The sound of muffled footsteps echoed in the grand hallway as the blue Forgemaster zealously walked down the crimson carpet, past tall windows, and inanimate baroque paintings, to reach his destination. Every step provoked a thought, a feeling, and soon, Hector found himself on a trip down memory lane.
After Carmilla's defeat and the final dawn of Styria's reign, Hector found his yearned freedom from the bloody talons of the quadrant council. All thanks to a generous Demon King.
His time of servitude under Lenore's orders had left him with post-traumatic stress disorder, and Dracula insisted Hector be trained under Roxana's supervision. The demoness declined the request instantly, avoiding further details. However, the savvy Vampire King could see through her Noh mask and knew something prominent lay behind her stout rejection. She was purposefully avoiding the boy.
Nevertheless, the Count did not persist in his attempts to understand her arbitrary and capricious reasons, especially after she suggested the Legendary Dark Slayer Vergil to mentor the boy in her place. After all, the man was trained by her personally during a certain period, making him a suitable alternative.
Hector was reluctant at first, seeming to scurry under the cambion's piercing glares and expecting looks often. However, after spending meaningful time discussing alchemy and demonology, the boy took a liking to the enigmatic blue-devil. In fact, he started to grow a sense of esteem toward the older male, often finding himself in awe by Vergil's wisdom and strength. The man resembled a reservoir of knowledge, both modern and ancient, and Hector felt privileged to have the opportunity to serve as his disciple. Furthermore, learning from a man well acclimated to the demon world, helped a keen Hector understand the art of forging at a deeper level; knowing how the exchange of souls in Hell happens and how some demons manage to interject the mystical process due to their ill-desires.
In return, Vergil was open to the boy's curious nature. He would welcome Hector warmly to his study room every night and inundate him with perpetual texts and documents that had survived for hundreds of years; priceless resources discovered and preserved by archeologists and athirst scholars, including Vergil's father. Given how assiduously the Dark Slayer carried and handled his father's collection, Hector inadvertently treated them with equal scrupulous care in return, constantly thanking the older male for sharing them. The cambion's only response would be a grateful smirk, followed by a soft gaze that indicated how much he appreciated Hector's respect toward his father's heirloom.
Growing more adept and confident in time, Hector began to request more to learn, and Vergil always happily obliged, rewarding him with compliments for his insatiable thirst for knowledge. Although his praises came scarcely, but hearing the sage man offering commandment brimmed the young Forgemaster with pride. However, hearing and reading were not sufficient to raise the youth from the bedrest of innocence and naivety.
The sage Poet, who was also a proficient demon hunter, decided to test Hector's endurance and skills in fighting and defense, which Hector guiltily proved incompetent in both. When Vergil asked Hector to join him for a spar, without the use of magic or the aid of his night creatures, Hector stood watching the taller male with incredulous eyes. Soon, his expression morphed into one of dread when Vergil wasted no time and attacked him with nothing but fists and kicks.
After evaluating the amount of physical training Hector required, the percipient cambion threw a sword at the staggering youth and challenged his swordsmanship. At least, Hector knew how to swing one, but admittedly required advanced training to reach Vergil's expertise. Especially when Hector had to constantly force himself out of trance while watching the blue-clad devil use that long Asian-looking sword with a grace and elegance that was humanly impossible. Thereafter, physical exercise was added to the list.
Despite the strains the Dark Slayer put on the youth, Hector was grateful to Vergil for explaining everything deliberately and thoroughly. It helped him cope with the pains, bruises, and headaches better, finding value in building mental and physical resilience. Alas, there were occasions when Hector would find Vergil's antics slightly bizarre, especially when the man combined physical and nonphysical training. Doing pushups while reading one of the richest texts in history, Zosimos of Panopolis, was not considered a common assignment given by any common mentor.
When inquired, Vergil replied, "a strong mind needs a strong body." It was also a method he admittedly found effective when completing his own rigorous training under Roxana's supervision years ago.
