared for the raid, but you thought quickly and retreated into the floor, pulling open that accursed metal door in the main room and hiding inside what you found to be a cold unlit room, not that you were surprised. Using the light your magic gave off, you managed to locate a candle and a means to light it. Being able to see more now, you could make out the size of the small room and the table you found the candle on to your left, empty except for broken glass and unidentifiable stains. On the walls in front of you and to your right were old wooden shelves, empty except for more glass and stains and rotting away, a level or two broken on either shelf. Figuring this room was as good refuge as any, you sat on the floor next to the candle and closed your eyes, listening as the old couple upstairs was mauled by whatever ungodly creature decided to enter your new home.
Despite how well the door was hidden, you simply waited for your turn to be torn apart. But it didn't come. Instead, all you heard was one loud slam against the small metal door, no doubt one of the monsters roaming around outside, and then a loud pained screech. It was an otherworldly sound, something animalistic and yet something more at the same time. It was as fascinating as it was terrifying. You figured that something was going on with the door that kept you safe and so, you relaxed, listening as the creatures above you scraped their claws and limbs and tails along the floor of your residence until you were lulled to sleep by the noise.
The next morning, you almost vomited the second you stepped out of your shelter. The scent of blood was enough but pushing open the door to be met with the dead eyes of the old lady who'd complimented your face and told you to kindly call her granny was another thing entirely. You pushed her head out of the way, stepping around the blood and trying not to gag. All your efforts were in vain the second you opened the door to the rest of Gresit. The scent of blood and death hit you in the nose hard and you immediately threw up onto your front step. Watching your bile leak down the street, you stared as it made your eyes find the blood of the townsfolk still running in between the bricks. You looked up from the contents of your stomach and gagged again hard, following the string of entrails that lined pikes, each topped with the head of a townsperson. You wanted to take a deep breath, suppress your urge to empty your stomach again but every inhale smelled like blood and terror. So instead, you closed the door, stepped over what little remains there were of the couple, and headed upstairs to your given room where you curled up in bed and cried.
The following days were wrought with fear, the town now even quieter but deafeningly so. You watched on your morning run for food as bodies got dumped into the river and did your best to not cry or puke. You didn't talk to many people after that, not until you heard rumors one morning of the local Speakers being responsible for the nightly raids. You'd never paid the peaceful group much mind but after an accusation such as that, you wanted to know what that meant. Rather than asking the likely biased townsfolk, you found the Speakers yourself living in a cute little home away from most of the others. The Elder welcomed you kindly and answered all your questions, his darling granddaughter chiming in as well. You found the group friendly and warm, even making acquaintance with the girl you soon found to be called Sypha, discussing your mutual use of magic.
When she went missing, you were distraught, concerned for her and the rest of the Speakers. After being told by her grandfather where she'd gone, your worry only grew. To find a sleeping soldier, he'd told you. You would have insisted to find her of your magic was capable of more than healing wounds. Instead, you assumed the worst for her and mourned for her death.
It appeared that your life was consistent in being eventful, as a mysterious man showed up in town one day, reeking of beer and sweat and dirt. You had no idea how he'd gotten in since the people of the town had effectively barricaded the entrance, assuming the sorry son of a bitch had been so desperate as to crawl up the literal crapshoot in the back of the city which hadn't been blocked of for very obvious reasons.
At first, you'd only seen him, talking to townsfolk while you were out getting supplies for the house, of which you had now sadly claimed as yours alone. You never paid attention to their conversations, but as unfriendly as he looked he made an effort to talk to as many people as he could. It concerned you and made you suspicious of this tall, brooding stranger.
Then, that same day, when you went for your daily visit to the Speakers there he was, blabbering away about God only knew. You were on defense the moment you realized who or was sitting at the window, fearing only the worst from this man.
"Who are you?" you spit as you walked towards him to put whatever wall you could between him and the Speakers, your words like knives that you hoped would dig into this man's composure.
The kind elder placed his hand on your shoulder and chuckled warmly, "You young people, always so easy to anger when something you love is threatened," Your confused face only made him laugh again, calling your name in a voice only a parent knew to their child as a way of easing their worry, "This man saved my life today."
