The final part! It feels kind of super long, but whatever, that's how I divided it up. I hope you enjoy it!

Vlad had spectacularly failed to get off to sleep, despite his best efforts. After a few hours, he gave up and crept into the room with the TV, just to see if they'd stopped talking about his family yet. He switched on Fang!TV and froze, staring at the headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen as the newsreader's voice filled his ears.

"The Dracula family had been in hiding for the last few years, ostensibly to protect their son Vladimir from reprisals as he is rumoured to be the fabled Chosen One. As previously reported here on Fang!TV news, Vladimir disappeared some months ago, but it's only now that the Council have closed in on the Draculas, suspecting foul play. Did Count Dracula slay his own son to stop him from taking power? It seems entirely likely at this point. The Council-"

He didn't hear the rest, too busy banging on Bertrand's door. The older vampire's irritated expression barely even registered with his student.
"Bertrand, it's my family, the Council think they've killed me, they're going to be charged with treason…" He collapsed into Bertrand's arms, shaking, and hoped his tutor could tell him what to do.

The monster wrapped his arms slowly around his student, processing what he had just heard.
"This is my fault. If I'd told the Council you were with me…" He hadn't, though; he'd known they would want him to test the boy's claim straight away, and the monster had been trying to buy some time before he risked Vlad's unlife. It suddenly occurred to him what he had to do.

"You should go home. Show them you're fine, tell them where you were. Save your family." Vlad stepped back, looking up at him in total confusion.

"You're letting me go?" His tutor's face darkened.
"Yes, I'm letting you go! You're free. You never have to see me again. Now get out!" Vlad almost hugged him again, wanting to say goodbye, wanting to say so many things, but the furious expression on his tutor's face stopped him. Instead he turned and ran, heading straight for the unglazed window at the end of the corridor. Before he'd reached it, he heard Du Fortunesa's door slam – and then he was soaring out into the night, speeding towards home. He was glad he'd still been wearing his cape, with hindsight, because he hadn't really thought about it before he made that leap.

He landed at Garside to find Wolfie standing in the courtyard, yelling at the vampires outside to go away. Ingrid was standing helplessly in the doorway, glaring at the assembled Councillors, heavies and press, but unable to make a grab for Wolfie or even call for him to come inside, in case the vampires followed. The Count was nowhere to be seen, and for a moment Vlad feared the worst as he touched down beside his little half-brother.
"Wolfie, go inside with Ingrid." Then he rounded on the Councillors, trying to sound more imposing than he felt. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

They stared at him dumbly, until one – Augustus, if Vlad remembered correctly – found his voice.
"We… thought they'd slain you."
"Yes, well, rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated." He'd always wanted to say that. "I've been training, with Du Fortunesa. You've heard of him, of course." He enjoyed the way they shrank back at the mention of the name; he would have to tell Bertrand about it some time. If he ever saw him again, of course, which it didn't seem his tutor particularly wanted to happen. "So don't think of harming my family."

"Du Fortunesa? But he would have told us." Vlad glanced back over his shoulder as the Councillors began to babble, relieved to see that his father had joined Ingrid and Wolfie in the doorway. He turned his back on the mob and went to check that his family were alright.
"He must have gone rogue."
"He's dangerous, especially if he took the Chosen One without telling us."
"Has he tested him? He must have done. Du Fortunesa would never let a pretender walk away." Vlad turned away from his father's praise just in time to hear Augustus' firm declaration.
"We'll have to deal with him." And with that, the Council vanished.

Vlad tried to follow them, but the reporters from Fang!TV, as well as a ridiculous number of other networks, crushed in to ask him questions. Eventually he was forced to retreat inside the school, the reporters taking off only as the sun began to rise. Of course, that left Vlad trapped, pacing the darkened corridors of a place he could barely remember calling home anymore.

