It had been a miserable wait inside the chapel. Alfred had leaned against a back pillar, hoping that no one would speak to him. The giggling Nun had not stopped staring at him since he had arrived, and he was desperately trying not to notice, keeping his eyes shut as he attempted a doze against the pillar. Time truly had frozen, as each second-if it was indeed passing, felt like an eternity, and the dull throb behind his eyes was not helping in the slightest.
Something disrupted him-the sounds of two voices arguing at the other side of the chapel. Alfred felt his headache pick back up.
"Oh, for heaven's sake! There's enough monsters outside without us being beastly to one another." Arrianna said, still hunched over in pain. "Do you think I'm in any state to steal the good Hunter away from you? Besides, I'm not the one you should worry about, if that's the case."
"It's more than that! You give unconsecrated blood! Why, It's blasphemy!" Adella shouted. Alfred grimaced, wishing to be anywhere but here. Quincy was far better with people then he was-Quincy could keep the tension in the chapel from boiling over.
"I'm not able to give blood right now either, dear." Arrianna grimaced, then beckoned at Alfred. "You are a man of the church, yes? Can you talk some sense into your sister?"
He knew this was eventually going to happen, from the moment he first set eyes on the blood saint. There was no way of getting himself out of this one.
"I will see what I can do." Alfred said, feeling like a phony.
He was not a man of the church, he was just an Executioner, but he led Adella back, head hurting even more now.
The nun silently fumed on her rubble seat, she looked up at Alfred, then back down, giving out a frustrated giggle.
"Just because the hunt has gone so very badly tonight does not mean that we have to lose all sense of order. The sun will rise, and there will be consequences for Blasphemy." Adella hissed.
"Yes, yes, of course." Alfred said wearily, leaning against the pillar. He considered pressing his forehead to the cold stones for any form of relief.
"The night will end, because it's a nightmare!" Adella said confidently. "Somehow-either Mensis or a trick of the gods-has made it a nightmare! But every nightmare has to end! You'd know too, if you were a Blood Saint."
Alfred did not react outwardly.
"Every one of us is plagued by these dreams. The formless one speaks to us, through our blood." Adella shuddered. "Sometimes, he shows his mark."
"What mark?" Alfred asked. Adella crouched down, tracing a thin finger through the dust and ashes on the floor. Three dots. A swooping downward curve with three lines clawed through it. A mirthless, alien smile. Alfred staggered back, clutching the pillar for support.
"You know him." Adella's eyes were wide, her pupils pinpricks. "You share his gift."
"I have no idea what you are talking about!" Alfred shouted, far louder than he intended. "You are mad!"
"I can tell. You are just like me." Adella said. She rose. "You are hoarding your gift."
"Is something wrong, dearie?" The old woman asked, as Alfred continued to back away from Adella. Arrianna was peeking over the bannister, despite her pain. The shriveled beggar wrung his hands in worry, hearing the commotion. Alfred knew they were making a scene, and was miserable to be part of it.
"You are speaking nonsense!"
"You are a damned liar!" Adella clenched her fists. "You are a blood saint, same as I! Everyone knows the Executioners were all wiped out years ago! You'd rather pretend to be one of the dead then help others!"
Curses, insults, even violence flashed through Alfred's head. He wanted the horrible woman before him to disappear, be erased, perhaps die by his own hand. But he was paralyzed by the worried gazes of those clustered in the chapel.
"Please, let's all calm down!" The Beggar asked, his blind eyes flicking about nervously. "Does any of that matter? What with the night and all?"
"Leave the man be, Adella. Besides, would his blood not also be unconsecrated?" Arrianna asked.
"He's a man of the church! It must be! Or he is someone who just stole Executioner robes to hide his identity."
"Stole! Stole! I am an Executioner!" Alfred roared, making Adella step back, afraid. "I have the mantle, the ardeo, the badge! The blessed wheel! What do you have for your station? Black robes and a superiority complex!
"The knowledge that what the gods have given me is not mine alone!" Adella shouted back.
"Alfred." Alfred jerked his head to see Quincy, standing at the top of the Chapel stairs. He had not noticed the flash of violet light in his rage. Alfred felt his heart drop into his boots. Here he was, accosted by the folks in the Chapel that Quincy had left him in, making a right ass of himself.
Quincy pushed past Adella, taking his arm. Without another word, he led Alfred outside the Chapel, ignoring the murmurs and whispers of those within.
"I apologize-" Alfred started, Quincy shushing him until they were past the well in the square and halfway up the steps to the Cathedral.
"How much did you hear?" Alfred asked, head hung low.
"Adella was shouting about you being a blood saint." Quincy said. His voice was soft, and Alfred noticed that he was shaking. Quincy's demeanor reminded him of when his partner had returned before, but this time seemed different.
