They left that same day, leaving to another direction; the way did not cross Sohodol. The road that connected the Hold to the main one had nobody to take care of it. After that, it was as good as the rain allowed it to be. Ploiesti was a part of the commercial route between Targoviste and Bucharest, the former being the capital and the latter a sturdy, big city they supposed it survived the attack of the hordes. The people, however, are like seeds. They rise from the ground when you least expect it. Alucard remembered Sohodol, and tried imagining it, with no obstacles, the town made of ruin and fire, and lively in the following year. Maybe if I had gone for a walk last year.

It would take a minimum of seven days if they did not find any horses for rent, and if they did, they would arrive in five or six. The map indicated the existence of farms, taverns, and villages on the way after leaving a dense grove, but, in those circumstances, things like that came and went too fast. The road itself, to that point, had no living soul besides the three. Around the beginning of the afternoon, the walking got to them and they asked for a rest. I'd go on, but I'm not passing it. Alucard sat with them a bit far from the roadside, perching on a tree root, one of many that would lose their leaves in that season. He saw Trevor and Sypha eating a bit of the provisions; he had no appetite to speak of. He laid his head on the tree trunk and closed his eyes, hearing the birds chirping.

Before he left, he looked himself in the mirror. The reflection did not show much besides the expected. Or did it? He could not spot the difference here or there. He was not the same anymore; there was no way that he could be. Maybe, that was a change that could not be seen. Still, I don't know where I ended up. Certainly not in Ploiesti, nor in any other city. If he was not even in the castle, then he had no idea.

After they got up from there, they walked until it was by nightfall, and so they did in the second day. Those were two nights in which Trevor and Sypha slept peacefully under the covers, and Alucard spent sleepless. The night is way colder outside. In the light of the second bonfire, when the grove was coming to an end, he looked for the quill and the empty notebook in the baggage. He took it to Sohodol, but ruminated the idea all the time, and did not write a single line in the end. But now is a good time. If two mad occultists could have a journal, he could, too.

"Right now, I find myself awaken and pretty much sleepless, in a night where I'm supposed to rest. This time has been one of extremes: either I spend months unconscious like a deadman, or I simply don't sleep. When I get up from the occasional nap, I feel weary and worn out. You, who read these pages, may have heard of me before, but forgive me my rudeness of not introducing myself.

My name is Adrian Fahrenheit Tepes, son of the deceased Dracula Vlad and Lisa Tepes. I won't go into details of their passing, because that's a long sad story, and one that many have heard. It is possible, though, that you don't know everything about it.

In the last days, I've been revisited by the people that are the closest ones to me. They are Trevor Belmont, last one of the house of Belmont, a clan that's famous for hunting people like me, and Sypha Belnades, the Speaker in the prophecy of the Sleeping Soldier, a powerful mage and excellent listener. I like to see them side by side. Who observed them when they met would say that they look like the kind of siblings that fight all the time, but are never far from one another by two meters. They are quite different. Trevor is a loner. If not naturally one, so life made him one, and in such a profound way that it looks natural and one doesn't even suspect he was once another way. Sypha is gregarious. She lives with and for other people, and for the greater food. About me, well, I'm not sure in which spot I am.

My mother was a human, and my father was a vampire. He lived as a recluse in the last centuries, I'd say, longer before I was born. He was never fond of social meetings, if just for the social aspect. It had to have a purpose, a reason. Everything had to have a reason. Nothing was done in that house without a why.

My mother shared that kind of focus, that nature, but for other reasons. She was one that would not give up, especially on the human being. She was always in the midst of people, took care of people, studied to help people. She put her hands onto everything she wanted, a thing that not many women have the chance to do, without leaving aside her role as a good wife and mother, being a person with the gift of nurture.

I believe I carry a bit of both of them, but how much of each of them is hard to pinpoint. And, if we talk about a natural gift, I still don't know mine. My mother lived for the others, for example, and that was hers. And there's someone here and now that reminds me a lot of her. However…"

He let the quill rest. The feeling that took him was new and unfamiliar. Writing about himself was not only talking about his surroundings, but involved treating himself as another person that he knew far too well. He took a deep breath and put the things back in the baggage. He walked up to Trevor and shook him by the shoulder.

"What?", Trevor asked, with the worst face in the world.

"I'd like to sleep. Do me a favor and wake up."

Trevor stood up as slowly as he could, complaining:

"Are you really getting me out of the blankets in a night like this?"

"Sure, because I'm also cold."

"I thought you'd stay awake", he staggered until he sat around the bonfire.

"Sorry, I've been awake for almost forty-eight hours. I also thought that I could, but, surprise, I'm not right all the time."

"You'll pay me for that", Trevor yawned.

