Bloodline

by roxy.svl

Sequel to Endgame. The game is over and everyone lost. So begins the aftermath of the biggest scandal in Vampire Mountain history. The War of the Scars has begun. Kurda's been dishonourably exiled for high treason, and Mika is left to pick up the pieces of his life. [Mika-centric. Basically his life, parallel to canon between books 7-9].

30. Saved Me Too

Hi everyone! I guess a 2 month wait is better than 7, right?

First of all, THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. I am floored and humbled by the feedback on chapter 29. After a 7 month hiatus I was scared to death it'd flop. You guys are incredible.

I don't really have much to cover in this A/N. It's a chapter. Personally I think it's the best chapter I've ever written. I've spent more hours on it than any other so far, so I hope that shows in the writing itself. I guess I also have an anecdotal sort of thing I'd like to share with you. I've literally been writing CDF fanfiction for half my life at this point. I have this weirdly specific core memory of being like 13 or 14, a few months after I started posting fics, having the time of my life and wondering to myself how long I was going to actually keep this up, and if I'd still be writing as an adult. I imagined myself sneaking off to post an update on my wedding day, then laughed internally because no way, right?

So here we are in 2022. I don't plan on posting on my literal wedding day. But we're in the single-digits phase of the countdown, so I guess my younger self wasn't that far off. Luckily my love story is much simpler than Mika and Kurda's but I still think there's some satisfying symmetry between me getting engaged the same month I started this story, and married *close* to when I finally finish it. There's about 3 more chapters to come, but the action has peaked so all that's left is tying up some loose ends.

I hope you guys like this one.

Chapter 30: Saved Me Too

Song: Song #3 by Stone Sour

---

If you take a step towards me

You will take my breath away

So I'll keep you close and keep my secret safe

No one else has ever loved me

No one else has ever tried

I never understood how much I could take

Darren kept his eyes closed as he went in for the kill. It went against all of the formal combat training that had been hammered into his brain, but he didn't care. He didn't feel like a courageous leader or a fierce warrior now. He felt like the same scared kid he was fifteen years ago, backed into a corner and burdened with an impossible choice that wasn't a choice at all.

There came the sound of a steel blade making forceful contact with an unprotected body, the strangled gasp that followed, and Darren knew it was over. He waited for the warmth and stickiness of blood to cover his hand but it never came. He opened his eyes, dreading the sight of his childhood friend dying at the other end of his blade.

It was somehow worse than he could've imagined. So gut-wrenching it took Darren a moment to realize someone else got there first. The sword sticking out of Steve's stomach was far larger and more sophisticated than the one Darren had been fighting with, but Darren's gaze didn't linger on it. He was no longer alone with Steve on the platform. There was a third figure standing between them. The figure's back was facing Darren, but there was no mistaking the golden hair shining through layers of ash and blood as Kurda hurriedly patted away the flames that had caught his shirt when he rushed the platform.

Steve dropped his sword and it clattered to the floor. Kurda kicked it away from them; it slid off the platform and out of sight. The clamour of battle had given way to triumphant uproar. Darren could see Larten and Gannen clawing their way through the charred rubble to join them on the platform. They didn't seem real. None of this was real. Surely Darren was just hallucinating from head trauma. He didn't remember making a conscious decision to move, but suddenly he found himself there beside Kurda, helping him lower Steve gently to the floor.

"Are you alright, Darren?" Kurda asked, voice low and calm as ever. It would be comforting, had this been a situation where comfort was within the realm of possibility. Darren responded with a twitch of a nod that didn't fool anyone.

Kurda slowly pulled his sword out of Steve's body. Upon closer look Darren recognized it was actually Mika's sword. How or why Kurda ended up with it, Darren didn't care. Steve gasped in pain as blood flowed unobstructed from his stomach. And as he slowly sank to his knees, his eyes drifted past Kurda to find Darren's. Kurda stood upright but stayed close. Darren remained kneeling on the floor, eye-level with Steve.

"D-Darren… I can't feel anything." Steve choked out. There was already blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

"I got you, Steve." Darren heard himself rasp over the sound of his heart pounding in his eardrums. "Everything's going to be okay."

Steve fell sideways in slow-motion til he was lying in a bloody, fetal heap on the floor. He inhaled, but it was a death rattle if Darren had ever heard one. Darren leaned closer so he could hear what remained of Steve's voice.

"Did… did Darius see…?"

Darren's stomach clenched. "No. He's safe."

Steve didn't look like the Vampaneze Lord now. As he lay shaking in Darren's arms, he simply looked like the shell of a man. A man who'd once been the boy Darren befriended on the schoolyard. Wild-eyed and wayward, but guilty of nothing more than being a little too boisterous in the classroom. Darren loved him then - when his parents and teachers shook their heads and told him surely he could find a better friend. And Darren loved him now - lying on the floor of the Hall of Princes as his life force ebbed once and for all.

"D-Dar… Darren…"

"I'm here, Steve. I got you."

"Take care… take care of my son."

"I will. I promise."

And when the world around them erupted in celebration at the moment Steve died, Darren loved him still. It was all he could do to keep breathing himself.

"I'm sorry, Darren." Kurda's voice drifted in from the left. He knelt beside Darren and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

"Why'd you do it?" Darren choked, the words burning his throat as they tumbled forth like lava. "I know someone had to. But why you? Why now?"

Kurda hesitated before replying. His voice was as steady as ever.

"So you didn't have to."

Darren nodded mechanically, knowing no matter the sins Steve committed against him in life, there was no universe where he, Darren, would've ever recovered from having to be the one who extinguished that life. Countless times he'd swore vengeance, swore he'd relish the chance to kill his old friend when the time came. He'd been lying to himself.

He could have done it.

He would have done it.

But killing Steve would've killed part of himself. That was the truth he hadn't fully accepted til just now.

"I'm so sorry." Kurda repeated.

Darren shook his head. "Thank you."

He felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He could hear the goings-on in the background, but he couldn't understand any of it. He didn't care to try. Someone yelled in the distance, and Kurda disappeared. Gannen took his place. The stoic vampaneze slowly knelt at Steve's side, across from where Darren was hunched. His face was unreadable as he gently closed the eyes of his one-time apprentice. After a pause Gannen inhaled purposely as though about to say something. But he seemed to change his mind and instead held silent vigil with Darren for a moment.

But that moment seemed to end before it started. Gannen stepped away as Mr. Crepsley appeared in a crimson flurry. Darren felt a simmer of resentment he didn't fully understand as his mentor gripped his shoulders with both hands, forcing him to look up. He watched Mr. Crepsley's lips move, but it was as if he was speaking another language. The words just didn't make sense.

"We did it, Darren! It is over!" Mr. Crepsley kept saying. He was smiling and nodding deliberately as though trying to encourage Darren to mirror his facial expression. Darren shook his head numbly. Tried to find the words to convey the inexplicable heartache that was boiling beneath his skin. For a moment it felt impossible. And when the words found him, he wasn't ready for how harshly they tore from his lips. He didn't even recognize his own voice as he turned on Mr. Crepsley.

"Don't! Don't touch me! You did this to him! He was wrong about everything else, but he got that much right! He wasn't evil that night you met him! He was ten!"

The words hung in the air for a moment, weighing far more heavily than the lingering smoke that surrounded them. Darren watched Mr. Crepsley crumble from within at the raw grief in his voice. His mouth opened and closed for several moments, like a fish out of water - but no words came out. Darren didn't feel guilt or triumph over the fact he'd rendered his mentor speechless. All he felt was grief.

Grief for Steve. Beneath the monster he'd become, there was the child told over and over that nobody wants you. Darren knew two things for certain. One: there was no excusing or forgiving Steve's acts of cruelty. Two: monsters are made, not born.

Grief for Darius. Used, manipulated, and lied to before he'd seen a full decade come and go. Forced into a world he didn't have the maturity to understand, with no option to retreat. He'd never know normal. He'd never know peace or softness. His childhood was gone.

Grief for his family. Dermot. Angela. How it wasn't enough for them to lose their only son. How their daughter and grandson's lives had been torn apart too. And Annie… now burdened with a truth almost more heart-wrenching than the lie she'd been living since the day she saw her brother in a coffin.

How do you celebrate a victory when so much was lost? How do you even call it a victory?

"What do you want me to do?" Mr. Crepsley managed to force out after a ringing silence that seemed to span hours.

"Go away."

"Darren, please -"

"That's an order."

"I will not." Only then did Mr. Crepsley's voice begin to crack. "Have the guards drag me away, if you must. But I am not leaving."

Darren no longer had the resolve to argue. He doubled over, forehead resting against Steve's lifeless shoulder. And he sobbed.

Then I saw the worst was over

When I laid my eyes on you

It was all that I could do to know my place

Out of all the vast illusions

Out of all the dreams come true

I was gone until I finally saw your face

It's not like Gavner. This is nothing like Gavner. This was the Lord of the Vampaneze. I didn't have a choice. It's not like Gavner.

