• October 21st, 2013: This Is Us was published on FFnet (formerly titled 'Put That Thing Back Where You Came From Or So Help Me')

• May 8th, 2020: This Is Us was updated after 7 years on hiatus and published on AO3 for the first time.

• September 13th, 2020: Bloodline was published.

• May 19, 2024: Bloodline was marked complete at 37 chapters.

Dear reader, it is my pride and joy to finally tear this out of my notes app (and my heart) so I can finally hand it over to you. Catharsis to follow.

Epilogue - Part 2: Loves Me Like I'm Brand New

Song: Call It What You Want by Taylor Swift

---

I'm laughin' with my lover, makin' forts under covers

Trust him like a brother, yeah, you know I did one thing right

Starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night

T-MINUS TWENTY-FOUR HOURS TIL SIRE SMAHLT'S INVESTITURE

KURDA

"I won't fall asleep. I'm not even tired. I'll sleep once you're invested." Mika insisted with ironclad conviction. He cozied himself in next to Kurda with every intention of offering a second pair of eyes on the investiture speech. Within a minute and a half he was conked right out with his head on Kurda's midsection like a pillow.

Kurda didn't bother waking him. Nor did he bother keeping track of time as he sat propped up by several pillows with his clipboard and pencil in hand, working feverishly. Suddenly two hours had passed and they'd arrived at tomorrow. It was a mere technicality as far as Kurda was concerned. Tomorrow wouldn't truly start until the moment he opened his eyes after a good sleep. He wasn't ready to let go of today yet.

For as long as it was still today, he was still just Kurda Smahlt. Former General, former exiled traitor, slayer of the Vampaneze Lord, connoisseur of controversy, full-time pacifist, part-time cartographer, Gracie's father, Mika's beloved, and on a hellish technicality — Lord of the Shadows. The next time he curled up beneath this blanket and closed his eyes, he'd be Sire Smahlt forevermore.

They can call me whatever they want, Kurda reminded himself, pushing all of it to the back of his mind and refocusing his attention on the slumbering body curled up alongside him. As long as you call me yours.

Kurda smiled in satisfaction at how deeply Mika was sleeping. Mika expressed doubts last week about upgrading his coffin to something more bed-adjacent, to which Kurda raised the counterpoint: You're a chronic insomniac at the best of times and I want more leg room. So during a break between Council meetings, Mika finally put his coffin into storage while Kurda assembled nine wooden crates into a square to create a bedframe. A few layers of animal hides made for a soft mattress upon which they rested together now.

When the words began to blur and Kurda's head began to ache, he set his clipboard down and ran his fingers through Mika's hair. Soft and shiny as jet-black silk, it almost glinted blue in the dying torchlight. Kurda's hand travelled down the back of Mika's neck, slipped beneath the neckline of his shirt, and came to rest between his shoulder blades. It was incredible how that much power could feel so soft beneath Kurda's fingertips.

He whispered into the silence, "I love you, Mika."

Even while snoozing like a 250lb baby Mika never missed a chance to say it back. He responded with a soft hum of recognition as if the words I love you activated some subconscious reflex born of the journey from hell to where they could speak those three words aloud again.

Kurda began to run his palm in slow circles around Mika's upper back. The skin was softer there. Not nearly as scarred as the front of him; a literal testament to how rarely he let his guard down. What a privilege to earn a trust this deep, Kurda thought. And what a miracle to earn it twice.

The touch drew Mika back to the world of the waking within a minute or so. He slowly raised his head and blinked up at Kurda with unfocused eyes.

"Hi, Sunshine." Kurda whispered.

Mika tensed, eyes widening in alarm. "Is it —"

"No, it's not investiture day yet. Still working on the speech. How'd you sleep?"

"I wasn't sleeping! Just closed my eyes for a second."

"Love, you were out for almost two hours. I think you drooled a little."

Mika sighed and muttered with dismay, "Fuck me."

"Review my speech, then we'll talk." Kurda told him drily.

"Gods, finally."

(If you think Mika's finally was in response to the implication of then we'll talk as opposed to review my speech, you've learned nothing).

Mika rolled slowly from his front to his back, stretching and groaning in satisfaction as he twisted around. The motion was reminiscent of a cat who'd gotten cozy in a perfect sunbeam and was rotating to give its other side a turn in the warmth.

"You have the prettiest eyes. Anyone ever told you that?" Kurda chuckled, momentarily forgetting his nerves.

"Can't remember. Wouldn't take it seriously from anyone but you anyway."

"Well, I'm telling you now."

"And I'm taking you seriously. You're the one who has to look at me for the next few centuries. I don't get the appeal, but I'm happy if you are." Mika grinned lazily up at him, fluttering those pretty lashes to blink the sands of sleep from his eyes. Then his face set into a slight pout and he added, "Why'd you let me sleep so long? I'm supposed to be helping you."

"It's been a long Council. Just because you're enjoying yourself doesn't mean you don't still need to rest." Kurda placated him, fingers still playing in his hair. "And you were helping me. You were keeping me warm. I think I'm finished for now, though. It's your turn."

Kurda waited for Mika to sit up and take the clipboard, but Mika remained horizontal. He nestled his head into the soft area between Kurda's hip and ribcage like he was settling in for the long haul.

"Read it to me." Said Mika.

Kurda frowned. "Don't you want to see it?"

"No. I want to hear it straight from the source. It's a speech, not an essay. And you'll be glad you practiced out loud. Trust me."

Resigned to the fact that Mika was more than qualified in this particular department, Kurda began to read. He read and read and read while Mika listened. Mika's studious silence came as a surprise to Kurda. He'd been banking on a stream of live feedback. If there was ever a time to offer himself up for Mika-grade constructive criticism, this was the pinnacle of it.

The thing felt a hell of a lot longer than it looked. Kurda gratefully inhaled a lungful of air when he reached the end. Aside from the sound of him catching his own breath, the room was silent. He glanced down at Mika, half-expecting to see him asleep again. Instead, dismay twisted his heartstrings. Mika was staring up at the rough-hewn stone ceiling through tear-filled eyes. Aside from that, his face was unreadable. As if there were so many emotions competing with each other that all he could do was lay there in limbo and wait for them to duke it out.

"That bad, hmm?" Kurda sighed, running his hand along Mika's cheek.

Mika took a long, shuddering breath and sat up, shaking his head and wiping the tears on the back of his hand. "No, Kurda. Don't you change a single word. Fuck… how do you still find new ways to surprise me?"

"I wasn't going for surprising. Unconventional as I am, the goal is to level out their perception of me with stability and consistency. That's always been your arena. You'd think I'd have absorbed some after letting you nap and drool on me for the past two hours!" Kurda groaned, his other hand tensing around the brittle wooden clipboard again. After tonight he was certain the flesh of his palms would have lasting imprints shaped like the edges of the thing.

Mika shook his head again as if exasperated, and held Kurda's face in his hands as gently as one would cradle a baby bird fallen from a nest.

"The clan doesn't need another me. You know that. You've always known that. And you don't need my help with this. Any of it." Mika murmured. The quiet intensity in his stormy gaze coupled with the low rumble of his voice had Kurda's chest tightening with something his extensive vocabulary didn't have a name for. It scorched and pulsed in his ribcage. He tossed his clipboard to the side and leaned into Mika's chest, letting himself be small and vulnerable there. He wouldn't have that luxury tomorrow. Mika's arms encircled him and for a moment they both sat there in the security of silence.

Mika would've held on as long as Kurda needed him to, so Kurda resigned himself to break the silence eventually.

"Mika?"

"Mmhm?"

"Can I talk to Sire Ver Leth for a second? Work question."

"Fuck, I forgot him in the Hall of Princes." Mika deadpanned. Kurda couldn't help but laugh as he rolled his eyes and gently swatted Mika's knee. Mika chuckled too before forcing a more serious expression. "Sorry. He's here. I'm here."

"Tell me something you wish someone told you before you were invested." Said Kurda.

Mika didn't even hesitate. Before the words were even out of Kurda's mouth he delivered his blunt response in true Sire Ver Leth fashion: "That I'd drive myself fucking insane by the end of the first year."

Kurda winced. "Great. Thanks."

But Mika was already shaking his head. His fingertips scritched lazily back and forth on Kurda's upper arm. Light as it was, the touch was enough to anchor Kurda's tattered focus.

"But that's the difference between you and me, Kurda. The throne was my destination. I had nowhere left to climb once I reached the top… and I never learned how to be still. So I spiralled." Mika explained, chuckling again. This time it was underscored with bitterness. His eyes darkened as he revisited that era of his life, but he continued: "That won't happen to you. Your dreams have always been bigger than this place. The throne's not the top of the mountain for you. Just a tool to make the climb easier."

"Everything has changed since my first attempt at investiture… except that part." Kurda admitted wryly. He expected his honesty to be met with a look of surprise from Mika, but it was Kurda who was taken aback when Mika just nodded contemplatively.

"You don't actually want the throne at all, do you?" Said Mika. It seemed more of an observation than a question. Nevertheless Kurda instinctively raised his own defences.

"Of course I do!" Kurda spat back with more ire than intended. "It's the highest honour there is! I still can't believe I'm allowed in here, never mind up there. Gods, Mika! You of all vampires should know that."

"You're right. It is. And I do." Mika replied evenly, fingertips still trailing along Kurda's skin. It almost seemed pointed how he didn't match the energy of Kurda's brief outburst. "There will be times when you feel your bones start to crack under the weight of it. That's when you have to lie through your fucking teeth and tell them all there's nowhere else you'd rather be —"

"I know, Mika. I've seen you do it a thousand times." Kurda groaned, resenting himself for broaching the topic in the first place. "Never gets easier to watch."

"But you have the rest of your life to put on that mask." Mika pressed on. "Tonight… it's only you and me. And I want to know where you'd choose to be, in a perfect world."