"Please, forgive me, tensions were high, Adella was giving Arrianna a difficult time, and I had just helped the little old lady back inside, and thought I would help. Oh, Quincy, I was so worried about you." Alfred added, trying to change the subject. He began checking Quincy over for any wounds. After he was satisfied that the man was alright, he tightly embraced him.
You believe me now about those lanterns, right?" Quincy asked, his voice muffled by Alfred's chest.
"Disbelief wasn't what I thought." Alfred said carefully. "I saw you vanish, and the phantom lantern appeared for but a brief moment. Makes a fellow ready to believe anything, I suppose. Where were you-oh, I'm sorry." Alfred released him, sheepish. "I should have asked."
"I was-" Quincy started, fumbling for his pocket. To his surprise, the letter was not there. He looked up to see Alfred staring fixedly at the letter on the ground.
"The...the Sigil of Cainhurst." He whispered, picking it up. Quincy squeezed his eyes shut. After seeing the destruction of Cainhurst firsthand, he did not want Alfred to get the letter. Now, one moment of clumsiness had ruined everything.
"I...there was a letter from there. Addressed to me, in Iosefka's clinic" Quincy started. Alfred looked up from the letter to him, a mad light flickering in his eyes.
"Darling Quincy," Alfred's voice was soft, his words affectionate, but there was a maddened quality to the words that chilled Quincy to the bone. "-This is what I've been looking for. After all these years, on this night...one of their amusingly pompous invitations has found its way into my own hands." Alfred ripped the seal open, glaring at the letter inside.
"Blank. No matter, I have a feeling that it will take me there, anyway. This must be my Master's guiding hand. Quincy, I could kiss you!"
As if drawn towards him by invisible strings, Quincy leaned forward. The kiss was sweet, chaste even compared to the disaster that had happened earlier. Despite Alfred's new eagerness for his mission, he clasped Quincy close to him tenderly.
"Is this where you had gone? Castle Cainhurst? It must have been my master's hand at work. I will miss you dearly, Quincy. Hunting alongside you was an honor, but most importantly, I will always treasure our time together." Alfred said, as he drew back.
"What-what do you mean?" Quincy asked, confused. Alfred stuck his hands under his holy mantle, removing a necklace-no, a badge.
"My Wheel Hunter Badge. Sacred to the Executioners." Alfred lifted Quincy's hat to carefully place the necklace around his neck. "My greatest treasure is now yours. It is a token of my deepest gratitude."
"No-stop talking like you are going to your death or something!" Quincy protested, gripping the badge with whitened knuckles.
"I am going to my fate."
"Alfred-No, there's more going on here! I met-I found Logarius in Cainhurst!"
"Mast Logarius-Did you?" Alfred asked, his voice a combination of reverence and awe. "How did you get there?"
"Yes! He was a giant walking corpse! I had to kill him, before he killed me, Alfred! There was a coach that took me there in Hemwick, once I had my invitation."
"Logarius must have gone mad, or had somehow been animated by the Vileblood's foul magic to have acted against a good hunter like yourself. I must leave and avenge him, so he may be properly martyred-"
"No!" Quincy grabbed his arm, clutching his leather gauntlet tightly. "Please, you can't-" Alfred embraced him once more, interrupting him.
"It's my destiny, Quincy. It's what I must do." Alfred said softly. Tenderly, he briefly removed Quincy's hat to kiss the top of his head, before removing Quincy's limp hands from his gloves. "I must go."
Quincy's pleas fell on deaf ears as he watched Alfred walk away, out of the chapel, and into the night.
"Where is your friend going, dear?" Asked the old woman, peering out from her seat.
-Months ago-
His own boots seemed to move him, retracing the journey he had taken into the city all those years ago. The journey from the Yharnam to the Workshop had seemed impossible, back then, but he had been reforged since he had left the Executioners. Was he not in his prime, tempered by his experiences in the Forbidden woods, in his various hunts and battles against the monsters that stalked the streets of Yharnam? His farewell to Philip had been the last necessary step forward, if he did not share in the same goals, they should part ways. One last gift of his blood.
He did not even notice the eerie state of the woods, the distant howls of beasts was mere background noise. He stepped over decayed corpses left on the roads, often with bags and luggage-those who had failed to make it out of the city. A few carriages lay overturned in the gutters, the wooden paneling flaking off, and plush interiors leaking their stuffing like gore from a wound.
It was not a full moon, and he was armed, his Kirkhammer a comforting weight in his hand as he traveled. He would not end up joining the doomed souls that lay on the road, moldering and forgotten.
Even in the decayed state of the woods, the unkept state of the roads, the dirt path once carved with the wheels of the carriages and foot traffic becoming overgrown with weeds and brambles that snagged at his overcoat, he knew when he was close to his true home.