It took all of Kurda's strength not to throw up at the sight of the young man bleeding out in front of him, gagging helplessly on his own blood. When Leonard's knees began to buckle, Kurda slowly and gently lowered him to the floor. How strange it felt, the sudden and inescapable compulsion to allow this one small mercy to the Vampaneze Lord. Kurda paused for a moment before he moved the blade, deliberating on what would be less cruel. A swift yank, or a careful pull? More suffering wouldn't undo the pain Leonard caused. When Kurda finally withdrew Mika's blade, he did it as slowly as he could.

He died within seconds. Right there on the throne platform in the Hall of Princes. Mere feet from the Stone of Blood itself. And Kurda watched a piece of Darren die with him.

Larten appeared within seconds, brushing past Kurda to hug Darren tightly, grinning in relief. "It is over! The Vampaneze Lord has fallen!" He bellowed triumphantly.

Darren barely seemed to notice his mentor. His eyes were still glued to the lifeless body of his fallen enemy. His friend. The boiling sea of conflicting emotion on that young face made Kurda's heart ache. He didn't know what to do or say, if anything. He stood beside Darren in silent solidarity for a moment. That moment turned out to be all he could spare.

MVL: You did it, Kurda. I love you.

Kurda had heard Mika's voice in his head literally thousands of times. But he'd never heard it like this. Their usually strong telepathic link seemed fainter. As though it was fading -

No.

Nononononono.

NO!

Kurda stood up abruptly, heart racing and nerves on fire. It couldn't be. Not now. Then a sharp, familiar voice punctured his ear, coming from somewhere around the middle of the Hall.

"Oh gods… fuck, Mika! Don't close your eyes! Stay with me!" Kaden Hale was shouting frantically. Hale was never one for dramatics. The raw panic in her voice turned Kurda's blood cold.

He didn't remember the manic sprint from the throne platform, through the flames and the sea of charred rubble and pools of blood that lay between him and Mika. He only remembered the moment he hit his knees on the floor beside him, how pale Mika was, and the sheer amount of blood that had already pooled around him.

Hale had been closest. She'd gotten to Mika first, and was pressing her folded-up cloak against his chest with everything she had. And somehow there was still so much blood. Kurda automatically yanked off his jacket and added it to the fabric barrier standing between Mika's precious life and whatever came after.

"What happened?!"

"Wiles turned his gun on you. I couldn't get there fast enough. Mika took it." Hale choked out, half-sobbing as her eyes met Kurda's. "It hit… a vein or something. Or an artery, I don't know. No exit wound. And there's so much fucking blood, I don't… I can't…"

"Where are the medics?!"

"They're all in the tunnels. I mind-linked with Arrow. He's sending them up as quick as they can go, but it'll be a while. Not enough room to flit down there."

Kurda heard the words Hale was saying, but they stopped making sense about halfway through. He increased the pressure against the folds of fabric under his hand, willing the dark crimson stream to slow.

KS: Come on, Mika. Open your eyes. I know you can hear me. You wouldn't leave us like this. You wouldn't do that to Gracie.

But Kurda hadn't served as a medic in the Second World War without learning that people don't usually come back from losing that much blood. The body, whether human or vampire, simply can't resupply itself quickly enough. At least not without extreme intervention.

"We have to stop the bleeding. If we can keep him alive til the medics get here, they'll be able to get the bullet and seal the wound. Right?!" Hale gasped as her shaking hands readjusted the folds of cloth.

"Yeah… that's right. We just have to keep him alive. We can do that." Instinct took over Kurda's executive functioning. He watched as his own hands reached out shakily and picked up Mika's right hand. It flopped pathetically in his grasp. Even stained with dried blood Kurda could still see the cuts from when Mika sliced his fingertips open in a desperate bid to buy time while linked to the Stone. There hadn't been time to seal the cuts, so all Kurda had to do was replicate them on his own hand.

"What are you doing?" Hale murmured. Both her voice and eyes were harsh with worry.

"I've walked up and down those tunnels more times than I can count." Kurda replied. Unlike hers, his voice was dead even. "The medics won't get here soon enough. He's lost too much blood."

"Kurda, I don't think you should -"

"There's no other way."

"Vancha went to get help, just wait."

"Hale, it's not enough, you hear me?! Stopping the bleeding won't save him!"

Hale stopped arguing, as Kurda knew she would. A good General knows the lives of the Princes are to be protected above all. And Hale was an excellent General.

"Listen to me. No matter what happens, don't take your hands off his chest." Kurda heard himself say. "Just keep pressure on the wound. I'll do the rest."

He didn't pause to take a deep breath or brace himself. It would've been an unnecessary waste of time - pressing his bleeding fingers into Mika's was the easiest thing he'd ever done.

Then even though Kurda wasn't on excellent terms with the vampire gods, he prayed.

If you cried out for more

If you reached out for me

I would run into the storm

Just to keep you here with me

I have gone beyond my years

I've wasted half my life

But I found it all in you

Did I save you?

'Cause I know you saved me too

Mika's world shifted back into focus but something was off.

He found himself standing outside the Hall of Princes, in front of the closed doors. Instinctively he placed his hand on the outer control panel, and the door slid open.

That was when it hit him - this wasn't the real Hall of Princes. The real Hall of Princes had crumbled into a wasteland of blood and fire. This place was silent as a tomb and as pristine as the day it was built. The charred pews were all back in place, and the wooden throne platform seemed to glow as though it had been freshly polished. But that did nothing to put Mika's mind at ease.

He knew what this was. Kurda told him about visiting this place too, in the Cavern of Retribution before Darren pulled him back. This place took the form of the Hall of Princes, but it was really the front porch of paradise. And considering Mika's most recent memory was throwing his body in front of a traitor's smoking gun, that made sense. He was dying.

Fair enough, he thought. He certainly hadn't taken Kurda's bullet with the expectation he'd just walk it off. This part was simply the next step.

A distant chatter of voices pierced the silence and pulled his focus. Mika belatedly realized he wasn't alone. There were several figures at the front of the room. As if they'd been waiting for him.

Mika slowly approached the throne platform. Paris was there. Second seat from the right, as always. His vibrant blue eyes glinted with the energy of a much younger man, as they had when he was alive. Arra sat beside him, lounging sideways in Mika's throne like she owned it. Her lips curved into a wicked grin as she turned to face Mika, but she didn't move to vacate his seat.

The third vampire on the platform wasn't in a throne, instead he was sitting on the stairs with a pensive expression. The last time Mika saw that face it had been grey and lifeless; lying on the floor with a bullet in his head. The bullet meant for Mika.

"You shouldn't be here." Arlo groaned, rising to his feet as Mika drew even with him.

"You shouldn't be here. If I'd taken that bullet the first time like I was supposed to, it would've saved a lot of people a lot of trouble." Mika heard himself say. His own voice sounded distant, echoing strangely off walls he couldn't see through the fog.

"Oh, my dear Mika… As self-deprecating as ever. One would almost think you didn't like yourself nearly as much as you've lead the world to believe." Paris chimed in, a sad smile on his face as Mika's eyes darted to him.

"You left me alone in the middle of a war without saying goodbye. You're not allowed to pass judgement on my shitty coping mechanisms." The grief and anger from months ago suddenly felt raw again, and Mika almost pulled away when Paris wrapped him in a tight hug.

"You have a lot of nerve to guilt-trip Paris over that when you didn't even come to my funeral." Arra contributed for the first time, her eyes glinting as they caught Mika's over Paris's shoulder.

"I didn't have it in me to ugly cry in front of the whole clan after everything else that happened that night." Mika disentangled himself from Paris and moved towards Arra. She rolled her eyes as she reluctantly got up from Mika's throne. But when she hugged him, she held on so tightly the room seemed to flicker in and out. And in that split second when Mika's vision darkened, he could've sworn he smelled smoke. As if the force of her embrace sent him back to what was left of his physical body. Then it was over and he figured he'd just imagined it. Like he was probably imagining all of this.

"You always were emotionally stunted." Arra chuckled into his shoulder.

"If it makes you feel better, I haven't been able to look at the bars since you died."

Arra leaned back from the embrace so she could look up at him. She wasn't smiling now. "I know."

"I miss you every day of my life, Arra."

"I miss you too. I didn't want to leave. I wasn't ready."

"It wasn't fair. I'm so sorry you -"

"Shut up. You don't need to apologize. Just give Larten a kiss from me, alright?"

"Best I can do is a firm handshake. And how do you know I'm going to see Larten any time soon? Is he dying too?"

Arra didn't appreciate the sarcasm. Her eyes narrowed and her voice turned sharp as the dagger Gracie inherited from her. "Don't say that. Larten's not dying and you're not staying here."

