“Good work tonight, Hans. Get some rest since we’re doing it all over again tomorrow.” Geret said wearily. He was the owner of the Wintergreen Tavern. A bulky old man with greying hair that was typically tied back by a rag. He wore a soaked apron from wiping his hands so often and was typically only seen through the window into the kitchen, though the kitchen rarely served as one during the night and mainly he would simply draw from the prepared kegs beneath the counter or in the cellar if he ever ran out. He kindly dropped ten silver coins into Hans's cupped hands; it was the share of tips, plus Hans’s pay for that evening. Hans grinned happily and stuffed the coins into his apron pocket.

“Thanks boss!” Hans's hands were wrinkled from cleaning every table and washing every mug and his whole body was tired and sore from ferrying endless amounts of ale back and forth, but the pay was the best in the city for a man like him with no skills and a fear of leaving the walls. He offered a loose wave to his boss and turned, heading for the exit. Since it was late and the place was closing down the tables were moved in and the open face of the Wintergreen that usually served to light up the block was closed and darkened, leaving just the dim lamps. Hans considered his circumstances giddily.

`Living is covered this month, so if I work a few more good days I'll probably be able to buy something for the Dame before the full moon. I wanna pay her back and maybe…` His thoughts trailed off. He shook his head.

`What’re you thinking? You’re a waiter. She’s a Knight.` With few exceptions, Knights tended to come from well-off families. Time to train and resources to develop Soma in one’s body were both hard to come by for people who were just living day-to-day.

`I dunno why she helped me. I’ll focus on the repayment and we’ll see what happens from there.` He chuckled, smiling to himself like a dope.

`But I can still dream… Maybe she took a liking to me?` He blushed deeply.

`Being taken care of by a strong female Knight sounds so…` He took in a sharp breath, slapping his cheeks with both hands.

`Cool off, Hans!`

He walked a block in the dimly lit town and he would have a block to go before he reached his home; a small second story room in a combined living home. Castezin at night was truly quiet. Very few stayed up and nobody stayed out. None except those who worked far past when most would reasonably go to bed like himself. Luckily, there were no pests in Castazin. That meant no rats or bats or other creepy creatures, and no muggers or criminals as well. For how eerie the place was at night, it was extremely safe; Hans loved that. With all of that in mind, it was strange for him to hear a sound around him at all, but he did hear something. It was a quiet shifting of loose cobblestone behind him. He froze and turned slowly to see pale silver eyes illuminated in the dark, staring at him from an alleyway. A shiver ran down his spine, despite those being the eyes that Ayla also had. Strangely, beyond the initial reaction those eyes staring at him from the alleyway felt slightly less dark and unsettling than Ayla’s.

“Is that...” Hans stepped into the alleyway against his better instincts.

“Dame?” He questioned.

“Dame!” He cupped his hands over his mouth to shout a bit louder, hoping to get her attention. She backed up a few steps, turned and disappeared around a corner.

`What's she doing out here?` His eyes widened and his mind raced.

`Is she trying to find me?`

He began walking through the alleyway to catch who he thought was Ayla. Despite being fueled quite powerfully by the brain below his belt, he stopped suddenly once he realised just how enveloped in darkness he was within the alleyway. No moonlight, no lamps, just blackness. He gripped his chest over his heart and cowered a little, stepping back without turning around.

“D-Dame?” After he said that Hans felt a blunt pain on the back of his head, then nothing.

He awoke in a windowless wooden room. There were no decorations and there was only one door, a carpet and a bed. The only door was flanked by two men with black cloth masks covering the lower halves of their faces. They stared down at Hans sympathetically. As Hans realised he was tied up on the bed, the only bit of furniture in the room, he whimpered and shimmied back against the wall to get as far away from them as he could.

“Please just take my money. There's no reason for this, right? I never caused any trouble.” His begging was reasonable. He minded his own business, he made a point to never bother anyone. He barely made enough money to be mugged, let alone kidnapped. As they refused to speak and just continued to stare he put together that it could only reasonably be one other thing and added desperately.

“I-I'm not a vampire. I don't have vampire blood, it's just a- a thing I was born with. Even the Church confirmed that!” The two men just exchanged a look in response, then both continued watching him silently. Waiting.