That revelation surprised Hector, albeit he quelled under his mentor's distant, solemn look cast toward her chambers. After that night, the mention of the female demoness came scantly during conversations. The cambion would only point out things like, how she referred this book for this reason or this topic for that ritual, nothing intimate.
However, during one aberrate conversation in which Vergil was drowned in the melancholy river of his memories, he discussed an innate subject. He averred that all he owned he owed them to her; a Poet in the demon realm—a title invented and bestowed upon him by Roxana herself—a dear friend, a loving husband, and an admirable father. He became the man he was today all thanks to her benevolent sacrifices.
In return, the Devil Forgemaster regaled the story of how they met at Dracula's castle while debarring certain details due to personal preference. By the end of his recital, Hector was welcomed by a contemplating frown from the blue-devil. Silver brows were creased deeply, followed by doleful topazes staring intently at the disconcerted youth.
Hector was glad he left out their encounter, which led her to mark him as hers. He did not quite trust how well Vergil would have perceived that information, given how he ardently spoke of her.
Evidently, the Dark Slayer and the Demon King shared a relationship beyond friendship. Hector initially surmised they had a dalliance, but soon found his innocuous curiosity addressed when Isaac—who seemed to visit Her Majesty's chambers on her account—confirmed the pair indeed shared a past, an affaire de coeur. When inquired, the confidante Sufi refused to disclose anything further out of respect for the woman who trusted him with her secret.
However, it became daunting to remain adamant about the matter after Hector learned his mentor had recently reunited and wedded the first woman he fell for during his youth and conceived a son with. The child, Nero, was practically as old as the Forgemaster by now. At the very least, Isaac was kind enough to share that Roxana had treated the boy as if he were her own child from the moment they met. Just as how lovingly she looked after Alucard and D, Nero also received her attention in earnest.
If the pair bore such mutual devotion, why did they go asunder? Hector kept asking.
Regardless, the past was buried deep in the past with nothing but unrequited, lingering feelings that Hector assumed would inwardly blur in time.
Incarcerating the flowing thoughts behind a dam, Hector broke out of his reverie when his eyes cleared on the large double doors of her private chambers. A surge of uncertainty and dread washed over him as he realized that he was about to face her again. As if hit by Hephaestus's hammer, the gravity of his predicament finally sank, making his heart plummet into his stomach.
Tan lips let out a shaky breath. His bare palm came to wipe the front of his vest to clean off the sweat before reaching for one of the handles.
Wait! What am I doing?
Jerking away as if the brass burnt his skin, Hector blinked appalled at the doors. The blue Forgemaster straightened his attire and ran a gloved hand through his sliver-grey locks, feeling discomfited. Griffon's advice echoed in his head; not to act brashly in the presence of her Majesty or raise suspicions. The same gloved hand ghosted on the door again.
Here goes nothing!
The haunting silence was broken by Hector's three gentle knocks. Even though his knuckles tapped softly, the sound reverberated louder than anticipated against the walls.
And indeed, nothing happened.
His heart skipped. His white fist came to meet the wood again when it stopped in midair. With creased brows, the Forgemaster nighed his right ear to the door. There was the distinct sound of music coming from the other side. Clearing his throat, the apprehensive youth grabbed the brass handles and opened the doors unceremoniously. A familiar earthy scent welcomed him first. The smell was so nostalgic, so pungent that Hector took a moment to recollect himself before braving a step in. Leather boots gingerly walked into the grand chamber as enchanting blue-green eyes widened in awe.
Moonlight poured into the grand chamber through ceiling-high windows mounted on the walls, bathing everything in an ethereal blue hue. The large chandelier hanging above reflected a kaleidoscope of colors, displaying thousands of shimmering geometrical shapes across the handsomely furnished room. A large Persian carpet lay on the wooden ground, shimmering under the luminous light as if strands of silver and gold were weaved into its threads. Massive bookshelves braced the walls on the right, holding rows and rows of books with colorful spines, boxes of all sizes, as well as other occult objects.
