Things that don't really matter but I'm telling you anyway because even after 16 years in the business I still treat these things like open mic night:

I guess this is hi for the first time in 2024?

I always knew I'd see this story through to the end no matter how long it took. But I still can't actually wrap my head around the fact that we've finally arrived at the epilogue. Mind you this epilogue will be delivered in two parts, so I am repressing the big ugly emotions (Mika taught me well) til part two, which will truly be the last chapter. So for now I'm doing great. Really. I haven't even cried enough to fry my phone or laptop yet. I'll be fine as long as I don't think about how this story kept me moving forward through countless Covid lockdowns, was right there in my pocket when I got engaged in Fall 2020, in my clutch purse on my wedding day in 2022, and that this very chapter remained open and waiting for me last week while read and I signed the longest nonfictional document I've ever seen in my life. It made my chapters look almost manageable by comparison. (You won't even be a little bit surprised to hear that I immediately got back to work on this after finalizing the purchase of my first home).

So yeah rest assured I've remained very normal and sane throughout all of this.

One more thing: This is probably not your final warning but I really do think you should read this on AO3 instead because I want you to see the piece of art (yes another one) I commissioned for this. I'm roxy_svl on there. Go.

Epilogue - Part 1: I'm The One He's Walking To

Song:Call It What You Want by Taylor Swift

---

My castle crumbled overnight

I brought a knife to a gunfight

They took the crown, but it's alright

HALL OF OSCA VELM

T-MINUS THREE HOURS TIL THE FESTIVAL OF THE UNDEAD

GRACIE

You can take the girl out of the corporate office, you can take the human out of her blood, you can pit her against supernatural forces of evil deception, and you can drop her in the most inhospitable corner of the earth — where she thrives, mind you. So you'd think you could take the corporate office out of the girl.

The corporate office doesn't go down without a fight. That's what she'll tell you, anyway. If there's still a part of her hanging onto it by choice because that era shaped as much of her as this one, then it's nobody's business but hers.

"Is your ladder safety certification up to date?" Gracie posed the rhetorical question whilst observing the spectacle that was Mika scaling the massive slate wall upon which the mountain sentries recorded the names of each and every Council attendee.

He paused his climb and shot her a look of skeptical reproach. "That's not real. You're just stringing words together."

"I'll take that as a no. Did you even file for a permit with Quartermaster Crepsley to use that thing?"

"For the last time, we don't do any of that here." Mika replied through gritted teeth as he got to work.

"And even if we did, you wouldn't." Kurda teased from the bottom of the ladder where he filled the role of spotter. The sentries were long gone. Every last vampire and vampaneze in the place had retreated to get ready for the Festival. In fact Gracie was late for the pregame her friend was hosting down the hall from her cell. In a moment of weakness she almost didn't even come down here for this family errand. Then she'd kicked herself internally, just like she had the moment she found out Kurda would invested and her first unfiltered thought had been, that's twice as many nepotism baby allegations to beat.

"If the night ever comes where I need to file a permit with Quartermaster Crepsley to do anything, that'll be the night I retire for good." Mika lipped back. "And I won't do it in a letter, I've learned my lesson. I'll just leave."

Gracie and Kurda traded rolled eyes and raised brows in Mika's direction. Neither had any intention of letting him live that down — but the roasting would recommence after the Festival. This was a night for hard-won celebration.

"You know, you don't actually have to do this at all. I was joking when I suggested it." Said Kurda, eyes focused upwards and a smile playing on his lips.

Mika kept his eyes on the slate and shrugged as much as he could without losing his balance. "I do what I want."

"We know."

Once his last-minute project was complete, Mika descended the ladder and joined Gracie and Kurda. He attempted to brush off the white chalk dust that clung to his black shirt — only to smear it deeper into the fabric, let out an apathetic grunt of defeat, and give up.

"Never thought I'd see the day." Kurda murmured. He was still smiling up at the slate, but his eyes were pooling with tears of disbelief. Gracie had to look away lest she meet the same fate. Hearing about the intent was one thing. Seeing it with her own eyes was something entirely different.

Mika had located all three of their names throughout the attendance list — Mika Ver Leth, Kurda Smahlt, Gracie Smahlt-Ver Leth — crossed them out, and rewritten them all together in the very top corner:

Mika Smahlt-Ver Leth

Kurda Smahlt-Ver Leth

Gracie Smahlt-Ver Leth

Wow.

"Usually people wait til the wedding to change their last names." Gracie forced out, trying to swallow the lump in her throat as she gazed up at the wall. "Did I miss a chapter? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Gracie had seen and written her full name thousands of times. It was the only name she'd ever known. Even when she axed Smahlt from her identity in an era of weakness, it never sounded right. And when she put it back where it belonged, it felt like it never left.

But she'd never seen their names strung together the same way. Both surnames were a cornerstone of their respective identities. Even under the best of circumstances the concept of combining them had never crossed Gracie's mind.

"Yes, Gracie. We got married and didn't invite you." said Mika sardonically. Gracie elbowed him in the ribs anyway. He flinched, side-eyeing her with a proud sort of reproach. "Ow. How did you go on a peacekeeping mission and come back meaner?"

"Really? I hit Darren way harder than that when we spar. Even he isn't that dramatic about it."

"What he meant to say is that it's more symbolic than anything else." Kurda cut in like a CIA mediator. "That doesn't make it any less real, but it would be impractical for both of us to be formally addressed as Sire Smahlt-Ver Leth."

"Yeah. They'd never be able to tell us apart if we went by the same last name. It'd be bedlam." Mika snorted. Turning to Gracie, he dialled down the signature sarcasm and added — "We both loved you before we even liked each other. Maybe humans see the need to follow some arbitrary idea of proper order, but that's their business. This is us."

"I'm just surprised you let Smahlt go first." Said Gracie. It was getting harder and harder to form words without her voice wavering.

"Alphabetical order." Mika answered so quickly it was clear he'd given it a great deal of thought. Kurda chuckled fondly and kissed his cheek.

With her gaze still focused high on the slate, Gracie decided to coexist with the lump in her throat and forgo sarcasm entirely. The passage of time had done nothing to ease the strange, directionless grief for the human family she never knew.

"I'll never forgive Destiny for deciding it couldn't be my human parents. I'd trade all my centuries of life for them to have theirs back. That's the human in me." She told them with quiet deliberation. "But the vampire in me will always be grateful it had to be you."

Mika didn't outwardly react to the statement, aside from a ragged exhalation. He really was better at navigating emotion-infested waters than he gave himself credit for, but Gracie wasn't surprised when it was Kurda who spoke first.

"By some cruel irony, it was Destiny's daughter that laid the groundwork of your life." Kurda countered with a bitter chuckle. "But you're not her pawn anymore. You're free now. Your destiny — with a lower case d, mind you — is entirely your own. Whether you wind up leading the clan someday or working at a circus, we'll always be the greatest fans of your life." He paused and added pointedly, "Right, Mika?"

Mika muttered something almost inaudible but sounded akin to "Anything but the fucking circus."

After several moments of quiet reflection as all three took in the view, they turned their backs on the slate wall and started back up the corridor. Although technically the Festival would wait for them, they felt it best to move along.

"I wasn't going to tell you this, but Hibernius actually offered me a job at one point." Gracie informed Mika as they walked.

"Pardon you?"

"Yeah. Bit of PR stuff, bit of admin. I'd even get to use my law degree if the Cirque ever had any mishaps." Said Gracie. This time her voice was strained by suppressed laughter, not tears.

"Oh. Wow."

"But I respectfully declined. Told him I might be open to freelance work in the distant future, but I've got things to do here first."

"Was… was it a good offer?" Mika asked, expression landing somewhere between impressed and horrified.

"Yeah. Lot of zeros on that figure." Said Gracie breezily. "More than they pay you here, anyway."

"Hmmm. Do you think he'd offer me an interview if I asked?" Kurda mused, running his forefinger thoughtfully across his chin. "This place doesn't even offer a benefits package.

Narrator's footnote: while viewing the world through Gracie's personal lens, we are not privy to any internal commentary or telepathic dialogue exchanged by other vampires in the vicinity. But rest assured that Mika very much capitalized upon the opportunity to make a silent joke regarding the location of Kurda's 'benefits package', to which Kurda reiterated it is not in his best interest to pursue a career in comedy at this time.

All the liars are calling me one

Nobody's heard from me for months

I'm doing better than I ever was

HALL OF PRINCES

T-MINUS TWO HOURS TIL THE FESTIVAL OF THE UNDEAD

MIKA

As a final act of penance, Vancha and Arrow requested that Mika oversee the last of the official business before they embarked on their collective three-night bender. So while Kurda returned to his — their — suite and Gracie went to meet up with her friends for pre-Festival festivities, Mika went back to work.

Door Sentry Antony's staff knocked three times, right on schedule. Mika opened the door to admit him.

"Announcing General Azerion's arrival!"

"Tell him we're closed." Mika replied drily, struggling not to laugh at Antony's visible exasperation. Poor guy deserved a hypothetical raise for tonight alone. To Antony's credit, he took the sarcasm for what it was, waved Renley into the room, and bowed out.

"It's just you in here? I'm not even worthy of the whole roster?" Renley greeted Mika with his usual breezy amenability as he noticed all but one of the thrones were vacant.