After a minute of the uncomfortableness, as tears had already begun to fill his eyes, the door opened. Neither of the men looked. A woman stepped through, still looking back with her hand still on the handle. Hans could tell it was a woman in the loose robe because of her voice; wisened, but not too old. Mature and dignified with a precise method of speaking. She was talking to someone as she stepped inside.

“Thank you, dear Captain. We will keep you updated.” Whether he wanted to or not, Hans caught a glimpse through the door and past the woman of a large man in the same robes and mask as the others standing with his arms crossed. His robes were jutting out in weird places, showing that he was wearing armour underneath. The woman turned towards Hans and gently shut the door behind her so that a click of the catch could barely be heard. The woman had the eyes that he recognized in Ayla, only ironically, for his kidnapper they were the eyes that felt less intimidating. They were strikingly similar, however and the feeling he got seemed to be something underlying that silver colour and not the eyes themselves. The woman took small steps towards him and began to pull her mask down.

Hans jerked away suddenly and shut his eyes tightly as she hooked a finger under the mask to pull it down. He shook his head vigorously.

“No... Please no.”

“What's wrong?” The woman asked in a concerned tone. He could feel her hand on his face. She thumbed his tears away.

“You're showing me your face. You’re removing your mask.” He whined. Hans was someone that came from outside of Castezin. Therefore, even in a town without ruffians he knew the culture well enough, still.

“What could ever be wrong with that? It is a nice face, I hope. I never heard any complaints about it at least. I think it is a good face. What do you two think?” She shot the question over her shoulder at the men standing near the door. Hans heard dual sighs.

Tears continued to squeeze through his tightly shut eyelids. He was nearly to the point of sobbing, as well. “It- It means I'm not gonna get to leave here. That’s what that means. If you’re showing me your face it means you’re not worried about me describing it to anyone.”

“Clever... But then you seeing me has no bearing on that because I was willinging showing you my face. I did not reveal myself by accident so a peek does not change a thing for you.” Hans reluctantly opened his eyes in response to the cold logic spoken in a soft, womanly tone. She was startlingly beautiful without the mask. Fair skin with only slight creasing around her eyes and black hair with a subtle curl to the locks peeking out from between her hood and lowered mask.Still, it was her eyes that were mesmerising. Those eyes that belonged in his mind to Dame Ayla. Those eyes that stared at him more emotionlessly than the woman in front of him, but evidently also meant less harm.

“Who were you calling for?” She asked while withdrawing a mortar and pestle from within her robes. She knelt to set it down between them both on the carpet where she slowly sat down.

“Was it Dame Ayla, by chance?”

“How would you know that? Do you know Dame Ayla?” Hans asked, using all his inner strength to stop from blubbering.

“I saw her earlier tonight. Sweet girl. Wonderful eyes. What is she to you?” She questioned more out of curiosity than any desire to grill him on the subject.

“I don't know.” Hans admitted, bravely leaning away from the wall enough to eye the mortar and pestle.

She noticed the look it was getting and smiled brightly. “I am actually quite a good cook and I would like your opinion on a recipe I have been working on.”

“Is that a joke?” Hans uttered in disdain.

She ignored his tone. “The ingredients, Brothers.” The woman held out both hands at equal levels. The picture of a goddess that held the scale in her cult-like robe and nearly glowing eyes. The two men each presented an item from their person. The man on her right placed a large white fang in her hand while the one on her left presented what looked like a black claw. Both were massive, far too big to be normal.

“This is an old recipe, so it is an acquired taste.”

One of the men finally spoke up. “Haron, are you really going to toy with him this much? There’s no reason for this.”

“Yes.” She said simply, dropping the two reagents into the stone bowl. She lifted the pestle and slammed it down until they were reduced to little shards inside. Each time the pestle slammed down and made a loud noise Hans flinched and tried to look away. Then, as she truly began, the sound of a tooth and a claw in little bits being ground against a mortar was truly an agonising experience for his ears.. Even the two men at her side seemed perturbed.

“You do not know.” She repeated what Hans said, finally.

“I just thought you were her.” He admitted.

“Interesting.” He flinched again as she pulled a dagger from her robe. His eyes focused on it nervously, wondering what she was planning to do with such a thing.