"She's right, Mika." Paris chimed in. "If you wanted to give Seba a… a firm handshake on my behalf as well, I wouldn't object. It was lovely to see you, but you're a few centuries early. Now go."

It occurred to Mika he should probably be feeling a stronger sense of urgency here. But all he felt was mild apathy. Maybe even a little patronized. Like they were going through the motions when they should know better than to waste their time.

"Go where? This is how it works, isn't it? I died. I don't get to go back through that door."

Paris was already shaking his head. "Doors open from both sides." The ancient Prince persisted. "Don't play the fool, Mika. Ignorance has never been a good colour on you. You don't have to be here. You're here because you feel you deserve to be."

Mika's apathy turned to indignation. What did Paris know? He'd been dead for almost half a year. He had a lot of fucking nerve to believe Mika would voluntarily leave a world where his shattered family had a chance to be whole again.

"I wouldn't say I deserved to die. But I felt more strongly that Kurda deserved to live, so here I am. I owe him that much, if not more." Said Mika, speaking with the same cold diplomacy his peers had come to expect from him during the toughest of negotiations.

"You didn't even try to disarm Jakob. You just jumped in front of the gun. That kind of reckless goes against everything I know about you." Arlo challenged him. There was a bitterness in his eyes Mika didn't know how to interpret. So he glared at the younger vampire.

"There wasn't time! I didn't have a choice!"

But Mika heard the defensive edge in his own voice, and the others did too.

Was there time? Was Jakob even a good enough shot to hit Kurda from that distance? Probably not, but Mika wasn't willing to gamble on probably. Could he have just disarmed Jakob?

No! There wasn't time!

Was there?

"Liar." Arra snapped. The word cut like a razorblade.

"You always have a choice, Mika." Said Paris. All three of them knew he was reiterating what Arra said - just with considerably more tact. "You're choosing to be here right now. Just like you chose to take the bullet because you thought it was the least you could do. For Kurda, and for the clan itself."

"That doesn't mean I wanted to die!" The word wanted caught in Mika's throat and burned.

"I didn't say you wanted to die." Paris countered patiently. "You blame yourself for so much of this pain and suffering. You wanted to be part of the future Kurda dreamed of, but you never actually felt you deserved a place in it. So you made your choice."

Whatever afterlife came next, it had to be better than this. Mika wanted to scream. He closed his eyes for a moment. Tried to gather himself, and only half-succeeded. As if it mattered at this point.

"So what? So fucking what?" The words twisted into a harsh half-sob. "It was him or me! And it's always going to be him! You said it yourself, I made my choice! Now all I have to do is…"

The words died on his lips. Mika felt a tingle down the back of his neck as if there were more eyes on him than he realized. The sensation sucked the air from his lungs. When he turned around, he almost hit his knees.

Let me take a step towards you

Let me feel you in my hands

Let me cross this line and show you where it leads

There's a darkness down inside me

That I know we'll both enjoy

And it's screaming from within to set it free

Kurda could feel his strength draining by the second but he wasn't panicking. Maybe it was because he was too damned tired. Or maybe it was because he'd finally found a way to make it up to Mika. It would cost him everything he had but it was a price he was glad to pay. Darren didn't have to risk his life and blood to save Kurda in the Cavern of Retribution that night, but he did. He unwittingly lent Kurda just enough time to finish what he'd started.

It was all the time Kurda needed. Mika could have the rest. That was the only thought Kurda had left to cling to as his blood flowed from his own body and into Mika's - a one way trip.

"Kurda, I think you should stop. That's enough. Can you hear me? Kurda, let go!" Hale's voice sounded like a distant echo. She was only a few feet away but Kurda was out of her reach. Pushing Kurda away would've meant taking her hands off Mika's chest - allowing the wound to bleed freely once more. She knew better than to risk it.

Kurda's vision was fading, but he could see the colour slowly returning to Mika's face as his blood supply was replenished. His hand was shaking so hard it was all he could do to keep his fingertips pressed against Mika's to sustain the lifeline between them.

Mika was still deeply unconscious, but the strength of his mental signal was increasing. He wasn't all there, but he was still here. Kurda heard himself laugh in relief - how surreal that sounded.

Hale was alternating between yelling at Kurda and yelling for help but he couldn't discern the words themselves. He couldn't sit up any longer, the dizziness was becoming unbearable. The world was fading in and out as he slowly collapsed to the floor. But even when his vision flickered, the Hall of Princes didn't. And he knew why. He'd done this before. He took one last look at Mika. Even bloodied, bruised and burned, he was perfect.

He acknowledged the thunder of footsteps vibrating through the stone floor but he was well past the point of reacting. The world was truly fading to black now. This time it wouldn't come back into focus.

More voices, loud voices, all shouting frantically, overlapping one another.

He heard Mika's name, then his own.

He saw Vancha and Arrow's faces looming above him, twisted in shock and fear. They were the last thing he saw before his eyes drifted shut and his brain disengaged. There were no more coherent thoughts to be had.

More shouting, louder than ever. The words didn't make sense anymore. It was all just noise.

He felt his fingertips disconnect with Mika's. Good, he thought. He'd done his part. The medics would take it from here.

"Kurda... what the fuck have you done?! Oh gods..." Arrow's voice thundered into his eardrums.

You should be happy, Arrow. My life in exchange for your best friend's? Come on, big guy. Even you can do that math. It's okay.

A large, powerful hand closed tightly around Kurda's wrist in a way that was rough but not unkind.

Then, a sudden twinge of pain as something sliced into his fingertips one by one, widening and deepening the cuts that were already there.

That sharp sting was the very last thing he felt before everything finally faded to nothing.

I have left this bloody nightmare

In my wake but out of sight

All I want is deviation by design

Out of all the past confusion

Out of all the common spite

Just tell me I am yours 'cause you are mine

Mika knew all of this was impossible. He knew he wasn't actually standing here in the presence of his deceased dear ones. But despite the fact everyone in this room was equally dead, somehow this was the part that levelled him with shock. He didn't know if they'd been there all along and he just hadn't noticed them, or if they materialized while his back was turned. He'd never truly met them. He saw them once in real life, and again in his nightmares a hundred times after.

Gracie's parents. Her first parents, the humans who brought her into this world and raised her til a vampaneze attack took them far too soon, along with four of the five children who lived in their cozy cabin home. But the children weren't here in the Hall. And it occurred to Mika that was probably because he'd been unable to look at their youthful faces long enough to commit them to memory. He'd taken each pulse one by one, knowing they were long gone. It wasn't a standard ritual feeding. Just a devastating waste of life. The collateral damage of madness that was nobody's fault - but no less heartbreaking for it.

Mika was numb. He could no longer feel the floor beneath his feet as he walked to them. He took no comfort in fact that this was almost certainly a hallucination as he succumbed to blood loss. He'd never felt so insignificant. Not even as a child. How could he look them in the eye after the havoc his best intentions wreaked on their baby's life? Where do you even begin to apologize for that?

Now that he was closer, Mika could see the subtle resemblance between them and Gracie. She had her mother's athletic build and dainty nose, and her father's strong jaw. But neither human had the vivid blue eyes or golden hair she shared with Kurda. Mika knew now that had been Evanna's doing. But then the human woman smiled. There it was - Gracie's smile.

"You don't have to explain anything. We know you." She told him before he even opened his mouth. Her voice was strikingly similar to that of the daughter she never knew, yet there was an earnest softness about her that Gracie didn't typically affect. Mika still froze like she'd bellowed in his face.

"I wish you didn't." He managed at last.

"They told us we couldn't have another child after our fourth." The man spoke up. He didn't smile like his wife, but there was a solemn sort of acceptance about him as he regarded Mika at eye-level. "And we didn't try, really. But there was no stopping her… even before she was born. She arrived during the biggest storm we'd ever seen, after the worst drought we ever had. And as soon as I held her in my arms, I knew she'd move mountains."

Mika struggled to meet his gaze, but forced himself to. The man's features - brown eyes, fair hair - were very different from his Mika's. But Mika couldn't help but notice they shared an almost identical height and build, and he wondered if that was why baby Gracie fell asleep so easily in Mika's arms after only a week. Maybe when she closed her eyes, she felt like she was home.

"She already has." Said Mika at last. "She's going to change the world. And it won't be because of anything I did." The words felt like a cop-out, but he meant them with every fibre of his being.

"You saved her. That was everything." Said the woman.

"Of course we saved her. I was supposed to stop the creature that killed you, but I didn't get there in time."

"Interesting, isn't it?" Paris remarked. He was talking to Arra up on the platform, but in a carrying stage whisper that practically begged to be overheard. "Notice how he claims 'We saved her'. But 'I didn't get there in time'. Which is it, Mika? We or I?"

"Gods, weren't you listening when we went over this twenty-five years ago? You're the one who grilled me about it, were you not?" Mika snapped, pivoting to glare up at them. "I could've overruled Kurda at any point during that mission, and I chose not to. I didn't know what was at stake. We had to save Gracie because I failed! No matter what you call it, it happened because of me."

