Castle Black stood tall, a menacing structure. It had been built many years ago by a wealthy royal who died soon after its completion. His kin fought bitterly for possession of the night castle, leaving dead siblings and fatherless children in their wake. In the end, no one claimed it. The grand building was left abandoned for countless years.
Time had not been kind. Once-smooth stone walls had darkened; fine glass windows had gathered dust, some shattered altogether. The fearsome castle had known only sorrow. Any who dared to master it met a terrible fate; poison slipped into food accepted in good faith, or a blade driven directly into their back.
Now the castle had a new master: Dracula, the undead king, marked to die this very night. He had cheated death before, and on this storm-laden evening he would cheat her again.
The winds howled violently, rattling the fortress as though to uproot it. A storm brewed overhead. Dracula stood at a window, staring into the woods that surrounded his stronghold. His eyes, sharper than any mortal's, caught sight of the distant silhouettes of an army marching toward him.
He bared his fangs and hissed. Those clever bastards… come to finish me off, eh?
Turning from the storm-lit window, Dracula faced the pitch-black room. His pale hands reached into his black coat, brushed across his broad chest and rested on the gold metallic cross fused with his skin. The touch burned. He winced, yet let the pain linger, feeding his anger.
The humans had bested him, and he did not find it amusing.
In their last battle, they had trapped him—only briefly, but long enough to brand him with the golden cross. He remembered it vividly: victory had been within reach, then snatched away. The cross was a curse. It could not be removed and it weakened him, leaving him more fragile than even the lowest vampire.
He was wounded prey, and the hunters had come to finish what they began.
The creak of the door snapped him from his thoughts. Cavalo, his second in command, entered the chamber.
Cavalo stood tall, clad in dark leather that melted into the shadows. His long black hair seemed to flow even without wind. His calm, still eyes and voice carried the weight of drowning waters. Dracula had never noticed these things before—was it his weakened state that sharpened them now?
He cursed the humans again.
"Can you see them from the window, sire?" Cavalo asked, his voice calm but resonant.
"Yes," Dracula answered.
Cavalo sighed. "They want to be seen. Most likely decoys."
"Don't you think I know that?"
Sensing his master's temper, Cavalo bowed. "My apologies, sire. As always, nothing escapes your masterful eye."
Silence fell.
"Are they ready?" Dracula asked.
"Yes, all seven," Cavalo replied.
"And are they—"
"Untouched," Cavalo finished. "I made certain myself."
Dracula touched the cross again, grimacing. "I'll admit it—they outwitted me with this little trick. But with what we're about to do, it will mean nothing."
"The soul transfer," Cavalo murmured.
"Yes. This body is finished. Even a common blade would end me now. My only choice is to cast it aside and don another."
"A brilliant plan, master."
"Brilliant, yes," Dracula said as they walked through the dark corridors. "But the humans' arrival has upset my timing. It would have been better to be reborn immediately into a body prepared for me—but then I would be vulnerable to their assault."
"True," Cavalo nodded. "There are too few of us to hold them off and guarantee your safety."
Dracula chuckled. "Indeed. But my new plan is better than merely acquiring a vessel."
They entered a vast, dimly lit hall. At its center, seven young women lay bound in white cloth, arranged in a circle.
"Why is that, master?" Cavalo asked, eager to understand.
"It is simple," Dracula replied. "Full reincarnation. I will die here tonight—and be reborn as a child, born of a mother somewhere in the world. I will begin anew, building my strength from the shadows. Under their noses, I will rise again."
A smile spread across his face. "Humans think themselves clever. But I know more tricks than they can imagine. In a few short years, I will have all I need."
Cavalo stood in silence, troubled. At last, he spoke. "There is but one flaw. If such a spell works as you say, how will you rebuild? Will you return as powerful as before? Will you even be a vampire? What if you die at birth? What if your mother perishes before you can live? Would you remember your battles—your desire to rule? Would you even… remember me?"
For a moment, doubt and fear gnawed at Dracula. He was not ready to leave the world as it was, nor to face the uncertainty of his return. But he would not let Cavalo see hesitation.
He placed a hand on his advisor's shoulder. "Do not fear. My memories will return once I regain the consciousness to choose between right and wrong."
Cavalo opened his mouth to protest, but Dracula hushed him gently. "That is why I need you, Cavalo. When I am reborn, you must find me. I do not know when or where, but it will be soon and nearby. You must guide me in my early years."
Cavalo looked away, biting his lip. Finally, he turned back. "I will do my best."
"I know you will," Dracula said with a faint smile. He turned to the circle of virgins.
"Tell me, Cavalo," he asked suddenly, "do you ever regret that I turned you?"
Their eyes locked.
"No," Cavalo said at last.
A smile flickered across Dracula's face, only to harden. "Don't lie to me."
Cavalo forced a pained smile. "Of course not, my lord. I only wish my family had accepted the change—and joined me willingly." A single bloody tear traced his cheek before he wiped it away. "Truly, to live forever, and to serve you, has been my greatest honor."
"Truly indeed," Dracula laughed.
From his coat he drew a long blade, its edge glimmering in the faint light.
"Now go," he commanded. "Buy me time. Midnight approaches, and the humans are upon us.