The state of the Executioner's workshop was enough to drive one to tears. The yard was overgrown, the grasses reaching to his thighs as he made his way to the door, trying to follow the old familiar path. The Church had not kept their word-the Executioner workshop was never repurposed, and was instead left to rot in the woods. The gardens had similarly grown wild, making it impossible to tell where the one tidy flower beds ended and the garden began. The flowers had wilted on the vines, something that was usual for the time of year, but only contributed to the sad scene.
Alfred crouched and ran a hand over an abandoned Logarius wheel, left to rot in the grass, tragically far too damaged to be taken home with him.
Standing at the damaged door step, he could see the spot in the overgrown grass where he had lain with his book that day, when Logarius returned with the news from Yharnam.
He gazed out over the yard, towards the road, remembering that day when he watched his family leave, their Ardeos glinting in the sunlight, led by Master Logarius to their fate.
Years later, he would finally join them.
The floors creaked as he walked down the old familiar halls, the interior having survived marginally better than the exterior of the Workshop. The Church had picked the first few rooms clean, but had thankfully
Desperate to find any intact Uniform to go with the gauntlets, Alfred opened each drawer and chest he could find. This one was moth eaten, another musty and fungus ridden from moisture, and this one was too small.
Finally, just as he was about to (somewhat tearfully, due to the tragedy of another part of the Executioners being lost) give up, something caught his eye.
The set of drawers closest to the window was ajar, something inside glinting in the lantern's glow. Daring not to breathe, Alfred drew close, finding that the gleam was the pin of the Holy Uniform's cape. He stroked a finger over the small metal wheel, unable to believe that it was indeed real and not a dream. How had he missed this? Was the drawer open before?
The Holy Uniform had several components under the heavy mantle and cape. A warm sweater, something that was only worn during cold months and nighttime was the first layer. Above that was a tunic, and the Overcoat was worn over said tunic. The Overcoat was elegantly detailed, the edges lined with metal studs and carefully embroidered with the Hunter's symbol. With mounting joy, Alfred pulled each item from the drawer, starting with the cape. The sweater was warm, only having suffered a few moth eaten holes around the hem. Below that was the tunic, and finally, Alfred took out the Overcoat with a reverent gasp. He hugged the bundle of clothing to his chest, not minding the smell of must and unuse.
The trousers were less impressive, but still important by virtue of being part of the ensemble. Fastened by a laced pullstring, Alfred's foremost worry was that they would be too short-he could learn to hem, but there was nothing he could do to make them longer. Underneath the trousers was a scuffed and well used pair of Executioner's boots, something that Alfred prayed would fit.
Quivering with excitement edged with anxiety, Alfred held the overcoat up to the lantern's light. The Executioner's robe has a few tears and popped seams, as well as a thick smell of must from years of being abandoned. With tenderness he pressed it against his front to examine the fit in the tarnished mirror. Repeating this process for each piece to mentally gauge if they would indeed fit, and then, without a thought to the dust and dirt of the years, Alfred got dressed, back to the mirror.
Turning around to see his reflection was something he both greatly anticipated and dreaded. Would he see a brave, holy warrior, or someone merely playing pretend? Finally facing the mirror, Alfred finally saw one of his oldest dreams realized.
He did not recognize himself for a moment, instead seeing a ghost. He could have been one of the doomed marchers to Cainhurst, framed perfectly by the dove gray cape, embraced by the warm mantle.
" I am whole ." was Alfred's only thought, as he traced his gloved hands down his form. " I'm finally whole. I'm finally what I was always meant to be ." He spun in front of the mirror, enjoying the dramatic sweep of the cape, the glint of the metal studs in the leather gauntlets, laughing happily. He hugged himself tightly, sinking to his knees, weak with sheer joy.
It must be Master Logarius's favor, a gift from the Great Ones. Undoubtedly.
-In the present-
As much as Alfred wanted to just rush to Cainhurst, there was two last things he needed.
The return trip to his room was a blur, and in no time, his hand was on his own door knob, turning it. He flung the curtains open, using the red moonlight to select the perfect Ardeo, testing its weight in his hands, nodding in approval once he had selected it with the proper golden sheen, undented, untarnished.
Now, something of greater importance. Kneeling on the limited space on the floor, he gently pulled out a large, bulky object out from under the bed. The only intact Logarius Wheel he has ever recovered from the Executioner's Workshop.
He remembered the line of moonlight that shone on it when he entered the old Armory, glistening on the fine filigree on the spokes. The weight was perfect, and all of his training rushed back to his mind once it was in his arms. He ran his gauntetted hands over the wheel with great affection.
"You were left behind as well, were you not?" he spoke to it. "Do not fret, it is the time for both of us to meet our destiny."
Hefting the wheel onto his shoulder, he activated the mechanism that made the Logarius wheel more than just another trick weapon. There was a red gasp of miasma that emanated from the wheel as the two sides of it separated. Smiling grimly, Alfred set it back to its usual state with a satisfying thunk of the inner workings.
Now prepared, he set off for Hemwick village.