"I will", he found the third blanket and laid down alone, "If you accept a beer mug as a consolation prize."

"We have a deal."

In the third day, as the map predicted, they found a minuscule village, without any walls around it. An inn was by the side of the road, a small, honest one. The owner greeted him, an old man that gave them a long stare with his single eye:

"Bedrooms or horses?"

"Bedrooms first. Horses later", Trevor put the cash on the counter, "By the way, do you have horses?"

"Oh, we do. But, right now, there are more people in the stable than horses. They didn't wanna squeeze eight people in two beds, y'know?", the man laughed, "Here, the keys, it's the left room. I ain't climbing those stairs, my knee is no good today."

The bedroom was indeed small for three people, and it had two single beds on opposite sides of the room. They left the luggage and believed the nice service, taking the vegetables to the owner downstairs so that their lunch would be cheaper, before they all went bad. He headed to the kitchen to hand them to his wife and came back drinking something from a mug. Trevor asked:

"Is that beer, sir? I would like one."

"It's wine. It's the secret for good health, wine every single day. Sour wine, watered down wine, vinegar, doesn't matter. I'm way past fifty and, let me tell you, it works. Only my eye and my knee are bad."

"I like wine, too, if it matters."

"A man of culture. But I'd have to sell you my own wine, if you wanted it. I'll go get your beer."

After the lunch made of fresh leaves with a soup of beef jerky, the three stayed by the counter, and after his third mug, Trevor and the old man were already lifelong best friends. In a moment, the man got a worn-out flask with a cork from under the counter, and poured Trevor a drink:

"Check out this one, it's something I don't sell to about anybody."

"And what is it?", it did not matter, but Trevor asked anyway.

"Drink and you'll find out."

"Cheers, sir."

They toasted, he drank it, and did not find it out. The spirit went down his throat like fire, but the aftertaste was a pleasant one. Trevor looked at the bottom of his mug with a frown while the old man laughed:

"Just be careful with it. It's like a liquid flame", he looked to Alucard and Sypha, "What about you, want a sip?"

"Yes, please", Alucard handed him the mug.

Who would tell. Sypha also said yes to it, more timorous, and they both took it much slower. Trevor saw an opportunity and touched the subject:

"How's Ploiesti, sir? Any news?"

"Seething with people, as always. But I don't know if you heard of it."

"It depends", he finished the unknown drink.

"People die there. Just as anywhere in this world, they die. But there, they die in their sleep" the man acquired a dramatic tone, "Out of the blue, they go crazy. They say they're being stalked, followed. That someone wants them dead. They talk in their sleep. Scream in their sleep. Walk in their sleep. Fight in their sleep! It's a thing. And, someday, they really die. No one entered the house. No one busted any door. Wealthy or poor, with or without enemies, they just die. Some say it's a sickness, some say it's a Devil's curse. I myself don't yield an inch from here, nor my wife and boys, I won't let them. Before, I let them go there for a dance, to chase some ladies. They can get their drinks here. But not ladies", the old man took a last gulp and finished, "You're headed there? Be very careful. If you spend more than a week, you might be caught."

"We don't intend to stay that long, don't worry", Trevor rested his chin on his hand.

Trevor only left the counter when he saw the other guests coming from the stable, by the beginning of the night. They were, actually, four from a group and four from another, each one with their respective covered wagons. He wanted to check if he could negotiate a ride for three in one of them, but he was refused in both. Trevor went back to his chair to tell about his frustrated initiative, that the owner of the inn tried to remedy:

"We've got two horses with us. They're ours for real. They're beauties, my boys take care of them. But we've also got three travellers…"

"I can go on foot", Sypha raised her hand.

"It doesn't make sense. You're the lightest one of us", argued Alucard, "I'll go."

"So, you want it?", the owner recalled the empty mugs, "I'll go tell my son. They'll be fed and saddled tomorrow morning."

"Yes, we want them, sir", Trevor took a sip of his new beer.

The night had already fallen and most of the guests were noisy enough so that, every now and then, a louder exclamation would be heard coming from downstairs. Trevor was among the loud dinner of the inn, and the other two had taken their food to the bedroom, looking for some silence. Sypha was entertained with a botany book she found in the baggage, taking her eyes off of the candlelit pages to glance at Alucard, who occupied the other bed. She frequently came across the question: what was going on his mind? Asking is always an option. He had his eyes on a notebook on his legs and a quill in his hand.

"What are you writing?", she tried.

"I'll show you when I finish another page. Deal?"

"Sure", she frowned.

Sypha went back to the book, flipping pages without a destination, until the door opened and Trevor's head popped in.

"Hey, you", he pointed at Alucard, "You owe me a beer."

"How many have you had?", asked Sypha.

