Darkness covered the stairs, shadows stretching up from the ground and down from the abyss leading up to the surface, clinging to the walls and railings like vines strangling a tree tight. The stairs looked far more finished, covered in nice red carpeting, though slightly worn from foot traffic, and on top of that, layered in years of dust. All the decor had the Belmont Crest; Leon's heart ached upon seeing it.
He'd had a family, and then lost them before he ever knew. Leon never had a chance to see them. And the one person he did, he had made angry.
Shaking his head, Leon paced up the stairs, grabbing a nearby torch to create a bubble of light. He would clear his head, digest what he'd heard. Trefor always told Leon he was just lucky when rushing in, that he needed plans, and to not just run on feelings. But extensive planning always made him think of... Mathias.
Leon sighed, running a hand over his frown. When he looked up from his own feet, he startled back.
It was himself.
But no, it was only a portrait. Leon moved closer, squinting. Where was the painting from? Had he commissioned it? No-as he got a closer look, he realized his portrait was wearing decorative armor from when he was a knight. He didn't have that anymore, since he'd quit the company-since he'd given up his title. A noble, one of a higher status, would have his portrait.
How it had gotten into the secret Belmont hold, Leon didn't know. Perhaps some of his descendants had tracked it down, or perhaps they had received it in payment for a deed. It looked well cared for, despite some of the dust he could see on the frame.
His family had thought well of him then. Probably as the patriarch of their hunting legacy. Leon cringed, turning away.
He almost fled up the rest of the stairs.
When he reached the top, the door was in place, so he pulled on some of his magic, whispered the words, and left through the opening once the door vanished. Before him was the house, or what was left of it.
Leon almost stopped right where he was, feet still on the stairs. He could go back down, not look at any of it. But he thought of Trevor's angry expression, everything he had gone through, and Leon knew he had to see it through. Trevor understood more about the current issues the family was facing; Leon would need to better comprehend if he wanted to convince Trevor to care for himself, to live.
The house was nothing but a skeleton. Even the parts which looked like they had been added on after Leon's time were crumbled, burned-nothing but rubble strewn about. Some of the arches or walls which hadn't completely come down were barely taller than Leon.
A moon, nearly at its fullness, shone cold light down on the scene. Leon wandered through the rooms, each empty space opening the hole in his chest a little wider.
Sometimes Leon stopped to breathe, finding it harder and harder to continue. He tripped over pieces of rock, his vision wavering. A weak wall cracked under the pressure of his palm, falling apart; His heart followed suit. Soon, he was barely looking at what part of the house he was in. He tread on dirt sometimes, on stone others, but the sounds were muffled in his ears. He moved through doorways and ghosted across broken steps, nothing but a memory to this place, which itself carried nothing but memories. Even plants seemed reluctant to encroach.
Fires were dangerous, capable of killing many before the alarm even went up. The smoke could kill before the flames did, the heat making doors impossible to touch without grievous injury. He imagined a family: parents, aunts and uncles, siblings, cousins, old weathered folks, and seasoned hunters, and young trainees and even younger little children...
The murderers would have come in the night, Leon thought, to get them all-lighting the fires before anyone had a chance to know. So many would have died before the fire was discovered. They would have rushed to protect the weakest first, as knights or hunters did.
He stopped at a particular room, noting the small, cracked window frame, the way a few similar rooms and what had probably been the kitchen surrounded it. A bedroom, then-likely for the servants who kept the house running. All of the stone was stained, either from harsh fire or long exposure to the outdoors. A mangled metal disc, like a candle holder, was buried under bits of rubble. No longer would anyone walk these ruins, parting the darkness with soft candlelight.
Leon thought he was done with wars. He allowed his head to drop into his hands.
Though many believed so upon first meeting, Leon was not a fool. He was not ignorant of the state of the world, nor the fact that wars and fighting would be going on for many generations to come. But he had stopped participating in the wars the rich and powerful fought; He had devoted himself to the idea of protection for the most helpless of people.
Leon had wanted to protect his family and to use his skills for those who needed his help. Monsters were supernaturally powerful, and most could not stand up to them. Now, he learned his family had burned at the hands of people-the same people the Belmonts of this era had spent decades protecting. Leon had thought he was done with wars.
Leon was not stupid; But he had hoped.
His entire family had been victims, because... because people were scared, manipulated by those in power. So few stood up, and even fewer of them had the means to do so. It did not make what happened forgivable.
Stumbling to the window, Leon leaned on the weak stone and dug his hands into his hair. His cheeks grew wet.
Losing something he never had was somehow just as bad as losing what he had known.
He'd had a family. In a broken, burned, hollowed out home, Leon stood and silently wept. He could not fathom how deeply Trevor himself had scarred from the incident, the night of betrayal and murder. It had to be even worse than the feeling accosting Leon-like he was being torn apart, his insides falling to the ground.
Betrayal. Yes, Trevor had experienced that too. Not from a close friend, but people his family had implicitly trusted all the same.
Leon pushed himself upright and wobbled away, barely able to make out the blurry surroundings, but making his way back to the hold all the same. His descendant, how could Leon have not seen the hurt? Heard it? Had it been in his expression, in his voice, in the way he moved, yet Leon hadn't seen the depth of it?
A deep, dark hole gaped open in the ground. The hold. Leon realized he had dropped his torch somewhere. It didn't matter anyway, he thought, knees giving out.
There, in the remains of the Belmont home, a place he had built up, a place a family had lived for years and years, Leon cried.
He cried out for the people he would never meet, and the people who had lost their lives there. He cried for the future he had set them towards. He cried for the fact he could never tell them just how proud he was of their commitment; How much he cared for each and every one of them.
Tears fell to the ground, small drops which turned to mud.
The Belmonts had loved each other, Leon knew it. Surely hunters could not survive without support, care, and a loving family to watch their back.
Leon held his arms tight around his waist, bent over, and screamed.
They had never defeated Dracula, and in that moment, Leon did not care. He only wished he had been able to save them from the very people they had fought for.
Yet it seemed his destiny was only to lose those he loved.
Wow, I got this up pretty fast! But oooh, poor Leon. D': He had to know though. It's one thing to hear, and another to see. Unfortunately, he knows exactly what it's like to lose family.
Next time, I promise there will be less angst! He will talk and not just wander about alone. But he's got a lot of feelings rn, so I wanted to give him an opportunity to feel them and start going through them. Sometimes, you just gotta cry about things alone for a little while. At least for me, it's refreshing afterwards. Clears the mind.
Please let me know what you think of this chapter! (⌯⌅⌄⌅) It means a lot to me.
