ECHOES OF THE UNDYING

The night lay heavy over Sibiu, draped in midnight blue and silver, its ancient rooftops bathed in the glow of flickering streetlamps. From their vantage point atop Turnul Sfatului, the Council Tower, the city stretched like a dream woven in cobblestone and history. The Great Square, below, stood empty; its ancient stones murmured stories of centuries gone by—merchants, masked balls, and the quiet sharing of secrets under gas lamps. The Baroque and Gothic facades of the buildings surrounding the square, with their watchful attic eyes—tiny windows peering from pitched roofs—lent the place an eerie sentience, as though the city itself observed the three figures above.

A faint breeze carried the scent of damp stone and the last traces of roasted chestnuts from a closed vendor's cart. It was the kind of night where shadows moved without prompting and time felt suspended between past and present, waiting.

Above them, the sky stretched vast and endless, moonlight limning the delicate iron cross atop the tower's spire. Wisps of clouds drifted across the heavens, veiling and unveiling the stars in intervals that felt too measured to be natural. This place, a relic untouched and undisturbed, persevered even with intruding neon lights and the hum of cars in the modern era.

Valia stood at the tower's edge, her fingers ghosting along the worn stone balustrade, her crimson eyes tracing the contours of the city below. The weight of centuries sat upon her shoulders, a burden she had long carried in silence. The chill of the night did not bite at her undead skin, but she could feel it in the air, in the wind's shifting that smelled of rain and old parchment, of a world that had moved on without her.

A voice, warm with concern, broke the stillness.

Voivodina, are you certain you're alright?"

Vajk's green eyes glowed in the dark, a feline gleam beneath the tousled waves of his chestnut hair. The midnight air stirred the loose strands against his sharp cheekbones, though he seemed to notice. He stood at her right, ever the dutiful sorcery advisor, his presence solid and unwavering despite the playful lilt that always tinged his words.

Valia smirked, the corner of her lips quirking upwards. "Time hasn't changed you, hmmm, Vajk. Still a resident worrywart." She exhaled a sound that wasn't quite a laugh. "I'd like to say 'no' just to spite you and watch you fuss over me again as you did earlier when you saw my emaciated state stuck in my tomb, but we're running out of time."

Vajk's gaze darkened, his affable demeanor cracking for just a breath of a moment. "Can you blame me? Your and the Voivode's sudden disappearances caused me 558 years of weeping. I wasn't even over it. Then I hear your desperate plea for help. And upon responding?" His voice dipped lower, raw and edged. "I see you as if you came back from the pits of iad to haunt and torture me further with more longing because I find soonest it was only an illusion."

Valia rolled her eyes skyward, crimson irises glinting against the moonlight. "Dramatic too."

Vajk's rich and melodic laughter spilled from his lips, curling into the night air like smoke from a dying flame. Across from them, Alaric let out a chuckle, his amusement a quiet echo against the backdrop of the slumbering city.

"We're no mortals. Meaning, we're hard to kill," Alaric murmured, his deep voice threaded with something reminiscent, as if he, too, was sifting through centuries of memories. The royal house of Musat's former advisor to the king stood tall and composed, his broad frame accentuated by the tailored navy suit he wore. His ebony hair gathered into a loose ponytail and caught the wind, strands whipping against his jawline. Like Valia, his eyes burned crimson, but unlike her, his focus was cast upon the city, his thoughts seemingly lost in its endless corridors of past and present.

Valia nodded absently. "Right."

Silence stretched between them, but it was a comfortable one, woven with the weight of shared history. Below, the world slept, oblivious to the figures perched atop its most historic landmark, figures who did not belong to the present yet had returned to claim.

Alaric shifted, breaking the lull. "Was the blood we offered enough to sustain you? You still look pale to me."

Valia tilted her head slightly, amusement flashing in her gaze. "We're naturally pale, Alaric. Even if you stuffed me with blood enough to consume for the next few months, I'd still look bloodless."

Vajk chuckled while Alaric exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"You both look well-adjusted to the modern world." Valia took a slow, assessing glance at them. Alaric's immaculate, corporate-chic appearance contrasted starkly with Vajk's more casual style—burgundy knitwear over khaki slacks. She smirked. "One looks like a high-powered executive, and the other looks like he just finished charming his way through an expensive café."

Vajk grinned. "We have to blend in. We can't afford to stand out—not when the other factions are watching."

Alaric's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "Our kind is hunted, Voivodina." His voice was quiet but firm, weighted with unspoken losses. "We are so few who stayed. After you both disappeared, the Vampire Nation was in chaos. Alliances crumbled. The other factions grew stronger. If not for the supernatural council intervening, we would have been wiped out completely."

Vajk's easygoing demeanor faded, his green eyes narrowing. "The shapeshifters' pursuit of our extinction was relentless. The survivors were forced into hiding, scattered to the winds. The only reason we still exist is because of the council's hesitation. Their respect for Elric's loyal service held weight—but barely."

Valia's fingers curled against the stone railing, her nails scraping against the rough surface. Guilt coiled in her stomach, cold and biting. "I know." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "And saying 'I'm sorry' isn't enough to make up for what I did. I didn't want to lose him, and at the time, it was the soundest choice I could make." She lifted her gaze, fierce and resolute. "But will you give me the chance to right my wrongs?"

Alaric met her stare without hesitation. "Are there other options?"

Vajk sighed, shaking his head. "None."

Valia let out a slow breath, nodding once. "Your loyalty will be rewarded. That, I promise."

Alaric's lips curved, but there was no humor in it. "You already half rewarded us, Voivodina."

Valia arched a brow. "Only half?"

Vajk's eyes glinted in the dark. "Bring our Voivode back home, and we'll consider it full."

Valia straightened, the wind catching the ends of her hair, making the midnight strands dance like shadows against her pale skin. Determination burned in her veins.

"I will."

A pause. Then, Alaric's voice, measured and calm, but tinged with something cautious. "The council will demand answers."

Valia nodded. "I know. Can you stall them until I ensure Elric's reawakening runs smoothly?"

Vajk smirked. "We'll see what we can do."

Valia exhaled. "Fair enough."

Alaric's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you know where he is?"

The night air thrummed with the weight of her answer.

"Yes."

"Where?"

Valia's lips parted, her voice steady and unwavering.

"In the Land of the Morning Calm."