"You should feel relieved. When we call a General in to meet with all of us, it often doesn't end well for him." Mika pointed out as he descended the stairs to meet his colleague — his friend — on even ground.

"Right. So you drew the short straw tonight, then?" Said Renley.

"Exactly." Mika halted several feet away from Renley and held out the folded piece of paper he'd been holding onto. A lot of written notices had changed hands here in the Hall of Princes today. This would be the last.

Renley's brow furrowed with apprehension as he accepted the paper. "Is this how I find out I'm being fired?"

"If we wanted to fire you, we'd save the paper and just order your execution. Can you hurry up and open it so I can go get ready for the Festival?"

Renley didn't appear reassured. Mika just watched him unfolded the page and begin to read. Either he was a slow reader, or he needed to go over it multiple times before it sank in.

"Well?!" Mika pressed, caving to impatience as he crossed his arms. Kurda was waiting for him just one floor below where he was currently standing. He might even be naked at this very second, come on now, move it along.

Renley slowly looked up, face slack. For once in his life — at least as long as Mika had known him — he was utterly shocked. Dazed, even.

"So… I'm not fired." He croaked.

"Oh good. You can read. Hard to keep track of who is and isn't literate around here."

"Of course I can fucking read! But I'm not much further ahead for it! What do you mean I'm being offered the position of Clan Ambassador?!"

"I mean exactly what I wrote on the page." Mika replied crisply. "It's a new role. Vancha was very impressed by how well you represented our clan in all those meetings with the vampaneze. And your fellow Generals look up to you — even some that lost respect for us when the treaty began. We'd be stupid not to use that to our advantage. Or more accurately, use you."

Renley nodded along with Mika's explanation. Mika got the impression he was retaining very little.

"So… you and your colleagues developed this idea together?" Renley asked.

"Essentially. It was my idea, and the others agreed. I nominated you for the position and they agreed on that too. You won't be the only Ambassador; there'll be a few in each clan. But you'll be the first." Said Mika.

Renley's eyes went from wide and incredulous to narrow and shrewd as he stared Mika down with renewed disbelief. "Let me get this straight... you made up a pity position because you felt guilty for not falling in love with me five years ago?"

Mika rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. "Fuck, Ren. Sounds kind of ridiculous when you say it like that."

"Wait. If I accept, will it disqualify me from ever having a shot at an investiture?"

"Good to know where your priorities are. I always knew you only liked me because you wanted to be me. But of course not. Ambassadors will be as eligible for nomination as any General. More, even."

"I mean… I was going to throw my hat in the ring for Co-Games Master." Renley remarked with a weak chuckle. "That's probably off the table, right?"

"Too late. We're giving Hale that job. Unless you want me to summon her back up here and ask if she'll swap? She'd make a great Ambassador. Now that I think about it, she'd be better than you. Can I have that back?" Mika casually reached for the page.

Renley shook his head and laughed again, sounding more like his cavalier self as he held the page out of reach. "Charna's fucking guts, Mika! No! I want it, okay? Can you just give me a second to process this?!"

"No! I'm running late because of you."

"I really hope you see the irony in how you never truly believed I wasn't just hooking up with you for career benefits." Said Renley, a self-satisfied smirk tugging his lips. "All for you to turn around and make up a brand new position just so you could promote me out of guilt."

Mika rolled his eyes again. "Your words, not mine. Now can you stop talking and accept the offer? You're making it weird."

"Of course I accept, you fucking maniac! This is the honour of a lifetime!" Renley wiped his eyes without subtlety as he struggled to get the words out. "I can't believe this. I don't know what to say, other than thank you, Mika."

Mika shook his head and cringed at the earnest gratitude. "Please don't thank me. You saved me that year. I didn't deserve it. You're one of the best people, — vampire, human, or otherwise — I've ever known. You earned it."

Renley had finally run out of words. Blinking and gulping, he pulled Mika into a tight hug.

"Charna's fucking guts, you don't have to… come on, Ren. Just because it wasn't meant to happen in this life doesn't mean I don't want to see you succeed. It's not a pity position. You really did earn it." Mika groaned, suddenly wracked with old guilt as he returned the embrace. "And for whatever it's worth, I'll always —"

"It's fine. Get over yourself. I'm actually seeing someone." Renley admitted as they parted. There was an acute glimmer of pride in his eyes that sent a wave of relief through Mika.

"Fuck, really?"

"What? You assumed I spent the last five years pining for you? Cocky prick."

"No. I assumed you'd be focused on your mission." Mika tried to sound somewhat stern, but decided not to bother and added — "I couldn't be happier for you. I mean that."

Renley grinned complicitly. He seemed to be searching Mika's face. Mika knew what he was looking for. He even let him find it.

"I'm happy for you too, Mika. And don't even bother denying it. I know you're the happiest you've ever been. And I know why. I can see it in your eyes."

"I wasn't going to deny it." Mika replied simply.

"For what it's worth, lovesick looks good on you." Renley added with a wink. "Even if it's at the expense of your public image."

"My public image has survived worse. But enough about me. Who'd you trick into liking you?" Even as Mika teased his friend, his body decided it was beyond done with the Hall of Princes for tonight. He started walking towards the door. Renley fell into step beside him.

"Well, we're keeping it private at the moment." Renley explained. "It's still new, so —"

"Wait, you just spent five years out in the field. When did you have time to screw around? Fuck, it's not Vancha, is it?"

"Gods, no!"

"Then who?!"

"You'll find out when and if it goes anywhere!"

"You're damn lucky I don't have time to threaten to withhold your promotion til you tell me."

They traded jabs all the way from the throne platform to where the lower access corridor split off. Mika didn't look back when they parted ways. Nor did he wonder for even a second if Renley was looking back.

Narrator's Footnote: Renley didn't look back either. His focus was exactly where Mika's was — getting himself back to the pair of waiting arms within which his battle-scarred heart had found its final resting place.

'Cause my baby's fit like a daydream

Walkin' with his head down, I'm the one he's walkin' to

So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to

T-MINUS 30 MINUTES TIL THE FESTIVAL OF THE UNDEAD

KURDA

Kurda couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been driven by change. His mother once told him he came into the world fuelled by an innate desire to take something broken and make it whole. When he was small, so were the splinters of the world he was able to mend. Like scrapes and bruises on his younger siblings' skin, or holes in their clothes. Unable to bear even the thought of them walking around in wet socks, he strung a drying line across their meagre fireplace at the age of nine. He couldn't make the whole house warm. He couldn't cure the diseases that slowly took their parents' lives. And he didn't stand a chance against the systemic cruelty that locked their city in an endless cycle of poverty. But he could warm their socks by the fireplace.

Decades ticked by. His small life became big. As did the broken pieces of the world he yearned to mend. Til Destiny ripped the rug from beneath him and his own life became another one of those broken things. And in the gruelling process of taking back his identity, he was reborn; the catalyst of the greatest change he'd ever dreamed of.

And now, after all that change, how beautifully ironic it felt to take comfort in what had remained the same. Like how Mika still stood in front of his mirror, draped in the gorgeous formal cloak reserved for Festival opening night, eyes locked defiantly on the golden neck clasp like he was staring down the barrel of a loaded — too soon?

Kurda shook his head and laughed as he slipped between Mika and the mirror. "You're hopeless. Let me."

"It's almost impossible to line it up when you're not looking right at it!" Mika defended himself with childlike petulance — sliding both palms into Kurda's back pockets to grab a handful of ass while Kurda worked on the clasp.

"Mmmhm. How convenient for you." Kurda smirked. He finished with the clasp and leaned back to admire his handiwork, murmuring, "Don't let it go to your head, but that cloak wears you as well now as it did twenty four years ago when I was neck-deep in denial about it. Better, even."

"I knew you were watching me that night." The deep rumble of Mika's voice did nothing to temper the heat building in Kurda's core with their bodies so close together.

"You didn't have a clue. The combined efforts of this entire clan couldn't have tortured that information out of me back then." Kurda fired back, watching in satisfaction as Mika bit his lip and rolled his eyes. The ocean of attitude in those stormy greys was vast as ever. The closest Kurda could get to diving head-first was to stretch up onto his toes so he could slip his tongue between Mika's lips to steal a self-satisfied kiss.

"Please don't make me make you stop." The words were half-laugh, half-groan as Mika sighed into the kiss. His roaming hands settled on either side of Kurda's hips. They were dancing a fine line between getting it out of their system in the privacy of this room, and taking it too far and being late.

"Hmmm." Kurda hummed, pretending to think about it. "If you want to be on time for the ceremony, you'd better upgrade that request to an executive order while I'm still obligated to listen to you… Sire."

Mika did actually pull away at that, but only because he could no longer maintain the kiss now that his amusement had graduated from a restrained chuckle to full-blown laughter.

"You've never listened to me a night in your life, Kurda! Don't worry. I don't expect that to change. I know better." he snorted. But no sooner had the words passed his lips than the laughter ebbed. He caught Kurda's eye with quiet sincerity and added — "I hope it never changes. Hope you never change."

Kurda grinned and winked at him. "Being an incorrigible public nuisance has gotten me this far, hasn't it? I think I'll stick with that."

"Good." Mika bit his lip as he studied Kurda's face, seeming to consider his words. "I love you more than anything. That will never change either. But… that doesn't mean I'm always going to agree with you. You know that, right?"