"Because of you isn't the same as your fault."

Another voice. Only vaguely familiar, yet Mika placed it right away. His heart dropped into his stomach as he turned again.

Dale. Poor, mild-mannered human Dale whose only crime had been boring Mika half to death by talking about finance and golf. But all Mika really cared about was how his eyes lit up when he looked at Gracie. Dale was simply good. He radiated the sort of benevolent kindness that you just didn't find in the vampire clan. And now he was dead. Just another pawn used by monsters he thought only existed in stories and nightmares. Mika started to wonder if his sole purpose of passing through this room was to run a final gauntlet of apologies before he got to pass on to the real afterlife.

"That… that's what Gracie told me. The week after you..." Mika couldn't finish the sentence but he didn't exactly have to.

"I know." Dale chuckled weakly. "Did you think I was clever enough to come up with that on my own? It's nice to see you again, Mr. Ver Leth. Or Sire, I guess. Wish I'd known that when I met you. In hindsight I was really underdressed for that dinner."

Mika groaned and ran a weary hand through his hair. Which he was able to do, because it was no longer sticky with clumps of drying blood. "Gods, Dale… my fault or not, you didn't deserve that. You can call me whatever you want. Just know that I'm sorry doesn't even begin to cover it."

"I accept your apology." Dale answered. He was still smiling, as if it was really that simple. How wrong he was. Nothing about this was simple.

A hand on Mika's shoulder pulled his focus away from the humans and back to the front of the room. Arra was beside him now, eyes ablaze with intensity that almost bordered on desperation.

"Mika, I know you think you failed them all. And maybe in some ways you did! But your life won't repay the debt you think you owe. There is no debt. And making them attend your funeral… it won't prove you're sorry."

And as Arra squeezed his shoulders, there it was again. A glimpse of reality, exactly like when she hugged him. But this time he knew he wasn't imagining the creeping heat of smoke in his nose and lungs. This time it was accompanied by an ominous pressure-pain in the left side of his chest - reminding him he wasn't truly here. And with every second he spent here, he drifted further away from there.

Maybe all this was in Mika's head, but that wasn't. The pain was real. His body was still fighting. They were still waiting for him on the other side. What he thought was a selfless act was the epitome of selfishness in disguise. And maybe it was too late. Maybe he was too far gone to make it back out that door.

But it wouldn't be because he didn't try.

"Go. Get out of here. NOW!"

He walked. The closer he got to the door, the more it hurt. Every step sent a shockwave of pain through his very bones. He pushed through it until he couldn't walk and breathe at the same time. For a moment his vision went black. Maybe this was it. Maybe he wouldn't make it to the door. Suddenly he was so tired and it hurt so much he didn't even care. Halfway between the thrones and the door he faltered. Stumbled into an outer pew, gripped the wooden edge for support.

Only then, as he stood hunched over and shaking from pain and exhaustion, did he see them sitting there. The recognition hit him like a bucket of ice water and he froze.

Reina and Marius Ver Leth.

Mom. Dad.

Even after 250 years there was no mistaking his own parents. They looked exactly as they did the last time he ever saw them before running away at sixteen.

They didn't look nearly as surprised to see him. Mika glanced at the door - suddenly it seemed twice as far away as it did before he stopped here. He was running out of time but he couldn't tear himself away. They seemed to be waiting for him to speak. But gods, where did he start?

Did you miss me? Did you look for me? Did you ask yourself why I left? Did you ever think about me? Did you even love me?

Reina was as beautiful now as ever. She'd always blended seamlessly into the pack of vapid socialites she surrounded herself with. Yet even from an early age Mika sensed she was far more intelligent than she let on, and he was endlessly frustrated by the fact that she chose to act like them.

Even now, her shrewd grey eyes were perfect mirrors of Mika's. The difference between then and now was that now Mika could see beyond what she chose to show. He saw her guilt. Her loss. Her regret. She didn't offer an apology and Mika wouldn't have accepted if she had. But he felt his own face soften for a moment, and he watched hers do the same. That was enough.

Mika looked at Marius and felt his face instinctively harden all over again. But for the first time in his life, Mika didn't struggle to look his father in the eye. As Mika rose through the clan ranks, he was frequently complimented on his ruthlessly effective poker face; he could look the devil himself in the eye without breaking a sweat. That skill was the only thing he inherited from the Ver Leth business empire.

Now, Marius didn't shrink under his son's withering glare. But he wanted to. And Mika knew it. Relished in it. How the table fucking turns, Dad. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue. He inhaled, desperate to finally release the unresolved bitterness that had been aching and throbbing like an infection for almost three centuries now.

Are you proud of me now? All your money couldn't have bought the power I earned. And I did it alone! Did you see I have my own kid now? Loving her is the easiest thing I've ever done! Why did you make it seem so difficult? What did I do wrong?

The words died in his throat as the image of Gracie's face and the sound of her laughter flickered through his mind. Mika hadn't been worth his father's time in life. Marius wasn't worth his son's time in death. Because this wasn't death - not for Mika. As long as the heart-shaped watch was still ticking, Mika wouldn't spare him another second. Whatever time he had left, if any, belonged to Gracie. To Kurda.

For the past two centuries, when Mika heard the word father he thought only of Paris. That would never change. And Paris was right - he shouldn't be here. Couldn't stay here.

"I have nothing to say to you." Mika murmured at last. He didn't wait for a reaction. Didn't try to read his parents' faces. He turned his back and kept walking. Walked for what felt like hours as the aisle stretched endlessly in front of him. That was part of the death-limbo hallucination, right? The Hall of Princes wasn't this long in real life.

He broke into a run. The pain hit him all over again. It was getting harder to breathe through the invisible smoke. Was he getting closer to the other side? Or the other other side?

Finally he made it to the door. He thought about looking back. One last glance at Paris and Arra -

No. No time. They weren't going anywhere. But Mika was. He slammed his into the control panel, waited.

Nothing.

He tried again. Nothing. It wasn't working. The doors remained as silent and impassive as they appeared to the rest of the world. Why wasn't it working?

Stupid question. He knew why. He was out of time. He was trapped here. Dying. Dead.

No. No. Nonononono.

His knees were going weak, vision blurring, heart pounding. His shaking, numbing fingertips were raking through his hair - nowhere near the control panel - when he heard the familiar humming noise. The doors rushed open, seemingly of their own accord.

In the middle of the doorway stood Kurda. His hand was level with the outer control panel. For some reason the first thing Mika noticed was how clean he was. His fair hair and light blue shirt were completely free of ash and blood from the battle. It didn't even occur to Mika to wonder how and why Kurda could open the not-door. It wasn't real, so why did it matter?

Kurda smiled like he'd known Mika was going to be there. That same benevolent, effortless smile that always made Mika feel so at peace with him.

"Hey, sunshine." Said Kurda simply. Like it was twenty years ago and they were just about to steal a quick kiss in an empty corridor before rushing off to their separate duties.

"What are you doing here?" But before the words had fully passed Mika's lips, his stomach clenched in dread as it hit him.

"Nothing. It's okay." Said Kurda gently. Still smiling. "You should get going, though."

"You're coming with me, right?"

"Of course. Go ahead. I'll be right behind you."

"No. I'm not going without you." Mika instinctively reached for Kurda's hand -

Their fingertips brushed together and the pain in his chest increased tenfold. Like his heart itself was on fire. He tried to scream but no sound came out. Everything went dark. Couldn't see Kurda anymore. Couldn't see anything. Couldn't even breathe. Suffocating. Paralyzed. His body was caving in on itself and his knees gave out. He waited to feel the impact of the hard stone floor against his knees as he fell, but he never came. He just kept falling. Plummeting through unending darkness. Still reaching for Kurda.

His own scream was the first thing he heard. Eyes open at last. So much light, too much. Stinging, burning but barely noticeable against the pain in his chest.

"Fuck! He's awake!" The voice was familiar. So very familiar it would've been soothing had it not been drenched in panic.

"Charna's guts. It's too soon! Keep him still!" The second voice was less familiar. Just as frantic.

Mika could feel every pinch and pull as Jai maneuvered what felt like forks and knives in the open wound. He twisted his body, desperate to get away, make it stop. A pair of vicelike hands pressed into his shoulders kept him frozen in place. A face loomed over him. Blurry at first, slowly coming into focus.

"A..." Mika managed to whimper. Only then did he taste the metallic deluge of blood in his mouth, and he gagged.

The nickname "A" was an inside joke over two centuries old. Arrow hadn't yet learned to read or write when he first met Mika. If he had to sign something, he just scrawled a big letter A and that was that. He was reasonably literate these days, but he'd always be "A" to his oldest friend. That really did work in Mika's favour now. Just that single syllable took so much strength.