Hector approached the shelves as his perusing aquamarines continued to forage. There was much to discover, Pandora boxes to open, and secrets to unravel. He even assumed some of the items came from pseudonymous dimensions since they looked foreign in structure and form.
Must be nice to travel beyond space and time! The blue Forgemaster grinned boyishly.
Suddenly, Hector spotted an Eurasian dagger decorated with golden linens and jade stones. He remembered seeing Isaac carrying one, though the Sufi's blade was decorated with rubies and silver linens instead. It did not surprise him if the demoness had gifted the lad one of her treasures. After all, Isaac was well-respected and trusted by the dark monarch. The man's unrestricted commutes to her chambers asserted that.
The loyalty of so many good friends, huh?!
Following the sound of music, a weird looking wooden box stood upon a low two-shelved bookcase in the middle. A black round plate was circling in the middle, and music came out of the large golden flower attached atop it.
"This is… fascinating!" Hector awed as he bent down to examine.
The thrilled Forgemaster gave a brief twirl before approaching the iconic mahogany table. Various sealed letters, books, crystals, and boxes lay around. Like Vergil's, the demon monarch kept her workplace fairly simple and clean, albeit bearing the weight of time. The cambion's chamber seemed newer thanks to the fresh paint and set of furniture. Glancing around, the lighter triangles on the slightly dusty walls—assumingly where paintings once occupied those spots—affirmed the room's age.
Grey brows creased into a soft frown. Why are there paintings missing?
The boy had heard she was a lover of art and culture, much like his cultivated mentor. Seeing the room lack artistic elements was aberrant.
The rusty sound of hinges closing reached his ears. Startled, Hector swirled his head sharply. The heavy, ornamented doors sealed with a resounding click. The Forgemaster's handsome face darkened into a dubious frown. And when he was about to abandon his spot, a cool breeze touched his back, running a chill down his spine.
Discomfited, the youth turned around, expecting to see a familiar figure with fiery, long mane. Nothing but a vacant chair stared aback at him, followed by pale curtains swaying in the breeze. The music came to a halt. With sharpened senses, the Devil Forgemaster waited patiently for any ominous presence but was welcomed by lethal silence.
The silk danced invitingly again, piquing the boy's interest. Was it beckoning to him, or was it just his imagination? Hector sighed as he eased his defensive stance apprehensively. Perhaps it was better for him to retire to his chambers and postpone the meeting to a proper time, like when she was actually available and free to chat. At the same time, the little persistent voice in the back of his head nudged him forward. Caught in a dilemma, curiosity got the best of him eventually and he walked toward the curtains. With an ungloved hand, he reached for the fabric, feeling its divine silky texture.
The vague image of the garden caught his attention.
Upon pushing the drapes aside, Hector noted the wooden patio doors were left ajar. Opening them fully, he walked out into the cool outdoors and breathed into the fragrant night breeze. There was the sweet, pleasant scent of grass and flowers. The sound of crickets created a cacophony of sounds, creating a nocturnal orchestra. Hector smiled up at the heavens, marveling at the shimmering stars in the pitch-black sky. The moon, though hidden behind dark clouds, was illuminated enough to bask the place in a celestial glow. The youth sighed contently.
The soothing sound of cascading water reached his ears. From where he stood, a pathway stretched toward a nearby fountain on the right. His boots clicked softly against the paved cement with every languid step. Shimmering aquamarines began to widen at the sheer size of the concrete-crafted wellspring. It appeared to be seven feet tall, with bowls spacious enough to inhabit a few elegant water nymphs that shrank in size and number as you descended the waterfall. With three bowls in total, seven figures occupied the base, seeming to play around in the water and laughing in mirth. The third and second from bottom-up occupied five and three nymphs respectively. The last three seemed to worship the sacred female figure at the peak. The enchanting Amphitrite, the queen of the seas, and Poseidon's wife.