"I wouldn't have you any other way." Kurda assured him, voice cracking under the gravity of truth in those words. "That's how we got into this mess in the first place."

"I thought it was because we had a —"

"We found a kid together."

That one still gets them every time.

"Kurda, I want you to know that no matter what we disagree on in the Hall of Princes, I will handle it respectfully. I give you my word." Said Mika once he'd collected himself after another bout of laughter. "Until we get back to the coffin, that is. Then I'll handle you very disrespectfully."

Kurda opened his mouth to retort — I expect nothing less, Sire — but in keeping with his life's overarching theme of strange luck and bad timing, he was interrupted by a thunderous knock on the door. He supposed he should feel grateful that Arrow even bothered to knock before strolling into Mika's room.

"There you two are! It's almost time to go!" Arrow boomed. He was emanating more jubilation than Kurda would've believed possible. It occurred to Kurda once again that Arrow as an individual had become an unwitting metaphor for the clan as a whole. People can change. It's never too late to do better. You have to want it.

As per their sacred tradition, Mika poured a shot of Vampire Mountain's finest craft whiskey for himself and another for Arrow. When he glanced questioningly at Kurda, Kurda responded with a decisive nod. They said the toast. They took their shots. Mika and Arrow quaffed theirs as easily as if it was chocolate milk while Kurda remembered once again that whiskey tasted akin to biohazardous waste. He put on a brave face, though. Minimal gagging.

And with that, the three of them departed. Mika kept his hand around Kurda's as they walked through the deserted corridors. From Mika's other side Kurda heard a rustle of cloak fabric, a muffled slap, and a soft snicker that suggested Arrow thought it'd be funny to hold Mika's other hand and was promptly rebuffed.

"Don't worry, Sire Arrow." Kurda teased. "We can work something out. Perhaps you can have him on Wednesdays and alternate Sundays."

Arrow thought that was a jolly good joke indeed. He almost had to stop walking in order to properly double over with laughter, while Mika cuffed him upside the head and did an admirable job of pretending he wasn't loving this.

The energy in the Hall of Stahrvos Glenn was so intense Kurda swore he felt it sizzling on his tongue every time he opened his mouth to draw a shallow breath. How sobering it was to realize he was the first vampire in clan history to observe two consecutive Festival opening ceremonies as a Prince-Elect.

Admittedly he'd gone out of his way not to commit the first one to memory. Hell, he'd almost been grateful for the distraction Darren's arrival presented twelve years ago. Kurda poured so much of his heart and soul into preserving the kid's life throughout his Trials of Initiation, scattered throughout the ordeal were a few precious seconds where he managed to forget what his own investiture would mean for him. And because of that kid, Kurda had a chance to find out what kind of Prince he'd make — in a world where the heart-shaped watch was no longer ticking dreadfully over all of them.

The only timepiece that mattered now was the hourglass in the corner. The new Quartermaster stood beside it, posture more rigid than ever.

"Five minutes til sunset, gentlemen." Larten declared.

"You sure, Quicksilver?" Mika goaded him. "That looks like a hard six and a half to me. Maybe Seba should double-check."

Kurda rolled his eyes and elbowed Mika. Seba stood beside Larten, just as straight-backed but far more relaxed. He even appeared to be stifling a smirk at the expense of his former student. A welcome addition to the waiting game was the small table in the corner on which sat a row of mugs and glasses bearing a row of assorted libations and what looked like a neatly-rolled joint. Fortunately Larten was a good enough sport that he set about handing them out despite Mika's scathing wisecrack.

"In honour of the occasion: honeyed mead for Sire Arrow, aged whiskey for Sire Ver Leth, ice wine for Mr. Smahlt —"

Kurda felt a strange rush of bittersweet fondness. He couldn't believe that Larten of all vampires remembered his drink preference.

"I know mine when I see it! Excellent choice, my friend." Vancha reached gleefully over the rest to snatch up the cylinder of brown paper.

"You don't care for liquor, March?" Tycho Otazu asked dubiously as he watched Vancha pull a match from his pocket and light up.

"Oh, he's not like the rest of us barbarians. His body is a temple. He doesn't drink. Just drugs for him." Mika clarified with mock pretentiousness.

"Don't you worry, there's more where that came from." Vancha assured the others. Mika and Arrow exchanged complicit nods and smirks. Clearly they'd done this before.

Larten hadn't spent enough time with the three Vampaneze Elders to assume their preferred drink, but he'd brought enough options for them to make their choice. Gracie was there too, along with Harkat. They were sharing a bottle of strawberry wine between them. Although spirits were high, nobody was immune to the gravity of tonight.

Vancha cast a strangely plaintive glance between Mika and Arrow while taking a puff of his joint. "So… who's walking out first? Now that..." His usually gruff voice trailed off, leaving the others to silently fill in the blank: now that Paris is gone.

Mika was close enough that Kurda could feel the dormant ache of grief rear its head. It lived in Arrow and Vancha too; Kurda could see it in their eyes. Kurda linked an arm and hand through Mika's. While Mika squeezed Kurda's hand in silent gratitude, his outward response embodied every of bit the steely calm he was known for:

"Well, it's always been by seniority. That's you now. I don't see a reason to shift from tradition. At least no more than we already have."

"Only if neither of you object." Vancha nodded in acceptance. As if he'd known, but needed to hear it from somebody else.

"Arrow looks like he wants to go first, though. You might have to duke it out with him." Mika added.

Arrow appeared to be waging a silent war against his acute phobia of formal public speaking and didn't want to go at all, much less first. The tattoos on the sides of his head were creased with worry.

"I can go get the crowd warmed up for you, if you want." Gracie offered nonchalantly, glancing around at the Princes.

"Nice try. It was barely cute when you were little. I don't think we can get away with that a second time." Kurda told her, on the off chance she wasn't kidding and they'd take her up on it.

The recollection was met with confusion from the Vampaneze Elders. Mika wasted no time proudly filling them in on the night his daughter cussed out the entire clan and got a standing ovation before she was even three years old. Everyone laughed — except Arrow. Mika sighed and gently disengaged from Kurda so he could pull Arrow to the side and give him a pep talk that sounded distinctly well-practiced.

While Mika handled that delicate business, Kurda's attention was pulled sideways and slightly below eye level as Harkat sidled over and cleared his throat.

"I wish to… congratulate you… Kurda. I was… relieved to hear… that you… accepted your… investiture nomination. I was worried… you might decline."

Kurda began to smile automatically, but it faltered as he realized something didn't add up. "Wait a minute. When would you have had time to worry about that? I didn't even know you knew I'd been nominated!"

"I must admit… I have known… for longer than… I dare admit. Darren and I… spoke about it… at length… before he left the mountain… five years ago." Harkat admitted as a toothy, lopsided, guilty grin spread across his face. "He would have… nominated you… before the mission… but he thought you… would decline."

"He thought right!" Kurda blurted out louder than intended. "I would've laughed in his face. It was far too soon. Hell, I think it still might be!"

Harkat just shrugged, still beaming away. "He was determined… he would proceed with… the nomination… upon conclusion of the mission… if it proved successful. And Vancha told Larten and I… that you accepted… about an hour ago."

"Indeed I did. Besides, the world will know soon enough. You may not feel ready for this, Kurda. That doesn't matter. We're ready for you." Vancha's low voice rumbled from behind them. Kurda didn't even know he'd been listening. Kurda turned to face him, a thousand half-baked thoughts ricocheting off the walls of his mind. Not a single one of those thoughts did true justice to how grateful he was for Vancha's inexplicably fierce faith in him.

"One minute til sunset!" Larten announced over the chatter.

Vancha gave Kurda a quick, knowing nod before slipping over to the edge of the wing. One step further and he'd be visible to the crowd below. Arrow (looking slightly less green) lined up behind Vancha, leaving a gap which Mika would fill. But even though he had only sixty seconds, Mika sought Kurda once more. That familiar hand on Kurda's lower back sent a tingle up the base of his spine and banished the ghosts of the past that momentarily clouded his vision.

"I'm okay. I promise." Kurda told him, answering the unspoken question betrayed by the soft creases of concern around Mika's eyes.

Mika gently cupped Kurda's face in his hands and murmured the same mantra he'd already offered several times over the past two hours:

"We don't have to let them all know tonight. We made our plans before we knew about the nomination. I wouldn't blame you if you felt it was too much for one night. I can't make that choice for you. Just know I'm so fucking proud to be yours."

"I know." Kurda whispered.

"You put your heart on the line last night knowing you'd accept whatever I was ready to give you… even if it was nothing." Mika added steadily as Kurda nodded along. "And if the news of your investiture changes what you're ready for, I'll meet you where you are. I love you, Kurda Smahlt."

Mika finished his train of thought and stroked Kurda's cheekbone in silence, his thumb lingering affectionately upon the three little scars. If Mika wanted any sort of verbal confirmation as to whether or not Kurda planned to expose their love to the rest of the world in the next ten minutes, he didn't let on. Kurda himself didn't truly know if he was ready for all of this at once. It changed by minute. In his head he knew it was wiser to wait til after his investiture, if not longer. But his heart, having already been dragged through the wringer and spat out the other side, feared nothing and nobody. All he knew for certain was that he was running out of time to wait for his head and heart to duke it out.

