- [Dorime, the Hero] -
Dorime lounges in her quarters, the summoned Hero of Schwarzmond City — a title that feels heavy even when she's at her laziest. Her quarters are modest yet comfortable — a dark, dank introvert’s sanctuary within the sprawling grandeur of the holy cathedral. She reclines on a low, cushioned divan, a half-eaten apple in one hand, the other flipping through the pages of her fantasy book, Swordserer. Her eyes, though scanning the words, are distant, wandering through realms conjured by her imagination.
A thick hush blankets the cathedral's interior. A dim shaft of moonlight slices through the high, arched window, casting a pale glow that mingles with the flickering candlelight. The smell of old incense lingers, mingling with the faint hint of dusty tomes and the metallic tang of the sacred artifacts.
Her fingers absently scratch at her belly, an unconscious gesture of comfort. “Just a little more,” she mumbles to herself, a slight smile tugging at her lips as her mind dances through the adventures within the book and she flips another page. The snack bowl rustles beside her as she digs through it, the noise a reminder of simpler pleasures that she is drowning in here. What a life.
Yet her tranquility is abruptly shattered by a knock at the door. Dorime lets out a quiet yelp to herself. Her heart skips, a quickened pulse of adrenaline. She flings the book aside, its pages protesting with a soft thud as it lands on the floor. Snacks scatter in her haste, rolling across the wooden boards. With a practiced ease, she slips into a meditative pose, legs crossed, hands resting on her knees, eyes closed in feigned serenity.
“Enter,” she calls calmly, her voice a smooth, controlled melody against the quiet.
The door creaks open to reveal a priest, his robes whispering with each step. His face is lined with concern, the dim light casting shadows that deepen his expression. “Lady Dorime,” he begins, bowing his head slightly, “The Bishop wishes to know when you will be ready to stage the attack on the Vampire Lord's castle.”
Pretending to break from her meditation, Dorime opens her eyes, fixing him with a gaze that is both serene and calculative. “Soon,” she replies, allowing a moment of silence to stretch between them. She shifts slightly, feeling the weight of his expectation. “But there's no rush, truly. It seems the Vampire Lord isn’t doing much of anything lately.”
The priest hesitates, his brow furrowing, a clear sign of his internal conflict. “The Bishop is concerned,” he presses gently, “that the delay might cost us dearly.”
A sigh escapes her lips, unbidden. “I understand,” she says, though her tone betrays a flicker of impatience. “I’m preparing. I just need a little more time.”
As the priest nods, conceding to her words, Dorime’s mind drifts back to the reason for her presence here. Summoned to be the city’s savior, she is in her own mind a reluctant hero — one who craves the adventures of fictional realms more than the harrowing battles of her own. Why would she want to go out there and do all of this junk when she can just read her books instead? This is much better. Yet her duty calls her to face the Vampire Lord, yet her heart yearns for the quiet of her quarters, the solace of her books.
Why didn’t fate have her be reborn as a librarian or something? She just had to be a great hero.
The priest takes a step back, offering a nod of understanding, though his eyes betray a lingering doubt. “Very well, Lady Dorime. I shall convey your message to the Bishop.”
He turns to leave, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. Silence settles once more, a comforting blanket over her thoughts. Dorime relaxes, her posture unwinding as she reaches for her book again. The pages welcome her back as she flutters to the spot in the story that she just left.
As the moonlight filters through the window, Dorime finds herself lost in her book again. The world outside might be waiting for her — a world teetering on the edge of chaos, its fate entwined with her own, supposedly.
But that can wait.
From what she’s been told by the church’s scouts, it’s not like the Vampire Lord is doing anything other than just sitting around in his castle too. So what’s the big rush? She sighs and flips a page.
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- [Vampire Lord Inkume] -
The night air is cool, clinging to the skin with a dampness that hints at the promise of rain. A gentle breeze stirs the petals, releasing a heady perfume that mingles with the scent of freshly turned soil. The sky above is a velvet expanse, stars watching with unblinking eyes.