“Why me?” He shut his eyes tight again, pushing himself as flat against the wall as he could, but the coldness of the dagger never touched him. He heard from soldiers that the pain of being stabbed could feel like having ice pressed up against your skin. The numbness from the shock meant that Hans had a thought that he had already been stabbed without knowing.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Because you are afraid, Hans. More than most individuals, you are afraid.” Haron explained.

“Why does that matter?” He whined.

“Is it because you enjoy this? Torturing people?”

She shook her head, smiling subtly. “The theory goes that some personality carries over to some extent but just the strongest emotional traits. While some would prefer viciousness, I would like to see what a truly fearful being could do when coupled with the raw instinct of a beast. Werewolves tend to hunt and kill more than they actually need to for sustenance, you see.” She pulled the dagger back and cut into her own hand without hesitation, dripping blood into the bowl before mixing it some more.

“So the issue in propagation of the curse is that people die far more often than those who are infected and turned successfully. A flightier beast will do the job of spreading the curse, in theory. A cautious and fearful nature will lead more humans to survive and become cursed.” She was explaining in full while continuing to mix the blood and powder with her bloody hand leaking even more into the bowl.

“Haron, you're talking too much.” The man who had not spoken yet said.

“It's the right amount.” She claimed frankly. The man clicked his tongue. She lifted the bowl. A fowl brown mixture of blood, bone and claw all ground down and mixed together into a thick slurry. Haron's smile reduced to a coy smirk as she looked down into the soup. She stirred it while thinking out loud.

“He knew Ayla. As if it were fate. This man was predestined to be here at this time. Long ago, my shape captured a series of actions that I must take and I followed them to this point only for things to change. What could it mean? Only a twist of fate could interfere with the accurate flow of time. So… I am asking dear Hans if this soup looks good, because he may be far more important than I first thought. What do you make of this, my Patron?” She stared up into the ceiling, closing her eyes. She frowned quickly, as if receiving no answer or an unsatisfying one.

“Ayla was never a part of my Waning Cresent’s prediction.”

The two men exchanged a concerned look. “Your Bloodline Shape? Haron… No, Master-”

The one on her left interject. “You need to tell us if this is still worth doing, Haron. Can you say with certainty that things will still play out as your Shape predicted all those years ago? Also, that girl-”

Hans worked up the courage to shout. “Dame Ayla is not a part of this in any way! Please don't seek her out. I’m begging you.” He shook fearfully after shouting that request, flinching away from them as he endured dirty looks from the two men. Haron stood up with the bowl in hand. She stared at Hans closely. Hans looked up and noticed her eyes were resting on his plain white shirt near his heart. He began to sweat and shake his head.

“No… No no…” She noticed the protection. It was the only thing she could be looking at. Haron said nothing about that, but smiled and spoke confidently over her shoulder.

“My prediction told me that he will resist the transformation in the beginning, but we will watch him and he will turn on the full moon.” She climbed onto the bed with him.

“Will you drink this?” She asked forwardly. Hans shook his head.

“Please?” She asked again more insistently.

“I-I don't want to.”

“Ah...” Haron threw her one hand up..

“I guess we have to go home, Brothers.”

The man to her left gritted his teeth. “Haron...”

She pursed her lips, tilting her head side to side. “Oh, right. I meant to say, hold him down. Keep his mouth pried open. As soon as she said the word, the man on the left drew a knife and pushed it to Hans's cheek without cutting him.

“Open it, or I'll open it with this.” The man growled.

Hans submissively held his mouth open as soon as he was warned with that gruesome threat.

“You're going to want to hold him down, as well, Rayod. ”

“Right...” Rayod placed some of his weight on Hans to keep him pinned and immobile.

“Easy... Small gulps.” Haron advised in a soothing tone.

“I'll pour slowly.” She promised as she tilted the bowl to allow the contents to pour into his mouth. He gulped and he immediately regretted it. His whole body convulsed from pain as his throat felt as though it was lit on fire. Then the feeling poured into his stomach and made him imagine a hole was burning through his insides. He was not allowed to move. His mouth was pried as he tried to close it regardless of the threats and the knife at his cheek, but the lip of the stone mortar was already wedged between his front teeth. The whole mixture gradually syphoned down his throat. He screamed as the rest bottomed out in his gut, feeling like it was boiling with how much the liquid in his stomach was jumping and moving. It was almost like it was trying to get out through any avenue, but for some reason he could not throw up. The soup was too heavy in his stomach so he only dry-heaved with nothing but misplaced bile leaving his lips, but not a drop of that blackish brown mixture.

