When the plate was set down, Prospero resisted the urge to grimace. Butterflied and pan-fried, the heart resembled something that was carved from a half-rotted corpse. Pink juices pooled from the bottom as if to warn off any ill-advised gourmands.

  “Forgive me, young master.” Eliza shrugged. “That’s just about as good as it will ever look.”

  He sighed. “Who can put up with consuming hearts on the daily?”

  “It’s not the heart you normally have to eat.” Albus, who sat at the other end of the table, tried to suppress a smile. “Essence spreads from the heart through the rest of the body after death. The problem is that you tore the poor thing’s heart straight out, so there was no time for that to happen.”

  In short, there was nothing for it. With a sigh, Prospero used his knife and fork to separate the heart into more manageable strips before popping a rubbery piece into his mouth. He didn’t find the taste too offensive, though the texture left much to be desired. While he ate, Eliza left the house to aid in the town’s evacuation efforts.

  When the plate was polished off, a notification appeared.

  [Essence Consumed] - Grade 2

  Tallying Experience…

  [Wolf Proficiency] (Grade 1) - 5/5 (+7)

  [Wolf Proficiency] has reached [Grade 2]!

  Aptitude Bonus - Athleticism +1

  Passive Added - Greater Lunge

  Description - The range of your horizontal leaps in [Wolf Form] is significantly increased.

  “Ugh…” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Seems to have done the trick.”

  “You’ll find it more enjoyable when you fell beasts with a little more grace.” Albus replied. “If you had any proficiencies, chances are one or two of them went up a grade. But bear in mind that a grade will only increase if the Essence you’re consuming is at least the same level.”

  Wolf Proficiency - Grade 2 (2 / 15)

  Prospero’s [Wolf Proficiency] was Grade 2. He could slay more wolves to reach the experience threshold for the next level, but the Grade wouldn’t improve until he consumed Essence of Grade 3 or higher. [Elites], therefore, formed the basis of all improvement, and he would need to constantly seek greater opponents if he wanted to build his strength - as well as more creature types to improve his versatility.

  Improving the Grade also granted me a permanent boost to my athleticism, he thought. Every ‘type’ is attached to a certain attribute, so gathering experience from a plethora of beasts is the most efficient way to improve my strength…

  “Raise your Grades, and you get Abilities.” Albus tapped his finger against the table. “More Abilities means more options means more opportunities to fight stronger creatures means more experience means more Abilities… you get the idea.”

  Prospero nodded. “It’s simpler than I thought it would be.”

  “-But you mustn’t get carried away! Not as a Vampire. You see,” he frowned, “you are not restricted by mana as most classes are, but relying too much on your shapeshifting will build the bloodthirst in your core, until it consumes you entirely. It has happened to more powerful Vampires than you, and believe me when I say that a Ghoul’s life is for nobody.”

  Prospero hesitated to ask, “What is a Ghoul?”

  “Wretched, is what they are,” he answered, “and if your journey leads you to others of your kin, you will no doubt see a handful for yourself. They reap every curse with none of the benefits, and live squalid, festering lives of bloodshed. They are no more than beasts, young master…”

  Vampire or not, it did not sit right with Prospero to label a human being as a beast. But his worldly experiences paled in comparison to Albus’, who had clearly witnessed things beyond the safety of their tiny realm that would horrify the most determined of warriors.

  “-Speaking of your journey,” he began after a pause, “it is about time you got going, Prospero.. It’s nearly noon, and it will not be long now before Orlok makes his next move.”

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  “...I understand,” reluctant to agree, Prospero nodded, “but you should not stay. None of you should. There is nothing to gain by placing your lives on the line if Orlok is even a quarter as ferocious as you claim him to be. Come with me to Glassoph, and I’m sure we can arrange something with the Voidseekers.”

  Albus stood from his chair and beckoned for Prospero to follow. They wandered outside, where the hanging sun seemed more powerful than ever, and around the back of the house where a pair of cellar doors had been opened to reveal a staircase leading into darkness. The two men descended into a short space below the house choked with dust. Albus dragged a chest out from one of the corners and cast a glance over his shoulder as he prepared to open it. “Close your eyes a little, but not completely.”

  Prospero did as he was told, and when the lid was thrown open, he lifted a hand to block the blinding rays of light pouring out from the interior. When Albus clamped the lid shut a second later, searing glyphs were imprinted upon Prospero’s vision, which faded as he blinked rapidly.

  “Some ‘tools’ your father entrusted to us long ago,” Albus said, “the weapons of Vampire Hunters - holy relics, mostly. Orlok is powerful, but he is thrall to the same weaknesses as any other Nightwalker. We will not fall as easily as you think, young master. System or no System.”