Maddened, chaotic laughter, wild and unrestrained, echoes through the gardens, weaving through the midnight air. The Vampire Lord stands at the edge of a freshly dug pit, his eyes gleaming with a manic excitement. He watches as a legion of skeleton workers toil beneath the moon's pale gaze with hundreds of black metal shovels. Their bony fingers and dark tools scrape and dig, unburying the colossal bones of a dragon long perhaps forgotten by time, but not by him.
He discovered the buried creature weeks ago, a serendipitous find beneath the roots of his otherwise very lovely and enchanting gardens. Until now, the risk of the resurrection's energy backlash stilled his hand. But tonight, the air crackles with his anticipation, a tingling promise of something super awesome to come. He's ready now — ready to call forth the ancient beast, to fill those hollow bones with unlife once more.
Snatch had asked him to wait until he was stronger and to focus on maintaining the castle’s lesser monsters so that he wouldn’t drain his energy for some nonsense like an awesome undead dragon. Well, now he’s stronger — much stronger — having crossed level five hundred thanks to his literal cellar full of blood. Already strong in theory, this level makes him a beast amongst men, whose normal level cap stops at one hundred, and even then, only the strongest and the best ever reached it.
And he isn’t even done yet; he can just about reach level one thousand if he keeps it up.
With every bone brought to the surface, his cold, loveless heart beats louder, a racing drumbeat of childish exhilaration. But he’s doing his best to look maniacal and cool in front of the workers, even if, in his heart of hearts, he wants to do an excited little stompy dance.
— It would be very unbefitting of the evil Vampire Lord.
The last massive, grayed rib is freed, clattering to the ground with a finality that sends a shiver down his spine. He steps forward toward the edge of the pit, casting a shadow over the skeletal dragon, his mind alight with possibilities.
It’s time.
The Vampire Lord raises his hands, dark magic curling around his fingers, a living smoke. Ghosts floating around him begin to chant in ominous, dead languages as energy collects around his hands. Words of power tumble from their lips in a language as old as the bones themselves. The air crackles like shattering glass, charged with energy that hums and vibrates. The ground seems to pulse beneath his feet, matching the rhythm of the incantation.
He didn’t ask them to do it; the ghosts are just kind of doing it on their own, which he appreciates. It really adds to the atmosphere, and there’s something to be said about employees who take initiative on their own.
The dragon's bones respond, glowing with an eerie luminescence. Magic threads through the marrow, knitting the skeleton together in a grotesque symphony of motion — like threadworms pulling an old corpse together, as if they were strings mending a puppet.
It rises, the ground and castle shaking, a towering monument to the Vampire Lord's will as its ancient bones crack and snap into place. The great beast shakes loose the last clods of soil that cling to its form as it stands inside the hole, its figure reaching out past the rim of the grave as a crooked foot with long claws the size of men press down into the dirt as it begins to climb from the dirt.
It arcs its head back, its roar splits the night, a fearsome cry that rolls across the land, echoing through the valleys and over the hills for as far as the ear can hear.
~ [Undead Dragon] ~
An Undead Dragon.
Held to be the most fearsome beasts that fill the world, dragons are extremely powerful and intelligent monsters. Ranging anywhere in size from less than a person to more than a great ship of war, dragons are deeply unique creatures that possess anything from sapient levels of intelligence to that of a humble crab. Depending on the origin of their brood, there is a great variety in every factor of a dragon’s being, from its elemental breath to the other factors listed prior, making classifying them extremely difficult for scholars of the magical world.
This particular undead dragon is a corpse reanimated from a fallen specimen of the Goldenscale brood, which are said to be the children of the former god of Wealth and Power himself — Avarice.
In the current day and age, dragons have been all but hunted to extermination by the people of the world, as they were considered to be too dangerous to allow to roam wildly. Now, only rare few of them remain in the wildlands, with most dragons being dungeon-spawned monsters rather than organic creations.