"I lost track of them, sorry. But he still owes me, so, I'll cross the line, for sure. Come here and pay for it."

"Grab the cash in the bag", Alucard closed his notebook.

"Don't make me count right now, please."

Alucard let out a displeased sound, stood up, looked for the coins in the baggage and climbed down, much to his chagrin. The door closed and Sypha did not appreciate the new quietness in the bedroom. She spent quite a long time looking at the notebook Alucard did not take with him. Should I? The minutes passed by, and she knew they would not be back so soon. She got it from the other bed and opened it in the first pages.

Each line of the story was not as new to her, except for… Excellent listener? She began whispering the content of what she noticed was a journal. He likes to see me and Trevor, huh? Reading about Alucard's parents talked to her in a very familiar way. She smiled on her own. The handwriting was mindful and neat, easy to read, and it took her to the end in no time.

"There's someone here and now that reminds me a lot of her", she said to nobody.

She closed the journal before being caught in the act and left it exactly as she found it. She let herself fall on the bed, facing up. Is that how it feels to be observed? She felt silly, as if only with her eyes closed, she could float. Sypha knew how to take first steps, to pop first questions, to give first kisses; how about receiving them? I think that's a thing of mine. She giggled alone staring at the ceiling and soon blamed herself. What am I thinking? She scolded her own fertile imagination. It's not like that. It's a journal, period. It's got honest thoughts, that's what it's meant to have. She first sat, then stood up. I'd better to another thing.

The guests in the inn retreated in groups and just one or another silent drinker remained in the hall. Trevor and Alucard sat by a table in a corner, quiet and with a single mug on the table, and the owner approached.

"This guy's a debtor, sir", Trevor pointed, "Bring me a beer on him."

The old man examined Alucard with his only eye and commented:

"He doesn't look like a debtor."

"But he is. One more."

"One for me, as well, please", Alucard asked before he turned his back on them.

Trevor looked at him as if he did not recognize him.

"What's wrong?", asked Alucard, "Never seen me drink before?"

"Nothing."

"I just want this moment to flow faster."

"I know that feeling."

Their drinks were served by one of the owner's sons, a man maybe their age, that brought them the mugs and left without a word. They took a sip and Trevor inquired:

"Do you know what's in this beer? I've been asking myself that since we arrived."

"Some kind of spice", he looked at the mug, "A rare thing to see."

"It tastes great, that's what matters", Trevor drank some more and sighed, "Listen, maybe I won't remember this tomorrow, and that's why I'm saying it now."

"Hmm?", Alucard was all ears.

"I… I shouldn't have been a complete idiot. I'm sorry."

"What's wrong with you?", he chuckled.

"Never seen me apologize?"

"Honestly?", Alucard frowned.

"I'm the same one as always, as drunk as always. I just learned a thing or two with Sypha while you took a nap."

Alucard lowered his eyes. And I, what did I learn? He took a gulp of the beer, getting to the half of the mug, and said:

"Maybe I should drink more often."

"No, you shouldn't", Trevor finished his own.

They gave the owner some coins, and he blessed them, wishing a good night, and everyone went to their rooms. Trevor knocked on the door and heard from inside:

"It's not locked."

"Yes, it is", he answered, pushing with no success.

He waited a bit and Sypha said, her voice muffled by the door:

"The key is not here, then."

"It ain't here either", Trevor searched his pockets, "Where did you lose them-"

"I have it", Alucard approached with his lazy climbing with the key in his hand and unlocked it.

Trevor tripped and luckily fell on the bed with a relief sound, facing down and with half of his body on the mattress. Sypha was fast enough to dodge his weight. She had the occultists' journal in a hand and Alucard's quill in the other.

"Check this out", she signed for them to come closer.

"Did you decipher some more of this mess?", Trevor turned his head without leaving where he was.

"No. I just wrote here because it's the only paper we've got."

Alucard sat on the opposite side and read on the pages: "Curse of Ploiesti's victims - Dates - Symptoms - Cause of death - Circumstances - Coincidences - Relations they had".

"Very good. I think it'll be of great help", complimented Alucard, "Trevor?"

"Yeah?", he asked with a dragged voice.

"Read it, please", Sypha patted on his head.

"I can't. I'll collaborate when the world spins a bit less."

Sypha rolled her eyes:

"Give him a glass of water, Alucard. Preferably splashing it on his face."

"Your wish is my command", he reached for the jug and poured water in the metal mug.

"Wait, wait right there, no wasting it", Trevor raised all of a sudden, kneeling on the floor, "Gimme that mug."

Trevor chugged at it, cleaned his lips with his sleeve, and thanked. He also squinted his eyes to see what was on the blank pages of the journal and commented:

"That's really great. What do we know so far?"