"We got you, Mika. Don't try to talk." Arrow murmured. Voice low and urgent, brimming with just as much forced calmness as Jai. "You're going to be okay. But you have to stay still."

"W'happen?"

"Shh. Wiles shot you point-blank in the chest. Thought I was going to lose you right there in the Hall -"

The Hall.

Oh gods.

Head spinning. Vision blurring. Sinking back into the darkness. He fought against the pull, knowing it was a losing battle. But first he had to know -

"Kurda?" Mika gasped, as loudly as he could manage. He was blacking out again and he knew it. But even as his senses dulled he saw Arrow's face darken. Mika tried to sit up, fighting Arrow's restraint.

"I said keep him still!" Jai growled. His voice seemed so far away.

"Kurda's fine. I promise. Everything's fine." Said Arrow. His desperation was palpable and Mika didn't trust him for a second. If there was ever a time for Arrow to lie, this was the epitome of that. Kurda was entering the not-Hall at the same time Mika was leaving. Kurda was the one who opened the fucking door to let Mika out. Arrow was lying.

He's not gone. He can't be gone.

"Where is he?!" Adrenaline overrode the pain - just for a second, no longer than that. Mika tried to get up, get off this bed. Out of here. Just get to Kurda. Find Kurda. Every nerve in his body screamed in protest at the sudden motion and so did the medic working on him.

"He needs to be sedated or the bullet's going to shift right into his heart!" Jai bellowed. Takes a hell of a lot to fluster Jai, so the crack in his voice didn't bode well. Mika didn't care. He had to get off this bed and find Kurda.

Jai yelled for backup. More voices. More hands on his body shoving him down.

"What are you waiting for? Sedate him!"

Trying to get up again. Fighting against the pain, the physical restraints, against every force of the universe that was trying to keep him away from Kurda. He couldn't hear the medics anymore. All he heard was his own voice crying out, "Where is he?" over and over again til a sharp jab in his upper arm made the world go silent.

He felt the warmth of Arrow's forehead against his, saw the fear in his eyes up close. Arrow was speaking slowly but the words didn't make sense. As if they were a language Mika couldn't understand.

The sedative was working quickly. Too quickly. Mika tried to tell Arrow he couldn't hear him. Tried to scream Kurda's name again in case he was nearby. In case his worst nightmare hadn't come true. In case there was still time.

Then everything went black once more, and he felt nothing at all.

And if you cried out for more

If you reached out for me

I would run into the storm

Just to keep you here with me

I have gone beyond my years

I've wasted half my life

But I found it all in you

Did I save you?

'Cause I know you saved me too

The fires on the pews and throne platform had been extinguished. It wasn't a total loss but the charred wreckage was more than enough to serve as a chilling reminder of what happened here tonight. Darren could hear vampires milling about the Hall of Princes, getting the monumental cleanup effort underway. He paid them no mind, and they seemed reluctant to approach him. Good.

Larten eventually slipped off to check in with Seba and Harkat… and Darius. Darren didn't know which weighed heavier: the crippling guilt over the fact that he himself hadn't already run to comfort his nephew, or the dread of knowing he'd have to look him in the eye after this.

How could he do that when he couldn't even let go of Steve's corpse?

It felt like the whole night passed by, but it had only been a little over an hour when a hand on Darren's shoulder ripped him back to reality. He knew who it was. Couldn't bring himself to look up.

"Hey… It's over. He's gone." Gracie's voice. Low and steady. And a little apprehensive, or maybe confused as to why Darren had been paralyzed by grief when he had every reason to celebrate. He didn't realize she'd returned to the Hall of Princes. All he could do was close his eyes and shake his head, as if that'd be enough to snap him out of this nightmare.

"Darren, you can't stay here on the floor. The staff need to work. Come on. I know it's hard but -"

"Don't act like you're not as happy as the rest of them!" Darren heard himself cry, hating himself for lashing out but unable to suppress the hurricane of emotion in his body. "He ruined your life, remember? He would've killed as many of us as he could! You should be glad he's dead! Everybody else is!"

Only then did he manage to sit upright and look her in the eye. He immediately regretted his words. She looked just as shattered as he felt.

"I spent an hour locked in a safe room with your nephew. He wouldn't let go of my arm the entire time. This is how scared he was." She rolled up her sleeve and Darren's heart sank at the darkening purple bruising on her forearm. "And when they finally let us go, I find out both my dads in the infirmary. And the only reason I'm here is because the medics wouldn't let me in there. So I promise you I'm not fucking glad about any of this." There was cold, quiet venom in her voice that Darren knew wasn't directed at him, but it still made his heart ache somehow more yet.

"I'm sorry." He whispered helplessly. It didn't feel like enough, but it was all he could manage.

"Don't feel sorry for me. They're going to be fine. I know they will. I just… have to wait a little longer. That's all." Only then did her voice crack. Just a little, but enough to send Darren over the edge.

"I thought this would be easy." He choked out through trembling lips as he fought to keep it together. "Isn't this what was supposed to happen? We won, didn't we? Why does it feel like this?"

He broke down again. Gracie didn't say anything else for a long while, but she stayed. On her knees at Darren's side, one hand resting on his shoulder as he sobbed. Darren didn't take any notice of the slowly approaching footsteps, but when he heard Gracie sigh in resignation he immediately knew what was coming next.

"It's time to let go. They have to move the body. He can't stay here. Neither can you." She tried. Darren wasn't ready. This couldn't be it. He knew she was right. He tried to speak. Nod, even. But he couldn't move. Gracie shifted tactics, dropping the note of placation from her voice. "They'll be bringing Darius in soon. You really want him to see this?"

At last Darren surrendered, straightening his back just enough that some faceless guards could gingerly slide Steve's body from his grasp and onto a stretcher. Out of the Hall. Out of sight. Gone.

"You're in control of the Hall now. You're the only Prince in here." Gracie added in an undertone, with increased firmness. "It's all you. Time to get up and fake it." She slowly stood upright, and offered her hand to Darren. He wasn't ready for the moment of lightheadedness as he straightened his worn-out body for the first time in over an hour, and his knees buckled. But Gracie quickly linked her arm through his, and he managed to stay upright long enough to collapse into his throne.

Gracie paused to pick up Mika's sword, bloody and forgotten on the floor. Then she sat down in his throne. Although she was the spitting image of Kurda, she carried herself exactly as Mika did. Darren had never really noticed til just now. From his black leather jacket she was still wearing, to the steely glint in her eyes, right down to the sword in her hands - still shining through the bloodstains. She sat there surveying the Hall of Princes for several moments. Straight-backed and confident as if she belonged there. Darren got the impression she wasn't making a conscious effort to mimic her father's posture. It came naturally to her. She probably didn't even realize she was doing it. For a moment Darren wondered if he himself looked half as commanding when he was on duty.

Then she turned sideways in the throne that, like the jacket, was much too big for her. She drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them, sighing wearily as she leaned into the wooden backrest. Her eyes were still red from crying. She ran a hand wearily through her platinum hair, and flinched as her fingers caught a chunk of dried blood. And Darren remembered that she was just a kid who should never have been here in the first place. Like him.

Darren wasn't in his throne for very long before being swarmed by medics. He hadn't fully grasped the extent of his injuries til they got to work. As much as he wanted to be left alone, the adrenaline was long gone and his body was screaming for mercy. He tried to embrace it as they set about stitching up the gash in his forehead. The pain meant he was alive, or however that goes. He knew he should be grateful to be here. But as he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, all he could think about was how he wished he could be anywhere else.

The medics finished with Darren and moved on to Gracie. Luckily she hadn't sustained any obvious injuries. While they asked her a series of questions to rule out a concussion, Darren's focus was pulled elsewhere.

"Sire Shan? What would you have us do with the unusable pews?" The head foreman of the architecture team was earnestly seeking Darren's royal input. Which made sense, considering the pews were treasured clan artifacts that had seen more history than Darren's entire family tree combined. So what on earth made this man think Darren was qualified to give his input, other than the fact he was sitting in a fancy chair?

"What?" Darren heard himself say. The word sounded robotic and toneless. And gods, so painfully stupid.

"The fire was extinguished quickly, but the damage was severe. We lost almost half the pews. Seba is already arranging for the architects to source fresh wood for the rebuild effort… but I need to tell my men what you want them to do with the old ones." The foreman explained patiently.

Darren was no idiot, and if it was any other night he could've easily mustered a half-decent response. Or deferred to Mr. Crepsley. Seba. Another Prince. But tonight… it was too much. Darren just gawked at the foreman for a moment, slack-jawed and feeling utterly foolish but mentally and physically unable to react appropriately.

"I… I don't…"

"Dismantle what's left and salvage as much of the original wood as you can. It can be used to repair the throne platform." Gracie cut in seamlessly. Then she seemed to catch herself. She didn't blush, because she doesn't blush. But she did pause before adding "…Is what I think my dad would say, if he was here. But I don't know. I don't work here." She ended it with a forced attempt at a casual chuckle. The foreman smiled and nodded respectfully to her, then looked back at Darren for confirmation.