Type: Undead {Drakin} Rank: SSS Common Drop: Dragon’s Bones Rare Drop: The Eye of Avarice
A moment of silence follows, the world holding its breath.
Then, the titanic dragon bows its head, bending its long neck in deference to its master. The Vampire Lord's lips curve into a pleased smile, though he fights the urge to whoop in sheer, childish glee. He must maintain his composure — appear unruffled, regal, and powerful.
Fucking awesome.
With fluid grace, he strides forward, his cloak billowing around him like a liquid shadow. He climbs the dragon's back, each prideful, unbothered step a testament to his newfound dominion. Seating himself astride the creature's spine, he surveys his domain with a cool detachment, though inside, his heart races.
This is it. This is the peak of his new life; it’s all downhill from here.
As he prepares to soar into the night, a familiar presence shimmers beside him — his favorite ghost and dearest friend, Snatch. She appears with a flicker, her translucent form rippling in the moonlight.
“Master!” says the always-sweaty ghost. “I heard the sound of you trying to replace me in your heart with something cooler and better,” notes the desperately feverish entity, looking at the hulking dragon he’s sitting on as it climbs out of the hole, the ground around them shaking. Loose bricks fall off of the castle’s exterior, a rocking tower swaying to the side, giant bats flying out of its belfry. “Mind if I tag along, Master?” she asks, her voice a playful whisper on the breeze. “So that you’ll develop a bad conscience about trading me out and instead continue to still like me more out of a sense of guilt.”
He turns to her, a softness in his ruby gaze. “As if I could ever like anything more than you, Snatch,” he replies. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you behind,” he replies, extending a cold hand. She takes it, wheezing in a cackle, her touch cool and insubstantial yet comforting all the same.
Settling herself in front of him, she leans back, nestling against his chest. He wraps an arm around her, anchoring her to him as the dragon shifts beneath them, readying for flight.
With a powerful beat of its fleshless, tattered wings, the undead dragon launches into the sky, a force of nature reborn. The ground falls away, skeleton workers scrambling in all directions as the gust of downforce blasts their bones apart, the gardens shrinking to patches of color far below. The wind rushes past, an exhilarating rush that whips the Vampire Lord’s hair into a wild dance as they shoot toward the night.
— It, of course, always stays perfect, even in the wind.
Snatch’s wild screaming fills his ears, her gravely voice tingeing the air as she clutches onto him in terror, the force of their ascent pressing her nearly flat against him. Soon, they level out up in the sky, the castle looking rather diminutive and small below — despite its grandeur in person. Then, it vanishes from sight completely. The mountains it sprawls over like a scab across a wound vanish behind the blue-painted moonlit clouds. “This is amazing!” She shouts over the wind, her nervous laughter bright and infectious. “I’ve never flown this fast before,” says the ghost eagerly, looking around with wide eyes, but her hands stuck in him like fishhooks.
He nods, the thrill of the moment lighting his eyes.
The dragon soars higher, swaying from side to side as it presses through a jetstream high above the ground. Its skeletal form cuts through the night with grace and power. Below, the world unfolds — forests sprawling, rivers winding, mountains jutting against the horizon. The Vampire Lord revels in the view, his mind spinning with old plans, dreams, and ambitions from his past life that seem to just… reappear all of a sudden, out from below the brack of the mind-painting mask that is his role as the Vampire Lord. Seeing the horizon in the distance, endless, rekindles a flame in his belly that he hadn’t noticed had gone out.
Beside him, his ghostly companion glows with an inner light, her joy a mirror to his own. Together, they fly into the unknown.
“Where are we going, Master?” asks Snatch excitedly. “I’ve never been anywhere before,” she explains, almost yelling to overpower the thrashing of the dragon as it flaps into its rhythm, a fresh roar cascading across the world from high above.
He glances down at the tiny castle, its dark silhouette a sentinel against the night. For now, the world is his to explore, each new horizon a beckoning adventure. And with his dragon beneath him and his friend at his side, there is nothing he cannot achieve.
