I don't own the RWBY and Castlevania franchises.

The man woke as the world started to fall.

His eyes burst open as the mausoleum rumbled. His body was in pain, his muscles seemingly screaming as he slowly raised himself from the coffin. He stumbled out of the coffin as dust and rubble started to fall. The tattered curtains crashed down in a cloud of dust. The beautiful stained glass collage depicting a rose bathed the room with a kaleidoscope lights. His foot knocked over the remains of expended candles as he staggered around, trying to regain his bearings as the earth shook.

He looked around as the dark walls started to crumble, looking for some exit. The door stood at the opposite wall. He tried to make a run for it but collapsed in his efforts. He felt so weak, muscles aching and limbs feeling like mere threads. The man groaned as he grasped the edge of the stone coffin, shakily standing up. He had been sleeping far too long, and hadn't had the time to recover.

The man attempted to hobble to the door, clutching at his wheezing chest. But before he could reach it a mass of tinder and stone that used to be part of the roof crumbled in front of his outstretched hand, collapsing the door. He cursed, steadying himself against a nearby candelabra.

He frantically looked around for another mean for escape. The dark stained walls surrounding him were all made of solid cobblestone, impossible to trespass in his current state. The window was still there, somehow not shattered in the quake. The man hobbled towards the window with grunts of pain.

He tried pushing against is to no avail, his arms frail and weak. The man then stumbled as the ground under him shook again, bringing even more rubble crashing down from the roof. A brick fell down, crashing besides him.

He dropped to his knees, frantically searching around. His hands manage to grasp a fist sized rock, his fingers wrapping around it. The man then staggered back to his feet. He faced the window and with a strained cry flung the rock at the window. The beautiful window of the rose shattered, the shattered rainbow of glass raining down outside.

The man staggered as he tried to climb through the shattered window sill, hissing in pain as the broken shards dug into his hands and feet. But he stopped himself as the sun entered his eyes, shielding them with his withered pale hand. The warm sunlight stung his features and eyes, blinding him with its radiance. After blinking a couple of times he looked down and cursed once again.

The drop was enormous, a sparkling moat twinkling underneath him. In his surprise he staggered back from the window. He then felt something tap him in the shoulder. As he jerked around and backed away, his eyes widened as he saw who it was. "You?" he rasped.

It was a floating white mask, the most noticeable feature was a great crack running down the mask. The cracks were around the mouth, it almost looked like a leering grin. The mask's body was a trailing black cloak, flowing as if the wind was blowing through it. It was a familiar visage, one the man thought that he would never see again. A clawed, black hand slowly raised itself, pointing behind him. The man once again turned around, looking at the shattered window behind him. But when he raised his gaze again, the figure was gone.

The man looked around to see another way to escape, but. found nothing except for the window. He grimaced quickly reached into his shirt, grasping a silver cross that hung from a chain on his neck. He held it in his hand for a second, taking a deep breath as he felt the familiar prickling in his hand. He then ran to the windowsill, his muscles burning as the ground started to collapse. With a leap he launched himself out of the window into the air.

The man fell a long way, the air rushing past him in a flurry. He was quiet the whole way down as his hair whipped around. The mass of blue quickly flooded his vision, rushing up to meet him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then it all went dark.

Flames.

The dark sky swirling with the cinders and smoke.

Terrible screams echoing.

The raw and acrid smell lingering through the air.

The smell of blood.

Her.

Her final caress.

And the eyes.

Those terribly sad green eyes..

The twinkling silver necklace.

A woman's voice.

Come on.

Wake up.

Please.

Wake up.

Something bright.

Then it all went dark.

The man gasped and sputtered as he woke up. He felt himself shaking as he started coughing, his lungs crying out for air as he continued to cough. The coughing fit seemed to last forever, his body convulsing.

When the coughing finally subsided the man gasped for air, wheezing as his lungs felt like a furnace. After regaining his breath he rubbed his eyes, sitting up as he took in his surroundings.

To his surprise he was in a bedroom of some kind, sunlight filtering through a clear window that lit the room in a warm yellow glow. He was nestled in the bed, the soft blanket covering most of his prone body. The bedside table had a vase of sweet smelling flowers. His eyes then spied a small mirror besides the vase, gingerly picking it up and examining himself.

He looked haggard, just like a scarecrow. His yellow eyes had great dark bags under them, his white hair seemed shaggy and hung from his head like a dirty mop. He hissed as he tried to stand, clutching the side of his chest. He removed the white cloth shirt to see that his chest was covered in bandages. His sleep had not done him well.