"Yeah. That." Said Darren wearily. The foreman bowed and retreated. The medics weren't far behind. Once they were all out of earshot, Darren glanced sideways at Gracie and added, "Thanks. You're good at this."

"Sorry if I overstepped."

"Not at all. It was a great idea, and I know the others will agree."

They lapsed into silence again.

"Are you alright?" Darren ventured after a pause. He already knew the answer. Her subdued posture and the emptiness in her eyes told him she was holding up as well as he was. But true to form, she let out a harsh, humourless laugh as soon as she realized he was onto her.

"I'm alright." She chuckled darkly, mirroring his wary glance back at him, eyebrows raised. "You?"

"I'm alright." Darren echoed, nodding.

"No, you're not."

"Well, neither are you."

"Then why did you ask, Darren?!"

"It seemed like a nice thing to do!" For one surreal moment, Darren almost laughed. He could tell by the way Gracie's eyes lit up she was right there with him. But then his heart dropped into his stomach all over again when he heard a familiar voice call plaintively out to him from across the room -

"Uncle Darren?!"

Larten and Seba's cloaks stood out like twin beacons as they walked side by side. But for the first time Darren's focus wasn't drawn to the bright crimson, or to Harkat's uneven gait as he flanked them. All Darren could see was the diminutive figure at the front of the group, taking smaller steps than the others but moving far more quickly than any of them.

Darren didn't remember getting out of his throne or walking down the stairs. Suddenly he was kneeling on the floor, both arms wrapped tightly around Darius, letting the boy sob violently into his chest. Darren belatedly realized how strange it was that he spent so much energy agonizing over what he'd say to Darius when they were reunited after the battle, so much time trying to plan his words in advance. And how effortlessly those once-elusive words now tumbled from his lips as he held on: It's okay. I got you. You've been so brave. I know you were scared. I'm so sorry this happened. It's not your fault. This feeling won't last forever. You're going to see your mom again.

Darren knew exactly where those worlds were coming from. They were the words he himself had desperately yearned to hear, time and time again over the past fifteen years. Despite the vast truth the past twenty-four hours revealed, Darren felt he knew less now than he did the night before. But he knew one thing: whatever came next for Darius, he would never know the same terror and turmoil Darren had. Whatever youthful innocence remained after this, Darren would safeguard it til his dying breath.

It doesn't really matter what you do or say

I'm never going anywhere anyway

'Cause when I'm dying for you

I've never felt so alive

HOURS LATER

Kurda couldn't accept reality until the moment he finally saw them. Didn't trust his own eyes when he woke up to see Arrow hovering awkwardly over his bed. As he blinked himself back to reality, the first words out of his mouth were an unexpected but decisive "Are you lost?"

"I was going to ask you the same damn thing, Smahlt! Took you long enough to come back." Arrow's hoarse laugh-sob of relief made Kurda doubt his own senses even more.

"What happened? Where's Mika?"

None of it felt real. Kurda sat up slowly and looked around, taking in the familiar walls of the infirmary wing. Now that he had a better view of Arrow he could see the man's face was lined with worry and his eyes were puffy and red.

"He's asleep in a recovery room down the hall. Thanks to you. It was fucking close, but you did it. You saved him."

Kurda closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands for a moment, leaning into the sobering wave of relief as it crashed over him.

"That was the plan." He whispered with weary conviction when he'd composed himself enough to look at Arrow once more. Kurda's body ached all over but nothing seemed to be grievously damaged. He felt unpleasantly light-headed but he supposed he was rather lucky to feel anything at all, given that his last memory was sacrificing the better half of his blood supply and hoping for the best. He remained sitting half-upright in the infirmary bed, reorienting himself with reality as Arrow filled the silence.

"…Gods, Smahlt. What were you thinking, getting that close to the point of no return? Could've easily lost that gamble…"

Kurda tried to stand up, but it was premature. The effort took more energy than he had to spare. His vision flickered and he almost toppled over. Arrow's thick arm kept him upright.

"Take your time. Mika's not going anywhere. They had to sedate the fuck out of him. Woke up on the table while they were putting him back together. It was bad. Gods, nothing's ever simple with him…"

The minutes ticked by and the mental fog began to lift. Arrow talked the entire time. Kurda absorbed bits and pieces, contributing a word or a nod every now and then.

"…Gracie's sitting with him now. What a tough kid. She just about fought a medic when they wouldn't let her into the infirmary at first. But you were in rough shape and Mika was worse. I knew you'd both hate for her to see you like that, so I ordered them to keep her out. They checked her over too, she's fine…"

Arrow handed Kurda a mug of blood as he spoke. Kurda drained it obediently, but couldn't taste it.

"Sorry my face had to be the first thing you saw when you woke up." Said Arrow. "I'm sure you would've preferred hers, but I told her she'd better just stay with Mika for now. I don't know exactly what he'd do if he woke up alone after all that, but it wouldn't be good for anyone."

"He's always been prone to getting a little unhinged where the infirmary is concerned." Kurda remarked.

"Yeah… And I wanted a private word with you while things were still quiet." Arrow added with clear reluctance.

Kurda's guard automatically went up. Now he understood why Arrow felt the need to sit vigil at his bedside before he had a chance to talk to Mika.

"Don't worry. It's not as if Mika and I are going to get back together tomorrow. Or ever again." He told Arrow with cool reproach. "All I care about right now is that he's-"

"Shut up. That's not what I meant." Arrow interrupted with an impatient wave of his hand. "I was going to say I called you my brother once. Even back then I barely liked you, and that I never understood you."

Kurda frowned, no longer having the faintest idea where Arrow was going with this.

"It was mutual." He muttered after a pause.

"But then you became part of him, and that made you part of me too. I questioned a lot of things about you, but I never questioned that. You were family." Arrow continued. Kurda wrestled with the urge to be skeptical or defensive. Arrow sounded more genuine than Kurda had ever heard him.

"That was mutual too." Kurda replied simply.

"As far as the clan goes... I trust you. After everything you've done, how could I not? But I don't know if I'll ever be able to call you my brother again. I don't know if I can repair the bridge you burned. But I'm going to try. I owe you that much." Arrow added. For the first time, his voice cracked.

Oh. Maybe they'd come farther than Kurda realized. He shook his head, blinking rapidly. "Gods, Arrow… I'd never expect you to try fixing that bridge. It's too far gone and trust me, I know that. I can't change the past and I don't expect you to forgive me. All I can do now is put in the work and hope the future is better."

A long silence fell between them, until Arrow let out a defeated laugh and murmured "Perhaps we'd be better off just building a new bridge, so we're prepared for whatever that future has in store. Yeah?"

"I think that would be best." Kurda managed to force out after a pause that lasted far too long. The awkwardness was almost physically palpable, but so was the fact that Arrow was trying.

"What I'm ultimately working up to here… is that I do forgive you. For all of it. Full stop." Said Arrow decisively. The words were so simple but he spoke them with such gravity, it didn't occur to Kurda not to accept them at face-value.

"Thank you, Arrow."

"No. Thank you." With a final gruff nod, Arrow's gaze drifted away from Kurda as he fidgeted with a piece of paper he'd pulled from his pocket. He seemed to have reached his threshold of emotional maturity for the day, and Kurda supposed he'd done quite well. After all, he was still Arrow.

"Can I see them?" Kurda rasped, breaking another silence that extended at least three times as long as necessary.

"Smahlt, you killed the Vampaneze Lord. You can do whatever the hell you want."

Kurda didn't smile, but he did accept the arm Arrow offered him. That ended up being his saving grace. As Kurda stood up his vision went black as the blood rushed to his head and he would've fallen over without the extra support. The dizzy spell only lasted a second, but Arrow's concern was so atypically earnest Kurda almost laughed.

"Do you need to rest a bit longer?"

"No. I need to see them. Please."

"Fine. Hold my arm."

Kurda followed Arrow down the main corridor of the infirmary, but he couldn't feel the floor beneath his feet. His whole body felt numb. Arrow kept talking. His voice was strained from exhaustion but he seemed afraid to let silence take root.

"…The vampaneze retreated peacefully from the tunnels after speaking at length with us. Astor did most of the talking but I think I helped. I don't know. Ours killed five of theirs and we lost two of our own before I got there to call off the attack. There's mixed feelings on their end about the new treaty but that's not a surprise."

"Can you blame them?"

"Of course not. There'll be a lot of meetings in the coming months, but for now I offered to let them dispose of their dead in our funeral hall. They declined, though. Took the bodies with them…" How strange that Arrow sounded almost disappointed as he recounted the exchange.

"It's still worth something. Even though they declined, the fact that you offered will go a long way in establishing trust." Kurda offered.

Arrow managed a terse smile, but the topic of politics was quickly put on ice as they reached the far end of the infirmary. Specifically the door of what Kurda knew to be one of the private recovery rooms.