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“Wherever we want to, Snatch,” replies the Vampire Lord, holding her with one arm as the other rests on a fragment of the dragon’s spine as if it were a saddle’s horn. “I’ve never been anywhere either,” he notes, smiling down at her as the battering of heavy wings cracks thunder down to the world below, shaking the beds of many terrified children.
He might be retired, but even retirees take vacations — or at least excursions.
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The world unfurls beneath them, a vast quilt of shadowed landscapes touched by silver starshine of those of heaven’s eyes that remain in the darkness. The skeletal dragon glides through the night with a grace that belies its monstrous form. Its bones gleam under the crescent moon, leaving a trail of ethereal light in its wake. The air is crisp and cold, no longer rushing past as the dragon has settled into a calm gliding now. Its wings span out wide and flat.
Vampire Lord Inkume sits astride the mighty creature, his gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar terrain below. His cloak billows behind him. Snatch, his spectral companion, shimmers with a ghostly radiance, nestled securely in his protective hold. Together, they ride the winds, explorers of a world neither has ever really seen.
Villages and cities pass below, clusters of flickering lights that speak of lives lived in quiet routine. Mountains rise like ancient sentinels, their peaks crowned with snow that glows beneath the moon's gaze. Rivers wind through valleys, ribbons of silver that cut through the dark tapestry of the landscape.
“What kind of a shitty castle is that?” asks Snatch, poiting off to the distance where a large fortress sits near a ravine, bridges spanning this way and that way around it. “Ours is better,” she notes, a hint of bitterness in her voice.
“I’m sure they’re doing their best,” remarks Inkume dryly as he observes the fortress far off into the heartlands of the world.
The dragon veers, swooping across the world, its tail whipping out behind it as it catches a curve in an unseen wind.
Inkume's dead, black heart strikes with a heady mix of freedom and wonder. He has spent too long within the confines of his castle, bound by duty and expectation. It’s nice to get some fresh air and really take in the sights. Now, the world stretches out before him. Beside him, Snatch gazes with a similar awe, her eyes reflecting the starlight.
“It’s incredible though,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the wind's song. Her words carry a weight beyond simple appreciation — a gratitude that runs deep. He himself at least knows what ‘a world’ looks like because of his old life. But Snatch was born into a simple village that she never left until the day she died at the castle and became a ghost there for centuries. She’s never seen anything past the forest’s edge at best.
Inkume smiles, a rare warmth softening his features. “It is. I should have done this ages ago,” he notes, looking into this distance. He nudges her and points.
Far, far off on the horizon, is the illusion of a mountain range in the distance. But as they soar that way, it becomes apparent that it is no such thing.
It is, instead, a tree.
A single, large, massive tree the size of one from God’s own gardens sits there, jutting from the world. Its leaves sway like a shimmering sea, suspended up high in the clouds together with them. Its branches, up at impossible heights, would take a man days to walk the length of even one from base to end. Down all around its massive trunk that seems impossible to circle, sits a wall with a city behind it.
This must be the World Tree. It’s not really of note to him and the life he lives, but it’s nice to see. It’s an important landmark for the world itself. He’s read about it in many of his library’s books. The capital city of the nation lies down there at its trunk, together with another dungeon core — the so-called ‘beginner’s dungeon’. It’s a rather friendly dungeon with very easy and simple enemies that seems to have entered in cooperation with the people who have built a city around it. — A symbiosis, of sorts.
The dragon flaps its wings before returning to a glide, the two of them staring at the grand monumental tree in the distance.
She turns her head slightly, her translucent hair shimmering in the moonlight. “I’m not good at this, but…” starts Snatch, looking around them at the sky as if the words were there somewhere for her to harvest. “— I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. For us.”
He nods, a silent acknowledgment of the bond they share. “You've changed a lot since we met, Snatch,” replies Inkume, nodding to her as he thinks back to her usual sweaty, frantic demeanor of night’s past. “You seem calmer these days.”
