Felix's eyes opened slowly, only a vague haze swimming into his vision as he tried to focus.

Where… am I?

He blinked a couple of times, trying to beat back an itching dryness to his eyes that brought a scowl to his lips and a growl to his throat.

But, his throat was dry too. Felix coughed, hearing it rattle around in his throat like echoes in an empty chamber. Small stabbing pains shot around his ribs as he did so, feeling familiar: feeling like a battle wound.

Combat flashed beneath his eyelids; the cry of clashing steel ringing in his ears; the splash of blood splattering across his face, so hot it had felt caustic.

He'd been in a battle. All of the Blue Lions had - guided by their professor. But, they'd been losing. Felix had remembered sensing alarm as he'd watched enemy troops pour continuously into his line of sight, their figures so numerous, like ants feasting upon the rotting fruit that was the blood-drenched battlefield. Felix had remembered cutting a path through the bodies coming at him, but seeing no end - hearing Sylvain's panicked shouts and wheeling around before pain had burst throughout him-

Sylvain.

Where was Sylvain?

Felix tried to sit up, but cried out as his muscles protested, shooting sharp pains throughout his ribs and back and making him slump back down into the covers again.
He'd been injured. He'd blacked out. His world had faded around him as he'd felt intense pain, hearing the clattering of weapons and shrieks of Sylvain Gautier before entering nothingness.

And he'd woken up here. But, where was here?

Looking around himself, Felix found that he was lying in an unfamiliar bed. The blankets were old: moth-bitten and heavy, made from somewhat scratchy red threads that had been bleached by sunlight and age. The walls around him were rough grey stone, the floor beneath him the same. A grand wardrobe, chest of drawers, and dresser were all carved from dark oak, with intricate designs etched into their faces as they sat against the walls. A painting hung over the dresser depicting what appeared to be a lake; crystal clear waters glinted beneath the sun, while vivid grass grew in fields beyond it, all portrayed in tiny, intricate brushstrokes.

He did not recognise this room. Upon the wall opposite him was an open door, and to his left was a window, shutters closed. Through the crack in the centre, bright white light filtered through and threatened to blind him, and Felix felt himself squint and turn away.

He never had been a daylight person, anyway.

Sitting up stiffly, fighting off more coughs, Felix managed to work himself into a semi-upright position. While his shoulders were still hunched, and his neck was still bent from the pain in his ribs, he managed to look down at his chest, eyes focussing on the fact that it was bare. Bandages had been wrapped around his torso, covering the area in the left side of his ribs that pained him the most. His arms were still covered in the faded nicks he'd earned in training, and in the larger scars that he'd obtained through battle. No wound had ever been so bad as this new one, though; not only the skin had been breached, he could tell, but there had been internal damage, too. Never before had Felix felt his insides protest like this - as though the organs buried within his ribs had been sewn back together. He was not surprised to see that deep crimson had stained the bandages in a long, horizontal line: as though the space between two of his ribs had been sliced open.

The temptation to tear the wrapping away to view the extent of the damage beneath was almost overwhelming, but Felix knew better.

"You mustn't disturb a healing wound!" Mercedes had scolded him once, when he'd unwrapped a bandage on his arm for fear it made him look weak. The stitches had burst as a result, and he'd risked an infection, and ever since, Felix had kept his bandages wrapped tight; he never wanted to experience those damned fever-dreams again.

All at once, he became aware of another pain, though. A surface wound throbbed upon the left side of his neck, evidently roused by the movement of craning it downwards. As he brought up a hand towards it, he was met with scabs that had crusted across his flesh. Running gentle fingertips across the tender wound, Felix felt his dry eyes widen and his blood turn to ice as he recognised the marks. Tiny indentations, feeling almost circular, had punctured the softness of his neck - just one clean bite-mark with four perforations, where canine teeth should have been…

A vampire…?

No. Felix shook his head immediately at the thought. That was preposterous. Those creatures were of folktales - the kind of mythological nonsense that would keep Ashe awake at night. While once, they had existed - had roamed Fódlan in the wee hours to drink the blood of the unwitting - now, they were nothing more than a legend. They'd been purged long ago, their kind culled, and now they ceased to plague the world.

What could he have been thinking? The ridiculousness almost made him smile. A vampire… Ha. Most likely he'd been bitten by a beast, or by some human soldier driven wild by bloodlust, or even by some frightened animal displaced by the battle.

But, that didn't explain why he was here. In this strange room that felt almost like part of a tower - unlike anything he'd been exposed to at Garreg Mach. It didn't explain why he wore thin trousers that he didn't recognise, why his hair was loose and falling across his shoulders, and why none of the other Lions were around-

"Oh, good. You're awake."

Felix knew that voice - the voice that had drifted over from a figure standing in the doorway. While at first it startled him, his shock soon became replaced with a feeling of rage. A surge of pure anger - of violation and mistrust and… fear.

He leapt to his feet, feeling the stone-cold floor beneath his skin, but the movement gave him a headrush. His vision fizzled to blackness as he felt himself stumbling, legs too weak to catch himself, brain hurtling around his skull-

Until he landed in soft arms.

"Foolishness. You should know you're too wounded to move just now."

Seteth. The strict, uptight, self-righteous instructor at Garreg Mach who'd never failed to give Felix a hard time. Berating him for his training methods, for the way he spent his time, for the way he treated his friends… Felix had found, over the months he'd known the man, that he thoroughly disliked him.

So, why? Why was Seteth here? Was this his house? The man had never really seemed fond of Felix, so why would he care enough to help him recover? Questions rocketed through Felix's mind as he was laid back down upon the bed, softness enveloping him and easing his pounding head - soothing his screaming wounds.