"The sun has set!" Larten's voice echoed off the walls of the cramped waiting area. "It is time to open the Festival of the Undead."

Kurda stole a final kiss and whispered into Mika's ear, "I love you more, Mika Ver Leth. Go get 'em."

The crowd was already electric, but the sight of the Princes and Elders emerging onto the balcony triggered an avalanche of noise like Kurda had never heard before. Not even the night of — no, don't think about that night! You didn't come this far to think about that night!

As if she sensed his momentary spiral, Gracie materialized at his side with the glass of ice wine he'd accidentally abandoned. Kurda took a grateful swig. Normally he doesn't swig wine, but he figured he might never again have as good an excuse as this.

"Do you get to give a speech for this one?" Gracie asked as they looked out into the crowd.

Kurda couldn't help but appreciate her subtle choice of phrasing. 'Get to' implied the task was something enviable; only the fortunate few get to give a speech. Most people would've said have to. 'Do you have to give a speech?'

"I'm not officially in the club yet, so I'm spared addressing the nation for now. All I have to do tonight is smile and wave — thank the gods." Kurda grimaced. "I have three weeks to write my investiture speech and I'm going to need all of them."

"Just get Dad to ghostwrite it for you." Gracie snorted, gesturing towards the balcony where Mika waved to the crowd alongside his colleagues as they waited for the noise to subside. Fame and attention on such a massive scale didn't inherently intimidate Kurda — at least it hadn't until last Council — but Mika thrived on it. He drew energy from it in a way Kurda would never understand.

But then again, Kurda reminded himself as his heart swelled with ever-renewing adoration, I certainly wasn't drawn to him because I understood what makes him tick. Quite the opposite.

The Princes and Elders seemed reluctant to subdue their overeager audience. The enthusiasm was an immense relief after a prolonged era of war. Eventually Vancha raised both his hands. A hush fell over the crowd at his silent command.

"Who let you filthy lot in here? Surely it can't already be that time of the decade again!" Vancha boomed. Kurda couldn't see the faces of the Princes or Elders from his vantage point, but he could hear the smile in Vancha's voice. Better yet, he heard the restrained amusement in Mika's:

"What Sire March is trying to say, is welcome to Vampire Mountain. We hope your respective journeys were smooth and uneventful." Mika countered Vancha's guise of informality.

"I am trying to say nothing of the sort! What kind of self-respecting vampire or vampaneze wants to hear a story about a smooth and uneventful journey?" Vancha barked back.

Whether it was Mika and Vancha's mutual intention or not, the crowd enjoyed their banter and responded with a chorus of hearty chuckles.

"It is my honour to open the Festival of the Undead in the company of not only my fellow Princes, but also the noble Vampaneze Elders." Arrow added his voice to the mix. He spoke more quietly and with somewhat less candor than the others, still nobody would've guessed how nervous he was.

"I believe most of you will have already met in passing. But if not, let me be the first to formally introduce you to Elders Gannen Harst, Shane Astor, and Tycho Otazu." Said Mika. Each vampaneze greeted the crowd in succession — Gannen with a stiff wave, Shane with a wry grin and a considerably looser wave, and Tycho with a hint of a nod.

"Thank you. All of you." Gannen spoke up. "I believe this goes without saying, however I cannot pass up an opportunity to extend my solemn gratitude, not only to the Vampire Princes, but to every last vampire who has had the courage and wisdom to abandon old grudges in favour of a better future for both clans. Less than a decade ago, would have laughed at the notion of walking into Vampire Mountain. Yet I represent my noble clan here tonight — as an esteemed guest, no less. It is my honour."

"The honour is mine, brother. " Said Vancha, turning away from the amplifier momentarily. The words were punctuated with a gruff snuffle. Kurda felt a pang of contagious emotion at the way Vancha's voice caught in his throat. In some ways, Vancha was even more emotionally stunted than Mika.

With perfunctory introductions out of the way, the Princes launched into their much-anticipated opening speech. Each of them held a sheet of parchment containing a copy. All were in Mika's mechanically flawless handwriting; Kurda recognized it from all the way back here in the wings. He'd never seen Mika rely on notes, but then again the opening speech had never been composed less than a night in advance. Mika had memorized the majority, though. He only had to glance at his sheet a couple of times. Vancha was about the same, while Arrow's eyes never left the page once. But Kurda had to give Arrow credit where it was due. His deep voice was as steady as the tide. It wasn't a long speech, but it was magnificent.

Kurda looped his arm around Gracie's shoulders as they stood there side-by-side, taking in the view. For the first time in history there were purple banners and flags hung from the walls along with the usual vampiric red.

"I'm sure all of this is, like…" Gracie spoke up abruptly then paused, seeming to weigh her words. "…you know, bittersweet for you. For a lot of reasons. But I hope you're happy. You deserve it more than you know."

"It still feels like a dream. But it's the best one I've ever had." Said Kurda, as quietly as he could manage.

"You're going to be a great Prince. I know you are."

"You have too much faith in me, Honey Bee."

She narrowed her bright blue eyes and shot him a scathing look. "Don't tell me how much faith I have in you. You have no idea."

Kurda just laughed and hugged her again. The speech seemed to be wrapping up.

"Between us Princes and Elders, we've racked up enough clan business talking points to hold you hostage here for hours." Mika addressed the crowd matter-of-factly. "But the Festival of the Undead is a sacred time reserved for revelry and fellowship of the highest order, and the ensuing Council will allow us ample time for political tedium."

Kurda found it ironic to hear that from Mika, considering political tedium was one of his life's greatest passions. If it was up to Mika he'd have gladly kept this going til he ran out of material or they all fell asleep.

"So before we turn this mountain upside down, we feel there's only one order of business important enough to disclose to you here tonight." Arrow added.

Kurda knew exactly what was coming. His stomach clenched as Vancha went on to read out Darren's nomination letter in its entirety. Kurda had read it with his own eyes too, several hours ago. And when asked, he gave the Princes his permission to share it with everyone who'd gathered here for Council. As nauseous and vulnerable as he felt, it seemed right.

"'I don't have to retell history. You were all there to witness it firsthand. My eyes are on the future now. Without further ado: I, Sire Darren Shan, am hereby putting forth an official nomination to invest Kurda Smahlt as a Vampire Prince.'"

It was hard to know whether Kurda's perception of time was warping or if Vancha had purposely slowed his cadence to make sure the words landed. Kurda stiffened on instinct as that key revelation was disclosed to the public. For better or worse, there was no turning back now.

Vancha paused his narration of Darren's letter and glanced at Mika and Arrow. Until Mika turned to Vancha, Kurda had only been able to see the back of Mika's head from where he stood. The fleeting glimpse of side profile was more than enough for Kurda to see the fierce emotion and pride blazing in those grey steel eyes he loved so much. Mika had never looked more alive, more whole, more healed than he did right now.

Mika faced the amplifier again. Kurda could no longer see any of his face. All he saw was the total unwavering confidence in Mika's posture as he took a deep breath before he spoke to the crowd once more:

"To honour Sire Shan's nomination, we put the matter to an official vote among the Princes and Elders this morning. The results were unanimous. Kurda Smahlt will be invested as a Vampire Prince upon conclusion of Council."

Kurda's body electrified at the deliberate emphasis Mika placed on the word will. As if — in the most professional way possible — Mika was daring someone, anyone to oppose him.

Kurda braced himself for the outcry.

It never came.

There followed several eternal seconds of pure silence. Surely every single ear in this hall was picking up the sound of Kurda's hammering heartbeat as he waited for his cue and wondered if his numbing extremities wouldn't make it impossible for him to take the six more steps that would get him out there on the balcony.

The silence was punctured first by gasps of disbelief interspersed throughout the room. You're surprised? Imagine how I feel, Kurda thought to himself. He almost couldn't feel Gracie squeezing his right hand with excitement, nor Harkat patting his left arm proudly. The gasps turned to rapid chatter, but only for a moment before the Hall erupted once more into an explosion of noise. Kurda had long since accepted that the sound of a belligerent crowd would always trigger a panic response. He'd learn to manage it; he owed the clan that. But that was all he owed them now. Never again would he entertain the compulsion to look around and question whether or not he deserved to be here. He owed himself that.

So with that silent promise made, Kurda collected himself with a deep, deliberate breath. He stepped away from Gracie and Harkat, and strode at last across the balcony where he took his place alongside the Princes. It wasn't til then Kurda permitted himself to truly listen to the cacophony of overlapping voices. And even when he did, it took longer yet to trust his own ears.

They weren't roaring in rage. They weren't even calling for his death. Although it was statistically probable that at least one of them was, Kurda couldn't hear any of those outliers over the cheering.

They were cheering.

Cheering for him.

A new adrenaline pulsed through Kurda's veins and straight to his head like hard liquor — emboldened by the sight of Mika dressed in that cloak, standing at a respectful distance in case Kurda decided he wasn't ready to throw their love to the ravenous court of public opinion and hope for the best. The look in Mika's eyes would've given it away if anyone was close enough to see it, though. If there was a poetic way to depict the sensation of desiring someone against the wall of a broom closet imminently, it was beyond Kurda.