Kurda stared at the glowing embers as he mulled it over. For several long minutes the only sound in the room was the crackling fire. The flames were starting to shrink after several hours of neglect, but the burning logs beneath still had some life left to give. Kurda felt himself begin to smile when it dawned on him.

"I'd want to fix my garden." He declared at last, grinning at the absurd juxtaposition of his innermost desire against his current station in life. It sounded even more ridiculous out loud. But hey, Mika asked for it. He even appeared intrigued.

"Your garden?"

"Yes. I started a garden back at my cabin by the sea. You wouldn't have seen it. It was the dead of winter that one time you stopped in. But it was quite nice once I got it going. I hate to think how the weeds have taken over since I lived there. It'll be years before I have time to go back." Kurda elaborated wistfully.

Mika nodded along, as if listening to a compelling speaker at a conference. "Is there room for me in your garden?" He asked.

"Not really. I'm very self-sufficient." Kurda replied. "But in a perfect world, you'd go out and hunt something so we could have fresh meat with the carrots I grew. We'd eat together on the east-facing porch, watching the whales in the harbour."

Mika curled his arm more tightly around Kurda as if to protect him from that brisk Atlantic wind — even in a hypothetical dreamland he was right there by Kurda's side. Kurda shifted closer and pulled the blanket further up both their chests.

After tomorrow, the weight of the world would rest upon Kurda's shoulders. That much was certain. But for now he only felt it on his eyelids. He forced them to stay open. If he let them close now, sleep would snatch him and take today with it.

As inevitable as tomorrow was, he still needed more today.

"Any more golden nuggets of advice?" Kurda prompted Mika once again.

Mika pressed his lips together and furrowed his brow as if pondering the secrets of the universe. "The thrones aren't comfortable. I've been lying the whole time. You never get used to it. Your ass just goes numb eventually," was what he came up with.

Kurda shook his head in exasperation and slipped a hand beneath Mika's shirt to tickle his ribs and stomach. "The ancient slab of wood with the ninety-degree backrest isn't ergonomically friendly? Surely that can't be why your spine crackles like a stick of dynamite if you get up too —"

Kurda's saucy commentary was cut short by Mika wrestling (in the loosest definition of the word) him down onto the bed and pinning him there with a deep, heady kiss. And as scorching hot as it was, all Kurda could do was laugh because he was one thousand percent certain he heard Mika's back creak as he laid them both down. The speech lay forgotten on the floor along with Kurda's intentions of revisiting it.

"Whether or not I could do it without you is irrelevant." Kurda panted, reaching up to push a wayward strand of glossy black hair from Mika's forehead. "I don't want to do it without you."

Mika's eyes narrowed in defiance as he lay draped over Kurda's body. No doubt he was prepared to reopen the debate. If a weighted blanket could be both handsome and opinionated, it would look like this. Kurda pressed his index finger to Mika's lips and shut him down. "Shhh. I don't have time for your self-deprecation. Either give me some more Sire Ver Leth wisdom or kiss me again."

Amusement flickered alongside the dying firelight in Mika's eyes as he shook his head in exasperation. He rolled off Kurda and flopped down beside him. Despite the abundance of pillows, once again they ended up sharing one between them as they lay forehead to forehead.

"I don't know what more I can tell you, Kurda." Mika said quietly. He ran his fingertips along the three little scars on Kurda's cheekbone, a weary smile playing on his lips. "Everything I learned the hard way comes naturally to you. You've witnessed firsthand the best and worst case scenarios. No incoming Prince in history has been as well-prepared as you are. I know you aren't interested in power or glory, and you'd gladly skip over the ceremony itself if —"

"Is that an option?!" Kurda blurted out.

"No. Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Just… when the time comes tomorrow, I want you to take a moment to be proud of what you've done. Block out all the noise and remind yourself you fucking made it. Promise me you'll allow yourself that."The faint strain in Mika's voice would've gone unnoticed by anyone else. But it made Kurda's mouth go dry.

"Did you?" Kurda whispered. "When it was your turn?"

Their bodies were nestled so snugly together that Kurda could feel Mika swallow the lump in his throat as he carefully weighed his words before he spoke them:

"Yeah. It was the happiest I'd ever been. Til now."

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

INVESTITURE DAY

WEST QUADRANT, CORRIDOR 81, CELL 13

GRACIE

"So, do we have to wear a dress to this thing, or what?"

Had Gracie not seen her government-assigned roommate's lips move in the mirror behind her, she would've assumed she hallucinated the voice.

But sure enough, Jovanna was eyeing her from across the room. The young vampaneze's face was as shrewd and impassive as ever, but her question couldn't be rhetorical. She wouldn't have wasted the oxygen unless she wanted an answer.

All Gracie had learned about Jovanna Vidal in three weeks was not to take anything personally. At least that had been Kurda's gentle advice when she consulted him. In fairness, Jovanna didn't seem to dislike Gracie any more or less than anyone else. Her aloof detachment remained as consistent in the lively sporting halls as it did up here when it was just the two of them.

'Not everyone is as comfortable here as you are. Remember, you'll always catch more flies with honey than vinegar,' Kurda had added.

"I actually stopped by the Hall of Princes to ask about proper investiture dress code earlier. Official statement from Sire March was, 'If I have to wear clothes, so do the rest of you'. Hope that helps." Gracie answered without turning around. It was the truth.

She carried on to rummage in her storage crate with hopes of finding an old stick of eyeliner. In the background of her reflection she saw Jovanna roll her eyes as she got up out of her hammock.

"So nobody's going to look down their nose at me if I don't show up in a dress?" Jovanna pressed, gesturing down at her well-worn tank top and cargo pants. "This is all I've got that's clean. We don't all have a walk-in closet."

For a second it was almost a normal conversation. But she just had to tack on that last sentence and lace it with barbs.

'Why would you want to catch flies in the first place? If someone doesn't like you, extend your condolences for their loss and carry on with your head held high,' had been Mika's counterpoint to Kurda's patience and empathy.

('Of course you'd think that, you love vinegar,' had been Kurda's counter-counterpoint).

So with both those perspectives balanced in the back of her mind, Gracie gritted her teeth and forced a chilly smile as she glanced over her shoulder and gave her answer: "I never said I had a walk-in closet. I said I had a crate of old clothes in a closet somewhere that you were welcome to borrow. The offer stands, but you'll be fine in what you've got. It's Vampire Mountain. No judgement here."

Jovanna scoffed in derision as Gracie realized her poor choice of phrasing — a second too late.

"I meant judgement about clothes and appearances." Gracie added with a weary sigh. Of all the times to open that can of worms.

"I knew what you meant." Jovanna growled back.

Gracie had no follow-up. The night of her father's investiture was no time to play mental chess. Gods knew she sucked at chess anyway; it seemed the Smahlt and Ver Leth influences had cancelled each other out on that one. She refocused on applying her eyeliner. Admittedly it was easier to get a sharp wing when she wasn't distracted by half a dozen other girls pre-drinking and performing atrocious karaoke as they all got ready for a night out together. Still, she'd take that chaotic sisterhood over whatever the fuck this was. Without question.

Don't get greedy. You got your family back, what, three weeks ago?

Meanwhile, Jovanna knelt on the floor to dig through the large backpack she'd brought here with her. She let out a low huff of frustration and asked abruptly, "Hey. You know where I could find some string?"

Her tone betrayed how much she resented having to ask another question. Every word was corrosive. Gracie opened her desk drawer and plucked a thin strip of leather from within. It was left over from the night she finally re-wrapped the hilt of the dagger she inherited from Arra.

"Will this work?"

"You're not going to need it?"

"Wouldn't be giving it away if I did."

Jovanna accepted the offering, but her eyes darted warily from the strip to Gracie and back again. As if she was half-expecting Gracie to say, hah, sike, and snatch it back.

"Alright. Thanks." Said Jovanna at last.

"No problem."

Gracie set about curling her hair with the homemade wand she'd engineered during one summer as a bored teenager. It was simply a cylindrical metal bar with a wooden handle fitted on one end. She held the bar over the crackling fireplace for about ten seconds, then carefully wrapped a strand of hair around it.

Nobody expected her to look more glamorous than usual at her dad's investiture. There was no protocol. She was completing this series of cosmetic rituals for no reason besides her own enjoyment — and to quell the pangs of nostalgia for an era of her life she'd never get back. Fucking sue me, I guess.

She braced herself for a snide comment from across the room. Or a scoff at the bare minimum. The floor-length mirror offered her a wide view of the room behind her, and the reason for Jovanna's silence soon became apparent. She was occupied trying to secure her thick burgundy hair into a ponytail and tie it with the strip of leather. It was a poor substitution for the hair elastic she clearly needed.

Gracie sighed. It would've been a gross overstatement to say she felt sympathy for the girl who hadn't so much as smiled in her direction in three weeks. But how many times in the early years had she looked up at Mika or Kurda and begged them for a sister? They found a way to give her everything else she wanted, why was that any different? Her grasp of biology and ethics expanded as the years went by. Gracie grew to understand she was an anomaly in this world; no wonder her two vampire dads never gave her a sister. Would've been weirder if they did. Didn't mean she didn't still want one with all her fucking heart and soul.

"How's that working out for you?" Gracie ventured offhandedly. "I could've just given you a scrunchie if I'd known —"

"It's fine." Jovanna snapped. "Worry about your own hair before you get burned."

Gracie finished the curl she'd been working on, then delved back into her desk drawer. This time she pulled out a purple floral-patterned silk scrunchie. She knew it'd be a waste of time to try to hand it over nicely — Jovanna wouldn't have accepted. So Gracie gently tossed it across the room where it landed at Jovanna's feet. Jovanna eyed it like it was a live grenade, then shot Gracie a scathing glare.

"Don't overthink it." Gracie told her. "Florals have never been my thing anyway."

Jovanna's expression didn't soften. But she did manage a stiff nod of acceptance as she replied, "I'll give it back later."