The man grunted as he tried to lift himself despite the burning pain in his chest, arms trembling. He grunted as his arms failed him and he dropped back onto the bed. He stayed there this time, trying to remember what had happened. He struggled to remember anything in his feverish state. He had been woken up, then….

He blinked.

He had been woken up.

The man grunted, suddenly finding the energy to sit back up on the bed. He held up his hands in front of him. He sighed as he laid back down on the floor, back softly hitting the bed. He was awake again. But why?

But his thoughts were interrupted as he heard the door creak open. His head snapped around to see a plump short woman standing there, holding a basket full of fresh bandages. She seemed startled to see him awake, her eyes widening.

But a smile appeared on her face as she quickly set down the basket besides his bed and came to his side. "Why hello sleepyhead!" she said with the big smile. "We were quite worried that you might have gotten really hurt," the woman said as she lightly patted him on his back. "I'll go get the doctor, you stay right here sweetie!"

The chipper woman had left in a hurry, seemingly eager to get the doctor. The man was a little bit flustered, unable to get a word out during that whole conversation. He sighed as he looked around the room again.

He looked upwards to the bedpost to see his blade hanging off his tattered belt. A sigh of relief left him. He reached over, grunting as he managed to grasp it. The familiar weight felt good, as if greeting an old friend. He unbuckled it and held it above him. The wings of steel sat on the crossguard, glinting underneath the sun. He clasped the sword's crimson leather hilt and drew it out.

The great curved longsword, Crissaegrim, slid out with hiss, the silver blade glinting brightly in the sun. He lowered it in front of him, staring into it. His reflection stared back, his golden eyes peering back. He wondered how long he had slept for.

But there were much more pressing matters. He had been awoken for a reason of utmost importance, there wouldn't be any other reason why he would have been summoned and awoken from his slumber. But who, and why?

Another thing also bothered him. The Lost Soul had been there in the tower with him. The creature that had led him in his first crusade through Castlevania, when he had been a young man seeking revenge. It would always appear and disappear wordlessly, every single time. The man frowned. He thought it had disappeared after the Mirror of Fate had been shattered.

Did this mean that the Mirror of Fate had somehow returned, and alongside it, the Lost Soul? After all this time, why would it be there? Why was it still helping him? And what was it?

The man sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He could worry about that later. He had to accept that being conscious again was a pleasant experience, barring his rough awakening process. Right now he had to find out where he was. Suddenly, as if on cue, somebody knocked on the door. Trevor quickly sheathed the blade and hung it back again.

His musing was interrupted as the doctor entered through the creaky door. The doctor had grey wispy hair that sat under a frayed green hunting cap. He also wore a white cloth shirt with suspenders. The doctor dragged the chair to the bed's side, resting his arms on the back of it as he faced the man.

"Are you feeling well?" the doctor said with a warm smile that cracked his wrinkled face, "Any difficulties at all?" The man simply shrugged, but in the process felt a sharp jab of pain in his ribs making him grunt. The doctor chuckled as he made him lay back down. "Ah, you young ones and your pride, reminds me when I used to be young."

The doctor then withdrew a small rectangular object from his pocket. He pressed a yellow diamond button on it and to the young man's surprise the rectangle lit up, displaying a wall of texts and a myriad of diagrams. The doctor ignored the young man's surprise as he swiped through multiple images and texts.

"You were in quite the shape young man." the doctor sighed as he handed the scroll to the young man. The young man awkwardly accepted it, eyes scanning on the magical marvel he had just discovered. It seemed that the world had moved on ever since he had gone to sleep. The doctor swiped through different photos, showing the young man's pale chest covered in bruises and scars.

"In some morbid fashion, you were quite the fascinating subject," the doctor said as he plucked the tablet out of the young man's hand. "At least twenty percent of your body tissue is covered in scar tissue ,and you have second degree burns all over you." The doctor eyed him as he took off his green cap. "Are you some kind of Hunter boy?"

The young man simply shrugged. The doctor's eyebrows rose in a quizzical manner, looking at him. The doctor then broke the gaze as he leaned back on his chair, giving the young man a smile again.

"But all of that aside," the doctor said as he stood up from the chair, "it seems that I have forgotten my manners in all of this excitement." The doctor gave a curt yet formal bow to the young man. "Cornelius Cerise, at your service." He then extended his hand towards the patient, "And what would your name be young man?"

The young man accepted the handshake.

"Trevor," the young man said "Trevor Belmont."