So he settled for kissing Mika instead. Suddenly it was no longer a decision. He'd been ready to shout it from the mountaintop last night. The addition of a four-letter title to his name changed nothing. Kurda threw his arms around Mika's neck and kissed him hard on the mouth right where they stood. Mika never hesitated. He swept Kurda off his feet and into a gentle spin that angled both their faces away from the crowd to allow them a sliver of precious intimacy even upon the most public stage their world could offer. If anyone below them voiced disapproval of this final revelation, neither Mika nor Kurda could be bothered to listen.

Narrator's footnote: Audience reactions ranged from indifferent at worst to thrilled at best. They're cave-dwelling barbarians, not monsters. But if Kurda still needed their validation, then what did we do all of this for?

My baby's fly like a jet stream

High above the whole scene, loves me like I'm brand new

So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to

THE HALL OF ARRA SAILS

MIKA

While teaching a swordsmanship session as a senior General over a hundred years ago, Mika convinced an entire class of fresh trainees that himself and Arrow were twin brothers. Fraternal, of course. He wasn't even trying to hoodwink them. He just said it in his typical straight-faced manner and nobody questioned him. It got back to Vanez, who knew better but found it amusing enough to commit to the bit. Any time Mika and Arrow teamed up in a pairs tournament, which was often, Vanez would write The Twins in the name column of the scoreboard. The other tutors caught on, and the rest is sporting hall history.

And for the first time in over a decade, The Twins had returned in the sparring ring with a vengeance. Armed only with simple staffs and clockwork synchronization, they toppled every duo of challengers that stepped up to face them — even Vampaneze Elders Otazu and Astor. It was one of the most satisfyingly even challenges Mika had ever taken part in. If Otazu and Astor had been as familiar with each other's fighting style as Mika and Arrow were, the fight could've gone on for hours. They were that good.

The pivotal moment came when the two vampaneze attacked from the same angle at the same time. Both moves were flawlessly executed — but they got in each other's way and gave Mika and Arrow the perfect opportunity to disarm both of them.

Bruised and bleeding, Mika and Arrow gladly shook hands with the vampaneze.

"Fine work, gentlemen." Arrow panted, leaning on the ring's corner post for support. "I haven't enjoyed such a tough challenge in decades."

"Don't flatter them, A. I'd hate for them to go easy on us next time." Mika laughed as he massaged the sore spot below his ribcage where the end of Otazu's staff caught him. He couldn't wait to see how the bruise flourished.

"You fight like you share one soul. It's one thing to perfect your own skills. It's quite another to combine them with someone else's as efficiently as you do." Otazu told Mika. The stoic vampaneze spoke gruffly, but his maroon eyes were alight with intrigue.

While the vampire clan was always quick to lavish praise upon their Princes, the Vampaneze Elders were a far tougher crowd. And rightfully so. Mika shrugged, trying to downplay the compliment.

"We're brothers, after all. I suppose that gives us an unfair advantage." Said Mika. He knew Otazu would take the joke for what it was. But there was a fleeting moment where he could see the vampaneze questioning himself; wait a minute. Are they actually? Did someone already tell me this? Did I forget? No, he's fucking with me.

"You're honourable opponents, that much is certain." Said Otazu, offering a tight smile. "I look forward to many more challenges in the future."

Otazu and Astor retreated from the raised wooden platform that was the sparring ring, making room for the next pair ambitious enough to take on Mika and Arrow. Arrow used the brief intermission to take several long gulps from the mug of ale he'd left within reach, while Mika limped over to the corner where Kurda waited for him.

"Sorry. I thought we'd have been knocked out of the ring by now." Mika winced, half in apology and half due to physical pain. "You don't have to stay for the whole thing."

Kurda threw his hands up in exasperation. "Of course I'm staying til the bloody end! All of the medics have the night off, and I don't trust any of these drunks to take proper care of you when you inevitably break your arms, or crack your head open, or —"

Mika silenced the stream of valid safety concerns with a kiss. The sore spot under his ribs was aggravated by how far he had to lean over the side to reach Kurda's lips, but it was well worth the pain. For the span of that single moment the rest of the world disappeared around them. The clamouring voices went silent. Even his hard-won victory tasted less sweet compared to this.

"Speed chess once I'm finished here. Just you and me." Mika promised when their lips parted. Kurda grinned in anticipation at the prospect.

"You know I'm always cheering for you, but I won't complain when you finally get knocked out of this ring for the night." Kurda admitted ruefully. "Provided your opponent knocks gently, of course. I won't have nearly as much fun conquering your side of the chessboard if you're concussed."

"What kind of self-respecting opponent knocks gently? That'd be an embarrassment to everyone involved!" Vancha's barking voice rose above the cavern chatter. Mika and Arrow both turned to see Vancha and Gannen stepping into the ring, side by side. Both their faces were equally alight with anticipation and bloodlust.

"Let's see how Vampire Mountain's alleged twins fare against the March-Harst brothers." Gannen added.

Kurda cringed, but reached up to give Mika's hand a squeeze. "Good luck. And by the black blood of Harnon Oan, be safe. That's an order."

Mika shot him a wayward smirk. "I know you pride yourself on being unconventional, but usually Princes start giving orders after their investiture."

"Well, can you do it anyway?" Kurda groaned, throwing his hands up again.

"Only because you asked so nicely, Phoenix Lord."

Mika darted away before Kurda could fire back a retort. Arrow was waiting in the middle of the ring along with Vancha and Gannen.

"You know your brother's left uppercut isn't as fast as right, right? I've been telling him for years he needs to even it out. Never listens to me. Be prepared to do double the work if you attack from that side." Mika joked to Gannen as they shook hands.

Gannen's lip curled into a sly smile. "Please. How do you think he ended up that way in the first place? That was his first critical injury as a cub. It was how I taught him not to sneak up on me."

Mika burst out laughing at the candid recollection. Arrow quickly joined in while Vancha scoffed at all three of them, but there was no mistaking the unbridled joy in his eyes. Mika felt another pang of belated guilt and sympathy. He couldn't imagine living in a world where his and Arrow's bond was ripped in half and left in bloody tatters for over two centuries. How Vancha must have grieved for his brother in silence all those years.

The fight commenced. It didn't take long for the chattering crowd to fall into an almost reverential silence as they watched some of their greatest idols clash. Mika wasn't surprised that Vancha and Gannen operated with savage precision. The brothers' skill level was on par with Astor and Otazu, but their synchronization was leagues above. Vancha took the lead while Gannen slipped between the gaps like smoke. His catlike grace interwoven with Vancha's signature breakneck speed attacks made the pair of them a force of nature. It took vicelike concentration for Mika and Arrow to stay ahead of them. Arrow had sheer mass and raw power at his advantage while Mika weaponized his agility and sharper reflexes; a combination that had never let them down.

It seemed to go on for hours. While that wasn't actually the case, it still lasted far longer than was considered average. Neither pair could maintain the upper hand for long. All four warriors were sweat-drenched and blood-spattered as they closed in on each other for the twelfth time. This could very well go on for another dozen rounds. More, even. Vancha and Gannen were as relentless as Mika and Arrow. Mika was in no hurry to concede. He tasted his own blood and sweat while his muscles screamed in protest. Yet he relished every second of it; the adrenaline of combat and the satisfaction of reasserting himself as an elite warrior — in case anyone had the nerve to forget. This was his happy place.

True elation had never come easily to Mika. Even in the happiest moments of his life he didn't trust anything that felt too good to be true, and he nurtured that voluntary disconnect between heart and mind like his survival depended on it. In his world, it did. He was too clever, too calculating to fall victim to naivety. Besides, nothing in life was ever that good. Until last night when Kurda looked through his eyes, into his very soul and told him — you can let yourself fall now. I'll catch you. I promise I'll catch you.

Now, Mika caught Kurda's eye across the ring. Even amidst hundreds of spectators who revered Mika because of this — the ferocity, the competition, the bloodshed — all Mika could see was the golden beacon of a man who loved him in spite of it.

A snap of motion around Mika's peripheral vision pulled his attention back to the fight and he rallied his strength in time to block a crushing hit from Vancha.

"Good one." He panted as he realigned himself for a counterattack.

"Likewise." Said Vancha before spitting a gob of blood onto the floor; a slippery land mine.

The floorboards of this ring were notoriously unsympathetic to moisture. Mika had witnessed more seasoned vampires than even himself loose their footing on a wet plank. In fact, these floors were scheduled to be ripped out and replaced. Only reason it hadn't been done in time for this Festival was a material shortage. The small pool of blood gleamed like a ruby, though. It would be easy to dodge.

Mika surged at Vancha, the tip of his staff aimed on his colleague's temple — and the ball of his right foot aimed just as precisely at the blood. He touched down and sank into a controlled slip, keeping his balance but "missing" his target by inches. Damn those floorboards.

With that said, the same slip wouldn't have changed the outcome of most other battles. But with opponents so evenly matched, it was everything. Vancha and Gannen had Mika and Arrow down and pinned within seconds. It was over.

"Mika! What the fuck was that?" Arrow practically whimpered in dismay as they got up and dusted themselves off.

"Don't pin it on me! We could've gotten back on track if you hadn't left your defences wide open! Maybe I'll just partner up with Gannen next time. At least then I won't be the only one bringing a brain to the fight." Mika snapped back vehemently; the cherry atop his second Oscar-worthy performance of the night.