"She does love Greek mythology after all." Hector cackled.
Suddenly, his chest heaved with sadness. His heart sailed back home, where memories, good and bad, haunted him. Hector remembered his visit to the Temple of Athena, where he lost count of the hours he played with the local children. His zeal died out once he got home and was punished by his father for staying out late. He remembered when he resurrected a Goldfinch, his first bird, and received his mother's wrath when he showed the half corpse of a bird to her. He remembered that fateful night when fire filled his vision as his locked-up parents—
STOP! Glassy eyes clenched shut.
Opening them slowly, moist blue-green gems cleared on the inanimate nymphs. The ominous sound of sizzling fire faded into the tranquil music of cascading water. Hector grabbed his forearm timidly, his hip cocked to the side, and he sighed with a heavy heart.
Since that harrowing night, Hector wondered to himself: Did Hestia ever curse him for tainting her sacred fires with the blood and flesh of his own kin? The goddess' fire was a symbol of warmth and love, a means to gather families together and strengthen their bonds of compassion, empathy, and kindness. It was not meant for destruction and abomination, that was Ares' doing.
However, if the gods were benevolent, then why did they deny him parents capable of love and compassion in the first place? Regardless, his deed was blasphemous in the face of everything Hestia's divine hearth stood for. Once Charon delivers his soul over the Archeron river, the merciless King of the Underworld shall expectantly punish him for his sins in the raging fires of Tartarus.
Broad shoulders fell at the gruesome thought. What dire and dreadful fate awaited him in the afterlife?
A gentle breeze whistled, brushing his tan cheeks as if to soothe the turbulent storm raging inside him. Leaning into the wind's clandestine caress, pair of turquois eyes made out the silhouette of a familiar figure. Eyes began to gleam in joy at the sight of long vermillion curls falling down an elegant dark gown. All sadness melted away, thanks to the fervent warmth blooming inside his chest. Without hesitation, Hector made his way toward the scarlet demoness with long, hasty strides, ignoring whether he walked on grass or cement.
Finally, I found you—
He gasped softly at the sight before him.
The Demon King stood with her hands behind her back before a magnanimous marble sculpture. Upon a wide one-foot-tall base, a figure stood in regal attire surrounded by books and dancing fabrics, shimmering under the luminous moonlight, as if coated with stardust. One hand held a long O-katana, while the other stretched toward his spectators, offering a full bloomed lotus made of diamonds. The flower cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the figure's handsome features, giving it an enchanting air. Iridescent eyes continued to study the familiar figure. A firm jaw, lush lips, high cheekbones, a sharp nose, a smooth forehead, and eyes that regarded their visitors with an ethereal gentleness. The signature slicked-back hairstyle was the last bit of detail that made Hector's eyes widen in recognition.
"Do you believe Vergil would like the sculpture I carved of him, Hector?"
"…"
A gentle, cool wind passed. Hector blinked away his reverie when he grew certain she actually spoke.
"Oh, uh… o-of course he would—" he paused when her words, tainted with slight mirth, sunk in. "Wait! You… … sculpted this?!" The Forgemaster exclaimed.
A glowing ruby peered over a dark shoulder to regard the agape youth. From where he could see, the corner of her vermillion lips curved upward. Her silence spoke for itself. Hector swallowed thickly. The female monarch returned her attention to the statue. The details on the piece were immaculate, as if a doppelganger was standing there, ready to come to life at touch. The lights and shadows that danced across the figure intensified its realism. It was truly a masterpiece!
"It took me three months to make it," she proclaimed with a sense of pride, "and another month to perfect it."
The young Forgemaster gingerly approached the demoness. Burning rubies dropped to the ground with a frown.
"…but no matter how much time I spend, it," her words died in her mouth momentarily, "it... ...it will never suffice to reach his perfection."
"Lady Roxana?" Hector frowned sadly.
