Harold had made up his mind. He would find a way to extract the phoenix feather from his body and use it, even if it cost him his life. He had promised to do everything in his power to heal Ray, and he was determined to keep that promise, no matter the cost.
When the party returned to his manor, they were greeted by the entire household staff, with Crystal at the forefront. She had been caring for Ray tirelessly, her exhaustion evident in the dark circles under her eyes and the slight stoop in her posture. Yet when she saw the group, her tired face lit up with hope. Maybe, just maybe, they had found the cure for Ray's condition. But her hope was quickly dashed as she took in their somber expressions. They looked defeated, broken even, and the flicker of hope in her chest was snuffed out.
Sensing the weight of the moment, Harold raised a hand, silencing the murmurs and gestures of welcome. "Crystal, meet me in the study," he said, his tone heavy. There was no time for ceremony; he had urgent news to share.
Crystal hesitated but followed, already bracing herself for the worst. Her heart ached with grief, even though Ray hadn't yet passed. She had been his caretaker, his protector, his mother and watching the light fade from their last chance at saving him felt like a cruel blow.
When she entered the study, Harold was waiting for her. He stood by the desk, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of the burden he carried. His blue eyes, usually so clear, were clouded with sorrow, and his blond hair, usually immaculate, was disheveled.
"We found the phoenix feather," Harold began, his voice grim.
Crystal's heart leaped. That meant Ray could be saved! But then, why had the party returned looking so crushed? She opened her mouth to ask, but Harold, as though reading her thoughts, continued. "It was used… on me."
The room seemed to tilt. Crystal's breath caught in her throat. If the feather had already been used, then…
"I believe there's still a chance," Harold said quickly, his tone resolute. "If I can extract the feather from my body, Ray can still be saved."
Crystal's relief was short-lived as realization struck her. "But won't that mean… you'll die in the process?"
Harold met her gaze, unflinching. "It's a possibility," he admitted.
The weight of his words crushed her. Harold wasn't just a companion for Ray's sake anymore—he had become a constant in her life, a figure she relied on. She wasn't sure how to define her feelings for him, but the thought of losing him felt unbearable. And then there was Ray. To save the child they both loved so dearly, Harold was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice. It felt like a cruel paradox: to save one loved one, she would lose another.
"Isn't there another way?" Crystal pleaded, her brown eyes shining with unshed tears.
"I'm afraid not," Harold replied, his voice soft but firm. "This is the only way to save him."
"But…" Crystal tried again, desperation lacing her tone.
Harold placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. I was part of the Royal Guard once. Sacrificing my life for royalty—or anyone I care about—is a duty I've always been prepared for."
At that, Crystal broke down, her grief spilling over in heaving sobs. Harold pulled her into an embrace, his touch warm, his resolve unshaken. No amount of tears or protests could sway him. He had made his choice.
The following day, Harold began his search for someone who could extract the phoenix feather. The news of his decision spread quickly, sending ripples through the manor and beyond. Many were saddened but respected his resolve. Not Maggie. She opposed the plan vehemently, her fiery temper matching her determination to stop him.
"You can't do this!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the hall. "There has to be another way. I'll go back to the monster lands if that's what it takes—just don't throw your life away!"
Harold listened, his expression calm but immovable. "My mind is made up, Maggie," he said gently.
Her protests continued, but Harold's resolve never wavered. Eventually, he found someone willing to perform the extraction. The day was set, preparations meticulously made.
When the appointed day arrived, Harold stood ready, his face set in determination. The household gathered in quiet mourning, their hope tempered by sorrow. Just as Harold was about to proceed, a figure appeared at the doorway.
"Wait!"
All eyes turned to Trina, who stood there breathless, dust from the demon realm still clinging to her travel-worn cloak.
"There's another way," she announced, her voice trembling with urgency.
A stunned silence gripped the room, the faint flicker of hope in their hearts trembling like a fragile flame. Harold's sharp blue eyes fixed on Trina, his demeanor betraying a glimmer of curiosity.
"Tell me," he said, his voice low yet expectant.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Trina stepped forward. Dust from the demon realm still clung to her dark cloak, her hair tousled from her journey. She drew a steady breath, her tone firm.
"If we want to save Ray," she began, "I believe the only viable solution is to turn him into an artificial vampire."