A soft jackal’s laugh escapes her, tinged with a hint of awkwardness as she looks back ahead as the dragon tilts itself at an angle, changing course toward a new direction of its own choosing as it stretches its wings to fly along old routes of its past life. “I don’t think I’ve changed,” explains the ghost, her yellow, glowing eyes casting over the world to see it in its full span for the first time after over a thousand years. “You've just made me the first place where I can be myself,” she says. “And not be scared of that.” Snatch leans back against him and watches the night. “I always hated being me, I thought. But now, looking back, I realise it wasn’t me I hated,” she explains. “It was the places and people I was around who didn’t like me, and they made me think that I didn’t like me either. I thought that just not liking me was the way things were supposed to be for everyone.” She shakes her head, her hair ruffling against him. “But when I met you, I started liking me because you did,” explains the spirit. “And now, even when I’m without you, I still keep liking me.”
Honestly, that’s a very profound and touching realisation she’s had. If only he wasn’t too awkward to come up with something equally deep and kind to say in return.
Instead, he remains silent, as if lost in deep contemplation. She doesn’t seem bothered by it, though.
They fly on, the dragon a silent sentinel beneath them, its wings cutting through the night with a steady rhythm. The world unfolds in a series of breathtaking vistas, each more wondrous than the last.
Yet, amidst the calm beauty of it all, an eventful flicker of the usual chaos catches Inkume’s eye — a village beset by wild monsters down below.
Snatch leans over the side, looking down at a village out in the wildlands far past where they were before. Torches and flames glint below, dotting the world, as the villagers prepare themselves for what looks like some kind of onslaught. The grasslands all around them ripple with movement as shapes lurch around down below.
A surge of determination grips him, his purpose crystallizing in an instant. “Let's help them,” he declares, his voice firm.
Snatch looks back at him. “Huh? Why?” she asks. “They’re just humans, Master,” explains the ghost.
“Some of my favorite people are or were humans,” replies the Vampire Lord, looking down at her as the dragon starts to drop. Snatch blushes and looks back away.
“You’re too nice,” replies Snatch. “It’s not good. It’s a problem.”
“I know. It’ll be the death of me one day,” replies the Vampire Lord nonchalantly, shrugging.
The dragon dips its wings, angling toward the embattled village. Below, flames lick at wooden structures. The defenders struggle valiantly but are doomed to be overrun by… he’s not sure, actually. Goblins? No. They look like goblins, but they’re longer and lanky and move in an unusual manner that’s more animalistic than hominid. Most of them seem to be running on all fours, like hounds.
The dragon's maw opens wide, and immediately a blaze-countering torrent of blue fire erupts, a searing inferno that engulfs the marauding creatures in an instant as it washes over the meadow. The dead flames scar the land, engulfing the silhouettes of many of the monsters in an instant where they are only visible for the flash of a second as a black silhouette within the conflagration before they turn into powder. The dragon passes over the meadow, its breath washing over it. The flames consume with an unholy light, leaving nothing but ash and scorched soil in their wake as some near-hundred monsters are simply removed from the world.
The defenders stare in shock, their confusion mingling with awe at this unexpected salvation as the dragon pulls in its wings and spirals like a rifled bullet, using the momentum to blast back upward toward the sky. They pass over a shimmering lake, the water reflecting the stars in a perfect mirror. The dragon’s wings cast rippling shadows across the surface.
Without pause, the dragon ascends once more, its task complete as easy as that.
The village fades into the distance, for the two of them a simple memory marked of a night outside, and for the village — a more eventful tale that will be retold for generations to come until annoyed grandchildren start to roll their eyes in annoyance at hearing the story again and again.
Inkume holds Snatch close, the rush of the moment a heady elixir.