Mika looked more unconscious than asleep, breathing shallow but steady. He was wrapped in thick blankets which almost fully covered the bandages on the left side of his chest. Gracie was curled up in the chair beside the bed, slumbering as deeply as Mika was. Kurda's heart melted as he noticed she had Mika's pinky finger gripped firmly in her hand.

Like most toddlers, Gracie went through a phase where she'd wake abruptly from terrible nightmares, convinced there were monsters lurking in the corners of her room. And there was only one way to get her back to sleep after that. Mika or Kurda would lie down on the hard stone floor next to her miniature coffin. The logic was that if any monsters wanted to eat her in her sleep, they'd have to get through them first. That was all the reassurance she needed. She'd hold her dad's pinky in her tiny hand and they'd both doze off. The test of time doesn't stand a chance against a bond like that.

Kurda just stood there as reality hit him like a landslide. He forgot Arrow was standing there til he clapped Kurda roughly on the shoulder, in a manner Kurda had to assume was his version of affection.

"You going to stick around?" Kurda asked, deliberately lightening his tone. "He'd want you there when he wakes up. I know he would. The pair of co-dependent idiots you are."

A thin smile broke over Arrow's weary, bloodstained face. It was such a simple gesture but it communicated an enormous understanding. And Kurda smiled back at him.

"They're all yours." Arrow murmured, shaking his head but managing a chuckle. "I'd better check in with the Generals."

It wasn't til he turned to walk away that Kurda realized Arrow's earlier recap was missing some key details.

"Arrow?"

"Hmm?"

"Who saved me?"

"Huh?"

"You told me I got to the point of no return. Who pulled me back?"

Part of Kurda already knew. But he had to make sure the fragmented memory wasn't just a hallucination. Arrow groaned and closed his eyes, running both hands over his tattooed scalp like it was taking everything in him not to lay down on the floor and take a nap. The awkward hesitation confirmed exactly what Kurda suspected.

"Listen, Smahlt… I'm sure my warmongering blood is the last thing you want contaminating your body. But I already watched them lose you once… that was enough. They're my family too. And it's in the clan's best interest to keep you around."

"Arrow…"

"Come on… don't make this a whole thing." Arrow let out another groan, even more world-weary than the first. "Look at you. You're a third my size! I could afford to spare the blood without putting my life at risk."

"I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just get in there before he wakes up." Arrow roughly clapped Kurda's shoulder once more before departing, and Kurda didn't waste another second standing in the doorway. He decided not to wake Gracie up, instead draping a warm blanket around her shoulders before sitting down in the vacant chair beside the cot.

He didn't mind waiting. Now he had all the time in the world.

###

True to form, Mika began to wake up over an hour sooner than estimated. First Kurda noticed his breathing quicken as his body unconsciously fought the sedative. Several minutes later, his arm twitched. Then his eyelids fluttered and he whimpered something incoherent, as if caught in a nightmare. Kurda stroked his hair, trying to keep him calm. A sudden movement could easily undo all the medics' delicate stitch work.

"Shh. You're okay. It's all over. It's just me and Gracie here. Try to lay still."

Mika opened his eyes at the sound of the familiar voice, but it was difficult to gauge how lucid he actually was. His stormy greys were glazed over from pain, seeming to stare through Kurda rather than at him.

"Blink if you can hear me." Kurda cupped his hand around Mika's face to caress that bloodstained cheekbone with a steady thumb and Mika's gaze shifted into focus. His eyes locked into Kurda's and there it was. That faint but tenacious glimmer of recognition as it clicked. And finally - one deliberate blink.

"There you are." Kurda murmured, voice shaking. It was all he could do to keep himself from sobbing in relief.

"K… Kurda…"

"Hey, Sunshine."

"You… you're here."

"Where else would I be?"

"You're here?" Mika repeated. This time it was a question, not a statement, like he didn't trust his own eyes. Kurda knew the feeling all too well.

"I'm here. You're here. Gracie's here. We're all still here." Said Kurda slowly and firmly, watching as Mika hung on to every word as though Kurda was reciting complex and ancient poetry as opposed to a simple mantra. He leaned in and pressed his forehead against Mika's. For a moment he just closed his eyes and breathed, listening as Mika did the same.

"How's she?" Mika eventually broke the silence, voice catching in his throat as he looked to Gracie. She hadn't stirred; and she was still holding his pinky.

"She's fine. Let's let her sleep a little longer, though. She's had a rough night." Said Kurda.

The visual confirmation that Gracie was safe seemed to provide some reassurance, but Mika's eyes kept flicking anxiously back and forth between them.

"How much do you remember?" Kurda prompted. His heart sank as Mika closed his eyes again and winced,

"Everything."

"Me too." Kurda kept running his fingers through Mika's hair, blinking through the sudden burn in his eyes.

"You killed… Leonard? With… my sword?"

Kurda took a deep breath. He'd tell Mika about his disturbing encounter with Evanna - just not yet. That kind of revelation would have to be divulged to the Princes collectively, and in complete confidence. And Mika wasn't Sire Ver Leth right now. He was just one third of an exhausted, fractured family trying to keep it together from one moment to the next.

"Yeah. I did." Kurda whispered at last. "It's over."

Mika's eyes were still a little hazy but he was studying Kurda's face in a way that suggested he already sensed there was more to it. But like Kurda, he didn't have it in him to expand his focus outside this room.

"My… hero." Mika sighed. The corners of his lips tilted slowly upwards into a ghost of a smile.

"You in much pain?" Kurda asked. It was rhetorical, of course. But it provided a good change of subject nonetheless.

"Nah."

"Liar. Gods, you're going to have a hell of a scar. There's not enough healing spit in the world to fix - don't look at it! I said stay still!"

Mika hadn't been able to resist the temptation to take a peek. But the effort of sitting up was more than he could handle and he let out a harsh gasp of pain.

"I warned you. You did that to yourself." Kurda sighed. His hand drifted to Mika's clammy forehead and settled there. His heart swelled with affection as Mika relaxed and went limp at the touch. Minutes ticked by in silence. Kurda kept running his fingers through Mika's hair, slowly but surely dissolving the dried blood caked into it. Kurda was grateful the dark red was invisible against the obsidian backdrop. Last thing he wanted was another reminder of tonight. Or was it yesterday now?

Kurda could tell there was so much more Mika wanted to say. But the words were buried in brain fog. He was staring up at Kurda, lips moving soundlessly like they couldn't keep up with the thoughts running through his mind.

"No rush." Kurda told him. "We've got time."

Mika's eyes remained transfixed on Kurda's face. There was almost a quiet desperation about him. He wasn't giving up.

"I was dying…. I remember. I saw you. You saved me."

Kurda diligently continued cleaning the bloodstains and tried to take that in stride.

"You were unconscious by the time I got to you. You must be thinking of the medics." Said Kurda evenly. "Arrow told me you woke up while they were working on you. From what I heard, they took exceptional care of you while you made their jobs as difficult as you could possibly manage."

But Mika was shaking his head and holding Kurda's gaze, even though the effort of keeping his eyes open seemed to be causing him terrible pain. "No. I saw you. I went… where you went. I was dying… I saw them… all of them. I couldn't get out… but you opened the doors. You saved me. Then I woke up… and I thought… you were already gone."

"You saved me first. And I'm still here." Kurda fought to keep both his voice and hand steady as he stroked Mika's cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

Mika nodded, but the gaping void of unspoken words hung as heavily between them as the smoke in the Hall of Princes. Kurda knew exactly what Mika was thinking about, because he himself hadn't stopped thinking about it since he woke up. The frantic, last-chance I Love Yous they'd exchanged at the height of the chaos.

"Kurda, I -"

Then Gracie began to stir in her chair. Before she even opened her eyes, Mika put the mask back on. He still looked gaunt and weak but he wiped all evidence of obvious discomfort from his face. With the blanket now fully covering his mangled torso, you'd never guess he had a bullet extracted from between his vital organs mere hours ago. Or that he woke up halfway through. For once, Kurda didn't begrudge Mika's ever-present compulsion to put up a tough front. Gracie didn't need to glimpse the full extent of her parents' trauma. She had her own.

She didn't say anything at first. She slowly sat upright and glanced around, blinking free of the momentary disorientation that came with waking up in an unfamiliar room. Then again, Kurda remembered with a twinge of guilt, the infirmary was hardly unfamiliar to any of them at that point. How cruel the universe was to make her sit in weary vigil at both Kurda and Mika's bedside in less than two weeks. It seemed to take her a moment to process the reality she'd woken up to. Kurda knew the feeling. He didn't rush her. She'd catch up in a second or two.

"Good morning, Honey Bee." Said Kurda. Her eyes brightened automatically as she smiled at at the long-forgotten childhood nickname. It rolled off Kurda's tongue as easily now as when she was two. Back when she bounced from one adventure to the next with a clumsy, determined sort of elegance that always reminded Kurda of a bee bumbling its way through a garden.