Harold's brow furrowed, and he crossed his arms, the weight of her words settling in. "A vampire," he murmured, considering the implications.
"That would mean turning him into a demon," Crystal interjected, her voice tinged with unease.
"Yes," Trina acknowledged, her expression unwavering. "But ask yourselves—what's more important? His humanity, or his life?"
Crystal's lips parted as if to protest, but the fire in Trina's words left no room for denial. She sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging in reluctant agreement. "As long as it saves him, it doesn't matter," she finally said.
Harold straightened. "If it's possible, what do you need to make it happen?"
Trina's eyes gleamed with confidence. "Any living creature with sufficient energy in their blood. It doesn't matter if it's a monster, animal, or something else."
"Then I'll find one," Harold said decisively. "A boar or something similar."
By evening, the preparations were complete. The group gathered in Ray's room, dimly lit by the warm glow of a single lantern. The atmosphere was tense, heavy with the weight of what was to come.
Trina stood at the center of the room, her expression unreadable as she drew a small dagger from her belt. Its blade gleamed under the dim light.
"Before we begin," she said, her voice calm, "there's something I need to do first."
Crystal's eyes widened as she saw Trina lift the dagger. "Wait—what are you doing?" she asked, alarm creeping into her voice.
Trina turned to her, calm yet unyielding. "To save him, I need to stab his heart with my blood."
Crystal recoiled. "But won't that kill him?"
"He has to die to be reborn," Trina replied, her tone even, as if stating an unshakable truth.
Crystal's voice rose, panic flaring in her eyes. "Harold, are you sure about this? If she fails…" Her words trailed off, but the fear was clear.
Harold placed a hand on her shoulder. "I trust Trina," he said, his voice kind. "She wouldn't risk this unless she was certain it could work."
Crystal's lips trembled, but she nodded, swallowing back her anxiety.
Trina moved with precision. Slicing her palm, she let her blood drip onto the dagger's blade before plunging it into Ray's heart. The room seemed to shudder with the act, a sharp intake of breath audible from everyone present.
"Oh, one more thing," Trina added hastily, not looking up from her work. "If this works, he'll be my vampire servant."
Harold's brow arched, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Don't you mean when the spell works?" he quipped, though a note of worry lingered beneath the humor.
"And what do you mean by 'vampire servant?'" Crystal asked, but Trina had already begun chanting.
The demonic incantation spilled from her lips like molten iron, harsh and resonant. A crimson mist coiled through the air, thick and pulsating with raw power. The room grew heavy, suffused with a sinister energy.
"I think we should step outside," Harold said, his voice low, as he guided Crystal toward the door.
Inside, Trina continued her chant, her voice rising as the energy in the room reached a violent crescendo. The air crackled with chaos, and then it happened—Ray's body began to dissolve. His form crumbled into a dark, viscous pool that seeped into the bed, vanishing entirely.
Trina froze, her hands trembling as the chanting ceased. What had she done? She turned to leave and inform Harold of the unexpected turn when, suddenly, a cocoon of darkness began to take shape on the bed.
The swirling mass solidified into a pulsating, black shell. Trina's breath hitched. Her inherited memories offered no guidance for this phenomenon. What was happening? She hurried to find Harold, explaining the unexpected turn of events. Together, they decided to wait, their hopes and fears tangled as they braced for the unknown.
A week passed. The cocoon remained unchanged until, one evening, it began to crack. The household gathered, holding their breaths as the shell burst apart, revealing a small figure.
From within emerged a girl, no older than four. Her features mirrored Ray's, but her hair was a deep crimson, and her eyes remained closed. The room was silent as the girl stirred, her ruby eyes fluttering open at last.
"Mother?" the child's voice was soft yet unmistakable.
Crystal gasped, tears streaming down her face as she pulled the girl into an embrace. It was Ray, her son—no, her daughter now.
Harold approached cautiously, his expression torn between relief and awe. "Ray…"
The child shook her head, a small smile forming. "Not Ray with a y anymore. It's Rae with an e," she corrected.
Crystal tightened her embrace, her heart swelling with bittersweet joy. Rae was here, alive and whole. They had saved her—but the journey had changed her.
"Guess there is no need for the boar," Trina said finally relaxing. She was not sure what had happened but she was glad Ray- Rae was ok.