"You see, Hector," the demoness addressed with a forlorn glance. "No matter how hard an artist tries, the final product will remain nothing more than an illusion of the original piece."
She smiled ruefully as she gazed up at the Poet. Those scarlet gems were laced with remorse and dejection.
"And only the artist knows of the imperfections…. For the viewers, however, the work is pure perfection." She breathed. "Ironic, isn't it?"
Lips parted to speak, to reason, to chide, but words failed him. How could he relate to her when all he knew was how to resurrect the dead, when his personal love experience was nothing but a toxic relationship with a manipulative and deceitful vampiress?
As if struck by Zeus' lightning, Hector's eyes widened. Of course there was some affiliation! As an adept Devil Forgemaster, Hector reshaped corpses into creatures beyond this world, much like a potter shaping a piece of raw clay into a vase. Roxana did the same as well, turning a large rock of marble into a handsome sculpture. The only difference was that his artworks were animate whereas hers were not. As bizarre as it seemed, he found some affiliation after all. As for love—
Blue-green eyes shifted from the scarlet demoness to his mentor's sculpted figure. The many scintillating details on the piece, particularly on Vergil's handsome lineaments, asserted more than just the effort and time she invested. They showed her ardent love that still burnt fervently for the Dark Slayer and was carved into every single nook and line. Perhaps, these were what gave her work soul and life in their own respective way.
Hector smiled ruefully at the demoness. The signs of pain lingered on her tired visage, like cracks upon a beautiful, porcelain doll. Shadows made the hollows under her eyes and the wrinkles around her frowning lips darker. It might have been his imagination, but she looked thinner than the last time he saw her. Her complexion was paler, older. Quite frankly, she wore the same defeated expression as Vergil when Hector left the man's chambers earlier in the night.
Though distant, your hearts are still interwind.
"Lady Roxana, pardon me for prying but… Why did you and Lord Vergil depart?"
The boorish look she cast at him made Hector almost choke on empty air. The wheels inside his head turned frantically, signaling to him another miscalculated action that should have been evaluated before being performed.
Those who knew spoke nothing of the pair's forgone legitimate affair, not even a gossip. The topic was concealed from newcomers as well, since it was no longer a matter of importance. And even if anyone, old or new, spoke publicly of the pair's current state, they would vanish soon after due to unknown reasons.
Perhaps, being a newcomer himself, Hector should have devised a better means to initiate such sensitive conversation, or better yet, held his Fehlleistungen tongue before it betrayed him in the first place. Alas, the cat was out of the bag, and Hector prayed keenly that he would not experience her wrath again. The thought made the two dots on his trapezius throb. His prayers were heard, however, for glowing scarlet orbs warmed into a pair of tranquil maroons.
Roxana did not respond right away. Instead, she slightly shifted on her heels to regard the lush rose bushes behind them, coxing Hector with her yearning look as well. The enchanting flowers illuminated in a wide range of blue pigments. Opalescent, Prussian, Azure, Cobalt, Cerulean, Sapphire, and Arctic blue. Each, a special, unique color that even made mother nature envious.
"Our fates were not destined to remain interwoven forever," she almost murmured, "for I was his Forbidden Fruit, and he… my beautiful Blue Rose."
Hector frowned bitterly at the allegory behind those words. Both attested to their mutual, earnest desire for each other, as well as the fact of their forbidden, unattainable love. They wanted each other, needed each other, but could not have each other for omnipotent reasons. And it was tragic in its own woeful way.
This must have been how Lord Dracula felt when he lost his wife. Hector mused solemnly.
He remembered the times when the Vampire King had imprisoned himself in his own castle, neither drinking nor eating, with only vengeful revenants of his past to haunt him day and night. During the last few days before moving to Braila, Hector remembered distinctively how frail and broken the mighty man had become. Dracula could take on battalions with a single blow, command armies from east to west without fail, and crush the Moldoveanu Peak with his brute force. Alas, love proved stronger than any power he possessed and stripped him of all his privileges until he was naught but a man weaker than a mortal, the life stock he used to prey upon.