Gracie nodded in turn. She didn't want or need the scrunchie back, but opening a debate would be counterproductive. She went back to curling her hair and ceased paying attention to what Jovanna was doing.

Maybe by next Council they'd be ready for atrocious karaoke.

My baby's fly like a jet stream

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

(Call it what you want, call it what you want, call it)

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

T-MINUS SIX HOURS TIL SIRE SMAHLT'S INVESTITURE

HALL OF PRINCES

MIKA

Even after almost a century on the job, it never got old, the way these magic doors slid open at the touch of his hand. Their nights were numbered now.

And all he felt was relief.

A decade ago Mika would've railed at the idea of getting rid of the Stone and decommissioning the Hall as they knew it. Hell, he did. Countless times. Kurda knew that better than anyone because it had been he alone who'd urged the Princes over and over, "Throw the damn thing down a volcano, or toss it in the deepest sea." And of all the voices who'd snarled back that he was a fool, Mika's had been loudest.

Mika couldn't take those years back. All he could do was make sure everyone in the room knew where he stood as this Council unfolded. Three nights ago the matter was put to a final vote. In a few months the Stone of Blood would be removed and the doors left open, rendering the Hall an impenetrable sanctum no longer — rather a gathering area where fellowship between clans would be forged over time.

But tonight, the Hall would be the glowing backdrop and the Stone would be the centrepiece for one last investiture ceremony. When offered the choice to be invested with or without the Stone, Kurda had for once chosen tradition. In doing so he'd bridge the gap between the old and new generation of Vampire Princes. How fitting, Mika thought as he walked between the line of thrones, past the Stone itself, and into the meeting room that lay behind it all.

As expected, Arrow was already there. He looked up from whatever he'd been reading and a wide grin broke across his face as he realized he had company.

"What are you doing here so early?!" Arrow asked, reaching out with one thick arm and pulling out a chair for Mika.

"Where else would I be? Gracie's busy getting ready, although why she needs multiple consecutive hours is beyond me. And Kurda's already headed off to the holding tank." Mika shrugged as he sank into the chair. "And you're the only other person I like, so here I am."

Arrow's nose wrinkled with disdain at the words holding tank. It was a tongue-in-cheek term for the small room known officially as the Chamber of Final Contemplation. There, every incoming Prince waited out the final hours before his investiture ceremony. The room is empty aside from a singular chair, a fireplace, and a water closet. It's crucial to note the door locks from the outside. The purpose of the holding tank is for meditating, or praying to the vampire gods without distraction. Results may vary between individuals. Mika tried the meditating thing when his turn came. Lasted a minute and a half before he reverted to practicing his speech in his head. Arrow's experience in the holding tank was very different.

"Remember when —" Mika snorted, despite his better judgement. Not that it mattered. He could tell Arrow was already reliving the debacle in his mind.

Mika had been enjoying breakfast with Vancha and the others the night of Sire Arrow's investiture almost a century ago when a familiar and panicked consciousness came hammering into his mind out of nowhere — Mika, get down here and let me out of this room. Right now. I'm not going through with it. I don't want it. I mean it. The guards won't break protocol for me. I swear to the fucking gods if you don't make somebody unlock this door I will destroy it with my bare hands —

That went on for Mika's entire walk from the Hall of Princes to the holding tank, where he proceeded to sit outside the room for the next three hours and talk Arrow off the ledge — A, listen to me. You still want to be a Prince. You just don't want the ceremony. It's okay. You only have to get through it once, then never again. I'll be there the whole time. I'll sit in the front row for your speech if you want. Fuck it, I'll even shave my head, paint on some arrows, and give your speech myself if that's what it takes. It's you and me. Always will be.

Not a single head was shaved nor protocol breached that night. And when the time came, Arrow emerged from the holding tank as calm and collected as could be expected for someone with a complex aversion to pomp and circumstance. The ceremony went off without a hitch. They drank, fought, ate, and danced the next three nights away. In fact, Arrow's remained the clan's most recent normal investiture. How ironic that Arrow and Kurda existed as far from each other as they could possibly get on every spectrum of comparison — and yet Mika had almost the same conversation with both of them on the brinks of their investitures.

"Oh, shut up." Present-night Arrow grumbled. He swung at Mika's head, but it was halfhearted and easy to dodge. "We didn't all come out of the womb ready to be invested. How's Kurda holding up?"

"Nervous. But he's ready. And I think he knows he's ready, whether or not he'll admit it to himself." Mika didn't realize he was smiling til he saw it mirrored back to him on Arrow's gruff visage, accompanied by a knowing twinkle in Arrow's eye.

"I'll never forget the night I told you I wasn't coming back to Vampire Mountain with you." Arrow took his turn to reminisce. "That I was dropping out of training to be with Sarah. And you said —"

"I swear I'll never fall in love." Mika sighed, running a hand through his hair as he grimaced at the memory, longing to turn back time and slap the arrogance off his younger face. Then again, his personal love story had humbled him in a way there was no preparing for. And he was so much better for it.

"Yes. It was very passive-aggressive, even for you. All I could do was laugh and hope you'd prove yourself wrong. And even knowing how you hate being wrong, I'm glad you got there in the end." Arrow chuckled. The smile lines around his eyes creased deeper than Mika had ever seen them.

This was as perfect a time as Mika could've hoped for. From his pocket he withdrew a small, folded piece of parchment and held it out to Arrow. The innocuous gesture was met with suspicion.

"I don't think so." Arrow growled. "I didn't think too highly of the last time you wrote me a surprise note."

"You really think I'd pull the same trick twice in a month? Just open it." Mika insisted.

Arrow didn't look any less confused as he unfolded the paper. He stared at it for a few minutes, eyes narrowed and mental gears whirring almost audibly. Then he turned the page around as if he thought it might've been upside down.

"Mika, am I supposed to know what I'm looking at?"

Mika had already spent hours looking at the design, but he glanced at it over Arrow's shoulder again.

"Not necessarily. I just wanted a second opinion." Said Mika innocently. He paused then added, "What do you think of it as a design for someone's first tattoo?"

Proper context provided an entirely new perspective. Arrow's face lit up as he refocused on the paper, scrutinizing every line with fascination as he remarked, "Wow. Did you freehand this?"

It was an emblem composed of two geometric symbols. The intricate masterpiece of interconnected black lines formed an interlocking diamond and compass. Well, there was a third more subtle thing. Arrow would notice it soon enough.

"You know I can't draw. That was all Kurda." Mika snorted.

"Ah. Should've known. The lines are very clean. So… this is going to be your tattoo?"

"That's the plan. The compass is for Kurda —"

"To represent how he's guiding the clan to a new era, or because you didn't want an entire map down your arm?"

"Yes. And the diamond is for Gracie —"

"Because she's deceptively tough. Perfect symbolism." Said Arrow with an approving nod.

"Kurda's getting a matching one." Mika furthered the explanation. "The same diamond for Gracie, and a sword for me. And Gracie's getting the compass and sword, apparently. We didn't even ask her. She saw the designs and invited herself in on it."

As Mika talked, Arrow chuckled fondly and nodded along, eyes still on the page. Then — right on cue — his brow creased with confusion and Mika knew exactly what piece of the design he was staring at.

"And the arrow will be exclusive to mine. It's for… well, if you can't draw that conclusion on your own, I don't know how to help you." Mika concluded offhandedly.

The conclusion had been drawn. Arrow's eyes were huge, plaintive, and already swimming. Even having accurately predicted this reaction, Mika still had to look away lest Arrow's emotions became contagious.

"It's for me?" Arrow practically squeaked. As always, it defied the laws of physics that a man that size could make that sound.

"Easy. Let's not dramatize this. It's just a little line."

"You're putting me there? With Kurda and Gracie?"

"You don't like it? Should I take it out?" Mika asked, fighting to keep a straight face. He didn't have to maintain the front much longer.

Arrow shook his head furiously, words having failed him. He flung his heavy arms around Mika and let out a muffled sob-laugh that somehow encapsulated all two hundred and fifty years of this. Two and a half centuries of blood, sweat, tears, triumphs, traumas, fights, hangovers, bruises, boredom — and more hours of laughter than the rest combined. A simple line of ink hardly did it justice.

"Fuck, A… long before I even knew them, it was you and me. You've had my back the whole time. And when I went to the lowest place I've ever been, you… you scraped me up off the floor. And we both know I mean that literally. I wouldn't have gotten back up on my own. Of course you made it to the tattoo." Mika mumbled into Arrow's hulking shoulder.

When they eventually broke the embrace, Arrow snuffled loudly, cleared his throat and asked in a broken rasp, "Do… do you think we get to be real brothers in another universe?"

"We get to be real brothers in this one." Said Mika with finality. Only then did his voice finally crack. He wasted no time clearing his throat and forcibly recomposing himself. He shot a scathing side-eye in Arrow's direction and added, "What are you doing pondering other universes? Do you not have enough work to do?"

Sure, Mika had evolved well beyond caring if Arrow saw him slip. But there'd be thousands of eyes on him tonight. And Mika would be damned if he let them see anything but the stone-faced enigma they'd come to expect when they looked at him. It was enough to have his three — Arrow, Kurda, Gracie — whom he loved and trusted enough to let them see behind the mask. It was three times more than he ever thought he'd have when he first sliced his fingertips open and turned his back on the sunlight all those years ago. And three times more than he felt he deserved.

I want to wear his initial

On a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck

Not because he owns me

But 'cause he really knows me

Which is more than they can say, I

T-MINUS TWO HOURS TIL SIRE SMAHLT'S INVESTITURE
THE CHAMBER OF FINAL CONTEMPLATION (MORE COMMONLY KNOWN AS 'THE HOLDING TANK')

KURDA

Kurda had laughed when Mika told the story about how he sat outside the holding tank door and therapized Arrow off the ledge, but truth be told Kurda feared a similar reaction in himself. Mika then went on to warn him that the only amenities in the room are a chair, a water closet, and a fireplace. Mika had been comically earnest about it. Kurda stared silently back at him for a good ten seconds before Mika remembered Kurda had already done this once before. There ensued bittersweet laughter, a long hug, a final kiss, then Kurda headed down here to admit himself for several hours of solitary confinement.

