Chapter Text
When Abolish Veylocke was nine years old, he learned that vampires existed.
Until then, he had always wondered why the house seemed laden with the metallic scent of silver, why his parents kept a crossbow loaded with a sharpened stick by the door, where others may hang a coat rack. Why his parents' jobs often required them to leave for days or weeks at a time, and why they sometimes returned bleeding and injured.
They explained their line of work to the young Abolish not because they wanted to introduce their seven-year-old to their world of danger and violence, but because they had to. A mission had gone awry, a loose end had not been properly dealt with, and that loose end had a vengeance. So it was with frantic movements that Alaric and Reiah explained the truth to their son as they packed their things. The loose end and it's allies had found the Veylockes' home, and staying there was not an option, not anymore.
When Abolish Veylocke was ten years old, he learned exactly how dangerous vampires were.
The family had moved to the town of Blackwyn, to be closer to one of the headquarters of their organization, to be closer to the Thornvale Manor and the close family friend who lived there. Eight months later their shadows caught up to them.
Abolish watched his parents prepare for a fight, determined not to run again. He wanted to help, because he was eight years old and small children always wanted to be involved in everything. His father stopped as he was checking the shafts of arrows for cracks that could render them useless.
"I know you want to help, but right now what you need to do is stay safe. You are going to be fine because you are smarter than anyone gives you credit for, and stronger than you could know. Now hide."
Abolish ran where he knew no one could find him, tucked in the cupboard behind a sack of flour and a basket of garlic bulbs. He waited for his parents to call out, to tell him everything was fine, and it was safe, but it was not his parents who eventually found him. Quiet footfalls darkened the door of the kitchen, and a sickly-sweet voice that Abolish did not recognize rang out.
"Little Veylocke, how about you come out from wherever you're hiding? This doesn't have to hurt, but your parents couldn't afford loose ends, and neither can I."
Abolish stifled a sob as he peeked over the clutter around him. The vampire's claws and front of his shirt were stained red. The building wasn't an actual residence, no one was meant to stay there for more than a month or two, and as such, the vampire had no issues entering.
Abolish's eyes widened as the vampire's narrowed, and red met brown across the room. The vampire stalked forwards, only to unceremoniously stop as the silver tip of an arrow dug through his sternum.
Abolish had only met Morcant once, and it had been while hiding behind the skirts of his mother, but even then he knew the man to be kind. The Veylockes had come to Blackwyn because of him. Now, Morcant stood in the doorway with a crossbow and a frantic look in his eyes. He did not look like a young man, but over the past eight months Abolish had rapidly learned that age like that could be deceiving.
Morcant dropped the crossbow as the vampire dissipated, not dead, but Abolish didn't know that. He ran towards the cupboard, wrapping Abolish up in his arms.
"It's okay, its going to be okay. You're safe. I'm not going to let you get hurt, I promise."
When Abolish Veylocke was fifteen years old, a silver sword was placed in his hands.
The Organization, because it didn't have a name, because why would it have a name, was impatient to get it's claws into the Veylocke heir, because if he was anything like his parents, he would be an invaluable asset. Morcant had done what he could to give Abolish space from the Organization for as long as he could, but even he could not stop them forever.
Abolish would never admit it out loud, but he was… off put by the Organization's eagerness. He had trained and studied and researched since he was eleven, because Morcant could not stop him from learning, but he wondered what his life could have been if he had had another choice. Would he have still followed his parents into their career, or would his road have broken off at some point? He had always loved the grand piano that sat in the Thornvale manor, and the freedom that those eighty-eight ivory and onyx keys provided.
But with a heavy heart, he increasingly left those keys to gather dust as his time was occupied with training, and studies, and in time, assignments. The humans and vampires that ran the Organization did not care that he was fifteen, that he didn't want to fight and kill and pass judgment, that he would much rather avoid the violence in favor of his music.
Pity he was so good at the violence.
When Abolish Veylocke was twenty-three years old, the Organization decided that they would not loose one of their best agents to time and age.
It wasn't an offer presented to Abolish, but rather a request he only half remembered. Later, he would put the pieces together, the preparation that had been put in on the Organization's end. It was almost flattering, how desperate they were to not loose him, but that didn't stop Abolish from shedding scarlet tears when no one was around. Grieving what he lost.
He cursed himself that he didn't notice, above all else. The iron aftertaste on his tongue from his coffee when he was exhausted and burning the midnight oil on research and planning. His direct superior, Vivienne, had started stopping by the manor more often, her white hair slicked back into a severe and practical bun.
It was his own fault that he didn't see the tension in the air every time Vivienne visited. Rather, it wasn't that he didn't see, it was that he refused to engage. When he heard Vivienne and Morcant argue, he would turn the opposite direction and bury himself in a book, or drown out the angry words between his boss and his father caretaker in crescendoing piano notes. As time went on, and Vivienne wanted to talk, Abolish listened. When she told him to get some sleep and stop overworking himself, he did without question, at least not immediately.
At some point he did figure out what was happening, but by then there was nothing he could do. Abolish was aware of the existence of thralls, had encountered them before on missions, but never had the misfortune of understanding the experience before. It felt like there was a disconnect between his brain and his body. When he finally, too late, caught the red hue in his coffee, he vowed to stop drinking it, claimed to be trying to overcome his caffeine addiction, but Vivienne just smiled, sharp and knowing, and pressed a cup into his hands, telling him to drink. This time there was no bitter coffee flavor to disguise the taste.
It was a mercy that his entrapment did not last long, maybe three months, but Abolish didn't think he could have expected what was waiting. Power over a thrall grew stronger with time, the disconnect growing until Abolish could only watch from behind the windows in his skull as Vivienne asked for him to hold out his wrist, and Abolish's body obeyed without a fight.
When Abolish Veylocke was two-hundred and twenty-six years old, he was sent on a new assignment.
The years passed excruciatingly slow, yet at the same time all too fast. With no other choice, Abolish had thrown himself into his work, until he could almost ignore the voice in his head that sounded a little too much like a grieving ten year old, like a nervous fifteen year old with too many expectations placed on his head. They too quieted, however, at the mission briefing that was handed to him.
Abolish knew the town of Oakhurst. There were whispers across the branches of the Organization about it, calling it "hallowed ground" and "cursed" and all the things that you would expect to hear out of children's nightmares, not a network of spies and assassins. He knew the stories about an evil that lay buried beneath the old castle. Abolish doubted those stories to an extent, well aware that there were plenty enough aspects of his life that could be considered "fantastical", but they twitched in his mind as Morcant explained the idea of a "cure".
Abolish hated this assignment, hated the butler disguise that was provided, hated the hunger that he felt as he dropped power in preparation, his white hair darkening into something less conspicuous. He failed to see the point in these preparations, everything pointed to the idea that Oakhurst was well abandoned, having burnt to the ground centuries ago. But Morcant insisted, and Abolish's bolt of hate for the man was countered with a stab of guilt at the feeling. After all, Morcant had tried to protect him for as long as he could. He didn't stand up for him when it actually mattered.
There was a small kindness in the other reason Abolish recognized the name Oakhurst. The last time he had seen the cobbled streets, the old watchtower in the center of town, had been when he was seven years old and scared, and running from something he was too young to fully understand just yet. He had never gotten the opportunity to bury his parents, he was too young at the time, and the vampire had not left behind enough to bury. He vowed to make it up as best he could, though memorials in the ashes of the town they left behind was a cold comfort.
Abolish Veylocke was two-hundred twenty-six years old when he returned to Oakhurst, and two-hundred twenty-six years old when he was more frustrated than he had ever been in his life at the presence of other people.