Arrow rolled his eyes, but his despair was short lived. Regardless of the outcome he'd enjoyed the fight as much as the victors had. Arrow pulled Vancha into a tight hug as they pounded each others backs with gusto. Meanwhile Mika shook Gannen's hand. Gannen's face was alight with well-deserved pride.

"I mean it. Let me know when you want to trade brothers." Mika panted.

"Now that… would be an intriguing contest." Gannen replied between breaths. "Brains versus brutality." But even as he made the joke he smiled fondly at his brother.

Vancha took his turn shaking Mika's hand, but gripped abnormally hard as he leaned in and hissed, "All these years and I've never seen you take a misstep in the ring. You're the most calculated fighter I've ever met. If I didn't know you better I'd hazard a guess that slip was intentional."

"Good thing you know me better. But if you want a rematch, you've got it. Same time. Same place. Tomorrow night." Mika promised.

Vancha didn't look convinced. But he did look proud as hell to stand beside his once-lost brother and take in the ensuing cascade of toasts and applause. There were already scuffles breaking out among the crowd as vampires and vampaneze fought for the chance to go up against the legendary brothers.

Mika took a long drink from the battered thermos of water he'd set on the sidelines (right next to the whiskey flask). He hadn't even swallowed when Arrow tugged his arm like an impatient child.

"The other ring is free. Let's go." Arrow instructed him briskly, pointing at the other side of the hall. "Rojas and McCallan want to challenge us. We're using axes this time, fuck the staffs."

Mika didn't immediately answer. He took another drink while trying to scan the crowd without making it obvious. He quickly found what he was looking for. He needn't have looked past the first row. She was standing as close to the ring as Kurda was. Mika caught Kaden Hale's eye then glanced surreptitiously at Arrow, knowing Arrow couldn't see the look from where he was standing. Hale caught on immediately.

"You're up, Games Master Hale." said Mika. "You can have my spot in the next tournament. Use it well."

Hale's freckled face sparked into a wolfish grin as she climbed into the ring with them. Mika heard Arrow gasp and was tempted to smack him upside his big bald head for the second time that night. The feelings were there, hanging unclaimed in the space between Arrow and Hale. It was vividly apparent to anyone who'd even halfway been paying attention. All Arrow needed was some momentum. Lighting the fuse was the least Mika could do.

"And take good care of him. I need him to stay in one piece." Mika added. As the joke rolled off his tongue, Mika found himself caught off-guard by the sudden hitch in his throat as he realized the request extended far beyond the sporting halls.

If Hale picked up on the unintentional subtext, she didn't let on.

"I've got his back for the next round." She assured him. "You're officially off duty, Sire."

Mika couldn't say for sure. But something told him she meant what she said as deeply as he did. He didn't even stick around to watch how Arrow handled the opportunity he'd been gifted on a silver platter. Some things were better left to the imagination. So with that mission completed, Mika jumped the side of the ring and landed smoothly on the floor. Didn't even bother going around to the stairs. Didn't stop til he his fingers were once again entangled in shiny, shiny golden hair as he tasted the sweet ice wine on Kurda's tongue.

Kurda's perspective was far less romantic, apparently. He quickly pulled away from the kiss, spitting in disgust. "Charna's guts, Mika! Where is all this blood coming from? Are you sure you didn't lose a tooth?!"

Mika raised a dubious eyebrow. "Is blood suddenly… an issue for you?"

"It is when it's yours!" Kurda seized Mika's chin and squinted into his mouth to take inventory of the damage. "Fuck, please tell me they're all still in there. Our love has overcome more tribulation than most, but I don't know if I could handle you without a full set of teeth."

Mika tried to say, "And you think I'm vain?" Although with his mouth still pried open the words were far from coherent.

"Yes, yes. I love you too." Said Kurda impatiently, still occupied with counting Mika's teeth. "I think they're all in there, thank the gods." He added as he finally let go. He kept his hands around Mika's face, staring up at him with equal measures exasperation and adoration.

"So I'm still pretty enough to be Sire Smahlt's arm candy?" Mika asked earnestly.

Kurda rolled his eyes and let out a derisive scoff-snort, but there was no hiding the infatuation in his eyes.

"Let me deal with this nasty thing, then we'll talk." Kurda busied himself attempting to clean a shallow but wide gash on Mika's left temple. Mika would've been perfectly content with letting it scar; a hard-earned trophy from one of the best fights of his life.

"Can we just get out of here?" He sighed, palms settling on either side of Kurda's waist.

"Of course, love. The infirmary shouldn't be too crowded yet. I can get you cleaned up in a heartbeat. I assume Jai still keeps stitches and balm in that unlocked cabinet on the…" Kurda's voice trailed off and his expression shifted from concern to dry amusement. "You meant sex, didn't you?"

Mika admitted his guilt by way of a rueful chuckle. But the suggestion ignited twin blue flames in Kurda's eyes and a wicked grin upon his lips. Kurda ran a final line of spit across the gash and leaned up onto his tiptoes to kiss Mika again. Mika barely noticed the familiar stinging sensation as the wound sealed itself.

"I know a spot." He murmured into Kurda's ear.

"It's that storage cavern off corridor 8B, isn't it?" Kurda murmured back with mock sensuality.

"What? It's got plenty of space, it doesn't smell like moldy lichen, and I'm almost certain it was cleaned recently."

"You're such a romantic. Lead the way."

Nobody seemed to notice them slip out of the sporting hall. Such was the irony of the Festival of the Undead; the more bodies swarmed about the mountain, the easier it was to find some privacy. Everyone was focused on the elimination tournaments that were taking place in the rings. Vancha and Gannen remained conking heads and taking names in the biggest ring, while Arrow and Hale — both wielding battle axes — asserted themselves as a fiercely efficient duo nearby.

They made haste to the storage cavern. It was just up a flight of stairs and around the corner.

Mika's eyes were closed and his lips were already locked on Kurda's as he clumsily pushed the door open, muttering a steady stream of filthy promises which Kurda was lapping up as if dying of thirst. Both were jolted abruptly from their private reverie at the sound of a third voice coming from the storage cavern, sharp with panic:

"Occupied!"

"Agh! Sorry, sorry!" Kurda yelped in embarrassment, lurching back from the doorway as if it had burst into flames.

Mika didn't try to look in. He just happened to have a clear view of the interior from where he stood. The occupants were leaning against the supply shelf, wrapped up in each other's naked bodies. One person's back was facing the door, but Mika recognized Shane Astor's impressive cascade of well-maintained dreadlocks. Renley Azerion was sandwiched between Astor and the wall, gawking wide-eyed over the vampaneze's shoulder at the unwitting intruders. So much for the mystery of Ren's new flame. It made such perfect sense, Mika couldn't believe he hadn't cracked the case sooner. He didn't know Astor as well as Renley. But he knew enough to know both had met their match.

Mika was just as eager to retreat as Kurda was, but he couldn't help flashing Renley a knowing smirk and a nod of approval. Ren's face turned a deeper shade of red than should've been possible, but Mika had already slammed the door and fled the scene.

Together Mika and Kurda ran hand-in-hand, resuming their feverish hunt for sanctuary. Half running, half tripping over themselves and each other as they laughed hopelessly at the pure bedlam that was their universe. When the prospect of trekking up yet another corridor became unbearable, single-minded desperation drove them to seek temporary shelter beneath a dusty stairwell where they could sink into each other like an oasis.

"There's always the love caves." Kurda smirked between messy kisses, dragging out the last two words for sarcastic effect as Mika's fingertips dipped beneath the waistline of Kurda's pants — which fit him so perfectly it bordered on miraculous.

"Been there. Done that. I don't like sharing. What's mine is mine." Mika growled into the curve of Kurda's neck.

Kurda pulled back a little and cocked his head mischievously. "Let me guess. That was your first stop at your first Festival. Little Mika walked through the door all hot and ready for the filthy broom closet orgy, only to immediately realize he couldn't handle not being the absolute centre of attention, and walked out."

While not a direct bullseye, the theory landed close enough that Mika's only defence was to roll his eyes and resume kissing Kurda with insatiable lust. Kurda's body responded in a way that truly cemented how dire their current plight was; increasing friction of which his hips ground against Mika's upper thigh and whimpering with need. As they crashed closer to a point of no return, it took every strand of Mika's moral and physical fibre to pry himself off Kurda, grab his hand and resume their arduous journey.

"There!" Kurda gasped as they reached the top of the stairwell. His voice was ragged and strained like he'd surfaced from the bottom of a lake. He was pointing at a door along the west wall. Mika recognized it immediately, and quickened his stride til finally he flung the door open.

"Your old office." Mika sighed in reminiscence as he looked around. The memory was enough to momentarily derail the mission at hand.

"You gave me this for Christmas when Gracie was two. Back when you didn't even like me." Kurda exhaled a soft breath of laughter, leaning haphazardly into Mika's chest. "I was the first and only General to have my own office."

"Because you were the first and only General to have the mountain's first and only good schematic diagrams destroyed by our first and only baby's crayons." Mika kissed the top of Kurda's head and added in a gravelly whisper, "And you're half-right: I didn't like you then. I'd already fallen."

"And turning a rock wall into a private workspace was easier than just admitting that, hmm?" Kurda rolled his eyes and pressed his body into Mika's, pointedly backing him against the closed door and bolting the latch lest they end up unsuspecting victims of a surprise invasion like poor Ren and Shane.