Kurda had no use for the chair that was provided — every time he sat down he grew restless and took to pacing again. Nor the water closet — he hadn't ate or drank in over twenty-four hours as dictated by the customary fasting period. The fireplace was the only amenity that brought him comfort. He ceased pacing about an hour in, and took to sitting on the warm area of the floor in front of the flames.

Aside from the cleaning staff who'd obviously given everything a good dusting and stoked the fireplace, Kurda realized with a jolt that he himself had been the last person to use this room. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry — until his thoughts wandered to the thirty-eight souls lost here in this mountain twelve years ago.

It would have felt wrong not to let himself weep for the thirty-eight. And for the twelve vampires who died in the tunnels that night. No matter what Kurda believed about right and wrong, those vampires died defending what they knew to be their sanctuary. Kurda would never absolve himself of the desolation in Mika's voice when he stood outside Kurda's cell and whispered "Arra died," nor the look in Larten's eyes the moment he found out who'd taken Gavner Purl's life. So here in the Chamber of Contemplation he chose to reflect not on his own pain, but on theirs. All of them.

Beside the fireplace sat a small stack of logs to feed the flames when they got hungry. Kurda picked up the smoothest of the logs and with his fingernail he carved every last name. Gavner Purl. The thirty-eight. The twelve. The five vampaneze and four vampires who died in the same place seven years later when Jakob Wiles tried to frame him. Fifty-nine names in total. By the time he'd finished the task they were embedded into the dry wood as deeply as in his own memory. And with the task complete, he fed the log to the flames and watched it burn.

Had he not been so absorbed in his silent vigil he would've registered the sound of footsteps approaching from down the corridor, or the click and shift of the door as it was unlocked. It was the sentry's voice that jolted him back to the present.

Kurda stood up abruptly and pivoted to face the door. They'd come to take him away. He removed his clothes and donned the white robe the sentry had brought for him, wondering if it was the same robe as last time. It almost certainly was, but he decided he didn't want to know for sure.

Four Generals waited outside the chamber, bearing the wooden platform upon which they'd carry him to the Hall of Princes. Six more stood in pairs in front of them. Finally there were the two responsible for the background music — they'd sing and chant the whole way. Kurda couldn't recall their names but he knew they were among the oldest living members of the clan. This procession would escort him from here to the Hall of Princes, and so would begin the ceremony.

"Here comes the bride, all dressed in white," Kurda sang under his breath as he stepped onto the platform. One of the Generals snorted in amusement, but seemed to catch himself. Kurda added, "It's alright. You can laugh. I already know I look ridiculous in this thing. I didn't exactly choose it for myself."

The others took their stations too seriously to truly laugh, bless their hearts. But from high on the platform Kurda could see their shoulders relax a little.

It was all uphill from here. Up, up, up through the winding hallways and corridors of Vampire Mountain. Every path was crowded like a school of koi in a small pond. Yet the hordes of bodies parted into clean lines as the procession approached. The corridor to the Hall of Princes was the fullest of all. Generals, mostly. Their collective voices joined those of the procession to form a somewhat disjointed chorus of ritual chants and songs that praised the Princes of the past, present, and future.

Kurda prayed his legs would hold him when it came time to stand on his own, here in the room where twelve years ago, nearly to the damn day they tore him apart almost literally, screaming at him all the while. The night he was dragged in chains to face the Princes he'd betrayed.

The Princes and Elders waited in two rows on either side of the doorway to the massive glowing dome. Gannen, Shane, and Tycho on one side. Vancha, Arrow, and Mika on the other. The Princes wore the same formal cloaks as at the Festival opening ceremony; that and investitures were the only occasions worth bringing them out of storage for. All three looked better than they ever had. Even Vancha was resplendent — but Kurda was biased towards the man in black.

Mika seemed to sigh in relief as Kurda drew closer. Kurda shot him a small, wry smile as if to say, what? Did you think I was going to get cold feet?

A fleeting look was all they could give each other for now. Now that their relationship was public knowledge, it would've been unbecoming for either of them to appear too absorbed with each other on such a momentous occasion.

The Princes and Elders turned their backs to Kurda and led the procession into the Hall of Princes itself. And so Kurda was carried over the exact place he'd been when Darren interrupted the last time and stopped the ceremony dead in its tracks. It was all brand new territory from here.

Every investiture ceremony Kurda had ever attended had felt painfully arduous. Several hours never failed to span several years. These affairs were fraught with all these unnecessary complexities and traditions that were surely woven into the schedule for no other reason than to maybe appease a few ancient vampires who'd been dead for so long they couldn't possibly still care about any of this. As per clan customs, the most senior Prince in attendance ran point on the proceedings. And as always, Vancha rose magnificently to the grandeur of the occasion when it truly counted.

The Generals lowered Kurda's wooden platform to the floor. Kurda stood up once it was on solid ground, but he didn't step off. He remained on the platform — white-robed, head bowed, contemplative, sweating — as the series of rituals began.

Vancha invited the oldest living vampire in the clan, Seba Nile, to conduct the Reading of the Names. Starting with the first Prince ever invested — Osca Velm — Seba summarized their most notable accomplishments to which the audience declared 'even in death may he be triumphant' while making the Death's Touch sign. Paris Skyle was the last name to be honoured with the morbid sign and blessing. Seba's voice didn't waver as he spoke the name of his beloved mate, but his eyes were ablaze with pride and grief alike.

The present-day Princes were honoured in the same manner as their late predecessors, except the audience cheered and toasted to their names and health immediately after wishing them triumph in death. Kurda applauded along with the crowd, praying his limbs didn't look as floppy and puppetlike as they felt to him. To observe this as a spectator was one thing. But to be the one in the spotlight? He wished he could've just taken a seat on one of the pews rather than be relegated the lonely no-man's-land between the audience and Princes.

But he didn't have time to get restless. Time was crashing by him at a breakneck pace. Had they really read out all forty-seven names of the vampires who'd passed through these thrones? Surely Seba had missed a page. Surely this wasn't his cue to step off his island of a platform and approach the far larger one upon which the Princes waited for him.

An invisible hand halted Kurda in his tracks before he reached the bottom stair. Here they were again. Mika standing upon the throne platform. Kurda standing before him. Gods, he'd never forget the way Mika drew one anguished, shuddering breath at the sight of the bloody welts on Kurda's shackled wrists that night. How Kurda wished Mika's face had twisted into a vengeful sneer as Kurda confessed his sins and relinquished his dignity. Kurda would've rather been subjected to the full scope of Mika's wrath than watch him crumble from within until all that remained behind those eyes was a heartbroken, terrified child waiting in vain for someone, anyone to make it stop.

Thousands of eyes rested on Mika and his colleagues; as many now as twelve years ago. More, even. And still — then, now, always — Mika searched for Kurda. Mika's posture remained statuesque and commanding but his well-worn mask of ice and iron disintegrated upon eye contact. Kurda smiled as he recognized the face he'd woken up to this morning.

There you are, Kurda didn't think the words so much as felt them in his soul. Just as instinctively, he reaffirmed himself — And here I am.

Steeled by one more deep breath, Kurda ascended the stairs to the throne platform. There was a terrifying moment where his white robe caught on a rough patch of wood and he saw his dignity flash before his eyes —

No! None of that. He anticipated the trip before it happened and swiftly freed the caught fabric. Nobody noticed.

Yes! Almost there! One more step. I made it!

From his new vantage point upon the throne platform, he looked out across the sea of vampires and vampaneze who'd gathered here to bear witness to his rebirth. For a moment it all faded to white noise. He heard Mika's words from last night echo in his mind, as well as the promise he'd made.

I made it.

I fucking made it.

The Princes took turns reading aloud from a scroll so ancient it looked liable to dissolve at any second. These were the sacred Vows of Ascension, written by the first Princes and read out to every single one since.

Said Vancha: "Kurda Smahlt, do you vow your adherence to these terms is to be at the exclusion of your own personal interests and desires until death ends your reign?"

Kurda rallied every scrap of conviction and poise he could possibly muster as he gave his answer: "I do."

Said Mika: "Do you vow to serve as a shield between the clan and any worldly dangers that may arise?" Mika was far too disciplined in his composure to falter. But as always, Kurda heard where the words burned Mika's throat on the way out.

Again, Kurda answered: "I do."

Said Arrow: "Do you vow to uphold the legacies of our honourable predecessors, regardless of whether or not you agree with the precedents they set?"

"I do."

Said Vancha: "Do you vow to lead by example and embody the core values of the vampire clan — honour, courage, perseverance, and fellowship?"

"I do."

Said Mika: "Do you henceforth vow your mind, body, and soul to the peace and security of the vampire and vampaneze clans?"

"I do." Kurda held Mika's swordsteel gaze with fierce determination and reached through their mental link. Only for a second. A second was all he needed.

KS: And I vow the same to you, my love.

Mika nodded almost imperceptibly before looking away, blinking rapidly. Vancha re-rolled the scroll and handed it off to Larten. Then he looked over at the Stone of Blood. A smile splitting his weathered face. The look in his eyes was a curious mix of relief, regret, nostalgia, and pride. Finally he looked to Kurda.

"Are you ready?" Vancha asked in an undertone that was far less formal than when he'd projected it across the room.

A string of countless responses played on Kurda's tongue; as always his first instinct was modest self-deprecation: could anyone ever possibly be ready for this?