And now, her condition did not differ from Dracula's. Wrong! There were no such plans for genocide. The only person burning in the flames of anger and regret, drowning in the merciless flood of grief and mourning, was Roxana herself. Only her memories and the sculpture remained for her to gaze at to her heart's content.
The boy's heart clenched at the impetrated look she was giving the inanimate figure. Anyone from afar could discern the desperation flickering in those pools of bidding rubies. As if she was silently praying to her God to make the sculpture come to life, like Pygmalion.
Hector's eyes widened. The thrilled youth cast incredulous glances between the artist and the artwork, his heart hammering inside his chest.
If she can create animated beasts then…
"Can you bring the statue to life?" Hector prompted with an exclaimed tone, almost leaping at the startled demoness.
Her surprised eyes slowly narrowed into a lethal glower, causing the perturbed Hector to hold his breath, and take a cautious step back. His shoulders fell at her sullen response.
Vermillion lips pursed in thought, pondering. After a few seconds, those pools of iridescent rubies returned to the awaiting youth. Hector braced himself.
"Quite frankly, I sometimes think about it, Hector. But..." Came her indecisive answer.
"…But?" He prodded when she fell silent.
She let out a weary sigh. "… But if I do so, it… he… wont' be the same."
The blue Forgemaster hummed in apprehension.
Gleaming turquoises observed the fine marble. "It might be so, but in the story of Pygmalion and Galatea, the artist is reunited with the love of his life when Aphrodite hears his prayers and turns his sculpture into a real woman."
Hector's boyish smile waned when the demoness scowled boorishly again.
"As you said… …story." Blue-green orbs cast away in shame. "Stories are myths. Fairytales, conjured in the minds of people and captured on paper with ink for the sake of entertainment. Reality is much different." She chided vehemently.
So much for moving onward! Her consistent sullen replies and expressions gave the impression the duo were regressing. Hector was starting to regret his words. Was she starting to question his progress with Vergil by now? Was she misunderstanding his sincere desire to help with naivety again? He direly wondered. The poor boy initially hoped to leave a better impression on her, or at the very least, paint a more mature and wiser version of himself inside her head now that they met again. Alas, it seemed they were standing at the beginning of time as two disreputable strangers.
Disillusioned and dejected, the Devil Forgemaster hid his crestfallen face from the dark monarch behind a veil of long silver-grey locks. Grabbing one arm with a gloved hand timidly, he shifted his stance onto one leg.
The air grew tense. Noticing the youth's glum aura, the demoness sighed in disgruntlement.
"Hector?" His shoulders flinched. Her fingers twitched in temptation to reach for him. "I assume you've noticed something had transpired between me and Vergil… and I know you mean well with your questions,"
She took a ginger step, causing the abysmal boy to turn gently at the sound of her clicking heels. His beautiful grey locks danced in the wind. Her hands were still locked steadfast behind her back. When Hector remained docile in his place, Roxana took another step, and another, and another, until she towered over him with a ghost of a smile. Turquoise gems locked into burning rubies. Her pale hand gingerly came up to cup a tanned cheek, her thumb caressing the soft, burning skin lovingly.
His lips parted. Her touch was warm and cool at the same time. A veil of pain cascaded down those vermillion eyes, and when she found his silence weighing on her for too long, she withdrew her hand with a gentle frown, but did not let it drop by her side. Hector noticed the way her fingers purposefully caressed the soft locks framing his face, albeit hesitantly.
"When I bring something to life," the same hand slowly opened as dark flames began to manifest in her palm. A fire phoenix the size of a dove appeared before his iridescent blue-green eyes. "The object will inherit part of my soul, which means it will also have my thoughts and feelings."
The mystic avian jumped at an unexpected Hector, who swiftly yet gently caught the bird in both hands. The benign creature groomed its feathers and nuzzled against his palms. Despite being made of fire, its touch did not burn, only left his skin with a prickly sensation that was not too unpleasant.
