Hello there, reader(s). Sylla here. After a long absence from the world of videogame fanfic, I return at last. (Those people that used to read my Devil May Cry stories – if there are any still around – may find this more to their taste than, ahem, some of my other recent stuff.)

The idea for this fic has actually been knocking around in my head for a while. (This prologue was actually written four years ago, which is why some of it tends to the godawful, despite my having rewritten it.) Before I say anything else, I have to warn you all that yes, this fic does feature an Original Character as the co-protagonist. A female OC, hogosh. Nononono don't click that back button just yet! In my defence, I really really hate Mary Sues. The minute this OC turns into a Sue I swear to god I will kill this story dead.

Thankfully, I have a very capable beta reader to help me avoid that drastic end. So a huge thanks to Kaj-Nrig, for catching my retarded mistakes.

...It's hard to say why, given that Joachim has maybe all of ten lines in LoI, but I find him one of the more memorable characters. (Along with Trevor, and Alucard. :D)

Disclaimer: Castlevania and all characters, locations and plotlines thereof are property of Konami. Anything you don't recognize is fruit of my own loom. I am not making any money from or receiving any gifts in exchange for this piece of fanfiction. Incidentally, the line "Time is not a line, but a dimension, and nothing goes away" is—I think—from Cat's Eye. I don't own that, either.


Waterglass Mirror

Prologue

---:::---

A breeze.

I can feel it on my face, caressing my cheek, and I know that I am awake. I am... back.

But back from where? A feeling of wrongness floods me, though I cannot say why. A thought flits at the edge of my consciousness and then is gone, leaving only the feeling that I should know, should remember. However, the more I struggle to recall, the more the memories slip away from me, blurred images in the pool of my mind. Like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.

A crystalline droplet of water falls on my face with a soft plik, and I slowly open my eyes. The sight of a stone roof—hewn from solid rock—greets me; further inspection reveals I am in a dark, dank cavern.

And I know I hate it, though the reason why eludes me.

I try to stand, but I am too weak; I manage to raise my upper body before my arms give out, and I collapse unceremoniously back onto the floor. So I close my eyes, rest my head against the cold stone floor, and try to remember what I'm doing... what I was doing here. And why I was here at all. But it's all too indistinct, like a feverish dream.

I can feel strength coming back to me now, as I lie here. I try to stand again, and this time I make it. I stagger to the wall and catch myself; my legs hold out. Just. Slowly, one hand on the wall to catch myself should I falter, I leave this cavern, this... this tomb.

As I emerge, I find a rockslide in front of me, blocking what was undoubtedly once a tunnel. Evidently, the roof collapsed some time in the past, for as I look up I see faint glimmers of light. Strenuously, tortuously, I manage to climb up the mass of stone.

It is almost too much for me. As I collapse on my back at the top, I gaze angrily at my pale, trembling hands. How frustrating to be so weak! I stay until I feel strong enough to go on, and then I stand once more.

I find I am in what was once an ancient castle, now a mere ruin. The tattered remnants of tapestries still decorate the old walls—one crumbles as I brush my hand against it—and once-magnificent glass windows are now cracked and broken. Here and there, sections of the roof have collapsed, and narrow bands of moonlight shine through. Luckily, it is nighttime.

I stop as I catch myself. Luckily?

As I wander the empty halls, it occurs to me that I should have a name. Does not everyone have a name? But that is one more element of my... past, I think... that refuses to make itself clear to me.

I come to a large central courtyard, open to the heavens. Above me, the moon shines down, bathing everything in a soft white glow. To one side lies a sweeping flight of stairs, and these I head for. I don't know why, only that there is something at the top of those stairs that pulls at me, something I need to see.

Suddenly, I trip on some rubble strewn across the courtyard. Throwing my hands out in front of me, I'm barely able to stop myself from falling. I stop to steady myself for a moment, then start to climb the stairs. It is easier this time; the exertion does not cripple me as before. I rest only for a moment, then put a hand on one of the tall doors at the top of the stairs. It falls inward, hinges and latch long rusted away.

Another long series of halls and rooms, each seemingly more splendid than the last, though their grandeur has been cracked and faded by time. I continue onward and upward, without rhyme or reason. Finally, I come to a large room, with another grandiose flight of steps at the far end. The feeling that there is something I should know, or remember, comes back full strength—no, stronger than before. For a brief moment, an image of this room—shining splendid, not a ruin – superimposes on the wreckage I see before me, and accompanying it is a feeling of familiarity. Then the moment passes; the image is gone, but the feeling remains.

One hand resting lightly on the balustrade, I climb the stairs. This time it is as nothing: I am much stronger already. There is another set of doors at the top.

I come out onto another set of stairs leading up to a separate tower—one so structurally unsound I am surprised the roof's the only thing that's collapsed. A feeling somewhere between excitement and foreboding wells up inside of me, and I force myself not to run up the stairs. Even so, my step quickens, and I reach the top in short order. At the end of the stairs there is an ornate set of double doors, with a crest in the shape of a dragon carved on them. The gold paint has flaked and chipped. Unconsciously, I sneer. How fitting, a voice in my head whispers.

These doors I open with hands shaking—not with fear or trepidation but with excitement—and step inside the circular room at the top.

There are signs of destruction here: deep gouges remain on the pillars, despite the erosion of wind and rain. At the far end of the room there is a raised dais, and a crumbling throne upon it.

A throne... Walter's throne.

That feeling!

I remember. I remember everything, now.

My name...

My name is Joachim Armster.

And I am a vampire.


He's ba-aaaaaack. :D

If any of you are wondering how exactly Joachim came back when Leon whipped him good (I know my beta was wondering), well… all will be revealed in good time.

What? Don't look at me like that; did you really expect me to reveal stuff when it's such a good hook to get people to read subsequent chapters?

Thought not. :P

… I'll give a hint in the next chapter, though.