“This,” she says quietly, leaning back against him. “This is what I mean.” The dragon stabilizes in flight at an altitude just below the clouds, its hollow, glowing eyes scanning the world below — perhaps on the lookout for a goat to snatch or whatever it is that dragon’s instincts urge them to do. Snatch turns around, facing Inkume. “You’re always too nice, and it’s causing me problems,” explains the ghost, pointing a finger at his chest and then stabbing him several times with the same digit. “Can’t you just be an asshole to everyone else except me?!” she asks.
Inkume lifts his hands in surrender, his legs holding on to either side of the dragon’s spine.
In an older life, he’d be afraid of heights like these. But being able to turn into a bat does wonders for alleviating a fear of heights.
But then again, sometimes when he transforms and flies, he finds himself wondering midflight what would happen if his powers just randomly stopped working that second. It’s nonsense, of course. But the mind does wander.
“Sorry for… being too nice?” he asks, not sure he follows. “Didn’t you just say you appreciated that, though?” asks the Vampire Lord, crossing his arms to shield himself from the dagger of her jagged finger as he leans down to stare at her.
Snatch makes a contortion of a face, her features drifting and swirling from side to side before she grabs her own head and pushes it back together. She points back down to the ground. “No, because now some floozy is going to come from that damn village all the way across the land to the castle to try and become your favorite,” explains the ghost, getting angry. “Just like with everyone else back at the castle.”
“As if that will happen,” he replies dismissively, waving her off with a loose hand.
“That’s exactly what keeps happening!” she barks at him, still as jealous as always. “First it was that lousy village priestess, and now I have to keep up with a giant wolf, a ditzty witch, and Fi-Fi, of all people.” Snatch narrows her eyes. “My only saving grace is that Hwa-Young keeps forgetting what she’s trying to do, and Bark only has one day every two weeks when she isn’t a giant hairball,” mutters the ghost, rubbing her own face as she thinks out loud. “But Fi-Fi…” She looks back at him. “Fi-Fi’s planning something big, and I don’t like it.”
Vampire Lord Inkume shakes his head, his hands resting on her shoulders as he looks at her. “Snatch. What are you even trying to say?”
Her cheeks swell out as she holds her breath, her eyes almost angry as she glares at him and then shouts. “I’m saying that I want you to put me first!” she snaps at him, an annoyance and anger on her face that is usually never directed his way like this, as she makes her words clear. “I don’t care what you do with the others, but I want to be your favorite,” explains the ghost plainly, hitting his crossed arms with her fists as her large eyes glare into his. “You told me before once in the bath when I told you how I felt that I was just confused, but I’m not right now,” says the ghost with a strong, sure voice. “I’ve never had a clearer head in my life!” she argues, grabbing his collar in her goopy hands. “SNATCH!” yells the ghost over the night, pulling him in toward her.
And then, with courage she has not felt in centuries, she kisses him.
The dragon roars, a triumphant cry that echoes through the night as they soar ever onward into the uncharted vastness of the world. There is much yet to see, much yet to do, but for now, they are content to fly — two souls intertwined, riding the winds.
The night stretches on, a canvas painted with starlight and dreams. They fly over fields that shimmer with dew, past forests where shadows dance among ancient trees. There is peace in the air, a serenity that wraps around them like the warm embrace they share. The world really is vast and filled with wonders, if one is willing to step out into it at some point.
Inkume’s thoughts drift, touching on the past and the choices that led him here. There were regrets, surely, but they are eclipsed by the present — the weight of what he has built, the lives he has touched.
And most of all, the bond he shares with the people who matter most to him.
His books are good. But destiny, for all of its flaws, forcing him to actually live his own life is what got him here.
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- [Dorime, the Hero] -
A dull, mundane chuckling fills the air as she feverishly reads the next chapter of the book. “Ew… they totally kissed,” says Dorime to herself, lying on her stomach on the floor. Her legs are up in the air, kicking behind her as she indulgently rereads the obligatory romance scene in Swordserer again a third time, once more self-inserting herself into the role of one of the participants.
Dorime lounges in her quarters, lost in the pages of Swordserer — her fingers holding the book open as if it were a lifeline. Her eyes widen, her breath catching as the plot takes a thrilling turn. The hero's sword flashes, a streak of steel in a world of magic and peril.