"Thus, it is fully dependent on me and will behave, speak, and act as I instruct… unlike your night creatures who possess some degree of independence thanks to the soul you summon inside them."
Hector chortled fondly at the bird. The avian nestled nicely into his palms, like a bird treating its eggs. Roxana joined in by running a finger across the creature's head.
"My creations do not have such a privilege."
Hector hummed in understanding. Now it made sense why she refused to create a living replica of the sapient cambion. If she were to, the replica would be void of any thoughts, feelings, and will, resembling a doll waiting to be pulled by its strings. All he would feel, say, or think would be hers, with no element of unpredictability involved. The spontaneous nature of humans was what made them more amusing and added flavor to life.
And somewhere along where Hector was oblivious, Roxana did not wish to admit out loud her abhorrence toward the idea of creating a doppelganger. A certain Devil once treated Vergil like a marionette and made replicas of his deceased mother. The thought of imitating that foul bastard's actions made her sick to her stomach.
That would make me a monster no different than Mundus. Roxana sneered.
"I see." Hector stated succinctly, breaking her train of gloomy thoughts. Tan lips curled into a handsome smile, making the demoness quirk an eyebrow. The scent of fresh mint and honey wafted from his breath.
She cleared her throat before continuing. "That being cleared… ... and based on our little private lecture about Forgemastery and Necromancy," his keen attention drifted toward the dark monarch at the mention of their encounter in Styria. "I bear no desire to create a replica of the man I love," warm maroon locked with cool teal, "for the same reason you never resurrected your parents, Hector."
Hector gasped. Teal eyes bleached into a pair of pale aquamarines as they stared appalled. True, he brought animals back to life, resurrected humans such as the archbishop back in Braila under Carmilla's orders. But he never…
"…"
It would be a lie to say I never considered the thought.
Frankly, the thought had dawned upon him, though scantly. When he was gravely ill; when he was starving for days without access to food or water; or when he would accidentally break a bone or dislocate a shoulder and tend to himself alone. During times of pain and lethal agony, Hector did think of bringing one parent back to tend to his needs. However, he would soon discard that forlorn thought with a curse. It was absurd to bring back to life two misshaped corpses incapable of any emotion or warmth just for his own selfish indulgence. And when he grew into an adult, the thought abandoned him fully when he learned how to survive and live his life with the help of his disformed pets.
No point in dawdling over the past.
"Do not let the demons of the past bind you from moving forward. The last thing you want is to become blind to the important standing in front of you."
The calm voice of his mentor echoed in his head.
To the important…
Misery sure loved company, but Hector did wish to leave her at the hands of Oizys, the goddess of misery and suffering, to drown in the sea of agony and remorse. It was time to brush away the glum clouds and let Apollo's light of hope shine upon her stormy shores.
Let me save you just as you saved me. Hector confirmed.
"My mentor constantly reminds me to be adamant and never allow the demons of the past to bind me from moving forward. Perhaps, you should do the same." He consorted softly. "Fight off the melancholy calls of Oizys and Moros before they consume you whole."
She observed his every move warily, yet she remained frigid in spot, waiting. A warm hand came to rest on her waist as Hector inched himself closer to her than ever. And then, He smiled bright and hopeful. His eyes shimmered as thousands of celestial stars danced inside them. His warmth was pleasant and welcoming amidst the night's coolness, thawing the ice around her aching heart. Although it had faded a long time ago, she swore the melancholy scent of Hyacinths filled her senses for a split second, igniting a spark inside her chest.
It was her turn to stare with glassy eyes.
Give it up, lass! You are no match for the boy. He has grown, admit it. The Centauride snickered.
Seizing the boy with a scrutinizing look, the ancient demoness saw the change of a glimmer in those translucent turquoises. He had indeed matured, she deduced, and Vergil was doing a marvelous job, no doubt.