Sypha started to count on her fingers:

"It was more than a victim. They die in their sleep, after thinking they're stalked and watched. It's been a while it's going on. The burglar in Sohodol died of strangulation, but we don't know if it's the same for all of them… I believe that's all."

"We'll find out the rest when we get there", Alucard got up, sat on his own bed, and put his journal back on his legs, "Now, we rest."

Trevor shared the bed with Sypha, and it was too small for two. He bothered Alucard:

"It's not fair that you have a bed for yourself."

"Are you complaining of sleeping with company?", Alucard chuckled.

"I hope not", Sypha pinched Trevor's cheek.

"I'm not", he kissed her with very little decency, "I just could use a bit more space today, but someone here isn't an expert on that sorta thing."

"An expert, huh?", Alucard frowned, "I'm usually not one to brag, but-"

"Hey. Manners", interrupted Sypha.

Trevor blew out the candle on the bedside table with a "good night" and went back to what he was doing before.

"Who said you could blow it out?", Alucard lighted it again with a spark.

The light made him see a lot of unintended affection. He went back to his journal, which he opened, and stretched his hand for the quill when the murmur in the other bed saw no end. He asked:

"Quieter, please."

"You should've stayed home if you came to be a nuis-"

Sypha covered Trevor's mouth and ordered:

"Shut up. Forget it, Alucard."

Should I? The noise, indeed, became more reasonable until it ceased and was exchanged for a goodbye and a soft snore. Focused on the journal, he ignored them and went back to writing, scribbling on the last "however" he registered and heading to the next page.

"Trevor, even if he is a loner as well as my father, doesn't remind me much of hom. He's also dedicated, cunning, and a misanthrope. But he does not look for meaning into everything, and does things out of impulses very often. He gives in to alcohol too much, even if he advises others not to do the same. He's also not as powerful or as furious. Despite my thinking of him as a possible good leader, he only leaves his anonymity when it's needed. To be honest, it is easier to see flaws in him, rather than virtues, but they are there, somewhere, and you can see it after some time. I can't tell, however, what would he do if a tragedy took Sypha's life as one took my mother's.

Although it seems like, at the time, a great comparison of this person with that, it's not my goal with this I now write. I intend to compare myself to the rest. With which of them do I look like the most? I don't have my father's bloodthirst, and the idea, at times, grosses me out. I never killed a victim for prey. I never even looked for a victim, cornering them as a scared animal. Each and every taste of blood I've ever had was my own, or out of curiosity about my father's food. I've seen him eat in careless ways in front of me very few times. I think he didn't want to encourage me. It's strange to think of that.

Talking about habit, in spite of being, in general, a very happy and harmonic couple, the few times I've seen my parents argue and that had to do with me, most of them were about my learning of dark magic. My mother believed this was a terrible influence, and that I could learn how to defend myself in other ways. My father believed it was the minimum he could do for a young boy like me, who was neither a thing nor another. I had, though, a very safe and protected childhood, and I now believe my father was talking about the time I would discover the world out there on my own. The only form of dark arts my mother had no problems with was the disguise, because it's safe and reliable, and she approved that I studied the sword. I appreciate any form of knowledge, but I don't appreciate all studies, and many things were hard on me in the beginning.

I also have thought of following on my mother's footsteps as a doctor. The suffering can get to me, and maybe some drops of her transcendental love for the human species run in my veins, if you are with me so far. I've learned a lot with her by observing and asking questions, but Medicine is not a thing you do without material support. In a lack of remedies, cleanliness, and tools, one dies due to very little things; the human body, despite being made for survival, has a range of weaknesses.

Frequently I've also seen her treating things that were no illnesses or accidents: the human beings, just as my kind (what kind am I, after all?) assaults and kills also due to very little things. I don't know if I could, like her, keep my focus and composure in front of every case that showed up at my door. Maybe I'd do some eye-for-an-eye justice, sweeping away the bad apples that crossed my path and staining my reputation with blood. What's this humanity that brags of looking for salvation and strays further and further away from it every day? Vampires are creatures with their own moral, but, at least, they don't boast about that kind of thing. Also, being the humankind a social one, there are occasions in which said bad apple makes all of the basket rotten, spreading the evil like a plague. But I believe that even if it's swimming against the current, there are individuals that don't let themselves be spoiled so easily.

It was positive writing about all of this. I'll soon return to these pages with more of my foolish remarks. See you."

He closed the notebook, disassembled the quill, and carefuly put them away in the baggage, going back go bed. Trevor and Sypha's noise became ione made of two tranquil breaths. Maybe I should copy them. He did not cover himself in blankets; he felt no cold. The luxury of a bed won't last forever.