She turns the page with an eager swipe, her mind swirling with the vivid imagery conjured by the words.
Yet, her peace is short-lived.
A sudden knock at the door jars her from the gripping tale, sending her heart into a startled dance. Panic flares — her sanctuary invaded once more. What is up with everyone tonight?
Quickly, she snaps the book shut, its spine groaning in protest, and slides it beneath a cushion. Composure regained, she smooths her tunic and summons a calm facade. “Come in,” she calls, her voice steady, belying her inner turmoil as she sits in her meditative pose.
The door swings open to reveal a cadre of priests, their robes whispering against the stone floor. The one from before stands at the forefront, his expression a practiced mask of courteous insistence. “Lady Dorime,” he says, voice laced with a sickly-sweet politeness. “It is time for you to set forth against the Vampire Lord,” says the priest. “The Bishop thinks it best you leave now, as the sun is soon to rise.”
Fuck.
The jig is up. They’re suspicious of her loafing around for a week now.
Her stomach twists, a knot of anxiety tightening with every word. But on the outside, she remains an image of serene confidence. “Of course,” she replies, forcing her lips into a placid smile, not willing to give up the game. Internally, however, she's screaming every expletive she knows. “I am ready.”
She stands, reaching for her sword — a blade that gleams with a muted light, its hilt worn and familiar from her playing around with it by herself in her room like a goober. Her hand brushes the hidden book, a silent promise to return to its pages once this ordeal is over. Dorime tucks it into her cloak. She can feel the weight of their eyes upon her, judgment and expectation pressing down like a leaden cloak.
“Brothers,” says the hero. “Please accept my thanks for your hospitality,” she says, trying to look cool. Dorime glides past the priests, her stride purposeful as she looks back at them. “I’ll be sure to repay it in full.” She clutches her sword tightly. As she steps through the doorway, she pauses, her gaze sweeping over the gathered clergy.
The priest nods, a slight inclination of his head that holds a trace of satisfaction. “May the light of Heaven guide your way, Sister Dorime.”
She nods back, a simple gesture that hides the turmoil within.
The corridor stretches ahead, dimly lit by torches that sputter and hiss against the stone. Her heart races, pounding a frantic rhythm that echoes in her ears.
Dorime feels the eyes of the cathedral upon her, a silent audience to her departure. Yet she holds her head high, her footsteps confident, even if her heart remains a tumult of doubts. She is a hero, after all. Or at least, she must pretend to be one. Her thoughts drift to the Vampire Lord she is destined to confront — a figure shrouded in shadow and mystery. What awaits her in his dark domain? Questions swirl unanswered as she passes through the cathedral's towering arches and into the world beyond.
Normally, there would be a grand procession and a legion of soldiers at her side. But she told them not to do all of that because she wants to be alone. It did seem like a good idea at the time.
The night air greets her, crisp and invigorating, a sharp contrast to the cathedral's solemn embrace. Stars sprinkle the sky, tiny beacons of light guiding her onward. Although, for some reason, there are a lot of gaps in the sky. It’s like a bunch of stars are just missing, for some reason. As she steps into the world, Dorime draws a breath, steeling herself for the adventure that lies ahead.
…She doesn’t actually know which way to go. But she can’t ask anyone. The hero doesn’t ask for directions. So instead, she’s just going to pick a direction and walk that way as if she knew what she was doing.
She casts one last glance back at the cathedral, its spires reaching toward the heavens. Then, with a determined posture set to her shoulders, she steps forward, leaving the sanctuary behind.
Damn, it was all going so well too.
This feels just like that time she spent a year at home after getting out of school and her mom finally kicked her out of the house and told her not to come back until she applied to some fast food job.
After making sure nobody is watching, Dorime sighs to herself, shouldering her backpack as she makes her way down the grand staircase and onto the empty, night-washed streets alone. At least she still has her book.