"Vladdy, you escaped, that's the important thing! The Council will deal with the scoundrel." The Count seemed to have forgiven the threat on his household already. Vlad barely resisted snarling at him – where had he picked up that habit? – as he answered.
"I didn't escape. He let me go, he let me come home to save you." The Count frowned.
"You can't seriously be thinking of going back? He can't force you to, not now the Council are against him-"
"He told me to get out, he set me free. But if I fly the moment the sun sets, maybe I can still beat the Council. He saved my life, Dad, I owe him."
"You don't owe anybody anything, you're the Chosen One-"
"Yes, and I need Bertrand's help." The Count stared at him for a long moment.
"Who on earth is Bertrand?"

The monster paced his coffin room, cursing himself, the Council, even the Draculas, under his breath. He glared at the hourglass; there was hardly any ash left to fall and the majority of it, in the bottom half of the glass, was beginning to congeal, solidifying into the form of a bony finger. Soon, he knew, the last of the ash would fall to complete it, and time would have run out.

He crossed the corridor to the other room, where the Book rested innocently on its stand. Only two types of people could open the Book; the Chosen One, who would be able to access its full secrets, and the Guardian, for whom the skeletal hand reached in and plucked out a single page. He took it from between the bony fingers with a sigh. He knew what it said. He read it again anyway.

The Guardian is hereby charged with the Praedictum Impaver and the Crown of Power until such time as the Chosen One is ready to claim them. He shall destroy all pretenders, and he shall seek the true and rightful wearer of the Crown. He shall know him by this Book's response, and by his great deeds. The Crown of Power will tolerate no imposter; if the Guardian does not destroy such a one, it will do so itself.

But the Guardian's path passes through a dark forest lit by the day; he must find the Chosen One before the Glass of Ash has run its course, or he will crumble and become as the creator of this book; nothing but a timepiece for a new Guardian. Only by kneeling before the Chosen One as he wears the Crown may he escape this fate.

Guardian, you will suffer many disappointments. I have suffered too many and leave my very self to your cause. May you fare better, or deserve your destiny. Sethius.

The monster placed the page back on top of the Book, frowning when the skeletal hand made no move to take it back. The Book was old, now; perhaps it had given up, too. Soon – the monster shuddered to think of it – soon, the skeletal hand would be replaced by his own bones, the hourglass in his coffin room filled with his own ash, and the cycle would begin again. He felt a stab of pity for the Dracula boy; if the Book had recognised him, it seemed likely that he was the next Guardian, doomed to endure the miserable existence the monster had carved out for four hundred years.

He crossed back to his own room as the sun began to sink, wondering if Vlad had made it in time to save his family. He closed his eyes; there was no point fighting the inevitable any more. The monster sat and waited to crumble into dust.

As night fell, Vlad barrelled through the door onto the balcony – why hadn't he thought of that last night? It could have made all the difference – and launched himself into the air, heading straight for Castle Du Fortunesa. He hoped he could get there before the Council did, in time to save Bertrand from the stake he was sure they were sharpening for him. He didn't like his chances.

As he soared over the castle walls, however, he spotted a ring of black vans and realised that they still had a chance. The Council couldn't enter the castle uninvited, so it seemed they'd enlisted the help of the Slayers' Guild, presumably through some discreet intermediary. A tip-off to the nearest peasants would probably have been enough to set this all-out assault in motion, now he thought about it. But they hadn't got in yet, and that meant there was hope.

"Bertrand!" He slammed open every door in the castle, searching desperately. Perhaps he had already fled? It would be the sensible thing to do. He hesitated before flinging open the door to the forbidden room, the one containing that strange old Book. There was a sheet of paper resting on top of it; Vlad almost laughed in his relief. Bertrand had escaped, then, and had left a note. He leant in to read it, and his stomach lurched. "Bertrand!"