Can't wait to see you reach your full potential, little Hyacinth.
"At least I'm glad you still recall our conversation about Forgemastery." The jovial youth was about to withdraw when a gentle hand came to rest upon his forearm, stopping him.
Her hand slid against his, holding those callous fingers resting against her hip. Vermillion lips curved upward into a smirk.
"Well, I appreciate the private session I had with a well-versed teacher who generously shared his knowledge with me."
Recognizing a fervent glint dancing in those crimson irises made heat prickle beneath his cheeks. The abashed youth shied his eyes away and beamed timidly. But it was short-lived since she, whether noticing his blush or not, turned her face away rather apathetically and freed their locked fingers. Her hand dropped to her side. The burning avian finally dissipated into thin air with a soft cry. Hector rubbed his fingers against his palm, savoring the pleasant tingle of her magic upon his skin.
However, the sight of her reconciled, rueful expression made his chest constrict. Don't allow the moment to slip.
Taking a bold step forward, Hector felt their warmth interwind, their chests nearly touching. Her attention returned to him with anew curiosity. Hector titled his head up slightly, eyes falling on those lush red petals before slowly traveling up to her iridescent rubies. A soft frown creased her brows, not out of anger, but merely out of apprehension.
The pungent scent of poppies wafting from her filled his nostrils. She smelt of death and blood, of grief and loneliness, yet the Devil Forgemaster welcomed her openly into his world, life, and heart. They were by no means foreign. On the contrary, he remembered these scents always surrounding him back home. Yes, home! She smelt like home!
My home!
The air grew tense. That familiar, coaxing force drew him closer to her. It was the same strange sensation he experienced back in Styria when she visited to ask about some alchemical signs. That night many things transpired, and many words were exchanged, yet Hector never got the chance to confess how wrong he was about her. If there was one person whom he misunderstood gravely and deserved to apologize to without deceit, force, or manipulation, it was her. Despite her intimidating looks and sheer size unusual for a woman, she had more soul and heart than anyone else he met. She never needed to equivocate or delude because she preferred to live the cruel truth rather than live a beautiful lie.
And he admired her for that. No, he adored her more than ever.
And I see why he adored you so much as well, and still does.
"I w-was…" he gulped since the dryness in his throat almost made him choke on his next words.
You were his Nyx and he, your Erebus.
"I was wondering if," he inhaled deeply.
He was your Astraeus and you, his Eos.
"…If you like to continue our conversation," his heart raced at his own next line of thought.
So, for once, let me be your Hermes while you, my Hecate.
"About mythology I m-mean." He prompted.
Her face went placid as the dark monarch continued to regard the slightly panting youth. Those tan cheeks looked darker under the luminous moon. Glowing rubies turned to cast a contemplating glance at the inanimate Poet. Seconds turned into minutes as Hector patiently waited for her response, his heart hammering in his ribcage all the while. Remaining in the dark was not Hector's comfort zone, but he was willing to wait until the end of time if it meant being able to gradually find his way into her heart again and earn her trust.
Roxana closed her eyes and finally, allowed a serene smile to kiss her rosy lips.
The demons of my past?! Perhaps, we can start anew, my friend. She hummed.
Revealing those scarlet gems, the demoness gazed down at the expectant Forgemaster. She let herself drown in those pools of enchanting turquoise orbs. Peering down at him closer than ever, she stopped just a hair away from his beaming lips as she spoke with a gentle finality:
"I would love to, Hector."
Author's Note: Thank you everyone for your time reading this chapter and the story overall. It surprised me how well it was received. Your support has encouraged me to write more in the future. Perhaps, I might focus more on the original characters rather than my OC, especially with the news about the upcoming Castlevania series featuring Maria and Richter, as well as the Devil May Cry anime from Adi Shankar. So, look forward to more in the future and leave me comments, reviews, and likes if you enjoy my work. Till then, take care and stay safe.
All characters belong to their rightful owners
Roxana and her Centuride belong to me