  “Gods above…” Prospero was still reeling from the trove of relics, “I could barely see a thing.”

  “We will fight his legions with silver, with faith, near the rivers, in the sunlight… whatever we can use to our advantage. And if all else fails, we will retreat to our homes, wait for them to pass, then give chase to buy you the time you need.” Albus opened the chest just long enough to grab a silver dagger.

  Prospero sighed. “We have never met, and yet you are willing to die so that I may live. That is not a simple decision to make, and nor - I imagine - are you, or any others, keen to offer your lives. If I swore it, would you trust in my ability to keep the Beastblood safe, and spare yourselves the tragedy of meeting Orlok in battle?”

  “You are too kind to weigh our lives against your own, young master.” Albus replied.

  “That is not true…” Prospero frowned, “I am not ‘too kind’. Lives are not coins to be spent, or to be wasted on gambles. To be ‘kind’ is to value life. That is what my father believed. You cannot sacrifice yourself, or these people, for my sake. I must be willing to inherit the burden of this responsibility without dragging others into tragedy.”

  Albus remained quiet in the seconds that followed, but his eyes were not dismissive of Prospero’s anger. When he spoke at last, it was with a voice on the verge of sorrow, equal parts relieved and accepting. “...You truly are his son, young master.”

  Trepidatiously, he placed the silver dagger back into the chest. “Would you choose to expose yourself to danger for the sake of a few measly lives?”

  “The path…” Prospero paused to consider his words. “...The path of peace is not easily travelled. But it is the correct path. If the rest of my life is doomed to conflict, then aid me, comfort me, house me - but do not die for me. Instead, lend me your trust and keep your peace. The burden is mine, so allow me to shoulder it. That is what I believe… and what my father would have wanted, also.”

  For one who had never known the greater world, and who desired nothing else but to flee from his responsibility, Prospero’s words struck himself as those of a hypocrite. Though he did not believe in his own strength to the extent that he claimed, any pledge was worth the sparing of lives.

  Albus saw the conflict in Prospero’s gaze. “...If that is what you desire, young master, then I cannot oppose you,” he said, “but promise me that you will not weather the Beastblood alone. I am certain that a man as tender as yourself will discover comrades eager to protect the sanctity of our strange and beautiful world. No matter how fiercely the darkness stalks you across the stars, remember that a life spent beside family - no matter the sort - is the best life of all.”

  “If it was not for you and Eliza, I would have been aimless.” Prospero bowed his head. “You have done more for me than you will ever know. If we meet again, I would like to hear what you know of my father, and how you came to serve him as you do.”

  Albus smiled. “When you return, I am certain you will know even more than I. Your father imprinted upon many realms in his prime. Know that we will reclaim Innsworm once Orlok departs, and that you will always have a home here on this lonely star, Prospero. That is the least we could offer you for demanding that we save ourselves.”

  Prospero nodded. “I will not waste another second, then. Be well, Albus.”

  “And you, young master.”

  Orlok and his legions - presumably Vampires themselves - would not be able to enter the homes of Queensbridge provided everyone took shelter for the night, and they would have no reason to intrude once it became apparent that Prospero had already moved on. Pulling the cape over his head, he left the cellar and followed the main throughway of Queensbridge until he was on his way through the overgrown path leading north from the village.

  I always knew father kept some things from me, but I could never have imagined he was once as powerful as Albus claimed, he thought. I can only wonder what sort of history he and this ‘Orlok’ shared that allowed such hatred to persist after decades of peace.

  The sorrow in his heart was beginning to dissolve. Had he mourned enough? Shed enough tears to grant his father peace? Or was there no such thing? Only a day had passed, and yet he was pushed by forces beyond his control to swallow the death of his father without complaint. Every joyous face of his youth had been disfigured beyond recognition, never to return, and now the home he had known all his life had been destroyed.

  The hate festered in his core - hatred which he knew to be the beginning of something drastic and impulsive. A desire to spill the blood of the man named Orlok, who had taken everything from him in the blink of an eye. Against what he knew to be the wishes of his father, he desired revenge against a man he had never met, who sought Prospero’s own death with beastly fervour.

  His footfalls carried him further from the peace of Queensbridge towards the unknown future. Prospero did not know what would await him in the enveloping canopy, or indeed where the curse of the Beastblood would take him. He knew only that his destination was far from everything he understood, and that the path to his strange future would be paved with conflict. He feared losing sight of himself more than any Vampire, terrified of the urges which boiled under his skin, of the strength he’d been granted, and of the possibility that he was not cunning enough to evade those who desired the secret hidden in his blood.

  Willing or not, he had become the Beastblood’s vessel.