"You always did see right through me." Mika murmured into Kurda's ear as he fumbled with his belt buckle. This would be as quick and dirty as last night had been slow and sensual, but no less explosive. That much was sure.

"Oh, my Mika…" Kurda smirked in satisfaction as he grazed his groin against Mika's with clear intent to exacerbate the situation. "…You're not nearly as dark and mysterious as you think you are. It's not that hard."

Narrator's footnote unavailable. Assuming you've respected the adult content warnings that appear at the top of this page, it would be redundant to offer clarification regarding the double entendre of the word 'hard' in this context. We're better than that. Let's give them their privacy and check in elsewhere, shall we?

All my flowers grew back as thorns

Windows boarded up after the storm

He built a fire just to keep me warm

All the drama queens taking swings

All the jokers dressin' up as kings

They fade to nothin' when I look at him

FAR, FAR AWAY

The sun cast an orange glow into the camper van as it sank into the western horizon. A full vampire would've needed heavy-duty blackout curtains to get by, but the light didn't bother Darren or Darius. Darren knew full well he was past due to "top up" the supply of vampire blood in his veins, to finish what Larten started so many years ago. In fact, Darren considered asking Vancha to do the honours before they parted ways. But he'd held himself back, realizing was in no hurry to say goodbye to the sun. It had nothing to do with sparing Larten's feelings. Besides, his body was still working on catching up with his years. It just felt right to wait a little longer. Why fix something that doesn't feel broken?

On average, life felt right these days. Stepping back from clan politics felt right. Reconnecting with his human family felt right. And when he finally accepted that a comfortable life in suburbia was doing Darius more harm than good, it felt right to set course for what had once been — always would be — his sanctuary,

Darren hadn't been naive enough to believe the first day at the Cirque Du Freak would be enough to pull Darius out of the sullen, prickly mindframe he'd built around himself as he entered his early teenage years still trapped in the body of a younger child. Darren wished he could fast forward through the adjustment period. Or better yet, rewind far enough to shut the whole thing down before Steve's blood touched the kid's veins. Or best of all, he'd think bitterly to himself on the hardest days, really hold that rewind button til he was back on the schoolyard reaching blindly for the slip of paper that changed everything — and just walk away.

But none of those options were in the realm of possibility. So instead of dwelling on them, Darren became fluent in the art of one-sided conversations. He learned to read subtle changes in posture, body language and micro-expressions when that was all Darius was willing to give him.

"Eventually Mr. Tall will give you a list of daily chores." Darren remarked casually as he transferred the modest contents of his backpack into the drawers beneath the lower of two bunk beds. "But for now you can take a few days to settle in and get used to life at the Cirque. No pressure."

Darius was in the top bunk. He was lying on his side, on top of the covers, facing the wall. He was still wearing his travelling clothes and his backpack of belongings remained unopened — a silent protest to the journey his uncle had taken him on. He'd barely said a word during that afternoon's tour, and he didn't respond to Darren now.

"I smell supper cooking." Darren added. His mouth watered at the familiar scent of Rhamus Twobellies' favourite honey garlic sausages wafting through the open window. "Do you want to go sit around the campfire with everyone? I think I heard one of the Von kids say something about s'mores for dessert."

"Not hungry." Darius muttered to the wall.

Darren sighed and nodded — even though Darius couldn't see it.

Now for the hard part. Darren would leave him here alone and join the others around the campfire. Darren was certain Darius was just as hungry as he was, but there was nothing to be gained from forcing the kid to eat and socialize against his will. He'd come out when he was ready. Darren hoped that would be tonight, but doubted he'd win this round.

"Well, I'm going to go out. If you get hungry, bored, or lonely… you know where to find me."

"I'm not a little kid!" Darius snapped. "I can sit in a stupid van by myself!"

"I know you can." Said Darren quietly. "I don't blame you if you'd rather lay low and rest. Will you at least consider calling your mom? She'll be worried about you."

"Thought you already texted her that we got here safe."

"I did. I just think she'd love to hear from you."

"Yeah, right."

Darren had no intention of opening that can of worms here and now. He conceded defeat with a long sigh and a cautious squeeze of his nephew's shoulder.

"One night at a time." He told Darius quietly before stepping out of the camper and leaving the boy in what he hoped was some semblance of peace. Someday Darius would find his place in the world. But for now, Darren took comfort in knowing he'd returned to his own. Evra had even saved him a seat. Some things never change.

"All rise for Sire Shan!" Evra guffawed as Darren approached. Almost everyone did in fact rise for Sire Shan — but only to welcome him enthusiastically to the circle. All of the faces were familiar. Darren was pleased to see there'd been almost no employee turnover since he'd been a Cirque regular. Evra, Merla, Alexander Ribs, Gertha Teeth, Rhamus Twobellies, Hans Hands, Cormac Limbs, Sive, Seersa, and Mr. Tall — they were all right here. As weird and wonderful as ever.

Swallowing the unwelcome lump of emotion that had appeared in the back of his throat, Darren rolled his eyes and swatted playfully at Evra's scaly shoulder as he took his seat. No sooner had he settled than the Von kids closed in on him, turning three pairs of deaf ears to their mother's suggestion to just let Uncle Darren have five minutes to relax before you all get up in his business!

Lilia practically leapt into Darren's lap while Urcha sat beside him and attempted to captivate his attention with a new trick he'd taught his beloved snake — which he wore around his neck like a scarf. Despite his lack of a scaly complexion, Darren would argue Urcha resembled Evra the most out of all the children. His mannerisms were uncanny. Meanwhile Shancus, the oldest at thirteen, kept glancing back at the line of camper vans from which Darren had emerged.

"Where's that boy that arrived here with you?" Shancus asked, emerald green eyes brimming with curiosity.

"Shancus! Don't pry." Merla absconded her son. "Why don't you go grab dinner for your uncle? He's travelled a long way to be here with us."

Shancus took his mother's instructions in stride. He shrugged and wandered over to the collapsible table upon which sat trays of uncooked sausages, buns, condiments, and roasting prongs.

"Not to worry, I'll get my own." Said Darren earnestly. But Evra was already shaking his head.

"Don't you dare get up." Evra objected, winking. "Shancus has already committed to working at the concession stand next time we go on tour. In fact, he specifically requested that position."

"I want to be the official Cirque chef someday." Shancus declared as he speared a sausage on a prong. Then he looked to Darren and added seriously, "How do you like it? Rare, medium, or well-done?"

"Darling, that only applies to steak. Rare sausages will make you sick." Merla sighed, visibly biting back a laugh. Rhamus Twobellies didn't even try to contain his laughter, and the sound was contagious. Soon the entire group was sharing a good-natured chuckle.

"Yeah, Shancus." Lilia added haughtily. "Are you trying to poison Uncle Darren?"

"Oh, shut up. You didn't know that either." Shancus growled back at his sister.

Evra drew breath to chastise both of them, but Darren stepped in to diffuse the situation. His accidental detour into a full-time career as a Vampire Prince had taught him a thing or two about managing people.

"I'll admit meat always tastes better when it's properly cooked. Especially Rhamus's famous honey garlic sizzlers." Said Darren. "But the thing about vampires is that they don't have to worry about food poisoning. I've eaten far worse than undercooked meat."

While the rest of the group shared another hearty laugh around the fire, all three pairs of youthful Von eyes went wide.

"Like what?" Urcha asked.

"Well…" Darren paused for suspense. "Did you know bats could be made into broth?"

Predictably, that statement was met with gasps of gleeful disgust from the younger two. Shancus, meanwhile, looked intrigued.

"But how do you catch the bats?" He asked.

More laughter. This time Darren joined the chorus — after which he felt he owed Shancus an earnest explanation of everything a foodie could expect from a visit to Vampire Mountain. Including the bat broth. So while Shancus carefully roasted the meat to perfection, Darren updated his long-lost friends about his latest misadventures while they listened intently.

He didn't have time to cover nearly half the material by the time Shancus handed him a juicy, well-done link on a fluffy pretzel bun, garnished in fried onions and a dab of mustard. Only then did Darren realize how hungry he was. He was more than happy to stuff his face and listen contentedly as the Cirque crew shared a few of their best stories from the past several years. Predictably, the three little Vons lost interest in Darren and ran off to play with the handful of other children that travelled with the Cirque.

"You look well, Darren. All things considered." Gertha Teeth spoke up during a lull in conversation, taking Darren by surprise.

"He's right. If being a forcibly-promoted leader in wartime wasn't enough to dull the sparkle from your eyes, I daresay nothing will." Hans Hands agreed with a wink.

"I'm proud of you, Darren." Mr. Tall added in his unmistakable deep tenor. "We all are."

Darren flinched at the sudden tone shift.

"It was an honour to guide my clan through a difficult time." He replied humbly, trying to brush their compliments off. "I just did what any half-decent Prince would…" his voice trailed off as he remembered where he was. Pretentious formality had no place at the Cirque Du Freak. He shook his head and exhaled a weary chuckle. "…And it only aged me about a century. Not that you can tell from looking at me. Off the record, I can't say I recommend it as a career path."

"You've never looked better." Evra assured him, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. "Even those thin patches in your hair have filled in since last time you rendezvoused with us!"