Felix's eyes opened once more and saw Seteth standing over him - saw the concern upon the man's face. That face… So strangely youthful despite the mature way in which he acted - so unlined and pristine it had always given Felix a feeling of unease, as though it were unnatural in some way. His eyes were a startling green, almost glowing in the dim light of the room as they focussed upon Felix's rib wound. His slightly wavy hair looked more tousled than usual, and the slim headpiece he usually sported was nowhere in sight - his usual academy attire replaced by what appeared to be a black night-robe.

"You're lucky to be alive." His voice was as stern as ever, emerald eyes hard as he tucked Felix back into bed. "You need more rest-"

"Hold on," Felix interrupted. He gave a cough through the dryness in his throat, and tried once more to sit up. "Tell me what I'm doing here. Where's Sylvain? Where's the professor? What am I-"

"Calm down," Seteth snapped. "I'll answer your questions with time. For now, rest."

"You really think I can rest through all of this? What do you take me for, a simpleton?" Felix spat, sitting up through his agony and gripping the man's night-robe in one pale fist. Seteth looked taken aback, simply watching as Felix grabbed onto his clothes to haul himself upright. "Why am I here? And why have I got bite marks on my neck?"

Seteth's chilly hands enveloped Felix's own like sheets of ice, making him inhale a shocked breath. He pulled them from his robe and threw the boy back down into his pillows, hearing him give a pained hiss.

"You are here because I saved your life." His each word was hard - meaningful - and frowning eyes bored deep into Felix's own. "Be grateful, or get up and leave."

He's avoiding the other question.

As the anger inside of him began to twist, writhing and mutating until it became something closer to panic, Felix began to think.

Why had Seteth never truly smiled? Why did his mouth barely open when he spoke? Why did he never eat in public, and why did he always fight to keep his teeth behind his lips? Felix had noticed these things - they'd always irritated him, given him yet more cause to avoid the man like the plague - but now, coupled with his newfound neck wound, they seemed nothing short of dubious.

Think, Felix.

But his mind was only drawing one conclusion. The light outside seemed to be harsh - the day outside evidently at its prime; midday or early afternoon light slipped through the gaps in the closed shutters. If it truly was that time, why was Seteth wearing night robes? Why had he always been reluctant to leave the dark confines of the monastery, and why had his lectures always been in the evening?

That one foolish word kept encircling his mind as he looked back into the eyes of the man before him. He was pale, youthful-looking, and - Felix now knew - cold to the touch. It all lined up with the horror stories Mercedes had told the Lions around a campfire one night. They were all symptoms shown by the vampiric fiends that had been wiped out centuries ago.

Without thinking, Felix shot out of bed once more, stumbling across the gritty stone bricks while clutching his seeping wound, and reached the window. He had to know. Fighting off the swimming blackness that threatened to override his vision, he grabbed hold of the dark wooden shutters.

"Felix!" Seteth hissed, his footsteps audible behind him, but he was too late.

Felix wrenched the shutters open with all his might, hearing them clatter against the wall before Seteth's screams filled his ears. But, the blinding light hit Felix's eyes too, a white-hot sensation fizzling against his retinas as he joined Seteth, crying out in pain. He fell to the floor, unable to contain the agonised howls that left his throat as his skin began to burn.

It was as though he'd been thrust into open flames, the light scorching every inch of Felix's exposed skin. Tears leaking from his eyes, he scrabbled away from the window on his hands and knees, barely hearing another set of footsteps rush past him through the ringing that had sounded in his eardrums.

Darkness returned. Cold embraced Felix's skin once more and he felt himself relax, panting.

"Oh, you two…"

The feminine voice that met his ears was familiar too. Felix pried open his eyelids to see Flayn standing next to the now-shuttered window, offering Felix a hand to help him stand once more. As feeling returned to his wounds, Felix pressed one hand to his ribs and used the other to accept Flayn's help, stumbling into a standing position. Her skin was like ice, too.

He staggered back to his bed, ignoring Seteth still doubled over, groaning, on the floor. Felix sat down heavily upon the bedsheets, feeling a cold sheen of sweat against his skin. Given the man's reaction to sunlight, Felix felt his suspicions were not overly far-fetched.

What frightened him was that he'd had the same reaction.

Breathing hard, Felix felt the coldness of the room seep beneath his skin, creeping down his spine and driving him to shiver. His own hands looked unnaturally pale. That could have been the blood-loss from his wound, or it could have been…

"You're some sort of beast?" he asked, sounding as disbelieving as he felt.

Seteth glowered at him through drawn eyebrows. "Whatever gives you that idea?"

He inhaled a shaky breath. "And, you made me a beast, too?"

Flayn had passed to Seteth's side and helped him to stand. He took her hand and rose, grunting. "I'd prefer you not call us beasts," he said. "We prefer the term vampires. But, I'm sure you know that." He cast a disgruntled look at the window.

Felix's heart began to pound a little harder, setting his wounds to throbbing. It couldn't have been true. Surely it was some sort of elaborate joke - surely Sylvain was around the other wall snickering as he pulled such a tortuous prank. But, Felix had felt it for himself. He'd felt the sunlight scorch his skin, and remembered Mercedes' tales:

"They could only attack at night, for their skin would burn beneath sunlight."

His heart grew cold as he came to terms with the reality.

"Vampires are extinct." Those were the only words Felix could muster as he looked down at his pale, bloodless hands. His fingers were like the icicles that clung to the tree branches back in Faerghus, the only colour in them being a red smear from where he'd held his bleeding bandages.

"Not all of them." Seteth brushed dust from his night-robes, Flayn looking anxious beside him.

"The legends said they'd been culled - the species eradicated."

"Mm. All but four of them." When Felix looked up into Seteth's eyes, he saw something like disdain behind them. His voice had sounded so hard - almost challenging. The man's eyes narrowed. "Well, I suppose we have five now."