“Ahhhh! Help! It hurts! It hurts, please! E-end…” Hans begged, his pale face becoming a red mess of tears and snot and saliva. For someone as fearful of the entity as him to basically beg for death, it was painful. Extremely painful.

Haron looked at him sympathetically. “Good. Let him go now, just in case I am wrong.” She advised, watching him closely for any changes.

“Spread the 'paint' for good measure.” She reached for a vial of brownish liquid and poured it over her robes. The room began to stink of shit and piss and musk, which was the least of Hans’s worries, but still unpleasant.

The men did the same, gagging. “Haron...” Rayod spoke hoarsely.

“Yes?” She looked at him.

He was glaring back at her with wide, angry eyes. “You DON’T say ‘if I am wrong.’ You never have. Are you uncertain, Haron?”

The other man’s eyes widened. “What!? You promised us that we were following the steps of the Waning Crescent! Dammit, Haron, what the fuck did we just do!? What happens next? Do you even know!?” He screamed, holding his head.

Haron stopped acknowledging them both. Without removing her eyes from Hans she said: “It was too late the moment we took him. We are blind at the moment, but… I am not clueless. Neither of you supported me based on my Shape alone. There are other reasons. So… Trust me. I believe I will be correct, even though my steps are now invalid.” She paused, then tore her gaze away from Hans for a moment to eye the man.

“Do you wish to quit, Varsham?”

Varsham stepped back hesitantly. “Not yet… Just tell us you think we can still reach our goal. By following you.”

Hans bent forward, fully sobbing and choking and convulsing without any restraint. “It hurts! Please...” He continued to beg. It was the worst pain he had felt in his life, but for some reason he could not lose consciousness, either. There was no relief.

“Please... Ayla… Help.” He whimpered.

Haron climbed onto the bed and stroked his white hair as he squirmed and suffered there. “She was right.” Rayod observed.

“We should’ve seen the signs immediately. Instead he's just laying there sobbing.” He grimaced.

“Is there nothing we can do about that?”

Varsham shrugged. “What does it matter? It seems like Haron still knows something about what she’s doing.”

“You don’t give a damn that the boy is sobbing in pain?” Rayod argued.

As the two men bickered in the background Haron pulled Hans's head into her lap. He was facing up, eyes unfocused and twitching. He seemed to be calming down. She ran her hand down the front of his shirt and gripped the Holy Symbol of Sol. She pulled it out and inspected it. Even in his pain, Hans saw her find it and stared at her pleading for her to not take it. His hand shakily reached up and wrapped around the hand that held the ring, but his grip was weak. She mouthed the words of the inscription to him while comforting him. After she was done she moved it back to its hiding place. Haron smiled down at him as he gave her a questioning stare. She lifted a finger to her lips in a shushing motion and leaned down to whisper to him.

“Seems you are meant to have it. Come what may. You are very blessed, I promise.” She bent down and kissed his forehead.

“Haron, what are you doing? We still have to figure out this plan.” Rayod urged.

“Relax, you two.” She advised.

“Haron...” Varsham exhaled wearily.

“I promise that I will beseech my Patron for enough Aura to use the Waning Crescent once more. From there, it will be as it was when we were following the initial path. We are on the right track. There is less than a week until the full moon arrives and even without my power, my prediction was correct.” She was staring into Hans's eyes as she said that. Both men seemed to be placated by her words, though Hans got the feeling that she was being deceptive with them. He was no genius, but he was adept at reading people's expression and tone after many years working with them, and suffering against them.

“The Patron?” Varsham remarked hesitantly.

Rayod nodded. “Seems reasonable. If he grants her even a fraction of his Aura it could be even better for us.”

“Will that stingy God actually offer you any of his power?” Varsham asked.

Haron smiled widely. “Of course, let me worry about beseeching him. You both have nothing to worry about.” Han’s eyes shot wide open. She was lying through her teeth. Both men seemed pleased by the promise and were effectively deceived by her words. They must have trusted her power immensely, which made it even worse that she was lying. Haron’s eyes glowed with the recognition that Hans knew. She bent down and spoke quietly next to his ear.

“Our secret.” She patted his chest as she said that, suggesting that it was safe near his heart if he kept what he knew there, as well.