"It's been a long road. I also don't recommend third degree burns." Darren grimaced and reflexively ran a hand through what was finally a full head of hair — twelve years after the Hall of Flames.

"Where's your girlfriend, Uncle Darren?" Lilia's voice piped up from behind him. Darren jumped. She'd materialized with the stealth of a Navy SEAL.

"Debbie's not my girlfriend. Not even close." He corrected her. It didn't occur to him to question why she was asking. He had no doubt Evra had shared all kinds of stories of the good ol' days with his children. He continued, "In fact, she found a girlfriend of her own; a really cool ex-police officer named Alice. They bought a house together and they adopted a cat named Rex and a dog named Cheddar. And best of all, I got to go to their wedding just a couple months ago. I promised them I'd get them tickets next time the Cirque performs in their area."

To his surprise, the explanation was met with a wrinkled nose and a quizzical raised brow from Lilia. "Who's Debbie?" She asked. "I meant Gracie. You know, the lady who came here with you last time. She was nice. She made bracelets with me that day it wouldn't stop raining."

Evra and Merla groaned in unison at their daughter's innocent prying, but Darren just chuckled. "Right. Sorry. I hate to disappoint you, but Gracie is also not my girlfriend. She is my friend, though. We go way back, and we've been through a lot together. Just like your dad and I."

He hoped that'd be the end of it. The children may not notice his cheeks reddening, but the adults knew to look for that sort of thing.

"Well, she's way prettier than my dad." Lilia informed him offhandedly, earning another chorus of laughter.

"Come on, now! I happen to think your father is a real charmer!" Darren chortled, shooting Evra a wayward grin. "Wouldn't you agree, Merla?"

Merla snickered and patted her husband's knee. "He's something, alright."

Evra rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek. Lilia pretended to gag in disgust at her parents' display of affection and dashed away, presumably to see what her brothers had gotten up to. The conversation belonged to the adults once more. Darren nibbled away at his meal and listened as Rhamus and Gertha brainstormed potential tweaks to their respective acts. Rhamus wanted to see if he could eat the steel frame of a monster truck in front of an audience and wondered if Gertha and her teeth could make use of the engine. Over desert, Mr. Tall gave the group an overview of how the next few months would look; the cities they'd perform in, the roads they'd travel, the places they'd camp in between. Darren listened intently. He wasn't just here on vacation. As he'd told Mr. Tall earlier that day, he was as ready to work as he'd ever been.

"So you are not on any sort of timeline?" Mr. Tall asked as he helped himself to a s'more for dessert. The group had thinned out; tomorrow would come early and there was always work to be done. Only Darren, Mr. Tall, and Evra remained by the fire now.

"Not really." Said Darren. "Obviously I'll have to go back to the mountain at some point, but Vancha assured me nobody would mind if I took a few years to just —"

Mr. Tall suddenly held a finger to his temple and Darren fell silent. Darren recognized the gesture well from having spent so much time among fully-blooded vampires. It conveyed something along the lines of "excuse me; telepathic message incoming". Mr. Tall wasn't a vampire but he conveniently shared their supernatural ability to communicate through thought. Darren automatically tensed in anticipation. He happened to be waiting on a message himself. Everyone back in the mountain — at least, those who mattered — knew they could get in contact with him through Mr. Tall.

"It's Larten. He asked me to pass some information along to you." Mr. Tall informed him after a moment of concentration. Darren's stomach twisted. Mr. Tall added, "Larten says the vote was a unanimous yes. I assume that means something to you."

"Yes, it does." Said Darren, a smile breaking across his face. "Did he say anything else?"

"No. Should he have?"

"It's okay. That was all I really needed to know."

Mr. Tall nodded thoughtfully. Darren knew he wouldn't come out and ask for context, but it was clear he wanted to.

"I nominated Kurda Smahlt to be a Prince. Or re-nominated, in his case." Darren explained. "I put it all in a letter and asked Vancha not to open it til all the Princes and Elders were together... I guess that was today, and I guess they all agreed with me. I had a feeling they would, but it's nice to know for sure."

"Good. I do not spend much time among the clans, but I know enough to know the honour is well deserved." Said Mr. Tall.

Darren nodded in an agreement and took another bite of his s'more. It tasted even better now that he finally knew.

"I am not sure I will ever get used to seeing you here without Larten lurking nearby." Mr. Tall remarked after a long pause. There was no intentional subtext in the comment, but Darren listened between the lines anyway. He couldn't blame Mr. Tall for wondering. Mr. Crepsley was one of his dearest friends.

"It's been five years since I left Vampire Mountain without him. And I still feel like there's something missing. Like, any time I'm packing up to leave a campsite, I still catch myself looking around to see if he's ready to go or if he's waiting around for me to do all the work."Darren's own honesty caught him by surprise. And to add insult to injury, his eyes and throat began to burn out of nowhere.

Mr. Tall just nodded with an almost paternal understanding. "For better or worse, Larten is the cornerstone of your identity. Everything you are is because of him. But you must remember that no matter how significant his role in your story has been, you are more than the vampire's assistant. More than a Prince, even. You are not defined by a clan you didn't choose. Remember that."

Darren could no longer look directly at Mr. Tall. He sat perfectly still, staring into the fire and hoping the heat would dry his eyes as he nodded mutely.

"I think I'm ready to just be one of the freaks for a few years." He managed at last.

"Speaking of one of the freaks…" Evra smiled and gestured over Darren's shoulder. Darren almost gasped in relief.

The three Von kids were making their way back towards the campfire, strolling in a loose cluster and punctuating the brisk night air with laughter. But they'd added to the ranks. Darius was walking among them with Shancus close by his side. Darren could hear the green-scaled boy bragging about how perfectly he could crisp up a s'more and promising to teach Darius his secret method — if he promised not to tell the younger two. Naturally that triggered a civil dispute among all three siblings. They were still going at it when they drew even with the circle of chairs around the fire.

"Hey, Uncle Darren!" Darius greeted nonchalantly as he sat down in the chair beside Darren's, as if he hadn't been staring daggers at him for almost two months in a row. Darren had no intention of holding a grudge.

"Hey, yourself! I'm glad you decided to join us after all." Said Darren, struggling to play it cool as if his stomach hadn't been eating itself with worry.

"Shancus kept knocking on the van door. Said he wouldn't go away til I tried Mr. Twobellies' famous fancy hot dog or whatever it's called." Said Darius, shrugging.

"Honey garlic sizzlers!" Shancus corrected him, already assembling a s'more.

"It smelled good… and I was really hungry." Darius admitted. "So I opened the door. He brought me one on a bun. With mustard and onions and everything."

"He did, did he?" Darren forced out. His throat was burning all over again. Evra caught his eye over the kids' shoulders and Darren grinned in appreciation.

"Hey, can I go with them to feed s'mores to the wolf-man?" Darius asked, oblivious to his uncle's emotions.

"It's safe, seriously." Evra interjected, anticipating Darren's concern. "We upgraded the cage last year. There's a handy one-way chute for feeding. Wolfy can't access the food til the person on the other side locks the hatch. You couldn't even stick a hand through if you tried."

"Have at it, then." Said Darren, grinning at his nephew. "Just don't leave the campground. And do you remember how to get back to our van?"

Darius frowned thoughtfully, but Shancus cut in: "Don't worry, I know where the van is parked. I always remember who's van is who's. And I know where the First Aid kits are."

"He really does." Evra chuckled with pride and amusement at his son's confidence. "He knows the operation inside and out. You'd swear he's plotting a takeover."

"Not too many s'mores, aye?" Mr. Tall cautioned the children. Then he leaned towards them and added ominously in an undertone, "Unless you want to be the ones to brush the wolf-man's teeth later."

Having sufficiently sparked some giggles of ghoulish delight, Mr. Tall retired to his camper and the children embarked on their mission. Darren reclined in his chair and cracked open the cold can of beer Evra offered him. They sat side-by-side, watching as Shancus, Lilia, Urcha, and Darius scampered towards the cluster of brightly-lit tents, rounded the corner, and finally disappeared from sight. The innocent sound of their laughter still carried clear across the campsite and up into the endless starry sea, as if all four of them held an ironclad trust that their world had nothing but the best in store for them.

Narrator's footnote: A wise man once said, "Real life's nasty. It's cruel. It doesn't care about heroes and happy endings and the way things should be. In real life, bad things happen. People die. Fights are lost. Evil often wins."

But not this time.

And I know I make the same mistakes every time

Bridges burn, I never learn, at least I did one thing right

I did one thing right

---

In closing:

1) Gracie was meant to have a lot more time in this chapter. Almost enough to just chop most of her scenes entirely and let that be its own separate thing to allow her the spotlight she deserves… hmmm.

2) The 'narrator's footnotes' were actually just me Trojan-horsing my dream of bringing back 2000's-style A/Ns inserted in places they shouldn't be. Ha ha. Got you. Next time

They're all gonna break the fourth wall and argue with me in chat format btw. (I'm joking but even as I type that I'm already spitballing ways I could make it work).

3) Part two will be ready when it's ready. And I'll post it when I'm ready. Honest to gods I'm not TRYING to drag this out for dramatic effect. It's just… a lot.

4) Thanks for being here. You probably had other things you could've been doing instead, but you chose to kill roughly an hour of your time digesting this instead. That was really nice of you

- roxy