Of course he didn't feel ready for this. Any of it. He hadn't felt ready to hand his flawlessly executed tunnel map over to his allies — his friends — within the vampaneze clan, all dead now. He hadn't felt ready to stand trial after enduring their loss and unable to grieve it. He hadn't felt ready to pit himself against unimaginable forces of cruelty in the Cavern of Retribution, or to return to the mountain and submit himself to the will of the Generals a second time. He hadn't felt ready to take up arms against the Lord of the Vampaneze a second time, much less deliver the final blow — through the heart of boy no older than his own daughter.

But Vancha hadn't asked if Kurda felt ready. Nor had Destiny given a damn when it dragged him through the wringer. Kurda simply never had the luxury to question whether he felt ready to do what he had to do. To the deepest pit of hell and back, he'd done it anyway. All of it. So he squared his shoulders, rallied his hard-earned convictions, and gave his answer:

"I'm ready."

OFFICIAL DOCUMENTS FROM THE ROYAL ARCHIVE, OBTAINED WITH EXECUTIVE CLEARANCE

Sire Smahlt's Investutiture Speech:

Good evening, everyone. My name is Kurda. Thank you for being here.

Those of you who know me will already know that, among many other unconventional mannerisms, I am a fierce proponent for the archiving and preservation of written records. I understand it seems more like an exercise in tedium than anything else, but as I put together the first draft of this speech I was grateful to have a certain piece of history to reflect upon. Let me read it to you now — annotations and all.

[Flip to next page]

Quarter-Century General Evaluations - Peer Assessment Form

• Evaluator: Gen. Ver Leth, M.

• Subject of Evaluation: Gen. Smahlt, K.

Basic Skill Assessment of Kurda Smahlt

• Combat: Poor. (On account of being a pacifist.)

• Tactical Strategizing: Exceeds expectations. (Doesn't make up for the pacifism though.)

• Mentoring: Good. (If only he had skills worth teaching.)

• Teamwork: Needs improvement. (It's hard to be part of a team when you think you're smarter than everyone else.)

• Leadership: Fair. (There's potential there. Deep down.)

• Attitude: Needs improvement. (Too optimistic. It's off-putting.)

• Comments: Kurda Smahlt is a naive, idealistic anomaly with embarrassing combat skills and no desire to improve them. Smahlt starts arguments seemingly for no good reason other than his own amusement. He consistently fails to connect with his peers due to his holier-than-thou stance on many of our clan traditions. And then he proceeds to question why nobody likes him. With that said, I believe there's more to him than he lets on. He is resourceful, creative, and intelligent - I'll give him that much credit. But unfortunately these attributes only help him complicate every situation he's involved in. While I don't reject all of his political ideals, I have reasonable concerns about how far he's willing to go. To summarize, I respect Smahlt as an honourable vampire, but I will go on record saying I would rather not work one-on-one with him on future projects. (Seriously, Paris. Never again. It's not funny).

With complete sincerity, General/Prince-Elect Mika Ver Leth.

[Flip back to first page. Pause for ironic laughter. Take deep breath.]

My dear Mika, tact has never been your strong suit. But honestly… you weren't that far off the mark. Particularly with regards to how far I was willing to go. As far as the rest of it is concerned, I wish I could say I was appalled at how my behaviour was interpreted by the clan. We all know Mika said exactly what everyone was thinking back then. But in truth, I was flattered when I read that evaluation. I wore the clan's disdain like a badge of honour. I didn't want to fit in. Almost a hundred years and a few thousand life lessons later, I'm proud to stand here before you and reaffirm that I still don't want to fit in, nor do I ever plan to.

And yet I've never felt more at home here among you as I do right now. And it's not just because of this feast you've so graciously thrown for me. My shift in perspective lies in the hard-earned understanding that multiple truths can coexist. It's true I've been belittled, degraded, and even outright abused by my fellow vampires. Some of those incidents I've long forgiven. Others I never will. Which is which? That's for me alone to know. It's equally true that I gravely underestimated how much of this clan — our clan — was worth saving. Despite how our clan treated me, I came back anyway. And despite how I betrayed them, my clan let me come back anyway.

I urge all of you to understand that I will never begrudge anyone who challenges me. Nor will I ever cease standing up for what I believe in, even if I make a spectacle of myself. But for the first time in my life, I don't feel like I'm standing alone. All of that pain and frustration — all I experienced and all I inflicted — wasn't for nothing. I've made that promise to myself. And with my new colleagues as my witnesses, I make it to all of you now.

In closing I'd like to blame, I mean, thank Sire Darren Shan for setting this investiture into motion. You can all rest assured that the next time I see him I will grill him for the answer to the question I know is on everyone's mind tonight: what the hell was he thinking?

To the Princes and Elders in attendance here tonight — Sires March, Arrow, and Ver Leth, Elders Harst, Astor, and Otazu: thank you for placing your trust in my hands. You say I've given you every reason to. I say I've given you just as many reasons not to. Yet here I stand, and the view is breathtaking. I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret your decision to share it with me.

To my Mika: I speak to you now not as my colleague, but as my better half. Yes, I see you opening your mouth to loudly correct me. But this is my investiture so I get to decide which of us is the better half tonight. Just like how you claim I saved you — you'll never convince me it wasn't the other way around. But by the gods, you'll keep trying. And I'll love you for it.

To my daughter Gracie, who is tougher and cleverer than both of her fathers combined: know your light kept me moving forward even when the world around me went dark. Your tenacity astounds me. Your ferocity alarms me. And your golden heart assures me the future is bright. You are everything. I love you.

And finally, to everyone else here tonight, know that I am just as indebted to you as I am to my closest friends, colleagues, and family. I would gladly list the names of every single vampire and vampaneze in both clans, but I fear I'd be booed off stage lest the feast get cold. And I don't feel I've been on the job long enough to test my luck.

All I can do now is say thank you. Thank you. Thank you. The best is yet to come.

Sire Ver Leth's Speech for Sire Smahlt's Investiture:

A bold young General once wrote on my peer evaluation form regarding my teamwork skills: "Needs improvement. There's no 'I' in team, but you'll notice there's one in 'Mika'. There's also one in 'Sire'." I don't know what I found more offensive — his audacity or his honesty.

I never believed Paris when he swore up and down the quarterly evaluations were conducted by random draw. Out of hundreds of Generals that could've been chosen to assess me, it had to be the one that challenged me in ways I was embarrassingly unequipped to process. And of the same hundreds of names that could've been assigned to him, it had to be mine. That had Paris's sense of humour written all over it. Now I'm the one writing out several hundred names and throwing them all in a bag every twenty-five years, so I can assure you it is in fact completely random.

If the late, great Sire Skyle was here, he'd gleefully tell you exactly what I said upon reading my evaluation over a century ago. But for the sake of preserving my reputation I'll keep that to myself. Suffice it to say I'd never seen so much red in my life, and I made sure everyone in the vicinity was aware of my distress. That was how effortlessly Kurda saw right through me. No one else had ever come that close, nor has anyone since. And for those of you who've joined the ranks in the past century — that's why the Princes don't let the Generals read their own evaluations anymore. Sorry or you're welcome.

The passage of time allows space for perspective. I think we've all more or less figured that out over the duration of the war. On a more personal level, time has allowed me the wisdom to realize it was easier for me to dismiss Kurda as a public nuisance back then — for the alternative would've been to accept he was strong in ways I simply couldn't understand.

Kurda and I had one thing in common, though. We each played with the hand we were dealt. Many times over the centuries I've been commended for my alleged ability to keep a cool head under pressure. The Ver Leth Poker Face, my closer acquaintances would call it. But I've never tested it by walking into a meeting with my peers and superiors knowing they already discounted me before I even set foot in the room. I doubt most of you would respect me, much less like me had my reputation been forged in the same fire Kurda's was. In truth, I don't know what would be left of me at this point. What galvanized Kurda would have crippled a weaker vampire — and I know that because I was on the other side of the table in most of those meetings.

Sire Smahlt, if you saw something even remotely salvageable when you looked at me back then, and again after everything we went through… you could lead this clan blindfolded with both hands tied behind your back. You were wrong about one thing, though. On several occasions upon which I tested your the limits of your endless patience, you looked me in the eye and claimed they really will let anyone sit in those chairs. That's not true. We know exactly what we're doing. And we haven't been wrong yet. You deserve all of this and more.

In closing: To say I'm in awe of you is an understatement. To say I love you is even more so. And everything else I want to tell you tonight… I'll save for your ears alone.

As long you're on our side, we will be triumphant. Long live Sire Smahlt.

THE AFTERMATH

MIKA

The Sire Ver Leth poker face was tested one more time when Mika restrained his laughter as Gracie found out the only sporting tournaments taking place after the feast were chess. That's how investitures work. The new Prince gets to pick his own party games. Gracie was appalled.

"Just one match. Do it for your Other Dad, it'll make him happy. You can go back to terrorizing the sporting halls tomorrow," Mika had cajoled her. "Here, play against Uncle Vancha. You might even win."

Gracie VS Vancha carried on for far longer than it needed to. It didn't help that she had a hearty buzz and he was stoned to the high heavens. Mika crushed four consecutive opponents at the next table while Gracie and Vancha tried to remember the rules. By the time it was all said and done, their chess match had turned into something of a group project.

"I'm that bad?" Gracie asked Mika when the match was over and she looked up to realize Kurda was no longer watching nearby.

"Well, yes." Said Mika. "But that's not why he left."

She raised an eyebrow dubiously. "Did he tell you where he was going?"

"No."

"Should we look for him?"

"I know where he is. He's up in the Hall of Princes."

"How do you know?"

"Because I've done this before."

There was one slight difference in Mika and Kurda's destinations when they retreated from their respective investiture parties. A mere technicality.

And yet, Mika thought to himself as he walked up the main aisle in the Hall of Princes with Gracie at his side, it makes all the difference. It was the difference between himself and Kurda. After his own investiture, Mika had slipped away from the party to test out his new throne. To take a moment to savour the view from the top.

Tonight, he found Kurda not in his throne, but in the front pew looking up at it.