Despite your complete trust in the Speaker, you had doubts that a man so brash would willingly save anyone. As if for an answer, you looked back at the stranger at the window, who now eyes you as well over the full, fluffed hem of his cloak. In response to your wordless question, he simply shrugged carelessly and turned to look back outside.
You huffed, deciding to trust the Speaker's words and approaching the man closer to apologize, "I'm sorry for my attitude towards you. The townspeople don't like the Speakers much since the raids so I only assumed the worst from you, what with you being an outsider and all."
You told the strange man your name and in response, he gruffly told you his.
"Trevor. Belmont. Now, if there isn't anything else left to discuss, I'm going to retrieve your dead Speaker," He'd said bluntly, getting up from his spot by the window and walking away. You now realized how tall he truly was, towering over most of the speakers with ease.
His words struck a chord and you stumbled to follow him, pulling on his cloak to half his advance, "Retrieve a speaker? What do you mean?" you asked, your voice rushed and frantic.
His mouth turned down into a displeased frown, pulling his cloak from your grasp, "Yes," his voice coming out annoyed and short, "These Speakers won't leave without their last member and whether they are alive or dead, I'll be bringing them back so that they leave before your crazy neighbors kill them in cold blood."
"I'm coming with you then!" You insisted, determination evident in your face. Trevor ignored you, walking out of the small residence. You followed, running to catch up and then stepping in front of him to stop him, "Listen to me! That Speaker is a friend of mine, I want to come with you."
He sighed, very clearly annoyed at your presence. He pinched at the skin between his eyes and closed them, "We would be going deep underground into catacombs contained with God knows what. If you don't have experience in dealing with such matters, I can't promise you won't die down there too."
When Trevor opened his eyes again, he found your face had not changed and he shook his head, "Do you even have any idea how to defend yourself?"
You faltered a slight bit, admitting that you didn't have much of an idea of such, "B-But I know healing magic! If you get hurt, I can fix it!" you stuttered out, desperate to convince this stranger to help you in saving your friend.
He stared at you for a moment and then groaned loudly, walking past you and speaking, "Fine! But if you get yourself killed down there, I'm not bringing your body back up too."
You cared not for the possibility of death at that moment, only excited that for once, it felt like you could do good instead of sitting around and letting people around you die at the hands of disgusting monsters.
As a scholar of magic and new to the fantastical world outside of the one you've always known, you liked to ask questions. And on the trip to the catacombs holding Sypha, you asked Trevor a lot of them.
"So, what kinds of monsters exist in the world?"
"When did you kill your first monster?"
"Can you make friends with monsters?"
"For the love of God, would you please shut up with the questions!" Trevor barked, sounding more tired than truly angry and if the scent of dirt and drink were any tell, he didn't sleep well the night before. He stopped and turned to you, icey blue eyes boring into yours with intensity, "I have no idea all of the monsters in the world, I don't remember my first kill, and no, you can't make friends with them. Now, will you please be quiet."
Without waiting for a response, Trevor turns forward again and continues moving. You jog lightly to catch up and comply with his wishes, but only for a moment.
You looked at Trevor and asked another question, but one with more weight this time, "What do you think we'll see down there..?"
Trevor seemed to have calmed, not meeting your gaze but talking in a more serious and thoughtful tone, "I'll be honest when I say I'm not sure. When I said you'll probably die down there I meant it," his hand moves to the hilt of the short sword at his hip as if on instinct, "Without proper knowledge of monsters, you'll die if you go poking your nosey head into places it doesn't belong."
You turn back to look at the dirt road ahead of you and sigh, "Well, I at least know how to keep myself safe from those horrible beasts that ravage Gresit every night."
"And how's that?"
"There's a small door in the main room of my home, a hatch leading down into the floor made of metal. I'm not sure what it is, but those things hate touching it."
You hear Trevor hum in thought, "Could have been blessed by a priest. My weapons have been blessed to be able to effectively kill monsters, so it's not a stretch to think that the same was done on that little door of yours."
"The old residents did speak about it being an old witch's den or something..."
The tension between the two of you lifted and the rest of the way to the catacombs was filled with idle conversation.