He ran across the corridor and burst into his tutor's room, the only place in the castle where he'd never set foot before. His tutor was slumped against a wall, staring at the hourglass on the table. Vlad spared it a glance; there appeared to be a skeletal finger at the bottom of it, and precious few flakes of ash in the top. He turned back to Bertrand.
"You've got to get up, we have to go, slayers are coming." Bertrand was shaking, he realised, as he pulled him to his feet, slipping an arm around his shoulders as the older vampire stumbled.
"The Council realised I betrayed them, then?"
"They think you kidnapped me. Why didn't you tell them you had me?" Bertrand reached out and grabbed the hourglass – it swung wildly from side to side, but to Vlad's horror, the ash didn't stop trickling towards the finger, defying gravity to do it.
"I would have had to test you. I didn't want- the Crown is dangerous." They'd made it into the corridor, but Bertrand was struggling to stay upright and Vlad couldn't carry him all the way home. It seemed his tutor was reaching the same conclusion. "You need to get out. Save yourself, I'm dust either way."

The monster could feel his strength ebbing away, but the young vampire was shaking his head.
"No. There's a way to save you, there has to be… I saw the Book." The monster winced.
"How far did you read?"
"…or he will crumble. Bertrand, why didn't you tell me you were cursed?"
"Why would it matter?" Vlad snarled.
"Idiot! You must know how I feel about you by now." The older vampire cringed; he knew all too well.
"I'm a monster." Suddenly he was being lowered to the floor, pitching forwards onto his hands and knees. Craning his neck, he caught sight of Vlad's determined face as his vision began to blur.
"You're not a monster."

Bertrand had slipped into unconsciousness and Vlad knew he was running out of time. There had to be some way of proving he was the Chosen One, that Bertrand had found him – the Crown. He raced into the forbidden room and threw open the cabinet.

The Crown was made of bones; Vlad grimaced – predictable – but he didn't even hesitate before picking it up – will tolerate no imposter – and jamming it on his head, rushing back outside.
"Bertrand! Look, it's alright, it hasn't killed m-" A surge of power coursed through him, white hot, and he wondered if the Crown was destroying him after all. Well, let it, if he couldn't save Bertrand.

But no – he felt stronger than ever – an experimental flex of his powers surrounded the castle with a huge ring of fire, and outside he could hear the slayers revving their engines and fleeing. Still Bertrand didn't move, and Vlad sank down beside him.

"Bertrand, please." It was little more than a broken whisper… and then he noticed the hourglass. It was too late. He'd failed. He gathered Bertrand's body into his arms, strength suddenly failing him as he only succeeded in bringing the body to its knees, wrapping his arms around the man, pressing the tutor's head against his own chest. He wondered how long it would take him to crumble to ash.

He didn't notice the last tiny flake of ash drifting down from where it had been stuck to the very top of the glass.

The monster stirred, disorientated. He was kneeling, and someone was dropping cold water into his hair, holding him tightly in place. He struggled - he would not be held, he would not be trapped! – and then a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Bertrand?" It was Vlad, Vlad was the one clutching him to his chest. Vlad was there, and the monster… the monster had survived.

Bertrand blinked a few times to clear his vision as Vlad finally realised how tight he was holding and let go, frantically wiping away his tears.
"How are you not dust?" He glanced from tutor to hourglass and back again, but it didn't make any sense. "I mean, not that I'm not glad. I just don't understand."
"You're wearing the Crown." Bertrand's voice was wobbly, and croakier than he'd like, but Vlad was so relieved to hear it that he barely noticed. "And I'm kneeling."
"That's all it took?" Bertrand nodded. "I could have saved you months ago."
"Why would you?" He frowned, and his tutor continued. "I'm a monster."

"You're not a monster, Bertrand." Vlad told him, "I love you."

Then there were cold lips pressed timidly against his own, and he was kissing back, and the world was spinning but Bertrand didn't care.
"I love you," Vlad murmured between kisses, as if he was having trouble believing it himself, "I love you." Then Bertrand was murmuring in response.
"I love you too," he'd never said the words before, never even considered them, but he knew they were true, "I love you." He pulled back, suddenly afraid. Vlad pouted.
"What's wrong?"
"…I'm not a monster?" His student relaxed, running a hand through Bertrand's curls as he repeated himself firmly.
"You're not a monster. And I love you." He kissed him again, and Bertrand believed him.

~THE END~