"You're allowed to sit in it now. Not that it's ever stopped you before." Mika remarked, gesturing at the thrones as he came within earshot Kurda. Gracie walked at Mika's side. When Mika sat upon the pew beside Kurda, Gracie flopped down there too.

"Thank you, Mika. I don't know what I'd do without your guidance." Kurda chuckled as he playfully swatted Mika's leg. Yet there was a hoarse strain to his voice that suggested he was ready to be done with tonight.

Mika put an arm around him, kissed his temple and asked, "You okay?"

"I'm great. Really." Kurda insisted. "I knew tonight would be… a lot. I prepared myself accordingly. And somehow it was still more."

I understand, Mika almost said. But he bit his tongue before the words could roll off it so callously. He hadn't walked Kurda's path. All the love in the world didn't equate to true understanding.

"You don't have to go back to the party." Mika said instead, knowing reassurance was the most help he could offer in this moment.

Kurda managed a weak but genuine smile of relief. "Thanks. I'm about ready to sleep for a month. But first… I feel I need to sit here a little longer."

"You want us to leave?" Mika asked.

"Of course not! I'm glad you found me. I… I just didn't think you'd want to leave the party to sit in an empty room with me." Kurda replied almost sheepishly.

Mika kissed him again and murmured, "It's not empty if you're here."

Kurda didn't seem to be in the mood for extensive conversation. Mika followed his lead and they sat in comfortable silence for several minutes.

Until, with all the cloak-and-dagger subtlety of a hardened criminal initiating a back alley drug deal, Gracie leaned closer to Mika and whispered, "Do… d'you have any snacks on you?"

Mika side-eyed her with scathing reproach. "You are three decades old. Whatever snacks I have on me, are for me."

"So you do have snacks."

"No!"

"Your pocket is crinkling."

"Fuck off."

"Mika, don't tell your daughter to fuck off." Kurda cut in. He was trying to be stern, but it was a hard sell with his lip twitching from suppressed laughter.

"I've been waiting for a special occasion to eat these!" Mika protested as he withdrew the bag of Doritos from the spacious pocket in his cloak, scoffing at Gracie's pleading eyes, "Absolutely not. These are mine. Hell, you're the one who brought them all the way back to the mountain for me!"

"I know, I know." She sighed. "I'm just so hungry."

Mika had been feeding snacks to this kid long enough to know the pitiful little whine in her voice was completely premeditated. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Gods. Fine." Mika rolled his eyes and relented, holding the bag out to her. "You can have one."

While Gracie crunched her singular Dorito, Mika rolled his eyes and shot Kurda a look. Kurda was already grinning back at the two of them, shaking his head in fond amusement.

"What?" Mika asked, even though he already knew.

"I've seen this one before." Kurda chuckled with a wink. "I like the ending."

"Enough time has passed that I can admit the beginning wasn't bad either." Said Mika, picturing that shabby old motel where they'd sought shelter from the sun for what was supposed to be just one night, then we take her to the orphanage and get the hell out of this place. But the reel of memories rolled onwards and Mika added darkly, "The middle almost lost me, though."

Kurda's ethereal features twisted into a grimace and he shook his head. "Pfft. We won't even talk about the middle. But even knowing all that, I wouldn't have done anything differently. And I'd do it all again. If that's what it takes to end up back here, so be it."

"I wish I could go half a century back in time and tell myself the happiest night of my life wouldn't be my own investiture, but Kurda Smahlt's. Just to see the look on my own face." Mika admitted. He gently tilted Kurda's chin upwards to kiss him on the lips, deaf to the crinkles and crunches coming from his other side.

Kurda's lips curved into a wicked smirk. Blue fire danced in his eyes as he corrected Mika: "Don't forget to tell him it was actually Kurda Smahlt-Ver Leth's investiture."

"Never mind. He can't know that part. He'd kill me." Said Mika with finality. He reached to his other side, fumbling for the bag of Doritos. He really was hungry. Where there should've been over-processed sodium-encrusted slices of heaven, he found only empty space. He glanced over and his jaw dropped, aghast.

The small red bag had been pillaged in its entirety. Not even a crumb remained. In the minute and a half where Mika's attention had been elsewhere, the Dorito thief had satiated her late-night munchies and fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder.

"See? Right back where we started." Kurda chortled as Mika gawked dejectedly at the empty bag. Again?!

"I recall last time you insisted that Doritos aren't good for babies." Mika grumbled. "Where was that righteousness this time, Sire Smartass?"

Kurda raised a golden eyebrow as he glanced judiciously from Mika to Gracie and back again.

"Having just spent five years travelling in the wilderness with that one, I can assure you she's no baby." Said Kurda, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "I've witnessed her take down a mid-sized grizzly bear. We really should've worked on her food aggression while she was small and harmless."

Baby or not, Kurda scooped her up and carried her all the way back to her cell. She was out like a light. Or, just as plausibly, an exceptionally skilled actor who didn't feel like walking that far.

Mika watched from the doorway as Kurda gently deposited Gracie into her coffin. Just for a moment the stone walls dissolved around them and they were back amidst those soft nursery pastels in the house where they found her. Just for that moment Kurda was standing over a crib, not a coffin. Their fierce warrior princess was a wide-eyed baby once more.

When Kurda glanced back over his shoulder at Mika, the wistful gleam in his eyes said it all. He was back in the house too. He remembered it as vividly as Mika did.

A unspoken acknowledgement passed between them. The simple act of tucking Gracie in was a silent commemoration of all the pain and violence it took for them to stand together here and now. This moment, in all its humble softness, marked the end of one era and the start of a new one.

"What?" Kurda pried, smiling curiously up at Mika. "What's that face for? You okay?"

"I'd do it all again too." Mika whispered in belated response to Kurda's earlier sentiment. "You were right. It was worth it."

I recall late November

Holdin' my breath, slowly I said…

"You don't need to save me

But would you run away with me?"

Yes

SIX MONTHS LATER

THE LITTLE RED CABIN BY THE SEA

KURDA

Over the white noise of the waves crashing against the coast below, the familiar creak of the door hinge caught Kurda's attention. It was followed almost immediately by the sound of Mika's voice —

"There's my sexy little carrot rancher."

Kurda exhaled a soft breath of laughter, but didn't look up from the task at hand. He kept his eyes on the sink below and his attention on the crop of fresh carrots he was washing. He'd pulled them from the garden just ten minutes ago.

"Oh, my Mika…" he snorted, shaking his head. "Your ability to invent brand new sentences continues to astound me."

Kurda turned the tap off just in time to hear the muffled double-thud of Mika kicking off his boots and the rustle of him hanging his coat by the door. A few footsteps later he was kissing the crook of Kurda's neck and sliding both hands around his hips.

"Mission successful?" Kurda asked, abandoning his carrots to lean back and nestle his body into Mika's, where he fit like a puzzle piece.

"Yeah. Got a bull moose. That'll be plenty for everyone, plus leftovers for weeks. And the antlers will look great up there." Said Mika. He was panting slightly; Kurda could feel the exhilaration of the hunt in every breath Mika took. Kurda's eyes followed Mika's pointer finger to the area just above the wood stove, and he shrugged his approval. Mika had allowed Kurda unlimited creative privileges with which to make Mika's royal suite back in the mountain feel like theirs. Kurda supposed it was fair to extend Mika the same courtesy here in his — their — cabin by the sea.

"No sign of them yet?" Mika added, moving beside Kurda to get a better look out the front window. Seaside life agreed with him magnificently. There was a spring in his step and a new liveliness in his body. Kurda wished they could make this their permanent residence rather than a temporary retreat.

"Not yet, but the sun hasn't been down for long." Said Kurda. "They were all planning on arriving together, right?"

"Yeah. They left the mountain a night early. Arrow wanted to see if the freak show lived up to the hype, and Vancha was confident Darren could get them tickets on short notice. Plan was to pick Darren up — literally — and flit here after the show. That was supposed to be tonight, so they should be here any time now." Mika recounted.

Kurda grinned up at him. "You know what that means?"

"We have to be ready to stop Vancha at the door and make damn sure he takes his shoes off. I'm not sweeping again." Mika replied with battle-hardened conviction.

Kurda nodded patiently. "That, and you're now the only current Prince who hasn't been to the Cirque Du Freak."

Mika rolled his eyes and did exactly what Kurda hoped he'd do — picked him up by the hips and sat him on the countertop.

"And I plan for that to remain a key part of the legacy I'll leave someday." Mika vowed as he rested his palms on either side of Kurda and leaned closer. "Going to put it in my eulogy and everything."

Kurda raised an eyebrow. "And you're still planning on writing your entire eulogy yourself, correct?"

"Obviously. I don't expect you to mourn and produce a high-quality written piece at the same time."

"My hero! Keep in mind you do also have a daughter."

Mika wrinkled his nose as if the notion was preposterous. "Gracie's not allowed anywhere near my eulogy. She'll turn it into a roast and I won't be there to defend myself."

"As always, your thought process makes perfect sense. So do you just want me to write on your urn, 'in here lies Sire Mika Ver Leth, who never once attended a Cirque Du Freak performance'?"

"Perfect. Maybe throw in loving father and devoted husband if there's room."

"You're someone's husband?" Kurda lipped back, relishing how that word elicited a devious, almost hungry grin upon Mika's handsome face.

"Don't rush me." Mika murmured. His lips grazed Kurda's collarbone as he leaned in close. "I have plenty of time."

Kurda arched his body into Mika's, head tilted back to allow better access to the sensitive skin on his neck as Mika set about leaving a trail of kisses there.

"Perhaps that's true in a general sense, but tonight…" Kurda paused to inhale shakily, an involuntary reaction to Mika's ministrations. "…don't start something you don't have time to finish."

Those were the magic words that summoned the others. There was no perfunctory knock on the door. But then again, Kurda had known better than to expect one. There was only a series of heavy footsteps and then there was Arrow standing in the kitchen.