"Hey. Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep." She rasped. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"It's okay. You haven't missed anything. And you needed the sleep." Kurda leaned across the bed and hugged her tight. He found himself caught off-guard by the strength in her embrace. He supposed it was his own fault for putting his arms around her and still expecting to feel a delicate human frame hugging him back.

"I tried to find you as soon as the battle was over. They wouldn't let me in. I had to wait in the Hall of Princes for hours." She recounted bitterly. She was hanging tough but the shadows under her eyes gave away how excruciating those lost hours had been for her, and Kurda held on a little tighter.

"I know. I'm sorry. But it was for the best. We're all together now. Nothing else matters. You've been so strong. I'm so proud of you, and I love you so much." Kurda whispered into her shoulder before reluctantly pulling away and wiping his eyes.

Mika slowly sat up, and his face contorted in pain as the slight movement proved too much for his injury. His blanket shifted just enough to expose the bloody edge of the bandaged area between his upper chest and shoulder. Gracie flinched at the sight of it.

"You good?" She asked him. She was trying to sound casual, but she hadn't been a vampire long enough to feel casual about any of this.

"Don't you ever worry about me. The bandages make it look worse than it actually is. The medics are just paranoid. That's all." Mika reassured her with very forced calm. He managed to punctuate that with a breezy chuckle and Kurda really had to hand it to him. Mika was nothing if not committed to the bit. He looked Gracie in the eye and added with deliberate softness because he already knew the answer, "Are you good?"

Kurda was convinced Gracie would turn the tables right back on him; that she'd lie through her teeth and say she was great. She shrugged noncommittally but when she opened her mouth to answer, no words came out. She took one shuddering breath and broke down. She leaned into Mika and hugged him from the right side, carefully avoiding the injuries on the left. He held her as snugly as he could with his one good arm. Kurda ran his palm in comforting circles around her back as she sobbed.

"I'm never going to forgive you." Gracie choked out as she sat up, roughly swiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "You kicked me out of the Hall of Princes, to go sit in a fucking safe room with Darren's stupid nephew. And that was almost the last time I ever saw you. How could you do that to me?"

It wasn't rhetorical, but wasn't truly angry. This was hurt masquerading as resentment. Mika didn't skip a beat. Like he'd already rehearsed his response a thousand times in his head. He exhaled, and reached out to gently wipe a speck of dirt from her cheek.

"Easily. You don't have enough experience to keep yourself safe in a fight, and no amount of raw courage can make up for that." He told her. "There's a difference between testing your skill and gambling with your life. Don't let any vampire tell you differently." Every word was perfectly measured, but he was struggling. Kurda could see it in his eyes.

"You told me you'd have to treat me like everyone else once I joined the clan! You don't get to pick and choose when to follow your own rule!" Gracie snapped back.

"I know you don't want to hear this. But I do get to pick and choose." Mika countered with steadfast conviction. "You're allowed to be angry at me. But you do not get to act like I betrayed you. As far as career advancements go, I promise I'll never give anyone a reason to believe your last name gives you an unfair advantage over your peers. But when your life's on the line… I will always choose to protect you, and I'll never apologize for it. You knew that before I blooded you."

A beat of silence followed his words. He spoke with his typical diplomacy, but there was a gravity to his voice that Kurda had never heard him use to address Gracie before. Kurda could see the moment Mika's words hit home, because the fire in her eyes simmered down to medium heat. But she did glance indignantly to Kurda, as though expecting him to back her up.

"What?" Kurda chuckled. "Did you really think I'd take your side on this one? If it was up to me, you wouldn't even have a sword."

"She doesn't have her own sword yet. I haven't had time to get one made. She uses Arra's dagger." Said Mika matter-of-factly. As if that tidbit even fell anywhere near the realm of information Kurda found useful.

Kurda snorted in amusement and rolled his eyes. "Ah. That makes it better. Thank you."

"I picked one up earlier, actually." Said Gracie, raising an eyebrow. "Someone just left it sitting on the floor in the Hall of Princes. Leather-bound grip, black diamonds in the hilt. It's really nice. Finders keepers, right?"

"I'll admit I was rather preoccupied when I borrowed it." Said Kurda, smiling in spite of himself. "But I thought it looked familiar. Is that -"

"My favourite one? The one Paris had custom-made for me when I became a General? The one I let you use the first time I convinced you to spar with me twenty years ago, and you immediately dropped it on the floor and scratched the pommel? Yeah. Same one." Mika's voice was deadpan but his eyes were alight at the memory.

Surely it had to be too soon for laughter.

Kurda anticipated having to wade through a little more emotional shrapnel before they reached a place where they could laugh together again. But if it was too soon for laughter, why did it come so effortlessly?

They laughed for what felt like an hour. A perfect, golden moment in time Kurda prayed would never end. The world would inevitably spin on, but that didn't matter. They were whole once more.

"You figured it out before any of us, didn't you?" Kurda asked Gracie as the laughter slowly subsided. "That's why you were down in the dungeons?"

Gracie, now sitting comfortably at the foot of Mika's bed with a blanket draped over her shoulders, grimaced and ran a hand through her hair guiltily at Kurda's unassuming question.

"I know you told me not to! But the night before you were set to finalize the treaty, Darius started begging Darren to turn his blood. Darren shut him down, obviously. But something felt off. Why would that have even crossed Darius's mind, unless someone else put those words in his mouth?"

"Leonard." Mika grunted.

"Exactly. Darren and I went to ask him a few questions -"

"Immediately after you told us you were going to train with Vanez, right?" Kurda cut in.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"You know that's technically treason, right?" Said Mika seriously.

"Fair enough. What now?" Said Gracie with equal seriousness.

"I don't know. I've never punished you before."

"You put her in time-out once when she was little." Kurda pointed out.

Mika grimaced at the memory. "For a minute and a half. Then she started crying and that was it for me."

"I'll never understand how you tricked the clan into thinking you're tough." Gracie remarked drily. "Anyway, while Darren squeezed a confession out of the kid, I went back to the dungeon to look for the guards' log book to figure out who was on duty during the trial. And that's when Wiles walked in and found me going through his office. It was all downhill from there."

Mika's face darkened and his body tensed at the mention of his friend-turned-traitor.

"Gracie, if he hurt you, I swear to every god -"

Kurda automatically laid a hand on Mika's shoulder, murmuring, "Shh. We already killed Wiles, remember?"

Mika relaxed at Kurda's touch - never fails - but his face remained stony and cold. The name Jakob Wiles would leave a bitter taste in his mouth for centuries to come. "I'll dig his sorry carcass out of the Hall of Final Voyage and kill him again." Mika growled.

"If it makes you feel better, I punched him in the nose really hard when he put me in the cell. Thought he was going to cry." Said Gracie. She spoke like it was nothing, but there was a flicker of gritty pride in her eyes that strangely reminded Kurda more of Arra than either himself or Mika.

"That's my girl." Mika was already smiling again. Gracie grinned back at him, and they fist-bumped like a couple of buddies in the sporting halls. For the tiniest fraction of a second, Kurda felt as if he was on the outside looking in. But as if Gracie sensed it, she looked over at Kurda with an expression adjacent to guilt.

"You know I'm not going to, like, turn into a warlord or anything, right?" She offered with a shaky, hesitant laugh. As though anticipating disapproval and trying to circumvent it. "Obviously I have to start combat training like any other vampire. I need to be able to protect myself. But I know violence isn't always going to be the solution for -"

"It's okay." Said Kurda quickly. "I know it's a fine line. But believe me when I tell you, my pacifism ends where someone puts their hands on you. I damn well hope you made Wiles regret it."

Gracie's face lit up like the sun. It dawned on Kurda he'd underestimated how much his approval still meant to her after those seven years of exile. And before he could even reach out to her, she leaned in to hug him again. This time there was a softness about her that hadn't been there before. She sighed as she rested her head on his shoulder. For a moment, Kurda was transported back to a simpler time. A time where his most pressing challenge was putting the finishing touches on his latest cartography project with one hand, because his other arm was holding her as she slept. She was strong enough to sting like a hornet now - but she was as much his Honey Bee now as she was back then.

"And just for the record," Kurda chuckled as he kissed the top of her head. "I'd still love you even if you were a warlord."

If you cried out for more

If you reached out for me

I would run into the storm

Just to keep you here with me

I have gone beyond my years

I've wasted half my life

But I found it all in you

Did I save you?

'Cause I know you saved me too

I know you saved me too

---

Also, I like how not a single person seemed legitimately distressed over Mika's fate allegedly hanging in the balance after ch29. Y'all know me far too well. I couldn't even canon-kill Larten, so I hope nobody thought for a second I'd take out Mika. He's not getting out of his contract that easily.

See you next time,

- roxy