"Mika!" He roared, spreading his arms in delight.

"Arrow!" Mika echoed in the exact same tone at the exact same volume. Kurda rolled his eyes. Mika pulled away to embrace his best friend — but not before leaving one last kiss on Kurda's cheek as if to say 'I really do love you most, I swear'.

"By the black blood of Harnon Oan, we haven't even been away from the mountain for a full month!" Kurda snorted as he watched Arrow practically leap into Mika's arms. But Kurda couldn't even bring himself to begrudge the dusty jacket Arrow had flung onto the kitchen table, much less scoff at the reunion. As rough and twisted as Kurda's personal history with Arrow was, the fact remained that Kurda was alive today because Arrow reached a point where he felt Kurda's life had been worth saving — even if only because he didn't want Mika to be sad. Still counts.

Vancha and Darren followed close behind Arrow. Vancha gawked reproachfully around the cabin's pristine interior. Kurda didn't bother to ask him if he'd taken his shoes off at the door. Judging by the dirt caked on Vancha's bare feet, there were no shoes to speak of.

"Sires Smahlt-Ver Leth. You both look well." Said Vancha, nodding to Kurda and Mika in turn before opening the fridge to investigate. The sound of the combined surnames made Kurda's heart swell. Perhaps it was for the best that they still went by their individual names back at the mountain. The flush rising in Kurda's cheeks hardly fit the image of a noble Vampire Prince.

Then he caught Darren's eye across the kitchen and all professionalism went out the window. It hadn't even been a year since he'd last seen the kid. Yet the kid was gone. A man had taken his place. A casual observer would still easily peg Darren as the youngest of the group, but he looked no more out of place than a university graduate would look at their first real job. Darren and Kurda were almost the exact same height now. And was that a beard slowly sprouting along his jaw? But when he smiled, he looked like he hadn't aged a day since Kurda first met him in that dusty old storage room.

"You! Do you have any idea how much you upended my life with your little note?" Kurda choked out as he flung his arms around his friend.

"Your life was already upside-down to begin with. I figured you might as well go all in. I'd apologize… if I was sorry." Darren laughed sheepishly, then added "Congratulations, Sire."

The five Princes formed a loose circle in the kitchen. There were no pretences as to their reason for gathering here. Nothing left to discuss. No votes left to cast. There was only the mission.

"Is it ready?" Vancha asked, glancing at Mika.

Mika nodded in affirmation. "Tested it myself yesterday."

"I still think one of us should stay ashore." Arrow mumbled. His enthusiasm had already dulled — and no wonder, this room offered an expansive view of the ocean before them. Those who know, know. For those who don't: a large body of water affects Arrow similarly to how a flesh-eating tarantula affects Mika.

"Come on, A. How often do we all get to do something together?" Mika coaxed him. "It wouldn't feel right to do it without you."

"It'd feel right to me." Arrow mumbled. "If we really have to do this, I still say we should've gone with the volcano."

Arrow's reservations aside, there was a distinct sense of heightened purpose in the air. And still nobody seemed willing to be the one to tip the domino.

Kurda took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Well… I suppose we'd better get started, then. The sea might wait for us, but the sun won't."

My baby's fit like a daydream

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

(Call it what you want, call it what you want, call it)

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

SOMEWHERE OFF THE COAST OF THE NORTH ATLANTIC

MIKA

The Roxanne was a wooden boat slightly longer and wider than a canoe. She wasn't exactly spacious, but she was functional. They couldn't have asked for a better night to set sail. Or more accurately, to yank the aged motor to life and hope for the best. Manually rowing would've been more aligned with clan values and whatnot, but tradition could only cover so much distance before the sun rose. They'd all agreed on one thing before embarking: if we can still see the shore, we haven't gone far enough.

Adrenaline ran up Mika's spine as the five Princes skimmed across the glassy ocean. The air was so crisp he could taste the salt on his tongue, and the water was so still he could've counted the stars reflected in the water.

For a moment he forgot why they were out here.

"This feels quite sturdy for something you built yourself, Mika. Didn't know you were that handy." Vancha barked over the steady buzz of the outboard motor.

"Who the hell told you he built it?" Kurda fired back, re-humbling Mika as effortlessly as ever. "An old woman in town practically paid him to take the thing! All he did was patch a few holes and throw on a fresh coat of paint."

"I know a good ship when I see one. It's in my blood." Said Mika. He gave the steering mechanism a little jiggle. Not enough to rock the boat too much. Just enough to remind them all who was in charge.

"I knew your family was a big deal in the ship industry but I don't recall you mentioning you were personally involved." Arrow remarked, green-faced and furrow-browed. He was hating the fuck out of this.

"Oh, I wasn't high enough in the line of succession to be educated in the business. Father's time was far too valuable for that." Mika recounted with a wry grimace. "Everything I know I learned from the old man who works at the hardware store here in town."

"The guy with no teeth? How do you understand him?" Kurda protested incredulously. "I never know what he's saying."

Mika shrugged. "I pick up words here and there. I've figured out most of his hand gestures too. We have a system. I'm almost completely sure he sold me the right waterproof caulking. Guess we'll find out."

While Vancha snickered at the word caulking, Arrow turned a deeper shade of green.

"I think we're taking on water!" Darren exclaimed in sudden panic.

Mika looked up so quickly he almost fell out of the boat, only to see Darren's face alight with a mischievous grin. He was letting himself in on the joke. Mika felt a flicker of pride. He'd once told Darren: this is how it works, we keep each other humble because no one else will. He wasn't surprised by how well the cub Prince had risen to that challenge.

"Fuck me, I had to take the lifejackets out to make room for all of us." Said Mika, slapping his forehead with mock frustration. The others could tell he was struggling not to laugh, but Arrow was in no fit state for humour. He couldn't even keep his lunch down.

"Gonna stuff a nest of spider eggs in your pillowcase for this." Arrow gasped once he'd finished hurling off the side.

"Sorry. I'm done." Mika grimaced, squeezing Arrow's shoulder. "You're doing great. Really. And I think we've gone far enough now."

Mika powered the motor down. The Roxanne only jerked a few times as she coasted to a halt. Along with the forward momentum went the lighthearted banter that had carried them from the shore to here. Suddenly the only sound in the world was the waves lapping gently against the sides of the boat.

"Right, then. I suppose we should move this along." Vancha broke the silence gruffly. "Perhaps Mika's boat could drift here indefinitely without springing a leak —"

"You're gods damned right it could." Mika cut in with vindication. Kurda rolled his eyes.

"— but the sun won't be nearly as patient." Vancha finished. He reached into the leather knapsack he'd brought aboard and withdrew a large iron case. He stared at it for a few moments as if second-guessing every decision he'd ever made.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Arrow asked.

Vancha dismissed the question with a snort. "What, do you think it fell out on the way? I've been carrying it the whole time. It's exactly as heavy as it was when we left Vampire Mountain."

Mika heard the words Vancha hid between the lines. Taking one more look at the thing would make it that much harder to go through with the decision. And still Vancha unlatched the case with reverential care, sighing as he did so. He lifted the lid and rotated the case so hia fellow Princes could see the glowing red orb nestled within.

Mika glanced at Kurda. He was the only one not transfixed by the Stone. Instead, his bright blue eyes were focused on the delicate bronze apparatus in his hands.

"You got the coordinates from the thing?" Mika asked. It would have felt wrong not to record the exact location in which they honourably discharged the Stone of Blood from duty. Here it would rest forevermore. Never again would it be a catalyst of destruction.

"I told you, it's called a sextant." No sooner had the word passed Kurda's lips than Vancha let out a howl of laughter so loud it could've doubled as a foghorn. Darren and Arrow snickered too. Mika raised an eyebrow judiciously at them — as if he hadn't laughed himself nearly to tears the first time Kurda told him the name of the apparatus.

Kurda sighed and threw his hands up in exasperation. "I should've just made up a name for it. None of you would've known any different. Bunch of animals."

Fleeting as it was, the laughter they shared at the expense of the oblivious sextant was enough to level out all five bundles of nerves.

"Deep-sea net fishing is strictly outlawed here." Kurda added. "Nothing will disturb the case once it hits the bottom, save for a few curious sea creatures."

"I can't believe we're doing this." Darren chipped in, looking around at the others with almost feverish awe in his eyes. Although age had deepened his voice, there remained a thread of youthful awe within it.

"It's astounding what can change in twelve years." Said Vancha.

"Talk about an understatement. I just can't believe you all voted in favour of it." Said Kurda with a dark chuckle.

Mika took a moment to consider his own words, but the effort was for naught. He felt compelled by duty to say something. Yet he had nothing. No words to manufacture a sense of reassurance in himself that they were doing the right thing. Is it right? Are we doing the right thing?

While Vancha, Arrow, and Darren glanced from the Stone to one another and back again, Mika averted his eyes to where he knew instinctually he'd find Kurda's waiting for him. The moonlight glistened on the tears of relief and elation trickling down Kurda's cheeks.

Kurda was ready for this. Fuck the throne and title. This was all he'd ever wanted. He'd done it. And even now he was waiting patiently for Mika to catch up with him. Take all the time you need, his smile seemed to say.

Mika exhaled into the darkness just to savour the salt air when he breathed back in.

"I had every intention of praying to the spirits of our predecessors that they might forgive us." Mika admitted at last. "But now that the moment is upon us… I don't feel we need to apologize for a decision that will protect our clan. I don't need to know whether some long-dead Prince would think this is right or not. I know it is."

Vancha nodded. Albeit reluctantly but he agreed nonetheless. "Mika's right. If anyone objects, speak now or forever shut your trap."

Silence again.

Vancha looked around at the others one more time. Then he cleared his throat and added, "Care to do the honours, Kurda? Seems only fair since I vividly recall you imploring to our deaf ears: 'throw the damn thing down a volcano, or toss it in the deepest sea.'

Those words lit a flicker of recognition in Darren's face. "I remember you telling me that the night I met you!" He recounted, grinning ruefully at Kurda.

"I made a hell of a first impression on you, didn't I?" Kurda grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. The moonlight glinting off his platinum mane turned it almost silver.

Darren's expression turned somber, but a ghost of his smile remained as he told Kurda with quiet conviction, "I wouldn't be who I am without you."

A look of mutual acceptance passed between Darren and Kurda. Mika looked away. He'd never claim to understand the complexity of the bond Kurda and Darren had forged. All he knew was that Darren's subtle nod seemed to be Kurda's cue to finally let go.

The steel case dropped from Kurda's hands. It hit the water with a plopping splash. The mundanity of the sound was a comical juxtaposition against the gravity of the act. Like a lone kazoo in an orchestra.

It bobbed on the surface of the water for less than a heartbeat before water began to seep inside. The case wasn't watertight — this wouldn't have worked if it was.

Slowly, the Stone of Blood — the legendary artifact gifted to their Predecessors from Desmond Tiny himself, the clan's unifying thread and greatest threat alike — sank beneath the waves.

Down.

Down.

Down.

Going.

Going.

Going…

Gone.

The silence that followed was the most deafening yet, as if the universe itself was holding its breath. Even the waves seemed to have quieted.

But only for a second.

The suffocating sobriety of the moment was obliterated by an explosion of air and water from no more than two yards away. Startling as the proximity was, Mika had become familiar with the sounds of the local humpback whales surfacing. He found the creatures endearing.

Arrow, however, saw his life flash before his eyes. Including the part where he met his demise in the jaws of a sea monster. His strangled yelp split the air like the boomerangs he favoured and he cowered on the floor of the boat. Meanwhile, Darren and Vancha whooped in excitement and leaned over the side to get a closer look. Kurda shot Mika a wayward grin from up on the prow. Stifling a laugh, Mika did his damn best to comfort his distraught crewmate. Gods knew Arrow had offered Mika more than his fair share of empathy throughout the long, dark journey that led them here.

"You're fine, A. It's not a sea monster. It's just a little whale. They're —"

"Shut up, Mika! I don't want to hear it! The man who goes into hysterics over a tiny little spider does not get to tell me that godsforsaken thing couldn't swallow all five of us and still have room for desert!"

"Let me finish. They're perfectly harmless unless you make too much noise. Then they take it as a challenge." Mika deadpanned, his empathy expiring. "And as tough as I know you are, I don't think that's a challenge you'll want to accept. Let's go have breakfast instead."

With that, Mika reignited the motor and cringed when it stuttered. But neither the vampire gods nor the spirits of Princes past seemed to be holding a grudge. It hummed to life and held steady. Mika shouted towards the front of the boat, "Take us home, Sire Smahlt-Ver Leth."

Kurda glanced over his shoulder to shoot Mika a look of haughty reproach. "That's Captain Sire Smahlt-Ver Leth to you."

"The fuck it is. I'm the Captain. This is my ship." Said Mika.

"Then aren't you responsible for taking us home?" Kurda lipped back innocently.

Mika had his retort locked and loaded: "Aren't you the one who brought the compass?"

That put a dent in Kurda's faux innocence. His cocksure smirk faltered and he asked, "I was supposed to bring a compass?"

As taken aback by that question as Kurda clearly was, Mika was far more so. He hadn't anticipated that.

"You're the cartographer! I thought it was too obvious to mention!" Mika protested.

Vancha and Darren traded glances of mild apprehension at the new predicament. Arrow whimpered in dread.

Then Kurda threw his head back and laughed into the starry sky. His hair caught in the ocean breeze and momentarily formed a halo around his head, as golden as the steel circle from his pocket and held it up for the others to see.

"Of course I brought the damn compass!" He crowed in triumph. "But by the black blood of Harnon Oan, you should see your faces!"

The confession was met with laughter from Vancha and Darren, and assorted expletives from Arrow. Mika just shook his head and rolled his eyes as his heart rate stabilized. He should've known. He should've known a lot of things a lot sooner than he did.

It had been a long time since Mika had said the other three words with a straight face. For old time's sake, he tried anyway:

"You're the worst."

"I love you too."

As Kurda smirked back, his eyes crackled with the same relentless energy that had kept Mika intrigued and indignant ever since the first night they clashed from opposite ends of a meeting table. Back when Mika couldn't help himself, much less understand the magnetic pull that kept him coming back for more.

It was so obvious now. Leave it to the cartographer to figure it out first. Even in darkness, the compass will find its True North.

Inevitably.

My baby's fly like a jet stream

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

(Call it what you want, call it what you want, call it)

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

Call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want

To

---

1) The "General peer evaluation forms" Mika and Kurda both reference in the investiture speeches are callbacks to the intro of This Is Us.

2) Gracie's Dorito thievery is in reference to chapter 2 of This Is Us.

3) The boat trip is an homage to canon, of all things. Go figure. Congrats on finally getting your way, Sire Smahlt.

4) The cabin by the sea is an homage to my favourite place. I can rest easy knowing Mika and Kurda are taking some time to relax and reconnect in the ocean air. I even have some plotless mini-drabbles up my sleeve about that

5) Speaking of upcoming projects, I also have plans to write more about Gracie's — among other OC's — adventures from her own perspective. I was on and off the fence about whether I'd include her scene with Jovanna in this chapter or save it for the future. Obviously I chose to throw it in as a final hurrah for this arc. So uhh stay tuned I guess? If you want?

6) A note regarding ongoing renovations to the Bloodline Dream House: As I neared the end of times here, I learned that some people won't start a story til it's marked complete. That was kind of alarming for me because in hindsight I'm not nearly as proud of the beginning as I am of the end. I wish I didn't care this much, but I do. So I started the renovations in case the phrase 'completed work' sway new readers to drop in. I've adjusted them enough that I definitely feel they're worth a reread if you've already been there. But if you're ready to check out and return to your life I don't blame you whatsoever. It's still just the same 26 letters rearranged in a way that digs a little deeper and hopefully sounds more polished. As the renovations continue, I will note in the summary what chapters have been done.

So that's it for general housekeeping. All I have left is a half-baked entry from my notes app from a few days ago when it really hit me (again, only harder) that this arc is over.

Disclaimer: having this on record is cathartic enough for me. You can scroll on past if you want. It's your life. I'm your Shandma, not your mom.

This is a final ode to the labour of love I've take far too seriously at times — and not seriously enough once or twice. Writing may not be my whole life but I've learned it's unequivocally the thing that makes me whole. I think we should normalize making a big deal out of things that feel like a big deal to us. And I process my big deals by putting them into words. So since you've been with me for almost half a million words so far, here are a few more:

The Dirty Chai AU — specifically Bloodline — has felt like the very slow process of building my dream home. It's been messy and convoluted because I've never built a house this big before. I've started a lot of "houses" and I've finished a few of them over the years. But none of them were THE house. So I didn't know what I was doing. I'm horrific at making blueprints and even worse at sticking to them. All I knew was what I wanted the house to look like in the end… and what song I wanted playing in the background. So I started to build. And here we are, 4 years to the month I re-started This Is Us (after a 7 year hiatus, mind you).

And suddenly here I am standing in the yard, covered in dust and paint, blinking in disbelief up at my dream house. 'Dream house' is an objective term. I don't know if this thing would pass a quality inspection and I suspect the resale value would be minimal. If you follow me on any of the platforms, you know exactly how much I complained throughout this whole thing. Like, incessantly. I sort of blanked out halfway through but suffice it to say I left a lot of blood, sweat, and tears in these walls. It's frustrating to think about how much better this could've been if I knew back then what I know now. I won't lie and tell you I fully embrace the faulty wiring, paint chips and loose floorboards — but I've already started renovating.

So for better or worse, this is the home where Mika and Kurda get to live happily ever after. At one point I realized I wasn't just building it for the Smahlt-Ver Leths. The floor plan suddenly included space for Gracie, Arrow, Vancha, Darren, Larten, Seba, Gannen, Shane, Tycho, Renley, even Darius. How ironic that the Bloodline Dream House is now so crowded that Mika and Kurda had to escape to their seaside cabin to get some proper alone time.

"Write for yourself, not for others" is the golden rule in these parts. As much as I respect and abide by it… any writer who claims total indifference is either pretentious or on a level of unbothered I can only dream of aspiring to. When I first started building, I left the backyard gate open in case anyone thought my house looked cool and wandered in to check it out. Still, I made peace with the possibility it might just me in here by the time it was all said and done and decided to be okay with that. I try not to be self-deprecating but when you're writing for a small fandom you have to set reasonable expectations. As hard as it is to believe I've finished the house, it's even harder to believe there are still people sitting in my yard watching me hammer in the final nails. I want to believe I would've finished the house either way. But I cannot put into words how much better the house is because of your support.

In the interest of self-awareness, I know keeping up with the Vampire Mountain soap opera has not been a small time or energy commitment. I imagine following this story has been almost as exhausting as writing it. So I am obscenely grateful for every single person who's commented and kudo'd here, as well as those who've expressed their enjoyment and encouragement on the other platforms where I hang out.

I have to single out 3 subdemographics that have made themselves apparent throughout this project: 1) "I don't normally get invested in other people's OCs, but -" 2) "I'd never really considered MikaKurda as a pairing, but -" or 3) "I don't normally seek out stories focused on these characters, but -" If you had a But and still took the time to tour the house anyway, WOW. It's been my honour and privilege to host you. Thank you for sharing your Buts with me. I'll treasure them for the rest of my life.

And all of you can breathe a sigh of relief that the only houses I build are metaphorical, because could you imagine?

In conclusion: if you've stuck it out this far, this is really the end. We made it. Pat yourself on the fucking back, take a seat on the front porch of the Bloodline Dream House. I'll pour you a drink and a bowl of Doritos.

One last time — thank you for being here.

- roxy